The Beautiful Truth

// 128

And so, we were all on to our next move. The semester wrapped up uneventfully. Dr. Bovich informed me that I had the highest final grade in his class—a feat I looked forward to repeating next semester as I took yet another of his fast-paced courses. Despite having read and dissected five novels over the span of the semester, most of which hovered around 500 pages, I told him I was not, as he predicted, longing for the days spent on The End of It All.

With the end of the semester came the end of football season. Both Talyn and Travis were both named NCAA All-Americans. Of course USC couldn't play in a bowl game, but Cal, ranked number 8 at 11-1, was set to play the Orange Bowl in Miami on January 5th. Micki and I already had tickets, courtesy of Travis and Chase...and airfare courtesy of, well, my screenplay.

Speaking of, the studio had nailed down a director, and despite my apprehension at the previously-untested-as-a-solo-director-with-a-Hollywood-pedigree candidate they sent me to meet, I came away completely energized. Julian Carter seemed open to my...vision, for lack of a better word, and well, at least he was a fan of the book—i.e. he had read it, which is more than I could say for the previous film's director, but...I digress.

I was still, even with a director under contract, skeptical that this thing would actually get made. Time would tell, I supposed.

Michael's Mistress had returned to Berkeley just before Thanksgiving. Alex, and even Seth turned up at my favorite bar on Claremont for my birthday, having only been back in town for a few hours.

I theorized that their appearance had more to do with finding Micki and escaping Barton than actually wanting to see me, but it was good to see them nonetheless. I had long since given up hope that Barton would show up anywhere I was known to be, but as the night wore on, and I became progressively more intoxicated, I couldn't help but wish.

But, the likelihood of running into him ever again was becoming more unlikely—the American tour had been such a success that Sire wanted to send Michael's Mistress and Jack's Mannequin out together again, this time to Canada, Australia and Japan. According to Micki, details were still sketchy, but it was looking like they'd leave early in March, criss-cross Canada, and head to Japan and Australia mid-April, returning sometime in late June or July.

"Gotta build in some time for tourism," Micki sighed wistfully in the lounge chair next to me. We'd flown to Cabo right after Cal won the Orange Bowl.

I hesitated briefly, before making the suggestion. What would I do without her? But, she deserved it—"Go with him," I offered.

She looked at me quizzically, taking a sip from her non-alcoholic smoothie as the sun beat down on us by the pool. "Yeah right."

I laughed nervously. "No, really. I know you want to travel," I said. "Here's your chance."

"He wouldn't—"

And here's where I had her. "Actually," I interrupted before she could protest. "I asked Alex about it last week. Now that I put the idea in his head, I think he'd be disappointed if you didn't go."

"But what about school?"

I smiled. "Take a semester off. Or better yet, talk to your advisor and come up with some independent study project you can do while you're out there."

Micki was uncharacteristically quiet, seeming to turn this over in her mind. I took another long pull off my tequila and tonic.

Watching me, Micki grimaced. "If I do, I don't want to come back to find you in some Hollywood rehab center."

I rolled my eyes, and set my drink next to me. "Don't worry about me."

"Wait," Micki said suddenly. "How am I—even with my dad's black card, I don't think he would let me—"

"Good thing your best friend has more money than she knows what to do with."

"Sawyer..."

I laughed again. "Micki, start making a list of what you need to make this happen. Hell, I'd go with you if I could."

I didn't mean for it to come out as if I blamed my inability to go on my standoff with Barton, but given the way Micki deflated next to me, I imagined that's how it sounded.

" I swear to—"

"No!" I stopped her impending rant of which I was sure the gist by now would be 'get over it.' "I mean I can't go anywhere with this movie business hanging out in limbo."

"Yeah, anything new on that front?"

"Not since they found a director," I replied, noticing a fresh drink had turned up in place of my old one. "I guess they're trying to get permission to shoot on-location now."

"Cal won't let them?" she asked, wrinkling her forehead at the possibility.

"I don't think it's so much whether they'll let us, but when it's gonna be logistically possible."

Micki grinned. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Tell me about it," I agreed, shaking my head. "I still don't believe it."

"Have you thought about casting yet?" she asked, absentmindedly inspecting her latest manicure.

"Jesus, no," I laughed.

Micki laughed, too. "Whether you want to admit it or not, SF, this thing is real."

I sighed. "I know. I guess casting is the last piece. I think I still have a little...research to do before I can think about accurately casting everybody."

A silent understanding passed between us. She'd been trying to get me to go meet Amy Sawyer for the better part of the school year, and so far, I'd kept putting her off. I knew, better than anyone, that this was something I probably needed to do, but the idea of it was terrifying.

After all, I was the physical embodiment of the end...of it all.

Christ, I was getting drunk.