Page 60 of Wildest Dreams

PIERRE

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m at a party in Laurel Canyon. A ton of people from the industry are here, a mix of older artists who have been famous for longer than I’ve been alive, people my age who are here to network, and younger hangers-on who want to take pictures for their social media.

I know a lot of people in the room. I even consider some of them to be friends. I should be having fun, but I’m not feeling it. Not tonight.

I make my apologies to the host and leave early. It takes forever for the valet to get my car, but I finally leave and make my way through the dark, windy roads of the canyon towards home in Bel Air.

Then my phone dings. It’s Kendall.

I’m so shocked and distracted I nearly run off the side of a cliff as I try to navigate a curve. I put my phone down. I can’t look until I’m in a better spot.

Once I see a gas station, I pull over and pick up my phone. It’s a sweet thinking-of-you message, but it’s like oxygen to a drowning man.

I stare at it hard for a solid minute, fighting back tears.

She finally reached out. This is all I’ve wanted for months and it finally happened.

I reply back.

I’m so happy to hear from you. It’s a nice night but I’m missing you. How have you been?

Then I wait. And wait. And wait. I even go into the gas station and buy a bottle of water and some gum to kill time before I start driving again.

She doesn’t respond. I finally give up and continue home. I walk in well before midnight, so I fix a drink and go to the back yard. My house is on the side of a mountain and has a panoramic view of the whole area. The stars are obscured by pollution, but the city lights on the horizon twinkle in the darkness.

I turn on the outdoor speakers, put on some Jim Croce, strip down to my underwear, and get into my hot tub with my drink and my phone. I look at the screen, willing Kendall to respond.

Finally, when my toes are pruned and it’s after midnight, I turn off my music and head to bed. On my nightstand is a photo of us on Patsy’s boat from the day we spent floating on the Florablanca River. It’s the last thing I see before I fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Harriett comes over to drop off my groceries. I’ve just gotten up and I know I look like hell from a night of restless sleep.

“Jesus,” Harriett says as soon as she sees me. “Party too hard last night?”

“No. I was actually home by eleven. I finally heard from Kendall.”

“Not this again.” She’s heard me whine about Kendall so much over the past few months that I know I sound like a broken record. “What did she say?”

“That she hopes I have a good New Year’s Eve.”

“Drunk text?”

“Maybe? I responded asking her how she’s doing, but she didn’t say anything.”

“She’s playing games. You need to get over this girl.”

“No, I don’t think she is.”

As if on cue, my phone rings and Kendall’s face pops up. My heart skips a beat.

“Told you,” I say to Harriett, who gives me a look as she unpacks my groceries.

I take the phone back to my room and answer. My palms are sweating and I nearly drop it.

“Hey, Pierre.” She sounds like music, sending butterflies straight to my gut.

“Kendall, it’s great to hear your voice.”

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