One
Kim
I’ve got a plan for this.
Okay, that’s not entirely true, given that I don’t know the reason my agent needs to meet with me “today, if possible,” but telling myself that helps loosen the tension in my chest a bit. I’ve been with my agent, Josh Rios, for long enough to tell by the tone of his voice that the news isn’t great. Probably the Sofia Coppola project next year is getting pushed back—that kind of thing is common, but Josh knows how much I hate my schedule getting messed up. Not just because I’ve got a stronger emotional attachment to my intricate, color-coded calendar system than most of LA feels for their favorite Botox provider, but becauseThe Schedule is in careful balance with my ex-husband as we manage our time with our kids in between both of our busy film careers.
Messing withThe Schedule often means a domino effect of epic proportion, which requires me to actually converse—even if only via text—with Blake.
I pace in the entryway of my house, my sandals clicking against the tile floor. One of my cats, a Maine Coon named Roz, has her huge girth balanced precariously on the stair banister, watching me with her single eye. I pet her on the one spot on her back where she likes to be touched and think through what my plan could be if the Coppola project gets stalled.
I may have to cancel the trip to Australia for the World Surf Championship—which was supposed to be a surprise for my daughter, Ivy. While I’m not particularly sad to miss out on days of watching a sport I don’t have any interest in, I was looking forward to seeing her enjoy it. Sharing the part of her life that she normally only shares with her father. Blake is the fun parent. I’ve long since resigned myself to that fact—I’m the parent that counts the number of vegetables they’ve eaten and charts their screen time.
I was really excited to be the fun parent, for once.
Not that the kids don’t enjoy their time here on the ranch. I know they do. Lots of animals and outdoor space—I have that going for me. And Ivy will be just as excited when the championship comes around in another year, so I could still—
The gate comm buzzes; I glance at the camera and see Josh’s sleek Porsche, and I press the button to open the gate. While I wait for him to make his way down the drive and park, I breathe in and out slowly.
Whatever the news is, whatever changes toThe Schedule and family plans it entails, I can handle it. No doubt I’ve handled far worse. Or survived, at least—even if it felt like just barely.
There’s a knock, and several dogs begin barking and howling from behind the closed door to the bedroom areas.Their barking sets off more from the dogs outside. It’s a familiar chain reaction that never fails to make Luke giggle. He calls it the “Twilight Bark,” like from101 Dalmatians.
I miss my kids, even though they’re just at school right now. No matter how many animals and ranch workers are here at any given time, the house feels a little empty without them. It’s worse when they’re at their dad’s, which they generally are about half the week, unless one or the other of us is off filming on location.
I open the door. Josh Rios is standing there in a nice, fitted suit, his dark hair styled back, looking, as always, every inch the professional. We used to have our business meetings at a restaurant, but the paparazzi are ruthless, attempting to lip-read video footage or sneak in long-range mics to get the scoop on my future projects—or to suggest that my agent and I are having a torrid lunchtime affair over Cobb salads at Angelo’s. Now I usually meet him at his office.
His offer to drive all the way out here might mean that the news is worse than a shift in schedule.
He greets me with a handshake and a smile that looks a little tense. Roz greets Josh with a hiss, her back arched, and her lone ear—on the same side of her head as her lone eye—flattened against her head.
“Don’t worry about her,” I assure Josh, who shoots a wary look at the large ball of angry cat. “She’s all talk.”
Josh laughs. “I deal with that type a lot.” Still, he gives Roz a wide berth as he steps into the sitting room. I feel better about my decision to keep the dogs out of this part of the house. Josh has been to the ranch a couple times over the years, and overall seems to deal well with the animals, but I doubt he’d appreciate the enthusiasm of the roaming pack of house dogs—especially our new short-haired Chihuahua, Urkel, who gleefully humps every pair of men’s dress shoes he encounters.
I’m working on getting him to stop, and while I’m not unused to training challenges—most of the animals at my sanctuary here have special medical needs or training problems that make them difficult to place in normal homes—his passion for Italian leather Oxfords might be one of the epic love stories of our time.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask as Josh settles in on the sofa, taking in the view of the ranch from the big picture windows.This room is probably my favorite in the house—the vaulted, exposed timber ceilings and the way the sun streams through the windows, warming the tile. But the best part is definitely the view of the land, dappled with fruit trees and yew pine, with the sunlight sparkling off the duck pond in the distance.
In addition to the land itself, the view also includes numerous buildings I’ve added—stables, supply huts, chicken coops, medical stations, that sort of thing. One of my ranch workers is driving by on a golf cart loaded with bags of dog food while being chased by about a dozen dogs.There are goats climbing over my patio furniture, chewing on the already ragged edges of my rattan chairs.
I’m usually out there with the animals myself when I can be. Administering meds, training, playing with them.This sanctuary is still my dream come true.
Even if it somehow feels a bit hollow.
Josh starts pulling paperwork out of his briefcase. I’m dying to leap into the reason he’s here and get to figuring out a solution, but there’s this small-but-persistent part of me that hopes the problem will disappear if I front-load it with enough small talk and caffeine. “Some coffee? Something to eat?”
“No, thanks,” he says. “I actually just had a brunch date with Anna-Marie.” He smiles when he says his wife’s name, like he always does—that reflexive smile of a man deeply in love. I wonder if Blake ever did that when he thought about me, even in the early days.
“Nice,” I say, shaking off the thought. It doesn’t matter anymore; it hasn’t mattered for six years. “Celebrating anything?”
“Just an hour in which our schedules line up. We’ve learned to steal every chance we get.”
I remember how that used to be. Between film schedules and kids’ schedules and industry events, some of the best alone time Blake and I had were those midnights we’d order from that all-nightThai place not far from our old house and sit out on the backyard patio under the stars. We’d eat, and talk, and laugh, and toss rice noodles to our pet pig, who’d be snuffling around by our feet.
Sometimes those nights feel so long ago, so out of reach, that it feels like I imagined them entirely.
I sit on the chair across from Josh. “We’ve still got to arrange a time for you to bring Anna-Marie and your little girl here to see the ranch—what is she now, two?Three? My kids would love to show her around.”
