“Dammit!” Adam jiggled the key again in the unfamiliar lock.

He had been entertaining a vague hope that Jane would be inside waiting for him, but there was no sign of her presence in the darkened apartment when he finally got the door open. He sighed, looking down at his watch. 6:15 PM. She hadn’t said how late she would be. 

The week had been going so well until now. Every moment they weren’t working, they’d spent together. Each night, they had stayed up until the wee hours, fighting sleep – just laughing and talking and making love until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. Now it was Thursday, and she had agreed to take off work and spend the day with him.

It had all started out as planned. It wasn’t until after lunch that things had started to unravel. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the skin at the bridge of his nose, remembering. They’d only needed to walk two blocks from the restaurant to the Ed Sullivan Theater, where he was scheduled to tape Letterman that afternoon. Two blocks down a New York City sidewalk. That was all it took.

Someone at the restaurant must have tipped off the paparazzi to his presence. There was a group of four or five photographers hanging around outside, waiting for them to leave.

“Just keep walking,” Adam had murmured in her ear, taking her hand. “You don’t have to say a word.”

She'd given him a tight smile in response, but he could see the panicked look in her eyes. He’d put his arm around her protectively as they started to walk uptown with the photographers running out in front of them, cameras clicking.

“Give us some space, guys,” he’d said, careful to keep his voice neutral and polite as his publicists had trained him. Most of the paps were content to follow down the block, snapping photos, but there was always one in every bunch that had to get aggressive – had to try to provoke a response. This one had positioned himself just a few feet in front of their faces, walking backward and firing off questions.

“Adam, are you and Jane back together?”

It hadn’t been a shock that they’d identified who she was. The playlist over twitter had made it obvious enough. Still, he could feel her shoulders tense at the sound of her own name.

“Just keep walking,” he’d said in her ear again, picking up the pace a little.

“Hey Jane, why did you break up with Adam?”

He’d heard her sharp intake of breath at the question. “C’mon man,” he’d said to the photographer, shooting him a friendly smile, careful to keep any trace of anger out of his voice. “Don’t be rude.”

“Adam, are you in love with Jane?”

It had been a mistake, not bringing along his assistant for the afternoon. It was part of Shawn’s job to get up in the photographers’ faces and clear a path so Adam didn’t have to get his hands dirty. Adam had known it was a risk when he’d planned out the day, but he hadn’t wanted a third wheel getting in between him and Jane. It was only two blocks from the restaurant to the theater. Surely, he’d thought, they could make it on their own for two blocks.

“Adam, is Jane the one?”

Jane had shrugged his arm off from around her shoulders and turned sharply then, heading into the door of the nearest souvenir shop.

To hell with the media training. “Fuck off, asshole,” Adam snapped at the photographer before he turned to follow her inside.

Jane had her head down and her arms wrapped around herself as she made her way to the back of the store, and Adam jogged to catch up with her. She’d turned and looked past him over his shoulder to see if anyone was following as he reached out and touched her arm.

“Jane—“

“I think I’ll just go back to work now,” she’d interrupted, still hugging herself protectively as she looked up at him.

He’d run his hands down her arms, trying to soothe her. “It’s just what they do. They’re just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Come on. It’s just a little further. Don’t let it spoil the whole day.”

She'd shrugged his hands off her again, shaking her head. “My office is right over there,” she said, gesturing with her head back in the direction they’d been walking. “You go out first, and then I’ll head back that way once they follow you.”

“But don’t you want to see the taping? Don’t you want to meet Dave?”

“I just need a break,” she said, shaking her head again. He tried to read her face, but it was blank. She was retreating back into that stony shell of hers, and he’d felt his pulse begin to quicken with an edge of panic. Was she pulling away from him again?

“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “It’s a block and a half.”

“I’m not going.”

“Jane, it was one guy. Are you going to let one asshole photographer determine the course of your entire life?”

She must have heard the fear in his voice because her face had softened a little. “I’m not determining the course of my entire life,” she said, tilting her head to one side as she looked up at him. “I just need a break.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“It’s OK, Adam.” She’d reached out and taken his hand, giving it a squeeze. “This is not goodbye,” she said.

Adam realized he was humming now as he thought back to their conversation, and he rolled his eyes at himself as he recognized the tune.

This is not goodbye she said.

It is just time for me to rest my head.

The song gave him an idea, and he pulled out his phone now with a renewed sense of purpose. He began typing out a text to his assistant, and then turned to the large media cabinet next to Jane’s TV.

She’d let him watch the other night as she’d pulled the old magazines and CDs and videotapes out of her garbage bag and carefully stacked them in rows on the shelves. He’d taken one tape out of the bag and glanced at the neatly printed label:

Tonight Show – 3/10/04

MTV Total Request Live – 8/19/04

Grammy Awards – 2/13/05

“So you were watching when we won the first Grammy?”

“Of course!” She’d looked up from her filing and smiled at him. “Marcy and I were jumping up and down and screaming when you won.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call.”

“Well, you were otherwise occupied at that point.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“The first of the models? The one from the This Love video?”

“That wasn’t real, Jane.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she wasn’t really my girlfriend. It was a publicity stunt.”

“You’re kidding.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea how much of this shit is fake,” he said, gesturing toward the garbage bag.

“So you never even slept with her?”

“Well,” he shot her a sheepish grin. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Now Adam went back to the cabinet and began opening drawers, looking for something. He was singing to himself under his breath as he slipped old video tapes out of their sleeves:

Fumbling through your dresser drawer.

Forgot what I was looking for...

“Aha!” he said at last, as his eyes hit upon the label he’d been seeking.

***

Jane felt a brief pang of guilt as she opened up the door to her apartment and looked into the empty living room. It was nearly nine o’clock. She hadn’t meant to work so late, but she’d gotten caught up in the brief she’d been writing and lost track of time. Adam must have given up on her and gone out somewhere. She looked around to see if he’d left a note, and her eyes fell upon a white envelope on top of her coffee table. She walked over to it and read the messy handwriting scrawled on the outside:

“Push play --->”

He had positioned the remote control next to it, and she looked at it curiously. It was one of her old remotes, and it took her a second to recognize it – the one for her old VCR. She looked up and saw that someone had taken the VCR out of storage and hooked it up to the front of the TV. Jane smiled, looking at it. What was he up to now? She picked up the remote and hit Play.

The video was cued up to a close-up shot of two guitars facing each other, and it slowly panned out to reveal Adam and his lead guitarist, Jimmy, playing the opening notes of a song. She recognized it immediately, not needing to read the title card that came up at the corner of the screen:

Maroon 5

Must Get Out

Today Show

February 4, 2004

She stood watching the performance for a minute, humming along with the chorus.

I’m lifting you up.

I’m letting you down.

I’m dancing ‘til dawn.

I’m fooling around.

I’m not giving up.

I’m making your love.

She remembered the envelope then, and reached down to open it. A set of keys to a rental car fell out into her hand, along with a single sheet of paper. She smiled, reading the line Adam had written as she simultaneously heard a younger version of him singing the same words to her from the TV screen:

“This city’s made us crazy and we must get out.”

The bedroom door swung open, and Adam poked his head out into the room, looking at her tentatively. He broke into a grin when he saw the smile on her face.

“You didn’t have anything better to do this evening?” she asked him.

He shook his head, coming toward her and taking the car keys back out of her hand.

“I know it sucks,” he said. “I’m famous, and it’s a big change, and it’s the worst part of the deal.”

“I just needed some time—“ she began, but Adam continued, slipping his arms around her.

“You needed a break,” he said. “I get that. We can take breaks when it gets to be too much, but we can do it together. OK? Let’s go away this weekend, just the two of us. No paps. No publicists. No cell phones. Just you and me and the road. What do you say? Will you come with me?”

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