It’s our first spotting of the former Bond actor since his fall from grace. Even in these grainy photos, it’s clear to see that Parker has gained a significant amount of weight since he was officially fired from the Bond franchise.
Rumors of his drinking problem have plagued the actor for years, but he’s been spotted out at clubs and bars on multiple nights, and there were several instances where paparazzi caught him puking out of the side of his car before being driven away.
The drinking has also put a strain on Parker’s relationship with Jacinda Lockwood. Rumors of a potential split were fueled by her decision to remain in London when Parker made his Broadway debut in A Raisin in the Sun, and the two haven’t been photographed together in months. Sources close to the couple insist they’ll be divorced before the end of the year.
There had been whispers of Parker’s bad behavior dating all the way back to The Hildebrand Rarity. While Murder on Wheels, his second Bond film, was in production, Dan Mitchell claimed that Parker had him fired. The up-and-coming star—who later landed the lead in the hilarious Ivan the Not Too Terrible—told Entertainment Weekly that Parker was jealous of him being younger and more fit, and personally ordered him removed from the project.
But it was a drunken incident on the third Bond set that seemed to be the final straw for Parker, who had been labeled as “difficult” and “combative.” The film had already been delayed once due to Parker’s behavior, but it seemed that his time away did nothing to fix the tensions on set. A video of the moment when Parker confronted the director, Ryan Ulrich, went viral. Although most of the footage is out of focus and the conversation at times is hard to make out, several sources have confirmed that things had been tense between Parker and Ulrich since the very first Bond movie they did together.
After he was fired, Parker’s team released a statement that read, in part, “Gabe is proud of the work he’s done as the first American Bond, and looks forward to seeing who will be the next to step into the legendary icon’s shoes.”
The day after, he checked into rehab.
Chapter
10
There’s no reason I should be following Gabe in his car right now. The interview is over. I should be heading home to get dinner with Katie and type up my notes. But, because I’ve learned literally nothing from the last time I did this, I’m driving in the opposite direction of where I need to go.
It takes me a while to realize that I recognize the windy road we’re going up. Like the restaurant, things are different, but it’s a subtle difference. Different landscaping on some of the houses, a few new structures and some unexpected paint jobs.
His house, however, hasn’t changed.
He pulls into the driveway and gestures for me to do the same. I nose carefully into the space, leaving a wide berth between my Honda Civic and his top-of-the-line Tesla.
Just another reminder of how different our lives are. How different they’ve always been.
I’m angry. It’s an anger I don’t fully understand, but I know it’s hiding something else. At least, that’s what my therapist thinks.
“You go to rage first,” she’s told me. “It’s your safe place when emotions are high.”
If that’s true then it makes sense. Because it’s not as simple as being mad at Gabe for lying to me about Jacinda ten years ago. I’m full of a thousand nameless, conflicting emotions right now. If I’m being fair to myself, I’ve been churning with them since I got the assignment.
And anger is easier.
It’s easier to be angry at Gabe for what happened ten years ago. Not just the embarrassment I felt in realizing that I’d been sucked into his magnetic pull and spit out. But I can also fault him for the way I can never tell if the success I have is due to my own skills or because of him. I heap all that blame on him. I lean hard into those feelings—those safe, powerful, angry feelings.
“You’re still renting the same place?” I ask.
The words are only slightly bitter.
“I bought it,” Gabe says. “You were right. I didn’t need something big and grand.”
We’re standing in his front yard, like two neighbors. Like I might have stopped by for a cup of sugar or tea and we’re catching up.
I realize, once we’re in the house, that I’m looking for something.
Or rather, I’m looking for someone.
Gabe’s dog.
She had been a puppy—just a dozen weeks old when we met ten years ago. A literal lifetime in dog years. It seems entirely possible that she’s gone now.
I follow Gabe through the house, heading to the same place we’d gone that first time I’d been here: the kitchen. On the way, I don’t see anything that indicates a dog lives here. There’s no dog dish, no leash hanging by the door, no dog bed in the living room.
I look out into the yard but it’s empty as well.
It makes me unbearably sad, the passage of time hitting me like a load of bricks. Ten years. Ten years have passed.
So much has happened. Madison at the restaurant has a ten-year-old kid. Gabe’s divorced, sober, and planning a comeback. I’m divorced, desperately wishing I wasn’t sober at the moment, and too scared to write anything outside the familiar brand I’ve created for myself.
And now Gabe’s dog is dead too.
I want to cry.
“Water?” Gabe asks.
“Sure,” I say, my voice embarrassingly thick.
I clear my throat before I speak again.
“I can’t stay,” I remind him.
It’s probably the fifth time I’ve said that. At this point, I don’t know if I’m telling him or telling myself. The addict’s version of “just one more.”
The truth is I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what this is.
I take the water Gabe offers me and the two of us drink, standing in his kitchen, memories of our last time here closing in on me until I feel like I can’t breathe.