Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1)
T. Torrest
Prologue
COME SEE THE PARADISE
Years before Trip Wiley could be seen on movie screens all over the world, he could be seen sitting in the desk behind me in my high school English class.
I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who Trip Wiley is. But on the off chance you’ve been living under a rock for the past decade, just know that these days, he’s the actor found at the top of every casting director’s wish list. He’s incredibly talented and insanely gorgeous, the combination of which has made him very rich, very famous and very desirable.
And not just to casting directors, either.
I can’t confirm any of the gossip from his early years out in Tinseltown, but based on what I knew of his life before he was a celebrity, I can tell you that the idea of Girls-Throwing-Themselves-At-Trip is not a new concept.
I should know. I was one of them.
And my life hasn’t been the same since.
Trip and I met when we were teenagers, way back before anyone, himself included, could even dream he’d turn into the Hollywood commodity that he is today. This was back in 1990, and I cite the year only to avoid dumbfounding you when references to big hair or stretch pants are mentioned. Although, come to think of it, I am from Northern New Jersey, which may serve as explanation enough.
Make no mistake, I am not bashing Jersey. It is my home, where I was born and bred and is my absolute favorite place on God’s green Earth. We have beautiful beaches, miles of shopping malls, the best food in the country and the world’s greatest city only minutes outside our door. If you’ve ever been here, I don’t need to tell you, you’ve already learned for yourself.
And if you haven’t... Well, then please don’t believe everything you’ve ever seen on TV.
It is this mindset that gets our scrunchies in a twist whenever anyone outside our garden state feels they have the right to make a negative comment about it.
Just to avoid any bodily injury when visiting, I’ve compiled a short list of rules for out-of-towners. We New Jerseyans do not find the following comments entertaining:
1. “Oh, you live in New Joizey? What exit?”
2. “Hey, let’s all go downthashaw.”
3. “Yo, fuggheddaboutit!”
Other commentary that can get your ass kicked quickly and efficiently:
Anything regarding the Turnpike, the smell, the toxic waste dumps or the swamps. This also includes, but is not limited to, references about the mafia, gobbagool or the Bada Bing, even though we all secretly love The Sopranos.
The vast majority of us are nothing like the people you’ve seen on “Jerseylicious” or “The Real Housewives of New Jersey”, and please don’t even get me started on those knuckleheads from “Jersey Shore”.
But obviously, I’m getting ahead of myself.
In 1990, Jerseyans didn’t have to deal with such negative representation. At that time, we were West Orange’s Thomas Edison and Paterson’s Allen Ginsberg. Sayreville laid claim to Bon Jovi, Elizabeth was home to Judy Blume and Freehold was all about Springsteen. Hoboken is where Frank Sinatra hung his hat, and Metuchen is where David Copperfield first pulled a rabbit out of his. Back then, even Martha Stewart was only just starting to show off all the “good things” she’d learned as a crafty adolescent Jersey Girl from Nutley.
And even in boring old Norman, we had a brush with greatness, even if we didn’t know it at the time. These days, we can take credit for churning out the most sought-after leading man in Hollywood. Because today, Norman is the place that Trip Wiley always refers to as “home”.
PART ONE
1990
Chapter 1
LISA
Lisa DeSanto and I have been friends since she moved here when we were both seven. Her family originated from Atlantic City (which seemed incredibly exotic and worldly at the time) to head north and plant roots in the forgettable little suburb of Norman. Thank God they just happened to buy a house on the same street where I had lived my entire life.
I remember being so excited when I first heard that a girl my age was going to be living only three houses away! Until that point, I was relegated to hanging around the neighborhood with my little brother and the four McAllister boys next door. The only other girls on our street were Flora and Phoebe Kopinsky who were just babies at the time.