Getting Back

by Cindy Rizzo

  She heard Ruth’s intake of breath.

  “I’d like that a lot, but unfortunately the case hasn’t settled so we’re proceeding with the trial.”

  Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Ruth, do you know what you want, for us I mean?”

  “I do. I’ve known for a long time, but I only did something about it the night I decided to go to the reunion. Then the moment I saw you at Fowler, I knew I had to take the risk to ask you whether anything might be possible. Really, Elizabeth, the one who has had to go on this journey is you. I’m already there waiting with a suitcase filled with hope and fear.”

  “Fear? Of what?”

  “That you’ll tell me good-bye.”

  “Because you once did that to me?”

  “No,” said Ruth, her voice full of surprise. “I don’t think you’d deliberately turn the tables on me. You’re not callous and manipulative like that.”

  Elizabeth looked down at her lap. “Then you have a higher opinion of me than I do.” Her voice was quiet. “I’ve been so frightened that I might hurt you as payback.”

  “There are people in your circumstance who would, but not you. No, my fear is about the possibility that you just won’t feel up to it, either because you don’t want a serious relationship at this point in your life or you can’t get past what I did and think I’ll hurt you again.”

  Elizabeth took a moment to respond. Everything Ruth was saying had a ring of truth to it. “I’ve felt all of those things at one point or another. After Gretchen, I decided I never wanted another relationship, which is why I agreed to go on these silly little dates that Margaret sets up. And when you and I talked at the reunion, it seemed preposterous that we would ever consider getting back together. But every decision I’ve made and everything I’ve convinced myself was real and true flies out the window when it comes to you.”

  “We do have a lot to talk about.”

  “Yes. Ruth, I’m not quite at that destination you referred to, but I can look ahead and see it. I hope that’s all right for now.”

  Elizabeth had hosted many cocktail parties and dinners at her apartment in New York, which was spacious enough to accommodate fifty or more people. But she had to admit, the home she’d just entered in Beverly Hills with its high-ceilinged, cavernous living room that opened up to the outdoor pool area with a gorgeous view of the city below was unrivaled. As they entered into the crowd, Pam was instantly recognized and generously introduced Elizabeth to a parade of people—producers, actors, technicians, and a cute casting director who put a twinkle in Pam’s eyes. Good, thought Elizabeth.

  She knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d be introduced to some writer and would have to endure the inevitable conversation about a godforsaken manuscript, likely sitting in a drawer for years. It took all of ten minutes until she found herself listening to the plot synopsis of a crime noir based in LA of course. As she stood there smiling politely, she felt a tug on her arm.

  “I need to talk to you, right now.”

  Margaret. What could be so urgent?

  She practically dragged Elizabeth off to a secluded corner near the pool, offering a forced smile to anyone they encountered along the way.

  “Margaret, what’s going on? I thought you were busy hunting, or some such thing.”

  “I was until I saw him. He’s here.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

  “The son. Mark Miller.”

  “Ohhh, Ruth’s son. I’d like to meet him.”

  “You can’t,” she said quickly. “Not until I tell you everything.”

  “What do you mean, tell me everything?”

  “Well, first off, I lied to you, but only for the noblest of reasons.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. What did you lie about?”

  “I told you I’d seen him recently at a party. Well, it wasn’t so recently. It was at a holiday party last December.”

  “Why would you lie about a thing like that?”

  Margaret gazed down at the floor. “Because it’s related to the other thing I lied about. I told you I didn’t talk to him, but I did. That’s why I couldn’t let you run into him before I told you.”

  Elizabeth was losing her patience. “Okay, now you’ve lost me. What is this all about?”

  Margaret sighed. “It’s about you and Ruth. When I first saw Mark, I really was floored by how much he looks like you. I guess I took that as some kind of sign that you and Ruth truly do belong together. So I hatched a plan and asked him to help me convince his mother to attend the reunion. The rest of it the two of you did yourselves.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth in surprise. Margaret had enlisted Ruth’s son in a plan to reunite her with Elizabeth. “So he knows who I am?”

  “Yes, sort of. I didn’t tell him the spooky stuff about how he looks just like you and all that.”

  Elizabeth let out a breath of exasperation. “Take me over to him, right now.”

  “Wait, let me finish, I’m almost done. When I told Mark how important it was for Ruth to attend the reunion, he said I should talk to his sister, that she could convince their mother to do anything.”

  “Lauren?”

  “Yes.”

  “You involved her as well?”

  “Yes and it seemed to work.”

  “I guess so. Ruth told me that Lauren put the pressure on her to accept the invitation.”

  Elizabeth thought it was best not to tell Margaret about Ruth’s middle of the night encounter with Miss Havisham from Great Expectations.

  She recognized him at once without even a glance at the “No on 8” name tag he was wearing. It was as she’d been told. Their hair color was the same shade of light brown and he had the same straight, patrician nose as Elizabeth. As she approached, she saw him smile at someone, and it was almost like looking in a mirror. No wonder Margaret had been so affected. He was dressed smartly—off-white khaki slacks, light blue shirt open at the collar, and a darker blue blazer. He appeared to be relaxed but focused, having easily slipped into a conversation with an older straight couple.

  Margaret tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned and Elizabeth saw a big, open-mouthed smile as he recognized her friend. He raised a finger to communicate that he’d be right with her and then turned quickly back to the couple.

  “We’re very hopeful that if we can take some of the central counties, we’ll be able to win.”

  She watched him interacting. She was in no rush to be introduced. It was enough for now to observe him in action. Ruth had said he was volunteering for the campaign and he appeared knowledgeable and in his element. When the couple finally walked away, he turned back to them and caught his first sight of Elizabeth—his mouth agape, eyes open—an expression that reminded her just a bit of Reese upon hearing some bit of incredible news. The comparison made her smile to herself.

  Margaret leaned forward and hugged him.

  “Well, Mark, our little plan worked. May I introduce you to Elizabeth Morrison, although it seems from the look on your face that you already recognize her.”

  He appeared to be more overcome with emotion than she was, although it was likely that she was just more practiced at hiding it. She held out her hand to him and he took it.

  “Mark.”

  She was unable to say anything else. What can one say in such a moment?

  “I’m going to circulate and try to catch up with a few people,” said Margaret. “This is a work event for me.”

  Mark nodded, still looking at Elizabeth.

  “Good seeing you again,” he said.

  Margaret chuckled.

  “I’ll leave you two to your conversation, such as it is.”

  Elizabeth took in a deep breath and let it out.

  “So.”

 
“You know my mother.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That was a stupid thing to say.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him. “Why don’t you get us both a drink and we’ll go sit somewhere. Can I take you away from your campaign duties for a few minutes?”

  She sipped at a vodka martini after they’d found an unoccupied area toward the back of the room. Elizabeth pointed to Mark’s name tag, which distinguished the event’s organizers from the invited guests.

  “Ruth told me you were working very hard on this. I guess I should thank you or something.”

  “No need. I think everyone who cares about what’s right should be doing this and I have my own personal reasons.”

  “Yes, I know. Are you able to balance this with your job?”

  She instantly regretted the question. It sounded so parental.

  “Terrence Carr is my boss, a few levels up, of course. I work at his studio.”

  He was referring to one member of the host couple and didn’t seem upset by the question.

  “Mark, there you are. I was wondering where you’d gone off to. We’re going to start the program in about ten minutes.”

  A short, stocky man with a receding hairline, also wearing a name tag, stood in front of them. Elizabeth and Mark both rose out of their seats. The man turned to Elizabeth.

  “This guy,” he said as he pointed to Mark, “is a godsend. He works nights, weekends, running all over LA county. I don’t know what we’d do without him. You must be so proud. I know I’d be if he was my son. He told me his mother is a lesbian. Are you the judge or is that your partner?”

  For the second time that night, Elizabeth was at a loss for words.

  She heard nervous laughter coming from Mark.

  “Michael, no. She’s not…”

  “The judge,” said Margaret, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. “She’s the publisher, Elizabeth Morrison. And yes, she’s very proud.” She held out her hand. “Margaret Halperin of Halperin Public Relations.”

  More laughter from Mark.

  “Well, a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve got to see to our program before we start losing people.”

  As he walked away, Elizabeth finally found her voice.

  “Margaret, why did you let that man think…”

  “Oh, what’s the harm Elizabeth?”

  Mark placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll straighten everything out with him later.”

  Terrence Carr opened the program and welcomed everyone to his home, informing them that there was a fundraising goal of one hundred thousand dollars for the night and they would all be asked to help meet it.

  There were a few other speakers, members of couples who’d gotten married after the state court’s positive ruling, a decision that was threatened by this ballot initiative. Some of them had children and explained how meaningful marriage was to them as a family. Others talked about how difficult it had been to assert their rights under the state’s domestic partnership law because it wasn’t recognized as real marriage. There were two elderly women in their eighties who’d been together almost fifty years. Elizabeth thought of her and Ruth.

  The campaign chair then stepped up and talked about how the money raised would be put to good use educating voters and getting them to the polls. He then began to talk about the many campaign workers who had been dedicating their lives to No on 8.

  “I’m not just talking about members of our LGBT community. There are scores of allies, straight people, who are working with us to make sure that everyone is treated fairly. I want to introduce you to one of these people, a young man who works for Terrence at Horizon Studios and has devoted countless hours to this effort. He grew up as the child of lesbians and he’s here tonight with one of his mothers. Mark Miller and his mom, Elizabeth Morrison, would you please raise your hands?”

  Elizabeth groaned. Now all of Hollywood would think she had a son. Ruth’s son. Mark raised his hand and put his arm around her. He laughed through the applause they received.

  “My mom is gonna get such a kick out this,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Elizabeth.

  Twenty minutes later and ten thousand dollars poorer, Elizabeth went in search of Pam who she worried she had abandoned. She found her in the pool area talking intently with the casting director. There seemed to be no need to interrupt, so she continued her search, this time for Margaret.

  “Well, now everyone here has been fooled by your little joke,” she said when she’d gotten Margaret alone.

  “Oh so what? You’ll probably end up as his stepmother sooner or later. I bet next time you’re back here you’ll be introducing him as your son at some other party.”

  “I think you put him in an awkward position with these people. Now he has to explain it all to them.”

  “He’ll be fine, besides, the only one feeling awkward, Elizabeth, is you. How about we collect our little group and get going? I have a date tonight after I deposit all of you back where you belong.”

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. But first I want to say good night to him.”

  “All right, mama bear. Meet me near the door so we can thank our hosts for picking our pockets and be gone.” She shook her head. “And geesh, Elizabeth, did you really pledge ten thousand dollars? Who knew marriage was so important to you?”

  “What was I supposed to do? They all think I’m the mother of their star volunteer.”

  Mark was collecting pledge slips over by one of the bars. Elizabeth stood to the side until he was free.

  “I didn’t want to leave without telling you what a pleasure it’s been to meet you. And I’ll be sure to tell your real mother how well regarded you are here.”

  “You know, it’s not surprising that people would think you’re my mother. I mean, there’s an uncanny resemblance, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth breathed out the word. There was no use denying it.

  “Now if you tell me that Casablanca’s your favorite movie and you’ve read everything Thomas Hardy has ever written, I’ll have to fly home, find the obstetrician who delivered me, and ask her to explain herself.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth went dry. She closed her eyes.

  “What?” said Mark. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “Mark, when are you able to leave here? I mean, when are your campaign duties over? I think we should go back to my hotel and talk.”

  “I just need a few minutes and I can meet you by the door.”

  She debated whether to have him come up to her room or stay down in the hotel bar. Had her room been a suite, she might have felt comfortable, but a standard hotel room, even a spacious one at the Ritz, was still after all a bedroom. So she opted for the bar, which was a little too reminiscent of her meeting with Ruth at the reunion. Should they have instead gone to his apartment? She was afraid to see whether it was decorated in her favorite color palette of beige, white, and forest green or filled with all the books and music she loved. The information about Casablanca and Thomas Hardy, the subject of Elizabeth’s senior thesis, had been quite enough for one night. The bar felt safer.

  She’d said a quick good night to Pam, hugging her and whispering, “Your casting director’s quite lovely. Good luck.”

  “Remember what I said about Ruth. Soar!”

  Mark had his own car so there was no need for the limo. It was one of those new Toyota hybrids, the interior a bit cluttered with books and papers. He cleared out the front passenger seat for her.

  “Sorry, scripts and books we’ve optioned.”

  “I can’t recall if you have any of ours.”

  “Not assigned to me. It would be fun though to know I was working with one of your authors.”

  “So you
function as, what is it called, a script doctor?”

  “Pretty much. I hardly ever get final credit, but it’s a job for now.”

  “Is this what you were hoping to do after college?”

  “I wanted to work in publishing, but my mom went to law school with the studio’s general counsel so she was able to arrange the interview.”

  Publishing, of course. Why hadn’t Ruth called her to arrange an interview? She knew the answer to that question. Ruth likely thought that the last thing Elizabeth would do was give Bennett Miller’s son a job. She had to admit that prior to the reunion it was probably an accurate assumption. But now everything had changed and she was tempted to say that he should drop all of this silly Hollywood nonsense and come back to New York with her. In her mind she was already assigning Reese as his mentor.

  She laced her fingers together in her lap and squeezed them as a way of purging this fantasy from her mind. After all, she’d just met this young man a few hours ago. She hardly knew him. And yet, she felt as if she did. The connection had been immediate. She squeezed her fingers together again.

  “You said the Ritz, right?”

  “Yes. Your mother told me you edited the literary journal at Bennington.”

  “She did? Well, that’s embarrassing, sharing my little college editing experience with a big publisher.” His nervous laugh again. “I’m sure you were so impressed.”

  Elizabeth tried to inject a note of reassurance into her tone. “She told me because I did the same thing at Fowler my junior year.”

  “Do you write as well?”

  “I did back then. Who knows, I might again.” She paused before continuing and then just decided to take the conversation where she knew it needed to go sooner or later. “Margaret told me she informed you about the, uh, relationship your mother and I had in college.”

  “Yes.”