Perfectly Clear
Page 16
By the end of the year, we were seeing each other almost every day. Our conversations had gotten more personal over time. Charley confided in me that she was contemplating leaving Maria. Tensions had been building between them for a long time and neither one was happy. The stories of their marriage reminded me of my own. Charley said Maria had a jealous streak and a nasty temper. She often lashed out, sometimes physically. Charley hadn’t told anyone else about her marital problems. She was too embarrassed to admit another failed relationship. She had told Maria she wanted out and moved to the guest room with the intention of looking for her own place when she had time. Maria was in denial about the split, but Charley felt it would be best for both of them, so she was determined to see it through.
I lifted my water glass for a toast. “Amen!” I said. “Been there. Done that. And my life is so much better now. I’m here for you, Charley. I know this is hard.”
Just before Christmas, Charley invited me to lunch at the tearoom at the Beverly Hills Montage Hotel. Her longtime entertainment attorney, Elaine Rogers, was coming to town from Boston, and Charley wanted me to meet her.
The Montage is a hip, swanky place in the middle of Beverly Hills. It was one of my favorite places to take clients. I walked in a few minutes late and joined Charley and Elaine at a window table overlooking the hotel courtyard. We settled into a comfortable conversation, talking and laughing and enjoying ourselves. At one point, I sensed someone watching us. I wondered if the person was looking at Charley. I’d noticed that sometimes people stared at her, even though it was 2009 and we were in freethinking Southern California. She was masculine in her dress and her demeanor, and sometimes I was self-conscious when I saw someone looking at her. Were they judging her? Judging me?
Charley excused herself to go to the restroom and I took the opportunity to look around. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a couple I knew from the church. Sarah and David Ehrlich were wealthy, high-level Scientologists from Beverly Hills. When Charley walked past their table, both made a point of looking her up and down, from her short mannish haircut to her polished wing-tip shoes. Once she passed, they began nattering to each other. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what they were saying. Stay clear!
When Charley returned, I took my turn to go to the restroom and made sure I stopped to greet the Ehrlichs.
“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked, as if she hadn’t seen me.
“I’m here for a business meeting,” I said.
“Oh!” she said. “Well, who are you meeting with?”
I knew why she was asking. At that moment, I felt so protective of Charley. Who were those smug, sorry-ass people to judge her?
“A friend in the music industry and her attorney.”
“You really should be careful, Michelle,” he said. A wave of righteous anger swept over me.
“Thank you, David, but I don’t think I asked you for your opinion, did I?” With my voice steady and a smile plastered on my face, I added, “I don’t think I need your opinion. I think I do pretty well on my own. Don’t you?” With that, I returned to the table.
At that moment, something woke in me. The Ehrlichs believed it was their right—no, their obligation—to caution me against someone they knew absolutely nothing about, and for the sole reason that she was gay. They would never get to know someone like Charley because of their narrow-minded, church-sanctioned judgment of “people like her.” I was sorry for them—and sorry for me that I had actually considered allowing my friendship with such a genuine, kindhearted person to slip through my fingers because of the same sanctimonious thinking. Let’s see, I thought: the Ehrlichs versus Charley. They paid a great deal of money to be called good Scientologists. But Charley, who had done more for the greater good of humanity than anyone else I knew, donating so much of her time and money to women’s issues and social causes, would be turned away from the church.
I didn’t care what people thought of our friendship. Nothing was going to dissuade me from continuing. She was the most sincere and straightforward person I’d ever known.
When lunch was over, Charley said she had one more meeting at the hotel. If I waited, we could have a drink later and talk more about the play. I was so happy that she’d asked me to stay. We met again in the tearoom when her meeting was over. Over drinks, we discussed the music she was composing for Twist and plans for staging the production in Atlanta. If it hit big there, there was a chance it could run on Broadway. I was so excited to be a part of it, I said, however small my contribution ended up being.
Charley switched topics from the show to my divorce. I told her I’d thought it had been settled months ago, but then Sean decided he wanted more money and the proceedings stalled.
“It’s frustrating,” I said. “And very contentious.”
I told her stories about the marriage and how difficult it had been for many years. She looked pained. “I’m just a checkbook to Maria too,” she said. “Everyone told me that from day one, but I didn’t listen.”
Charley sipped her drink and went on. “She finds fault with everything about me. My shirt is too tight. My pants are too loose. Nothing I do is right and I’m losing my confidence.” I had never seen Charley so vulnerable, and it made me sad.
“I can’t imagine you allowing someone to push you around that way,” I said.
“I thought the same about you,” she replied. We both smiled. I wanted to comfort Charley. I looked at her and thought, What a dear, dear friend you are.
“You are one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met,” I said. “From the way you hold yourself, to what you’ve accomplished with your music, to your heart, I just think you’re amazing.”
I knew when I went home that evening that, after nearly a year of getting to know each other, Charley and I had entered a more intimate chapter of our friendship.
* * *
I spent the holidays alone at home with the kids. I often found myself looking at the house across the street, wondering about Charley and Maria. Were they fighting? Had they made a resolution to give their relationship another chance? Was the light on in the guest room? I had a knot in the pit of my stomach when I thought the next time I saw Charley she could tell me that things were better between them. Why would that bother me? I wondered. I decided the reason was that I didn’t think Maria treated Charley the way she deserved to be treated and I wanted her to be happy.
Months passed and many meetings later, Charley invited me to the Montage for a meeting with a team of television producers. If I was going to be dabbling in the entertainment industry with Dror, she said, I needed to start learning the ropes. I promised I’d join them right after a meeting with colleagues that I had scheduled at the same restaurant. I always wore pantsuits, but that day I decided to slip into a blue Lanvin dress I’d bought before I got pregnant and never wore. The dress was beautiful and fit like a glove. I felt especially confident in it.
While meeting with my colleagues, a handsome man who was seated at the bar began flirting with me. The people at my table teased me: “Jeez, Michelle, that’s a good-looking guy!” “Go to the bar and talk to him!” “You have to start dating again sometime!” I suppose I was flattered by the attention, but the idea of striking something up with a man made me shudder. I chalked up my reaction to hormones. I had given birth to twins and I’d nursed them until a few months earlier. I had four kids under the age of nine and a company to run. The last thing I was thinking about was going on a date.
Just as my meeting was ending, Charley walked into the tearoom. I loved how confidently she strode across the restaurant floor. She was such an attractive woman, I thought. I waved her over and introduced her to my staff, then joined her at another table and waited for her guests to arrive. It was about four p.m. and a glow in the room from the setting winter sun was breathtaking. I found myself wishing the television producers wouldn’t show. But they did.
“Well, it doesn’t sound all that interesting to me, but I’m not your demographic. I’m not gay!” About the third time I said it, I caught myself. What am I doing? I asked myself. I need to stop this! Why do I feel like I need to make the point that I’m not gay?
Eventually the four of us moved to a set of couches closer to the bar and switched from tea to wine. Charley and I were sitting opposite the pair of producers. At one point, I crossed my legs and caught Charley staring at them. She quickly looked away, but I was flooded with confusing emotions. Chills ran through my body and my hair stood up on the nape of my neck. My lips tingled and my heart rate took off. I took a big swig of wine and said I had to leave. Right then. Immediately. My children were waiting at home, I said. I couldn’t stay out any longer. Charley, knowing that I had a babysitter with the kids, looked puzzled at my sudden need to bolt, but she graciously nodded and smiled.
She walked me out of the restaurant and asked if everything was okay.
“Yes! Of course!” I said. “Everything is fine! I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I rushed to my car and sped away. My emotions ran wild. One minute I felt as if I couldn’t get a deep enough breath. The next minute I was giddy.
When I got home, I raced up the stairs to check on the kids. I went to my room, closed the door behind me and threw myself on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
This woman is making me feel things I’ve never felt, I thought. In my whole life I have never gotten chills like that. I am infatuated with her. Oh my God! I am a lesbian.
* * *
A few nights later, Charley showed up at my door. She’d never been to my house before, even though we lived across the street from each other. I was getting the kids ready for bed, when the nanny came in to say that one of our neighbors wanted to speak to me. That’s odd, I thought. I ran downstairs and found Charley waiting. She was a mess. Her hair was tousled, her face was scratched up and her shirt was splattered with blood.
“Oh my gosh! Charley! What happened?” I cried. I retrieved a warm washcloth and swabbed her bloody nose. “What happened?” I asked again.
Charley said she’d gotten home late from a meeting with her Twist collaborator. They were working on the play and she’d lost track of the time. Maria had often made groundless accusations about Charley cheating and she’d become even more possessive when she sensed the relationship slipping away. This time, it was about her friend from Twist, which was absurd. Charley and the woman had been platonic friends for years, and she had been happily married to a former basketball star for nearly three decades. Charley tried to keep the peace by assuring Maria that nothing was going on except a working friendship, and then prepared herself for the worst. Strangely, Maria suddenly turned calm and asked Charley to sit down to dinner. Charley cautiously took her seat at the table and Maria put a plate of food in front of her. Just as Charley picked up her fork, Maria punched her so hard that Charley saw stars.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I walked out,” Charley said. “I didn’t know where to go.” I wiped more blood from her face and looked into her warm brown eyes.
“I’m glad you came here,” I said.
The hour was late. Charley said she was sure Maria would be in bed asleep. “I need to go home and get some rest,” she said. “I’m embarrassed that I came here.”
We hugged and I asked Charley to text when she got home. I wanted to know she was safe. I watched out the window until I saw the light go on in the guest room. A while later, I received her message. “In bed,” she wrote. “All is good. Sweet dreams.”
* * *
With spring break arriving, Charley mentioned that she wanted to go to Austin in April to visit her daughter, Jaime. Maria had put up a fuss about it, Charley said, but she hadn’t seen Jaime for a while and she missed her. Charley was determined to go and I encouraged her to do so.
“Nothing is more important than your children,” I said. She seemed grateful for the “support” and, against Maria’s wishes, booked the flight.
She texted me from the Los Angeles airport while she waited for her flight, and then again when she landed in Texas. The second time surprised me.
“I miss you,” she wrote. I thought it was so sweet.
“I miss you too,” I responded.
Later in the day, she sent another text.
“Guess where I am. I’m sitting in Anthropologie while my daughter is shopping.”
I texted right back that Dror’s wife, Virginia, had designed a line of beautiful lingerie for the clothing retailer.
“It’s called Bacini,” I wrote. “It means ‘little kisses.’”
She texted back, “Yours?”
I gasped when I read it. Had we just crossed some kind of threshold? I tried to think of something clever to text back, but I was in a dither. A moment passed and she texted again.
“Just kidding!” she wrote.
Was Charley really flirting with me? Or was she joking? It made me want to pull my hair out.
The flirty texts continued for the whole time Charley was away. I couldn’t wait for the next one to arrive. I wasn’t sure what was happening between us, but I knew Charley made me feel the way no one else had. I was certain she valued our friendship, but I wondered if the infatuation was more mine than hers. A month of flirty texts had passed and we knew it was time to address this newfound “something.”
I met her at the Parkway Grill in Pasadena. We were seated at her regular table in front of the fireplace. I felt slightly awkward after our string of flirty texts. We both stared at the menu without speaking. The knot in my stomach tightened. Then Charley grabbed the arm of my chair and pulled it close to her. She leaned in to me and looked deeply into my eyes. “What are we doing?” she asked.
My words stuck in my throat. As Charley waited for a response, I went to another place. It was almost as if my spirit had left my body, the same way it had felt years earlier when my car was careening out of control and I surrendered to the inevitability of my fate, whatever that was supposed to be. Except now I had a choice. I literally saw myself approaching a fork in the road. One was a continuation of the route I’d been on and brought me back to a church that had taught me how to amass lots of money and collect prestigious awards, but didn’t seem to value love. The other was a scary road with bumps and hairpin turns, but led to freedom and a place where I could be me. Standing at the fork, I didn’t hesitate.
“I choose you,” I said.
Coming out of my trancelike state, I saw that Charley looked bewildered. I explained my vision and said that the direction my life was about to take was crystal clear to me.
“I choose you,” I said again. “I don’t know what this means and I can’t be responsible for breaking up your marriage.”
Charley moved even closer. “Michelle, my marriage was over a long time ago,” she said. “I don’t know what all this means either—all I know is that I care deeply for you.”
We had a lot to figure out. Would we have a secret love affair until she physically left Maria? Would I stay hidden in the closet? Could we stay in the friend zone until she divorced and then see what happened? What about the church? Neither of us had answers, but both of us knew there was no turning back from the feelings we had for each other.
I don’t even remember the drive back to work or what I did for the rest of the day.
My cell phone rang at five the next morning. Charley said she hadn’t been able to sleep. Could we meet at Starbucks before work? I hurriedly dressed and got the kids fed and ready for their day. I couldn’
t get to Charley fast enough.
She was already waiting when I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. As soon as she spotted me, she jumped out of her car and into the passenger side of mine. This was all so new. I still had a difficult time looking her in the eye. I didn’t know what to say, but I had never wanted anyone so much. She moved her hand to the back of my neck and slowly pulled me to her. Her lips pressed against mine and we shared the most passionate, loving kiss I had ever experienced. I didn’t care who was watching. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I reached up and touched my lips. It was as though they had been awakened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Found Out
Mary Mauser was becoming impatient. It had been months since I’d been active in the church, and she was losing credibility with the higher-ups. It was her job as my FSM, my guide, to reel me in, but she hadn’t been successful. Every time she called to set up a meeting, I gave her an excuse. I was too busy with the kids. My business had taken me away. I had a new project that required so much of my time. The church was surely asking why I wasn’t being “handled.” Why hadn’t she been able to get me back into auditing? When had I last signed on for my next step on the Bridge?
It was a Scientology tenet that members pulled away only when they had done something against the church and were loath to reveal their “overts” (harmful acts against the group) or confess their “withholds” (failure to disclose those overts). Mary and others would have assumed I was guilty of being “out ethics,” breaking the church’s punitive moral code in one way or another. As my FSM, she was in charge of getting me back “into ethics” and keeping me in line; the longer I resisted, the more money and credibility she lost.