He turned, glancing over his shoulder at her, his eyes filled with humor and tenderness. She frowned. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t transpose anyone else’s features over his. He wasn’t Hugh Jackman or Jude Law or even Steve McQueen. He was just Mark. Her Mark.
Both friend and stranger.
She touched a hand to her cheek, remembering the odd tingle she had felt both times he had pretended to touch her. She tried to remember the last time she had felt that tingle—that unspoken promise that something magical was about to happen.
Had it been like that the first time Dean kissed her? She frowned, struggling to remember exactly where that kiss had taken place. Had it been on the steps of the Met after the Frida Kahlo exhibit? Or over the morel risotto at Balthazar on Spring Street? It had only been a little over a year since their breakup, but she could barely remember their first date, much less their first kiss. Even Dean’s face was growing fuzzy in her memory, like some half-remembered actor from a black-and-white movie she’d seen as a child.
Surely she must have felt that tingle during her freshman year at Wake Forest when she’d surrendered her body and her soul to a graphic arts student with killer abs, a pack-of-unfiltered-Camels-a-day cigarette habit, and the sleepy, dark-lashed eyes of a young Al Pacino. She had always been a good girl and he had been her first real bad-boy crush. Come to think of it, what she’d felt that night hadn’t exactly been a tingle but more of a dizzying rush of lust, followed by a siren in her head warning her she was about to make a terrible mistake she would never regret.
Nope, she was pretty sure the last time she had felt that tingle was in the fourth grade when Chris McClain had passed her a note at lunch that said, “You’re reall prety. If you give me your twinkie, I’ll be your boyfriend.” (Of course he had dumped her the following week for a girl whose mom packed Ho Hos in her New Kids on the Block lunchbox.)
So how to explain the delicious little thrill that had made the hair on the back of her neck stand up when Mark had simply pretended to brush his lips tenderly over her temple? Had Margo been right? Was he the perfect lover for a budding agoraphobic, a woman who had built so many walls around her heart she was in danger of ending up imprisoned behind them forever?
Abby absently reached for the glass of wine, grimacing when it touched her lips. Neglected and forgotten, the char-donnay in the bottom of the glass had grown warm while she sipped an imaginary Diet Coke with her imaginary date at a very real cafe on the other side of the world.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday, May 18—2:53 P.M.
MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?
Abby_Donovan: Coffee-stained sweats & the Playboy Bunny ears and tail Elle Woods wore to the computer store in LEGALLY BLONDE. You?
MarkBaynard: The aluminum foil hat Joaquin Phoenix wore to ward off the alien mind control in SIGNS and Johnny Depp’s “Wino Forever” tattoo.
Abby_Donovan: The tattoo that read “Winona” before he and Miss Ryder broke up?
MarkBaynard: That’s the one. Just think—if I got your name tattooed on my ass, I could change it to “Flabby” after you dumped me.
Abby_Donovan: Be still, my heart! I was beginning to think you were one of those guys who don’t tweet after a first date.
MarkBaynard: I didn’t want to appear too eager … or too pathetic.
Abby_Donovan: Well, one out of two isn’t bad.
MarkBaynard: Miss me?
Abby_Donovan: A little. I’m embarrassed to admit I caught myself tweeting to you in my head more than once over the past few days.
MarkBaynard: If I hadn’t been wearing that aluminum foil hat, I might have heard you. What did you say?
Abby_Donovan: Just random observations: A day without cat hair in your coffee is like … a day without cat hair in your coffee.
Abby_Donovan: Don’t they know that food really IS love?
Abby_Donovan: Do people who pee in the shower think they’re multitasking?
MarkBaynard: Well, now that you mention it …
Abby_Donovan: Is there anyone who HASN’T made a sex tape with Pam Anderson?
MarkBaynard: Well, now that you mention it, there was that night in Rio …
Abby_Donovan: So where in the world is Mark Baynard today?
MarkBaynard: VIEW FROM MY iPHONE: http://twitphoto.com/MB7stg
Abby_Donovan: You finally made it to Florence, Alabama! Tell me what you’re doing so I can live vicariously through you.
MarkBaynard: Sitting in front of the Neptune Fountain at the Piazza della Signoria, listening to the bells of San Miniato chime the hour.
Abby_Donovan: Sigh … I’m sitting in front of a cold bowl of oatmeal, listening to Buffy the Mouse Slayer cough up a hair ball on my carpet.
MarkBaynard: So how is the writing going today?
Abby_Donovan: VIEW FROM MY LAPTOP: http://tweetpic.com/2825190611
MarkBaynard: Should I ask why you have a stuffed gorilla climbing over the back of your computer? Or why you have a stuffed gorilla?
Abby_Donovan: I’m hoping he’ll carry me away to the top of the Empire State Building if I don’t agree to become his bride.
MarkBaynard: Another bad writing day?
Abby_Donovan: It’s shaping up to be a 2 frappucino day. One for a.m. of boundless optimism. One for p.m. of utter despair.
MarkBaynard: Have you thought about supplementing your writing income with an endorsement deal from Starbucks?
Abby_Donovan: Edgar Allan Poe had his opium and I have my frappucinos. Such is the plight of the tortured artist.
MarkBaynard: At least if you end up in the gutter like Poe, sympathetic gawkers can toss quarters into your little plastic cup.
Abby_Donovan: Which I’ll probably use to buy more frappucinos.
MarkBaynard: Maybe a second trip to Starbucks wouldn’t be a bad idea. You might need a change of scenery.
Abby_Donovan: This morning I saw one of the cats out of the corner of my eye & started talking to it. Then I realized it was my house shoe.
MarkBaynard: It’s worse if you don’t have a cat. And you just drank a pitcher of bellinis. So what have you written today?
Abby_Donovan: Seven Facebook updates, a guest blog, and about 400 tweets.
MarkBaynard: So roughly the equivalent of a long novella, right?
Abby_Donovan: Yep. Except I didn’t get paid for any of it.
MarkBaynard: No one will respect you if you’re giving it away for free.
Abby_Donovan: That’s what Mama told me when I was in high school. I just don’t understand why I can’t get paid for tweeting.
MarkBaynard: I could send you a dime for each Direct Message.
Abby_Donovan: Make it a dollar and you’ve got a deal.
MarkBaynard: You must be doing something right. I noticed you’re up to 666 Followers.
Abby_Donovan: Should I be alarmed?
MarkBaynard: Only if you start to hear the theme from THE OMEN in your head.
Abby_Donovan: Do you think obsessive tweeting counts as a hobby or an addiction?
MarkBaynard: A hobby. That’s what I used to tell myself about THE LEGEND OF ZELDA after I’d been playing for 37 hours without food or sleep.
Abby_Donovan: Sometimes I think I can’t write because the Internet is smothering my brain with minutiae. Did you know it was Cankle Awareness Month?
MarkBaynard: What in the hell is a cankle? Is it contagious? Sexually transmitted?
Abby_Donovan: It’s what happens when your ankle disappears beneath a layer of fat and your calf looks like it’s attached directly to your foot.
MarkBaynard: I’m so glad to see attention being brought to such a dreaded medical condition. Is there a foundation I can donate to?
Abby_Donovan: You wouldn’t be laughing if YOU had them.
MarkBaynard: Oddly enough, I think I would. So what prompted you to become a writer in the first place?
Abby_Donovan: I felt like I had something to say about my life. A story to tell. But now tha
t I’ve told that story …
MarkBaynard: Maybe it’s time for you to tell someone else’s story.
Abby_Donovan: Aren’t you supposed to write what you know?
MarkBaynard: I always thought it would be more fun to write what I didn’t know. I figured that would give me a lifetime of material.
Abby_Donovan: I haven’t told a soul this, but sometimes I think I’d have been better off if my first book hadn’t shot to the top of the bestseller list.
MarkBaynard: Ah … the romantic fantasy of toiling in obscurity! You could be starving in a garret instead of a posh apartment overlooking Central Park.
Abby_Donovan: How did you know I lived in a posh apartment?
MarkBaynard: Because it overlooks Central Park.
Abby_Donovan: When you start out at the top, where else is there to go but down?
MarkBaynard: Maybe it’s more like a roller coaster—a downward swoop followed by a slow & steady climb to the highest peak of all.
Abby_Donovan: Roller coasters make me hurl.
MarkBaynard: Then maybe it’s more like a Tilt-A-Whirl. Oh, wait … Tilt-A-Whirls make me hurl.
Abby_Donovan: So when are you going to start writing YOUR novel? (she asked pointedly)
MarkBaynard: I’m (cough, cough) still in the planning stages. Well, actually I’m just planning to plan. Haven’t made it as far as planning to write yet.
Abby_Donovan: Sigh … I remember those days. I always “nest” before diving into a project. Dust the baseboards. Put all my photos in albums, etc.
MarkBaynard: I think that’s called stalling.
Abby_Donovan: I prefer procrastination, thank you very much.
MarkBaynard: Maybe you just need to learn to embrace your natural rhythms—in life and in writing.
Abby_Donovan: Even if my natural rhythm seems to be complete indolence followed by hysterical bursts of panicked activity?
MarkBaynard: Works for me. Although I haven’t actually made it to the panicked stage yet. Or the activity.
Abby_Donovan: What are you interested in writing about?
MarkBaynard: A witty, talented woman who meets a mysterious but strangely irresistible man on Twitter.
Abby_Donovan: Who then comes to her posh apartment off of Central Park in the middle of the night and murders her with an ax?
MarkBaynard: Have chloroform, will travel. Would you mind leaving a key under the mat? Not so good at breaking & entering.
Abby_Donovan: No mat, but I’ll be sure to leave your name with my doorman and tell maintenance to stock up on bleach and Hefty bags.
MarkBaynard: Don’t forget the lye and the 50-gallon drum.
Abby_Donovan: My friend Margo tried to warn me about you. Said you were probably really an escaped convict.
MarkBaynard: Don’t be ridiculous. They’d have to catch me first.
Abby_Donovan: When I told her about our “tweet date,” she told me about something called … (dare I speak its name aloud?) … tweetsex?
MarkBaynard: I think I just saw two sparrows having that outside the window of my bed-and-breakfast. Looked like fun.
Abby_Donovan: Sex in 140 characters or less. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?
MarkBaynard: That depends. Are there also tweetgasms?
Abby_Donovan: I think it sounds completely dehumanizing.
MarkBaynard: I’m a guy. We never turn down sex, no matter how ridiculous. Or dehuman. I think we should try it. You go first.
Abby_Donovan: You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
MarkBaynard: I haven’t decided yet. Try it and I’ll let you know.
Abby_Donovan: You’re laughing at me, aren’t you? I’M not wearing an aluminum foil hat. I can hear you!
MarkBaynard: What do you have to lose?
Abby_Donovan: Besides my pride? My dignity? My self-respect?
MarkBaynard: Coward! Chicken! Cluck … cluck … cluck …
Abby_Donovan: If you think I’m going to let you peer pressure me into doing something so inane, so ridiculous, so unspeakably demeaning …
MarkBaynard: I triple dog dare you.
Abby_Donovan: … then you can just close your eyes and imagine me slowly running my hot, wet tongue along the throbbing length of your …
MarkBaynard: Um, Abby … you sort of forgot to make that last tweet a Direct Message. Which means all 666 of your Followers just read it.
Abby_Donovan: Oh God.
MarkBaynard: And all your male Followers just closed their eyes to imagine you slowly running your hot, wet tongue along the throbbing lengths of their …
Abby_Donovan: Oh. My. God.
MarkBaynard: But look! You’re up to 678 Followers now!
MarkBaynard: 682!
MarkBaynard: 706!
MarkBaynard: 732! Man, you are hotter than Br*tney Freaking Sp*ars!
Abby_Donovan: I wish I was dead.
MarkBaynard: Are you blushing? You’re so adorable when you blush.
Abby_Donovan: I wish YOU were dead.
MarkBaynard: I was only joking with you! I didn’t think you’d really do it. 747!
Abby_Donovan: I will hunt you down. It may take me the rest of my life, but I WILL find you. And when I do, you will suffer a slow, excruciating death.
MarkBaynard: It’ll take more than that to scare me. I’ve already survived 3 hours of sitting through the stage production of THE LION KING.
Abby_Donovan: I have to go now. Maybe it’s not too late to sign up for the Witness Protection Program.
MarkBaynard: 756!
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Cousin Itt (she said with withering scorn)
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Cara Mia (he replied tenderly in a faux Italian accent)
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Thing
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Wednesday
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Pugsley
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Grandma
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Lurch
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …
Saturday, May 21—3:37 P.M.
MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?
Abby_Donovan: Coffee-stained sweats and Audrey Hepburn’s tiara from BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S. You?
MarkBaynard: Tim Allen’s uniform with the torn sleeve from GALAXY QUEST and Igor’s hump from YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN.
Abby_Donovan: What hump?
MarkBaynard: Now it’s my turn to propose. Will you come live w/me and be my love & watch YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN &/or BLAZING SADDLES at least once a week?
Abby_Donovan: Throw in CADDYSHACK, ANIMAL HOUSE & AIRPLANE and you’ve got a deal.
MarkBaynard: Will you have my babies too?
Abby_Donovan: Stop trying to sweet talk me. I’m still sulking.
MarkBaynard: Why? Thanks to me, you’re up to 1075 Followers!
Abby_Donovan: Followers … stalkers … predators … it’s all semantics.
MarkBaynard: Only when it comes to getting the restraining orders.
Abby_Donovan: Do you know how many people I’ve had to Block in the past two days?
MarkBaynard: 452?
Abby_Donovan: I’ve gotten dozens of dirty tweets, 4 marriage proposals & an exorcism chant from a voodoo priest who wants to drive out my sexual demons.
MarkBaynard: So which offer are you going to accept?
Abby_Donovan: Probably the one from the hit man offering to trade his skills for my sexual favors. So where will you be next week?
MarkBaynard: At the bottom of the Hudson River, if you and your new boyfriend have anything to say about it.
Abby_Donovan: If I wasn’t in such an expansive mood, I wouldn’t be tweeting to you at all.
MarkBaynard: I thought I sensed a disturbance in the force. Why so non-serious?
Abby_Donovan: VIEW FROM MY LAPTOP: http://tweetpic.com/2825190612
MarkBaynard: Is that Donkey from SHREK? He looks a lot happier than the gorilla.
Abby_Donovan: That’s because something wonderful finally happened to me today.
MarkBaynar
d: You started Chapter Six?
Abby_Donovan: Not quite THAT wonderful, although I did get some intriguing new ideas after we tweeted the other day.
MarkBaynard: That’s me. Mark Baynard, English lit professor and inspiration to women everywhere.
Abby_Donovan: I’m excited because my agent called to tell me my editor wants to have lunch with us at Le Bernardin on Monday.
MarkBaynard: Are you excited about seeing your editor or getting a free lunch at some swanky French joint?
Abby_Donovan: Both, actually. My editor hasn’t been very receptive to my phone calls lately so I’m going to assume this is a Very Good Sign.
MarkBaynard: Like Sandra-Bullock-Starring-In-The-Movie-Of-Your-Book Very Good Sign?
Abby_Donovan: I like Sandra, but I was kind of hoping for Kate Winslet or Renee Zellweger.
MarkBaynard: I heard Pam Anderson was available.
Abby_Donovan: It wouldn’t be THAT kind of movie.
MarkBaynard: It would if Pam Anderson was in it.
Abby_Donovan: Once I show my editor the first five chapters & share my new ideas, I’m hoping she won’t mind granting me another deadline extension.
MarkBaynard: Just how many extensions has she granted you so far?
Abby_Donovan: I can’t hear you! I think you’re breaking up! Are you going through a tunnel?
MarkBaynard: That many, eh?
Abby_Donovan: I just haven’t been able to make that much progress since I lost my dad. Maybe I just need to feel like somebody still believes in me.
MarkBaynard: I believe in you. But I don’t think that’s going to matter a whole hell of a lot until you start believing in yourself.
Abby_Donovan: Thank you very much, Dr. Phil.
MarkBaynard: I like to think of myself as more of a butch Deanna Troi. Or maybe Yoda during his Dagobah swamp phase.
Abby_Donovan: Just what every writer needs. The Jedi master of misplaced pronouns.
MarkBaynard: Deeply offended am I by your heartless mockery.
Abby_Donovan: Pretentious little muppet! And while we’re on the subject, you look just like Miss Piggy when you try to do kung fu.
MarkBaynard: You’re still talking to Yoda, right? Because I look a lot more like the Swedish Chef when I try to do kung fu.
Goodnight Tweetheart Page 7
