LimeLight

by Melody Carlson

  “What?” I sit up in bed, trying to get my bearings.

  “It’s just me, darling. Did you have a good nap?”

  “Oh, Michael.” I reach for the light switch on the lamp and turn it on, blinking into the brightness. “What time is it anyway?”

  “It’s almost seven.” He steps into the room. “You slept for quite a while. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Under the circumstances, you mean?” I put my feet on the floor and slowly stand, stretching a bit to loosen my stiff joints.

  Michael peers curiously at me. “Your eyes are red and your makeup is smeared. Have you been crying?”

  I touch my hand to my face, then turn to look in the mirror. My face does seem slightly ravaged. I reach for a tissue and face cream, doing some minor repairs as Michael looks on from behind. Finally I turn to face him again. “Better?”

  “I know this is hard on you,” he says with compassionate eyes.

  “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Well, good.” He presses the palms of his hands together. “And I am ready for the unveiling.”

  I am not ready for anything…except perhaps crawling back into bed. “Yes. Let me put on my shoes first.”

  “Oh, I just can’t wait to see your reaction, Claudette.”

  I wish I could muster up more enthusiasm, but it feels as if I am climbing a mountain just now. Oh, I do appreciate Michael’s effort, but how can it possibly be worthwhile? Really, what difference will this all make if I am unable to stick around and make this thing work? I shove my feet into my loafers and even attempt to fluff up my hair in the back since I’m sure it must be flat as a pancake after my nap.

  “Are you ready?”

  I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Good.” He takes my hand and leads me out. “We’ll start with the other bedroom.”

  “Fine.” We go down the hallway, which is now painted sort of a golden beige, perhaps the color of sand. Light enough that it feels brighter than the previous “dead salmon” color, but not so light that it’s harsh. “I like this color. And I like the selection of art you’ve put up here.”

  “I’m so glad. I was really challenged with some of your pieces. Wall space is rather minimal in this house.”

  “Wall space as well as square footage.”

  “Well, yes, that’s true.” He points down. “Do you like the runner?”

  I look at the carpet that runs down the wood floor in the hallway. It has an interesting geometric design in desert tones. It’s vaguely familiar. “It’s nice. Was it from my things?”

  “Yes. I almost didn’t bring it, but I’m glad I did. It’s perfect in here, such a nice contrast to the wood floors, and it lightens it up a bit, don’t you think?” He stops by what used to be Violet’s and my bedroom, his hand on the doorknob. “I was rather bewildered about this room, how it should be used. At first I thought a small office or library, but then I realized you might need a guest room as well.” He opens the door. “So I tried to make both.”

  I take in the full-size bed, which is flush to the wall with lots of colorful pillows piled along one side so it resembles a comfortable sofa or lounge. And on the other side of the room, nestled into the corner adjacent to the window, sits a leather chair with ottoman. A small antique desk and matching credenza are attractively placed as well. The walls are painted a soft sage color and adorned with several pieces of well-chosen art, including what was once Gavin’s favorite, an unusual piece by Julian Schnabel. He always thought it looked like a swan, but I never could see it. Today, as I look at it in this new location, I can almost see the swan.

  “I would never have imagined this room could hold so much furniture,” I tell him.

  “That’s because those two twin beds used up a lot of space. This room is only a foot narrower than the other bedroom.” He turns to me. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a magician.”

  “See, it’s both a guest room and an office.”

  “Clever.” I’m feeling a twinge of hope.

  “On with our tour.”

  Next we go to the bathroom, which isn’t greatly changed but is still refreshingly different. Now painted a celadon green, the feeling is soothing and peaceful, providing a clean contrast against the white-tiled floor, claw-foot tub, and bathroom fixtures. He’s put what used to be a lawyer’s bookcase in here, only now it’s outfitted with linens and bath things and topped with a pleasant little lamp that used to be in my bedroom.

  “Very nice,” I say.

  “I know it’s a bit Pottery Barn-ish, but I think it works.”

  “This carpet is a nice touch,” I say when I notice the silk Oriental rug alongside the tub. As I recall, Edouard picked that out to occupy one of the more formal guest rooms. He warned me that it was very expensive and needed to be cleaned carefully. I consider mentioning this, but why bother? It looks right in here.

  The kitchen is next on the tour, and it’s truly transformed with a warm and welcoming buttery yellow paint. Again the art is arranged attractively on the walls, adding just the right touches of color. But it’s the new stainless-steel appliances that take me by surprise. I just stare at the stove, refrigerator, and microwave in amazement. “How did you get these?”

  “As you know, that nasty fridge had to go the way of the wicked. And the Goodwill boys told me about an appliance store that’s only about an hour away. I got a salesman on the phone and told him what I wanted and the sizes. They were delivered late this afternoon while you were napping.”

  I open the refrigerator and peer in. Clean and neat at the moment, but will I be able to keep it that way for long? I turn back to Michael. “How did you pay for these? Aren’t appliances expensive?”

  “Like I told you. Alex Granville is sending me a check for the things in the storage unit. It should cover everything I’ve put out and then some.”

  “You really are amazing, Michael.” I look at my Limoges china and sparkling crystal glassware, so prettily arranged behind the glass doors of the dark cherry cupboards, giving the cabinets an unexpected touch of elegance. “I had no idea this kitchen was this nice.”

  “I wish we could’ve put in a dishwasher. Unfortunately, that would’ve required some major remodeling.”

  “Oh…”

  “Which means you’ll be washing dishes by hand, darling. Can you manage?”

  I try to shrug this off. “I don’t know why not. I used to wash dishes by hand all the time when I was a kid. Right here in this very same sink.”

  “It’s a good sink,” he assures me. “Soapstone.”

  I run my finger over the smooth surface. “I always did like the feel of this sink. Although I remember how the dark color bothered me. I wanted a shining white enamel sink like my friend Caroline had in her house.”

  “This sink is actually much more valuable.”

  I look over to the small dining area, where a square oak table and four matching chairs are arranged. In the center of the table is a gold ceramic vase from Tuscany, complete with fresh flowers in shades of orange, yellow, and red. “Is that table from my old breakfast nook?” I try to remember the padded banquette seating and the bay window that looked out over the beautifully landscaped backyard and pool. Sometimes I had my morning coffee there, usually around noon.

  “Yes. I took the leaves out and removed the padded cushions from the chairs. I think it works.”

  “And that rug is interesting.” I point to the antique Kilim that used to be in Gavin’s den.

  “Don’t you just love those harvest colors in here?”

  “It really is nice,” I admit. “But I never would’ve dreamed of putting that rug in a kitchen.”

  “Well, Kilims are made to last. And if you ever decide you don’t want it, just toss it my way. I’m sure I can find a home for it.”

  “You really are good at this, Michael.” I stare at the kitchen and try to remember what it looked like before. “Everything has come together so well…
and I know that couldn’t be easy in such a small house. But you’ve managed to make it look bigger and better. I am impressed.”

  “Thank you, darling. That means a lot coming from you.” He rubs his hands together. “But we’re not finished.”

  Michael leads me out into the living room, and I actually have to take in a quick breath—the transformation is so incredible I’m stunned. “Is this really the same room?”

  He nods and actually giggles.

  “Michael…” I just shake my head as I walk around the surprisingly spacious room. The walls are painted a very rich yet mellow color that reminds me of pumpkins or squash, a comforting golden-orange shade. I’m sure I would’ve instantly balked at this color if he had asked me first or shown me a swatch, but it is perfect in here. It brings the dark wooden window trim, baseboards, and crown molding to life.

  He’s arranged an interesting mix of furniture too, pieces that were previously in different rooms of my house. I recognize the sofa, a dearly loved piece that had been in my bedroom; its rich, golden chenille with goose-down pillows has always been perfect for napping. There’s also a pair of Italian leather chairs that once flanked the desk in Gavin’s office, arranged nicely by the small fireplace that I’d nearly forgotten was here. I think my mother must’ve had a chair or something blocking it. An oversized ottoman with autumn-toned tapestry that came from our formal living room now serves as a coffee table. The art Michael selected for this room is unexpected, but perfect.

  “I never would’ve dreamed of putting these things together,” I tell him. “And that Scully abstract over the couch”—I study a painting I’ve taken for granted for years—“is absolutely lovely in here.”

  “Isn’t it? I think of this room as eclectic. Do you really like it?”

  “I do.” I nod as I walk around the room, trying to take it in. The familiar lamps, end tables, pillows, furniture… It’s as if I’m seeing it all for the first time. Then I notice an arrangement of old photos on the wall by the front door. Candid shots of Gavin and me with various Hollywood friends taken over the years. I just stare at the pictures in wonder and amazement. I almost feel at home now. Finally I turn to Michael, with real tears in my eyes. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

  “That’s all I needed, darling.” Then he stretches out his arms and we embrace.

  “Thank you so much.” I step back and look at the room again.

  “I know it’s not the same as your Beverly Hills house, but hopefully it will begin to feel like a home to you.”

  “It already does. Oh, it’s a different sort of home, much smaller, but I do feel somewhat at home here.” I don’t admit that I also feel uneasy about all this. How will I keep these rooms looking this nice? At the moment, the floors and the woodwork are gleaming. All is clean and tidy and attractive. I remember the housekeepers I employed and how hard they seemed to work. What is involved in maintaining a house, even one as small as this?

  “And maybe having your things arranged attractively…well, perhaps it helps you through the challenges of your new life.”

  I extract a slightly used handkerchief from my jacket pocket and dab at my eyes. I want to be as positive as Michael, especially after all the work he’s invested in this, but I just cannot begin to imagine how I’ll ever manage without him. “I wish you were staying here with me.”

  “My work here is done, darling.” He smiles sadly. “And Richard called twice today. He’s already getting jealous.” Michael chuckles. “He keeps saying that I’ve left him for you.”

  “If only I could talk you into it.”

  “What you can talk me into is dinner. I’m starving.”

  “Yes, of course,” I say. “What would you like?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that charming little Italian place.”

  “That sounds fine. I’ll get my purse.” I don’t even complain that I already ate there once today, and I feel proud of myself for that. Tonight I do the driving. It’s my way of thanking Michael, showing him that I can be an independent woman. As I drive, he fills me in on some of the house details.

  “You should have everything you need in the kitchen,” he says. “I tried to keep it simple since I didn’t expect you’d be doing a lot of cooking. But just in case you become adventuresome in the kitchen, there are a few extra appliances and odds and ends in the storage area of your laundry room. Also, I used both closets in both bedrooms for your clothes, but as you’ll see, everything is not there. I stored the other things in one of those hanging canvas wardrobes as well as some crates, which are also in the laundry room. However, if I were you, I might simply give those things away, darling.”

  He pauses to catch his breath. “Sometimes less really is more. Speaking of less, I sent the items I was unable to use in the house back with the movers. They’ll put them back into storage for Alex to deal with. I’ve also asked Alex to ship me the things I’ve marked for Hawaii.”

  I park my car on Main Street. I am amazed at how Michael is able to keep all of these things organized in his mind and under such control. But, really, I do not understand how he expects me to do the same. I do not see how I can possibly handle this on my own. I’m afraid it is simply too much and that I will be lost without him.

  As we enter the restaurant, the hostess at Marco’s greets us, nodding to me. “Nice to see you again so soon, Ms. Fioré.”

  “Good evening,” I answer in a stiff voice.

  “See how friendly the locals are?” Michael says after we’re seated. “Already they know our names. I am starting to simply adore this town.”

  I ignore his comments as I peruse the familiar menu. I wonder how long it will be before I have it memorized. But then I remember my monthly budget… Even though Marco’s isn’t as expensive as the places I would normally dine, I won’t be able to afford it on a daily basis.

  “I’ve made a list for you,” Michael says after we’ve ordered. He opens his Day-Timer and removes several sheets of paper. “Things you need to do and to buy and people to contact.”

  “A list?”

  He smiles as he hands me the papers. “Actually, it’s several lists. I had a feeling you might need a bit of help, sort of a jump-start, just to get you going. I’m sure you’ll be fine once you find your groove.”

  “My groove…” I glance over the first page, which seems to be house maintenance things like, “Call for garbage pickup, order oil for the furnace, rake the leaves, get phone service, cable service,” and so on. I point to the line that says, “Call plumber.” “What am I to call the plumber?”

  He chuckles. “Nothing bad, I hope.”

  “Then why am I calling him?”

  “Haven’t you noticed the pipes seem slow?”

  I consider this. “The bathtub did seem to take a long time to empty.”

  “The carpet guy mentioned the toilet was pretty slow. He told me that sometimes when a house is left vacant for a while, roots will grow into the sewer lines. He suggested that you call a plumber and get them cleaned out.”

  “Cleaned out?” I say, vaguely wondering how people can bear to do that sort of work. Whatever cleaning out a sewer line entails, I do not care to know the details. I turn to the next page. This seems to have more to do with business things. “Open bank account in town, call accountant, change homeowner’s insurance,” things like that. The final page appears to be a grocery shopping list.

  “Really?” I look at Michael. “You think I’m unable to fetch my own groceries without specific instructions?”

  He laughs. “Well, you never know. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Just why have you been so helpful?”

  He shrugs. “Because we’re friends. Because of Gavin. Because although we’re unrelated, Claudette, we are family. I care about you.”

  I hold up my hand. “Stop, stop… You’re going to make me cry again.”

  “They say that tears are good for the soul.”

  I look back dow
n at my lists as a distraction. “Oh, you should be proud of me, Michael. I ordered a cord for my cell phone. You know, to recharge it. I walked right into Radio Shack and simply ordered it myself without having it on a list or anything.”

  “That’s marvelous.” He holds up his glass of Cabernet in a toast. “Here’s to you, darling. May this be the beginning of great things to come.”

  I hold up my glass too and do my best to feign a smile. But the level of my confidence in my own abilities is not nearly as high as his.

  I drive Michael to Eureka in the morning. He’s booked a flight to San Francisco on one of those horrid little commuter planes that feel as if they might plunge from the sky at any moment. After that he’ll fly directly to Hawaii, first class. How I wish I were going with him.

  “You’ll be fine,” he assures me as we say our good-byes in the loading zone in front of the terminal.

  “I will not.” Of course, I am crying now—no acting skills necessary. I feel as if I’m losing my last and best friend. “I don’t see how I can possibly do this on my own.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t keep telling yourself negative things, Claudette. You can do this. You must do this. Be strong, darling.”

  I suddenly remember a scene from Casablanca, at the end of the movie when Rick (Bogie) is telling Ilsa (Ingrid) to get on the plane and leave him behind. And although it’s Michael who’s leaving right now, I pretend that I’m Bogie, playing Rick. And I try to remember how he had to be strong when he stayed behind.

  “I’ve got to go now, or I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I know, Michael.” I look him in the eyes and repeat the old line. “And if that plane leaves the ground and you’re not on it, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.” He throws back his head and laughs. “See, Claudette, you are a trooper. That’s Rick’s line from Casablanca—and you delivered it perfectly, darling. You’re going to be just fine. I know it.”