The Last Page (A Contemporary Romantic Comedy) (Living, Loving and Laughing Again)

by Lacy Camey

  I’m not! my insides screamed. I’m making my way back to earth from emotional hell.

  He shot a look at Chris, as if to say, “I thought you said she was the next big thing.”

  “Thanks, Tim. Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  “Oh sure, I’ll grab a martini… gladly.” He threw his linen napkin on the table and headed toward the bar saying, “Oh, hey, Fernando! Fancy seeing you here!”

  “Norah, what’s going on?” Chris asked, as he scooted his chair closer.

  “I’m sorry, Chris. I really am.” I tried to keep the mascara from running in my eyes. I just knew I looked like a raccoon. “I’m just in the middle of a meltdown, a crisis. I didn’t mean to respond this way. Everything’s just falling to pieces.”

  He waited for me to continue.

  “I’m a calm, collected, powerful business woman. I really am.” I sat with the most perfect posture I could gather.

  “Dear, pull it together.”

  “I’m trying.”

  He looked at my wrapped wrist resting in my lap. “How much longer until you can sew?”

  “Two weeks. A week or so?”

  “Cutting it close. No pressure.” He tried to console me.

  I could just read his mind. He was thinking about Darcy, the other prized student from L.A. Would he be calling her and dropping me?

  Chapter Seventeen

  One day later, there were eight phone calls made by Chloe to the owners of the fur balls of luxury, zero calls from Orien, and no calls from Maycee. I sat in Dr. Hood’s office.

  “So what are you going to do about your line?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. It feels so forced. From all this chaos. This line… it’s like I associate this line with trauma.”

  “That’s very understandable, and very insightful of you to notice, I might add.” He nodded.

  I nodded with him, careful to time my nods with his. Not too eager, not too slow, but right with his.

  Yes, that’s right. I am smart and insightful.

  “Just get some time to really think about these things and be alone. You’ll rise above the clutter. Well, the right thing will happen as it should.”

  * * *

  Taking his advice of really thinking about things and being alone, I decided to visit this “a-mazing” coffee shop that both Maycee and Chloe raved about.

  Upon first entrance, I definitely saw the appeal. It wasn’t one of those commercialized coffee shops, like Starbucks. It was unique, classy, and timeless, like the neighborhood. It was probably family-owned, but the variety was definitely still there. Mild roast, banana nut roast, toffee, southern pecan, chocolate mousse? Yeah! Some variety.

  When I opened the door, instead of smelling like coffee, the smell of oak wood and fresh lemon alerted my morning senses. I had expected the coffee shop to smell overwhelmingly like coffee. But strangely, it didn’t.

  It had such a peaceful feel to it. Totally Zen. I knew instantly that I’d like it.

  I ordered my coffee and walked over to the little table and fixed my coffee the way I liked it. Lots of cream. Lots of sugar.

  My white ceramic mug felt cooler with the added cream. I tasted it. It was perfect.

  I took my travel Louis Vuitton tote, my umbrella, and coffee mug and made my way to an empty oversized couch in the back corner. A magazine rack was filled with the latest US Weekly and People magazines among many others—political, Good Housekeeping, and decorating. I made sure to immediately turn the cover of US Weekly over because what would you know, I was on the cover. I decided to put my sunglasses back on even though it was practically about to pour outside.

  I sat down and felt my body sink into the chair. Note to self, need to buy one of these chairs.

  A kind man with gray hair shared my coffee table with me. I noticed him watching my every move.

  “Hi!” I decided to say enthusiastically.

  He studied my face. Crap, does he recognize me? I thought.

  “What is your name?” he asked extremely slowly. It seemed to take every ounce of strength in him to articulate his words. My heart dropped to my toes.

  “I’m Norah,” I said warmly

  “Sure… does… look… like… rain.” He stuttered and tried his hardest to get the words out.

  Oh, my gosh, self control… I’d been so much in touch with my emotions that I was about to have an emotional monsoon fest at the sight of this man. I noticed his wooden cane. He was obviously handicapped.

  Then, three incredibly cute boys ran up to him. “Mr. Green!” The boys gave him giant hugs as their young mother followed behind.

  “How you doing today?” she asked him with kind eyes.

  “Doing good. Doing good.”

  As they spoke, I pulled out my journal. I didn’t want to appear nosey.

  “Just doing some reading?” she asked.

  He had the New York Times in his hand. Upside down. “Yes.”

  “Well, you have a great day today! Enjoy your afternoon and your movie,” she said, kindly.

  The boys were dressed in wetsuits, ready for the beach.

  “Those are my neighbors,” he told me.

  “Oh, really? Do you live in the area?”

  “Yes. It’s so hard to tell who belongs to who, the children. They always play in the street,” he said in his slow stammer.

  My heart grew with warmth. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Five years. My wife passed away five years ago, and I lived in a big house all by myself. So I moved to a bungalow over here.”

  I decided to take off my glasses, so impersonal, anyway. I glanced at his left hand. He still wore his beloved wedding ring.

  He looked at my journal. “Are you a writer?”

  “No I’m in… I’m just… I journal.” The right words finally came.

  “Oh, that’s great. I’ve always been enamored with writers. I’m sure they have to read a lot. Ever since my stroke, I haven’t been able to read, and I just want to read a book.”

  “Oh, really? Have you tried books on audio?”

  “Yes, I just don’t like them as much.”

  I really didn’t know what to say. I was speechless. My heart ached. Here I was thinking I had heartache, where there was a man, a widower, who had lost his wife, his books, and his speech. I was sure he had lived a happy life. At least, I knew the neighborhood he lived in, and people had to have millions to live there.

  “Well, it seems like you’ve recovered well.” I smiled sweetly.

  “No. …No….I can’t… reason, do math… if I read something small in the paper, I can’t remember at the end what I read.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. All I knew to do was to smile really big at him. So I smiled the absolute best smile I could gather, as if I were auditioning for a Colgate ad.

  “But enough about me. What about you?” He laughed a hearty laugh, which made me laugh, too.

  “I just came home from an internship. I’m a clothing designer.”

  “That’s great.” he said. “Boyfriend?”

  “No.” I said quietly.

  “Well, I’m sure… I’m sure all the boys are after you like a dog after his lost bone.” With that, he got up and left.

  As I watched the kind man slowly walk away, I suddenly realized, yes, I might have lost a man I once loved and, yes, I might have lost another man who I was falling in very-much like with, but I had never lost a spouse, without ever having the chance to keep fighting.

  Suddenly, a giant epiphany went off in my head. I decided I would fight for Orien. I had to try and make him understand. It was the least I could do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  So I decided to rush home and Google him to see if I could at least find a lead to where his oral defense was since it was that same day.

  Once home, I went to his Facebook page, and I saw that his defense was in four hours.

  With that knowledge, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Chloe!”

>   “What? Did someone die?” She ran to me in my creating room.

  “No, we’re going to Orien’s school. His dissertation defense is today.”

  “For real?” she asked, completely surprised.

  “Yes. Hurry.”

  We changed clothes, grabbed sustenance-Starbucks Vanilla Frappuccino coffee drinks—and went on our way.

  Three hours later, we were on his campus. We parked conspicuously and watched students walking around the area. We saw a few studious-looking professors piling into an auditorium, which seemed like a place the defense might be held. We crept as quietly as one creeps into a courtroom and blended in toward the back. I felt like Elle Wood’s friends in the movie Legally Blonde, where they walked into the quiet courtroom with complete disregard for the rules, and yelled, “Go, El! You’re like in a real courtroom and everything. How cute!” Except Chloe and I didn’t yell out, “Go, Orien” and disrupt the auditorium. I just felt majorly out of place.

  The first thing I had grabbed to change into was a halter top, turquoise dress. Chloe and I were dressed to do lunch, not attend a dissertation defense.

  So we tried our best not to be seen. It was a good thing the lights were lowered, as if Orien was about to take center stage for a soliloquy. I didn’t want him to see me.

  He spoke so eloquently that I felt like giving him a standing ovation. I couldn’t do that, except in my heart, quietly, and in the squeal-ish faces I kept making to Chloe. As soon as he gave his defense, Chloe and I rushed back to our safe compound, the Rover.

  “What do I do now?” I asked. I felt like I had accomplished so much already.

  “I don’t know,” Chloe answered. I knew this was completely out of her element; chasing a boy would never fly in her world.

  “Call him?” she guessed.

  So I called him. “Hi, it’s me. I heard your defense was spectacular.”

  Chloe urgently tapped my shoulder, and whispered, “Just how would you have heard he did well, if you weren’t there stalking him?”

  Panicked, I quickly said, “I mean, it’s all over Twitter, that is. You even have your own hash tag. Imagine that. Well, uh, please call me.” I hung up.

  “And that, my friend, is the last stalker call you are making.”

  “You think he thinks I’m a stalker?” I asked in total freak-out mode.

  She shrugged again. “Well, I guess you kind of covered your tracks with Twitter, but his own hash tag?”

  “I know. I always do that when I get nervous or when I’m lying; I get farfetched. I guess I could create a fake Twitter account pronto and create that hash tag in case he checks.”

  We saw him leaving the auditorium. I recognized his brother. He put his arm around him and gave him a huge congratulatory shove. Several people crowded around them for pictures.

  Then I saw Doctor Hood.

  “Crap.” I slid down in my seat and covered my face with my hand. “Dr. Hood is here, too? What’s he doing here?” I looked at Chloe. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like playing Nancy Drew anymore.

  “This is getting weird,” I said.

  “Well, maybe he was on the panel,” Chloe suggested. “He is a psychologist, after all.”

  Still slouched, I nodded. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” I looked back through the windshield and decided it was time to exit. I really didn’t want to look like a stalker. So, I turned on the engine, prayed that my SUV would be quieter than normal, and exited the parking lot.

  As we exited the University, I felt an intense longing to call him back. “You know, Chloe. Maybe his phone was off, and he just now turned it back on. I should call. I mean, earlier today, I was at this cute coffee shop, and I met this man who lost his wife, books, and speech, and he didn’t even get to fight for it. Well, I can fight for Orien to understand.”

  She slowly nodded. She knew it was pointless to argue.

  But I didn’t call right away. I waited. Twenty minutes.

  And then I called. “Hi, it’s me again. I promise I’m not stalking you. I would just really like to talk to you. I-“

  Chloe took the phone from me. “Time to retire the number, sweetie.”

  Defeated, we made our way back home listening to my Playlist entitled, “My Life is Over,” the playlist I had made before I moved into the summer home: Damien Rice, Coldplay, Sarah McLachlan, and other melancholy music. It even rained on the way home.

  When “Angel” came on, I started crying. I said, “You know, Chloe. I wish an angel would just come and give him my message! Ugh! I need divine intervention. I-”

  That was when she unplugged my iPod, and said, “Sweetie, no more sad music.” She put on her playlist of Black Eyed Peas, Justin Timberlake, and Beyoncé as she attempted to get me to dance.

  When “Single Ladies” came on, she rolled down the windows and started singing at the top of her lungs. And, of course, I couldn’t help but to join her and start feeling an teensy-weensy bit better.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When we got home, there was a big surprise. Maycee was home. We could see her through the glass, sitting on the couch reading a magazine.

  “She’s here. Oh, my gosh” We rushed out of the Rover and ran into the house like schoolgirls for recess.

  “Maycee!” My jaw hung open. I was tongue-tied. What could I say to her? I had so many things to tell her.

  “I’ve been calling you like a gazillion times. You’re not in the Bahamas.”

  “No, I was there. Now I’m home.” She tossed the magazine aside.

  “Go ahead, ask the gazillion questions. But first, did you hear?”

  Chloe and I sat down on the opposite couch. We both looked at her left hand. No ring.

  “Yeah, mom said you were getting engaged and-“

  “No, I mean, I got laid off from teaching.” She reached for a letter on the coffee table next to her coffee and handed it to me. “It’s all in the letter.”

  Before I could even look at the letter, console her, do anything, she held up her hands and sighed. “You know, it’s for the best. I’ve saved a lot of money, and I need to pursue writing fulltime again. In the Bahamas, I wrote a novella in just two days. Two days! And it’s actually a comedy of my life and relationship with Josh, fictionalized a bit, but based off this outlandish ploy. And-“

  “Oh my gosh, you did it? I’m so proud of you! I wish I could be brave enough to write my story!” I shook my head, then went for the most obvious question. “So what happened? You had two full days to write, which probably meant-“

  “I broke it off with him. You were right all along. But to make him pay, I went to the Bahamas alone and upgraded to the best suite they had, beachfront, of course, costing him a pretty penny.” She smiled mischievously.

  “Maycee! You should have called me. I would have been by your side in a heartbeat.”

  “I know, I just wanted to be by myself.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Well, we were checking our bags in, and he needed to go to the men’s room. He left his phone, which a man with lies should never do. Naturally, curious person that I am, like any normal woman would, I started scrolling through his texts. I found out about it all right then and there. Funny how much one can learn in three minutes about someone via their text messages.”

  We hung on every word, eyebrows lifted. We didn’t dare interrupt because it was such a juicy story.

  “So when he came back, he knew. He just knew I knew everything from the look on my face. I told him he had better get as far away from me as possible. He tried to quiet me, like, ‘Let’s move out of the way and talk about it. It’s not what you think,’ to keep me from making a scene.

  “No, I made sure to make a scene, embarrass him. I told him, ‘Oh, I know what this is. And you’re paying for this.’

  “So, I told the airline ticket agent to upgrade me to first class and cancel the other ticket. You should have seen his face! White as a ghost. I told him that after all he had put me through, he better no
t object, or I would tell Dad. I’m going to tell him anyway, but—”

  “I hope he loses his spot,” I said, in sisterly defense.

  “I know what you mean. Trust me. I’ll tell Dad. Honestly, I don’t think anything can be done legally. I’m just not a vengeful person. Deep down, I still care for him. My feelings, believe it or not, were real. But, I do have something I’m good at, and it’s writing! This book is funny, trust me. I already started a blog, and people love it. They can’t believe the guts the guy had! I’m hoping it goes viral.”

  I laughed and slouched down in the couch a little. “Gosh, that’s great, Maycee. I can’t wait to read it, and I can’t believe you were in the beautiful Bahamas all by yourself.”

  “I know. We’ll go on a girls’ trip, I promise.”

  “Well, we already are, as a matter of fact, and you’re already coming. And since, well, the whole layoff thing happened, sorry, well, even more reason for you to come with us!”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Venezuela. We’re going to go work in an orphanage. September. Three weeks. You just need shots, and you’re good,” Chloe interjected.

  “Miss Adventure, are you in?” I asked.

  “Don’t you need to ask and make sure there’s a spot for me, you know paperwork, applications?” Maycee asked.

  “Okay, I normally don’t play this card, but girl, what’s my last name? Besides, Vivian took care of it. I had already signed you up to go with us.” Chloe folded her arms and shrugged.

  “You mean my application was forged? My interview?”

  “Well, your application wasn’t forged; it was just taken care of for you. You’ll have your interview on the phone. I have the date in my day planner. Don’t worry. We’re a trio now. I guess I’m catching on to this sisterly wave you have going on here.” She smiled.

  “I would love to go.” Maycee held up her hands in her animated way. She sighed. “Just, I must ask, will there be internet? And electrical outlets?”

  We both stared at her like deer caught in headlights.

  “We’re going to Venezuela to work in an orphanage,” I said, slowly enunciating every word.