Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights

by Mary Ellen Courtney

  “I won’t pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t expect you to give up your career.”

  “How do people do this?”

  “I don’t know. But if we want it, we’re about to find out.”

  “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I have such an immense longing for you. It never went away, no matter how angry I got. I really don’t know how to fill up the next hour. I feel aimless. How is that going to work for nine months?”

  “We better say it if we’re going to get through this. I’ll come there for a few days before you leave, or you can come through Honolulu and I’ll meet you.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” I said. “Jon, why didn’t you tell me that night?”

  “I thought maybe it was just a licking thing. That was a new one. It seemed soon to start throwing around the word love. I didn’t want to make a mistake with you. I didn’t know what was going on with Mike.”

  “But you had me there. You knew that. We could have lost each other.”

  “But we didn’t. In a way I think it’s better that we did it this way.”

  “Someday you’ll have to explain that to me.”

  “I don’t think I need to explain it to you.”

  “How did this happen? That we would find each other so far apart?” I asked. “Other people find people close.”

  “Do they? It seems pretty random to me.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to hear about even the goats?”

  “Were they good dancers?”

  “They didn’t hula if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Let me think about it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  THIRTEEN

  I got to work early and started a pot of coffee. Margaret breezed in asking how my weekend had been. I started in. She was hooting with laughter at the body art and the idea of Mom wearing gloves to the luncheon, through the entire meal.

  “It’s that kind of inspiration that sets you apart,” she said. “Did Steve get a hold of you?”

  I told her the story, that Steve would have wanted the baby with some kind of working things out agreement. She said someone must have been looking out for me.

  “Blow me one last kiss?” she asked.

  “It’s a Pink song. Jon walked in on the cocktail waitresses dancing to it on the bar. It’s a fuck off song, just how I felt talking to Steve. It was like I was talking to a better-dressed version of my ex-husband. I would have stopped at blow me, but I didn’t want to encourage him.”

  She was subdued listening to the story about the burial, about my mother’s wailing and beating on Ted. I told her about Jon and that I planned to stop in Honolulu on the way to India.

  “I’m sorry for your mother, it’s out of order,” she said. “Jon sounds real.”

  “I hope he is. I keep wondering if I’ll ever turn that corner.”

  “It sounds to me like you finally have. We’ll run it by Ed.” She actually winked at me. She’d never winked at me.

  “How did this happen, that he should be there?” I asked.

  “Or you here from his point-of-view. I don’t know why we get dished these things, but in our business, in some ways, it really doesn’t matter. It always has to be worked out. It’s like the military. We spend a lot of time in different time zones.”

  “How did you and Ed work it out all these years?”

  She was quiet as she looked out the window of our big workroom.

  “It wasn’t a bed of roses. We kept a lot from each other and we always will. It’s not ideal. But we both loved our work, or thought we did, so that was the accommodation we made. We survived, most people didn’t. At a certain point, you realize that you made it all the way through.”

  “Would you do it again?”

  “I have no idea. The road not traveled or whatever it is. I don’t know how the people who took a more traditional path did. We can’t know what the inside of marriages are all about.”

  She thought it must have been easier for the children with a mother and father at home. Their children were mildly estranged; they were more attached to Ed or Margaret depending on which one was home the most when they were young. They called them Margaret and Ed, not mom and dad.

  “But you were both happy in your careers,” I said. “That had to make your life more rewarding.”

  “It did. And we’ve always been each other’s best friend. We made choices. There were some wrong ones.”

  “Did you two have affairs?”

  “I didn’t. There were close calls of course. I don’t know about Ed. If he did, he better not get a deathbed urge to confess. I’ll put a pillow over his head.”

  I told her about Karin and Oscar.

  “They’re at a deciding moment,” she said. “I wish them well. I’ve always liked Karin.”

  Our producer Dede came by with paperwork. She had my contract to sign and our passports stamped with visas.

  “Did you tell her?” asked Dede.

  “I haven’t had a chance,” said Margaret. “She’s going to Hawaii on the way.”

  Dede handed me my contract. She said to review the credit language and money with an agent.

  “Call the production office, they’ll change your tickets.” Dede answered a call and headed out the door.

  An agent? I didn’t have an agent. I flipped to the credit section; Margaret had decided to share screen credit. She had pushed me above-the-line. I was stunned. That was what we all worked for. Not only did it mean a big jump up in pay; it meant she considered me an equal in work. It said it to the whole world. It was the nicest thing that had ever happened to me in our unsentimental business, where even your best friends guard their credit. And it meant that I was in a financially stable place for the first time in my adult life. I could pay off my credit card; I could make plans. I looked at Margaret.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to say,” she said. “You’ve earned it, you’re gifted. It’s time. Don’t ever feel like you haven’t earned every last thing that comes your way in this business. Believe me, even I wouldn’t give you the lift if you hadn’t shown 150%; it would reflect poorly on me.”

  We worked the rest of the morning. Ed came by with lunch; his cooking for us had begun. Margaret gave him the lowdown on Jon. He agreed with her. It sounded like I’d made the turn to a grown up man. He was basing his feeling less on Jon, who he didn’t know, than on the fact that I not only understood what Steve was all about, but that I’d told him to fuck off in such a stylish way. He wanted to know if Jon played golf. I didn’t think so. He said he’d have to remedy that; he loved the idea of playing golf in Hawaii. Sigh. Now my love life was a vehicle for golf vacations. We wrapped our day on schedule.

  Jon called right at 7:00. I told him I was coming and about my career boost.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

  “About the goats?”

  “No. Well, yes. I have to admit I’m curious until I remember I’m the one who brought them up. But it was about your nothing comment,” he said.

  “You worried about Chana?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’ll be fine, just get her to marry her high school sweetheart like my sister-in-law. Although I’m not sure she got through completely unscathed.”

  “Her boyfriend’s an idiot, but you can chew the chemistry. Women must have nothings.”

  “It’s mostly nothings in the end. But we call it regrets.”

  “Do you get over it?”

  “Not so far.”

  “I’m sorry it’s that way.”

  “What did you mean when you said it’s almost true for men?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Jon.”

  “It’s never absolutely nothing, once you’ve crossed that line. It’s not possible. But that doesn’t mean it’s anything either. It’s rarely even interesting a few minutes later. We are assholes about that part. ”

  “I
think you’ve switched into calculus. Do men regret it?”

  “Not unless it’s a psycho. We’re different that way, but we don’t forget either.”

  “Oscar says he regrets it.”

  “He involved his family.”

  “What happened to your marriage in the end?”

  “We involved our family. It wasn’t real to start with. She switched back to my partner, long before I knew it. I just switched. Neither of us regrets it.”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation again. It was easier thinking nothing was nothing.”

  “Doesn’t it feel better knowing that we’re all in this together?” he asked.

  “Not really, I don’t want to be in it with all your other women. I know it sounds childish, but I can still hear her voice answering your phone; that stuck. It doesn’t feel like history.”

  “She only answered it because I left it in there. I was asleep on the couch.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t have a car. It doesn’t matter; the point is nothing happened. I admit I tried. You were there, yelling at me every time I managed to get you on the phone. It didn’t feel too promising. I wanted to move on. You still got in the way. I couldn’t put it together in my head. It was all off notes.”

  “I thought we were going to tell each other the truth.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Is that for real? I’ve never heard of that,” I said.

  “It’s a new one. We are human,” he said.

  “So you claim. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You wouldn’t stop talking. I thought my ears would fall off. I got pissed and the moment passed. It’s not the easiest thing to put out there, especially after you dragged Chana into it. I thought it wouldn’t matter, it sounds like it does.”

  “So a real nothing?”

  “That’s one way to put it. After that, you could be my only option.”

  “So now everyone is going to pity me?” I asked.

  “You know what? You’re like wrestling an octopus,” he said. “I’m the one who deserves pity. You’re only pitied in Ottumwa.”

  “Is that where she’s from?”

  “Some “O” place.”

  “Jon.”

  “Don’t, Hannah. It just doesn’t matter. I don’t even know her last name.”

  “That doesn’t mean it was nothing.”

  “Fuck me. Pull up now. Please. I can’t take this. It’s like being trapped in some rogue algorithm.”

  “Okay, you’re right. I don’t want to get you swearing. So what’s the difference?”

  “Besides the fact that I couldn’t get it going?” he said. “That is extremely extremely different.”

  “Besides the bragging. We both know that’s temporary.”

  “Everything. You? Besides god.”

  “I just like all of you. I felt the real free.”

  “You’ll get over liking all of me. Feel free to do that.”

  “Not you, you’re required to keep liking all of me,” I said.

  “I know how it works,” he said.

  “I don’t want to talk about us anymore, I don’t want to jinx it. You know, except when I do.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “I wish I had some magic answer about Chana, old dad. It isn’t fair we get stuck with regret. Tell her the mistakes are okay. Hearing that from you will be important. I think it would have helped to hear that from my father. The next few years are the hardest. Are you sure her boyfriend is an idiot?”

  “Yep, I hope he drowns before he becomes a regret. I’m thinking about hooking him up with the Maui wall riders; speed up his demise. I figure I’ll comp them free meals for life.”

  “That would break Chana’s heart.”

  “He’s a menace in the water. She can ride rings around him. She’s going to be embarrassed when she comes back to earth.”

  “Leave him alone, she’ll figure it out. Do you play golf?”

  “No, do you?”

  “No. But Ed says he’s going to get you playing.”

  “I’ll try if he tries paddling.”

  “I don’t have a big picture of that. May I ask you something?”

  “Unless it’s a history question.”

  “How do you know it’s not something you should see the doctor about?”

  “I tested it. I have a scenario worked up that involves that black dress of yours. Doesn’t take much.”

  “Am I in the dress?”

  “The whole time, plus or minus.”

  “Mine’s more impressionistic.”

  “I don’t have time to hear it now, I’d never get to work. I’ll call you the same time tomorrow. Put some words to it by then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  What more was there to say? He’s fast, just the way I like it. I was beginning to feel uneasy about it all. My track record said fast, right before the crash. On top of that, I wasn’t feeling charged up about going to India anymore.

  Margaret and I spent the rest of our time packing up and sending our material to the first location in Udaipur. They were going ahead to Delhi to get acclimated, while I went through Honolulu.

  I met with Margaret’s agent about the contract; I knew he was a straight shooter. He said the deal was clean, to just sign it. I did. He welcomed me to his stable and said I was very lucky and very young to break through. On top of being tired of the horse analogy, I could really hear the depreciating creep directed at women in his voice. I decided to take a page out of Margaret’s playbook and told him there was no luck involved; I’d earned it. I realized Margaret was teaching me how to be in the world. It’s a father’s lesson, and not one my mother knew how to teach. She was all about apologizing and not firing painters.

  “You are Margaret’s protégée,” he said.

  Eric and I talked a few times. I told him about Jon. He wasn’t holding his breath. Who could blame him? He did like the fact that he went by one syllable. Mom had finally come out of hiding. Her hands were back to normal; he had no idea what was going on under her clothes. He talked to Arthur; she was still going to meetings. She had started talking about Bettina and Amber in the present tense; she might be in some kind of denial phase. She still hadn’t called me.

  “Do you think I should call her?” I asked.

  “It’s up to you. Anna and I don’t have any idea how it hit her. She mentioned at brunch that she imagined you were off to India by now. We told her you are still home. Maybe just call her to say good-bye. If nothing else, you’ll have swept your side of the street.”

  “Where’d you hear that street sweeping thing?”

  “Anna and I started going to Alanon. You’ve gone. We figured it was time we went.”

  “What do you think?”

  “We’re surprised there’s an alcoholic under every rock. Listening to the people has made us realize how much harder it was for you to be there alone. I told the Sharpie story, that okay?”

  “It’s fine. How’d it play?”

  “Buy stock in Sharpies. I wouldn’t be surprised if we start seeing a lot of gloves around town.”

  “Oh boy. You have to keep me posted!”

  “Are you taking your cell?”

  “I’ll have it in Hawaii. After that I’ll be in touch.”

  “Have a great time,” he said. “Anna can’t wait to see you on the front end of this picture.”

  Jon and I talked at the same time every afternoon. We told each other bits of our life—past, present and future. I tried to put words to my fantasy; he was quiet on the other end. He was interested in Grandma’s canary and appreciated “Wild Nights.” He liked the part about being done with a compass and chart. He was a full out romantic. Conversations unfurled like ribbons.

  I told him the family story; how my parents had gone out for three nights in a row and he proposed. That they’d seen the movie A Man And A Woman on one of those nights, and that I’d been weaned on the image of a woman running around the French coun
tryside in a garter belt and smoking Gauloises. Which, in light of my father’s affair and the black lace bra at age fifteen, didn’t sound all that far-fetched.

  His parents had taken a more rational approach; they’d dated all through college and still lived in the house where he was born. His father was a banker, his mother taught freshman English. They played a lot of beach volleyball and were crazy about Chana. His grandparents raised his mother after both her parents were killed in a car accident. She’d been in the car. He would tell me more when he saw me. He had a brother and sister-in-law, both psychologists. They had two kids. He said he’d take a pass on the smoking, but he liked the garter belt idea.

  He talked about the housing foundation. He hated that we ran off and threw money at Haiti, but had such a half-assed response to Katrina. He only got involved in projects where he had some say over how his money was spent. That was a whole side to him that you wouldn’t know looking at him. It must be what Mike meant about him not being as laid back as he looked.

  We voted the same way. I know people on opposite sides of the fence can get along, but why try? He had no idea why anyone cared who married whom, or what they did in the privacy of their bedroom or family. He tried to integrate environmentally sound practices in the restaurants, but he didn’t make it his mission. They were making a bigger point of it in their next housing project. They had a new Board member, a retired management consultant who was pushing them all outside their comfort zone for fundraising, but it was paying off.

  He wanted to hear about my job, what my typical day was like. We agreed we lived similar lives. We spent our days swinging back and forth between repetition, and problem-solving on the fly. Between seriously tedious people and genuinely interesting people. It was always different. It was challenging.

  Some days he filled in tending bar when only one sad drunk showed up. Some days I spent hours running around town for minutia props that were only going to be on-camera for two minutes, and then only in the corner of someone’s eye. He needed to be behind the bar. I needed to find the prop. Did any of it matter? When I thought about it, what seemed to matter was that we both said we would, so we did. We both showed up.