by Roz Bailey
“Thank you,” I said, stunned as I sorted through the beautiful lipsticks, sparkly as candy sticks, and powdered eye shadows in cool palettes of green, brown, and mauve. “I don’t even remember the last time I wore makeup,” I confessed. What a hermit I’d become lately.
“You’re very welcome. Why don’t you try some of that stuff on, then hightail it out to the train station? I’ll bet Noah will be glad to see you.”
Noah . . . the artistic genius, brilliant director, lousy boyfriend who was always too busy to call.
“Go on, darling,” her mother said. “No reason to stay cooped up here with me. Get your fanny on that train.”
“Okay.” I tucked the makeup kit under my arm and headed inside. “Just give me a few minutes to make myself beautiful.” Passing through the kitchen, I added, “Actually, better make that a few days.”
Emerging from Penn Station into the sunlight of an August day, I felt like a zombie of my former self, moving through the familiar streets of Manhattan that somehow no longer belonged to me. Walking toward the theater I passed Joe Allen, the restaurant where Noah and I had spent hours discussing scripts and story. Down another street was the subway stop for the number one train, which I used to ride to Island Books. And ahead loomed a square blue sign for my bank, such a familiar stop, back when I had a life here in the city.
No one questioned me as I passed through the stage door of the old theater. The props mistress gave me a nod as I moved through the wings, finding my way to the middle seats of the cool theater suffused in amber light. The cast and crew of Noah’s shows had gotten used to seeing me wait on the fringes, like Noah’s personal fan club.
I sank into a chair in the middle of the theater, wondering if it was worth interrupting Noah to let him know I was here for an unexpected visit. He stood at the foot of the stage, running a scene with Bancroft and Darcy, the three of them laughing over some mistake that Ban kept making that struck them as funny. Since the actors were not miked, I could only catch bits and pieces of their conversation. Feeling like an outsider, I had just sunk down into my seat when someone tapped my shoulder—Milo, sporting a wide grin.
“Hey, Linds. Does Noah know you’re here?”
“It’s a surprise visit. Elle showed up to stay with Ma at the last minute.”
“Come on up to the booth to keep me company. I’m working on the light board until they hire a proper lighting designer.”
Feeling like I was sneaking off to an adventure, I followed him through a door in the back of the theater to a catwalk that led to the lighting booth, a small box perched high at the rear of the theater, barely big enough for two people.
“It’s a good thing neither of us has a weight problem,” I said, tucking myself behind the console of red lights, switches, and levers. “But it is cozy up here. A real bird’s-eye view.”
Onstage, Darcy doubled over, giggling about something I had missed.
“It’s not that funny,” Bancroft said, laughing despite himself.
“They’re punchy today, aren’t they?” I commented.
“Rehearsals have been going well,” Milo said. “Noah seems happy with the way things are shaping up, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I ran my fingertips over the edge of the light board, feeling like a spectator of my own life. “He always pulls away when he’s working on something. Spins himself into a cocoon.”
“One of those artistic types,” Milo said, half joking.
“Sort of. But lately I feel very far away from him, as if he’s working in a foreign country and phoning in every few weeks. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m stuck out in the Hamptons with Ma and he’s stuck here with the show.”
“Maybe,” Milo agreed, his voice slowing tentatively. “Or maybe there’s something else to it. Did you ever consider that Noah might be interested in someone else?”
I tensed, stabbed by the hint of bad news. “I can’t imagine Noah fooling around,” I said evenly. “He doesn’t have time for another girlfriend, and I can’t see Noah cheating on me. He’s just not that type.”
“Not cheating, exactly,” Milo said, his eyes straight ahead on the stage, where Bancroft exited and Noah jumped onto the apron, motioning Darcy closer. Apparently Noah was blocking her soliloquy, directing her to possible marks downstage left.
I shifted my sandaled feet uncomfortably. “Milo, what are you trying to say?”
“Um . . .” Milo pressed his lips together, frowning as he followed Darcy with a spotlight. “Have you ever thought that your boyfriend might be in love with someone else?”
I looked from him to the stage, spotlight on Darcy and Noah. He had one hand behind her back, the other pressed to her sternum in a gesture so intimate it stole my breath away. He was probably instructing her on projecting or feeling the scene with her heart or letting the energy flow up along her spine—business as usual, but in a most personal way.
“Oh, God.” I pressed a fist to my mouth, unable to turn away from the new source of pain. The glaring discovery was so apparent, so obvious that I felt a slight sting of foolishness at the thought of all the people who’d been watching it happen for months. “I feel so stupid.” I turned to Milo. “How long has it been going on?”
“It hasn’t. You know Noah wouldn’t cheat on you—you said it yourself. And Darcy is your friend.” He shook his head, his eyes glimmering, dots from the light board reflected in his glasses. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I’m fairly sure no one has acted on this attraction, out of love and respect for you.”
“Me? Oh, great. Now I’m the one keeping two star-crossed lovers apart.” I turned back to the stage, feeling the corner of my mouth twitch as a sob came on. My froggy face, I called it. “I’m screwing up everyone because I want to have a boyfriend,” I blurted out.
Milo shrugged. “Nobody can blame you. Noah’s a hot property.”
“Not a very good boyfriend,” I said, my voice catching with a sob. My defenses were down. I was tired, and my mother was dying, and I missed my job and my Manhattan life.
But I couldn’t let all that cloud my judgment. Noah and I had been going through the paces for a while now; a loveless relationship based on convenience, social status, and probably some pity on his part.
“I’ve been such a moron.”
“No, you haven’t.” Milo put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been forging ahead, fighting your own battles miles away from all this . . . this dynamic that seems to have a life of its own.”
Down on the stage, Darcy’s golden hair fell over one shoulder as she lifted her head to face Noah. He moved closer to her—close, but not touching. Such intensity, their eyes locked on each other.
I felt the sting of jealousy. Something was going on between them! Look! Look! I wanted to shriek at Milo. They’re in love—they’ve got chemistry—and Noah and I always struggled to find common ground. “It’s not fair,” I said aloud.
“It never is, kiddo.”
I ended my relationship with Noah that very day. Not surprisingly, he didn’t seem too distressed but expressed his concern for me. “You’re going through so much right now, I know I haven’t been a great source of support,” he said. “I’m sorry, but though I don’t show it, I do worry about you. Don’t slip away, Lindsay.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him with more confidence than I felt. “I’ve got good friends.” I wasn’t sure that I could count Darcy among them at the moment, but I didn’t want to go through all the sordid details with Noah. Chances were, he wasn’t even aware of his own feelings for Darcy; though Noah was a master at interpreting other pieces, he was clueless when it came to reading the indicators and feelings in his own life.
I returned to the Hamptons that evening, fighting my way among the rush-hour throngs of passengers. Ma was asleep when I crept into the house, but Elle was in the living room, watching syndicated reruns of Truth and Justice.
“I can barely stand it,” Elle said sadly, her legs folded
like a pretzel on the Chinese rug. “What am I going to do? I love my job, but I can’t keep working on that show with him in the same office. The whole damn show has his thumbprint on it, but I can’t turn it off.”
I picked up the remote and turned to the Cartoon Network, where Courage the Cowardly Dog moaned for mercy. “I broke up with Noah today.”
Elle winced. “Oh, honey . . . what happened?”
I opened a bottle of wine and spilled my troubles to my friend.
“Now let me get this straight,” Elle said, cupping her wineglass to her chest. “You’re giving Noah to Darcy?”
“I’m conceding graciously,” I said.
“And you’re not pissed?” Elle’s green eyes went wide. “She stole your man, girl!”
“He was never mine in the first place. Noah and I never had the rapport he seems to have with Darcy.”
“And you’re not mad at her?” Elle shook her head. “Are you depressed, or just incredibly mature?”
“I’m not mad . . . well, maybe a little,” I admitted. “But I think this was just one of those things that snowballed out of control. That’s the thing about love. It bites you in the ass when you least expect it.” It had been years since I had known how it felt to be in love . . . the sudden laughter, the spark of attraction, the resoundingly familiar echo of Bear’s face. I’d memorized that face. A good thing, as the memory was the only trace of the only real love of my life.
“Yup.” Elle tipped the bottle into my wineglass. “Love certainly does bite.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and when it doesn’t bite, well, that bites, too.” When the bottle was dry, we turned on the monitor connected to the porch, filed up the dark stairs, and fell into the two single beds in my old attic room.
As I spiraled into a dream, I breathed deeply in relief. Single again. At least there was a modicum of peace in closure.
87
Elle
The next day Elle stayed in her pajamas until noon, when Lindsay suggested a game of Scrabble on the porch with Mrs. Mick.
“Perfect!” Elle said, recalling the many summer days when they’d taken over the porch, staging Scrabble tournaments and Monopoly marathons. What better way to plod through the “I’ve just lost my guy” blues?
Mary Grace was kicking their butts, having just scored an extra fifty points by using all seven letters for the word monkeys. She replaced her tiles, then stared above their heads at the side yard. “Good Lord!” Mary Grace gasped. “I swear to God, the undertaker’s come for me early.”
“Ma, are you hallucinating now,” Lindsay said, her head tilted over the Scrabble board, “or just trying to distract me from finding a way to use the triple word space?”
Elle scrambled to the door in her pink Joe Boxer shorts and red T-shirt, amazed to see a black limousine parking in the driveway. As the driver’s side door opened, she recognized Judd’s driver. “Judd’s limo,” she said aloud. “Shit!” She hated being caught, even though she wasn’t really doing anything that wrong.
Lindsay padded to the screen door in bare feet and swung her denim hip against it as she leaned out. “Hi, Judd,” she called, adding for those inside the room, “it’s about time.”
Judd unfolded himself from the limousine, looking taller in the McCorkles’ side yard. “Is she in there?”
With a squeal, Elle ducked behind Lindsay. “Tell him no!” she giggled, pressing her face to the back of Lindsay’s T-shirt.
She didn’t hear an answer, but she suspected that her friend gave her up, as Judd’s shoes scraped up the steps. A moment later, his booming voice filled the room.
“Cute, Elle. Here, I think you’ve been mugged or something and you’re out here playing Scrabble in your pj’s?”
Elle straightened, determined not to be bullied by him. “How the hell did you find me here?” she asked, her hands balled in fists on her narrow hips.
“You forget, I was a lawyer first, a district attorney second. I know a few things about investigation, missy.”
Missy? Elle wanted to laugh. Was that the tough language he used to use when interrogating the really bad guys?
“When you weren’t at your apartment, where you were supposed to be sick,” Judd glared at her for emphasis, “I called Darcy.”
“She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“She figured you came out east. I talked her into auditioning for the new pilot, then got my driver to bring me out here. When there was no answer at your place, I knew I’d have to shake down the neighborhood.” He swung around to face Mary Grace. “Sorry to intrude, Mrs. McCorkle.”
With the help of the hand mirror and comb, Mary Grace had quickly plumped her short curls into an acceptable hairdo. “Not a problem, Judd. You just go on and take care of business and don’t mind me. I’d skedaddle but I’m not very mobile these days.”
And this confrontation was very likely one of the juiciest Mary Grace had been privy to for the past six months, Elle thought as she watched Judd turn on the charm. The smooth operator.
“I wouldn’t dream of putting you out,” Judd said, pressing a hand to his chest in a dramatic gesture of sincerity. His left hand clutched a brown paper bag, soggy on the bottom.
“What is that?” Elle asked, wrinkling her nose at the bag.
He held it up. “This, my dear, is chicken matzo-ball soup, Jewish penicillin for a young lady who called in sick.” He frowned down at the bag. “Must be cold by now. Would’ve tasted great, if you were sick at home in your apartment. Where sick people are supposed to be.”
“I’ll take that off your hands.” Lindsay grabbed the bag and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Sick people who don’t even bother to call in sick the second day,” Judd went on. “For all I know, you could have passed out in the shower or fallen down the stairs.”
“I don’t have stairs in my apartment,” Elle pointed out, her anger giving way to amusement over Judd’s histrionics. To think that he’d actually blown off his schedule to drive all the way out here . . . well, that meant something.
“As your boss, I’m appalled by your unprofessional behavior,” Judd said gruffly, folding his arms. Behind him, Mary Grace’s eyes went wide and she wagged a knowing finger at Elle. “You’re taking advantage of the sick-leave policy,” Judd added.
“The first time I ever used it in more than two years,” Elle argued, determined not to cave in.
“And as your boyfriend, I’m really pissed. You could’ve called.”
“I left a message with your assistant,” Elle said. “Besides, you could’ve called me, if you really cared.”
“I came all the way out here with chicken soup!”
“A day later.” She folded her arms and turned away from him. “Do you even know what made me sick? The reason I couldn’t drag myself in to work yesterday?”
He pulled in a deep breath, then sighed. “The argument? What do you want, an apology?”
“No. Not good enough.” She spun around to face him. “I want to know that you’re committed to our relationship, Judd. I want to make it official and start a family.”
He sank down onto a chair at the foot of the hospital bed. “I’d like a family,” he said quietly. “But you know how I struggle with the marriage deal.” He shot a look up at Mary Grace, explaining, “The old ball and chain.”
“If you’ll pardon my two cents, some of us get very used to having that other person attached,” Mary Grace said. “I miss my old ball and chain.”
“I’m just not sure.” Judd shook his head. “Don’t know if I can do it.”
“Well, I know that I’m not going to settle for anything less,” Elle said, feeling her hands ball into fists again. He could be so frustrating. If she didn’t love him, she’d kill him. “What do you know, Judd?”
He pointed toward the door. “I know that I’m not getting into that limo without you. I know that I miss having you at work, poking your nose into my business and bothering me on the set.”
“I
do not bother you.”
“I know that my brownstone feels like an empty museum without you there.” He reached into his pocket and held up a shiny gold key dangling from a ring. “I had this made for you so that you could move your stuff in. Make it your home, too.”
Elle felt her knees soften at the mention of home. It was her weak spot, the need to build a nest and feather it for a family. She stared at the shiny key, saying, “What does this really mean?”
“That I want you in my life,” he said. “That I want to wake up with you in the morning and go to sleep with you at night.”
“Sounds like the old ball and chain to me,” Mary Grace said cheerfully.
Elle took the key ring from him, slid it on her ring finger and jiggled her hand. “It’s a little big,” she complained. “Not to be pushy, but I’d like a solitaire diamond. Tiffany’s would do.”
“You are pushy.”
“Yeah, I am, and I’m not going to settle here, Judd. I want to marry you. I want to be married to you, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I’ve got a spectacular rose arbor at that house down the road. Would you give me a chance to use it?”
“It does make for lovely photos,” Mary Grace chimed in.
“I wish I had your confidence,” he said. “Look, can we live together for a while first?”
“A few months?” she said.
“I was thinking years,” he admitted.
“How about a one-year trial period?” Mrs. Mick suggested. “Like a purchase with a one-year warranty. A lease with an option to buy. I got that on my last car, and I was quite pleased with it.”
Elle looked up into Judd’s dark eyes and said, “I’ll take it,” as he nodded. She threw her arms around him in a hug that lifted her off her bare feet. Judd, her big bull of a man. She loved him way too much to settle for anything less than forever.
“Lovely,” Mary Grace said, pushing away the table with the Scrabble board. “With that resolved, it’s lunchtime, and I hear we have some delicious chicken soup. Any takers?”
