Breakup Boot Camp

by Beth Merlin

  I closed the Playbill and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand as the chorus stepped out onto the stage to recite Romeo and Juliet’s famous first lines. In my line of work, I’d seen Romeo and Juliet performed at least a dozen times in all sorts of incarnations. A few years ago, New York City’s Public Theater put on Romeo and Juliet as part of their summer Shakespeare in the Park series at the Delacorte Theater. The show’s creative team built a revolving set featuring a seventy-foot wide pool with water, through which the actors waded, splashed, and stomped about. While the mood the unique set created was nothing short of visually stunning, an unfortunate side effect was the fact much of the story and dialogue ended up being forfeited to the over-the-top spectacle.

  In sharp contrast, the Canterbury Amphitheater production was totally stripped down. The actors wore simple costumes in front of minimal sets that utilized the naturalistic backdrop of the woods. There were very few spotlights, the director purposefully taking advantage of the full moon that was bathing the performers in gorgeous white light.

  The actress playing Juliet was perfectly cast, which, coming from someone who’d spent the last six years working under Stephen Gerber, was saying a lot. Her performance was beautiful, exposing every shade of Juliet’s ingenuousness—and all the heartbreak that comes with it. The actor playing Romeo had a boyish, impulsive bravado that made the instant attraction between the two entirely plausible.

  Todd was right, though, the concept of a fourteen-year-old falling so head over heels in love she’s willing to end her life before it even begins was insane, even to me. Didn’t she know it was only a matter of time before Romeo picked up with some wench from the local pub and left her high and dry? No, she didn’t know, because she was FOURTEEN, with no real-life experience or perspective. And for the first time ever, I wanted to jump out of my seat and stop Juliet from plunging that dagger into her heart. She had so much more life left to live and love to experience.

  My new opinion on the plot prospective aside, it was an absolutely wonderful production. From the prologue to the prince’s final verse, I was completely entranced. When the show was over, I made my way down to the front of the theater to congratulate Gerald Mason, the director of the theater, whom I’d met briefly during my visit a few days earlier. I wanted to leave him my card, so some of the actors could get in touch when I got back to New York and the Gerber Agency. Part of my job was to scout talent, and there was no question there was an impressive amount of talent in this production.

  I waited for the crowd of well-wishers to clear out before I approached Gerald. He studied my face, trying to figure out how he knew me. I reminded him of the afternoon in the Topsail Little Theater, where he graciously let me rest my injured ankle. Then, I passed him my business card.

  He put his hand over his mouth and took a large step backwards. “The Gerber Agency? You work for the Gerber Agency? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He popped up on his toes and looked around. “Am I being pranked right now?”

  “Not at all. I’m sorry, I should’ve done a more proper introduction the first time we met.”

  “The Gerber Agency,” he repeated as he shook his head. “Wow, Stephen Gerber’s a legend. He’s cast all the greats. He just finished Elizabeth, right?”

  “He didn’t actually cast for Elizabeth. It’s a pretty sore subject around the office. We don’t mention the E-word anywhere near Stephen. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that your two main leads were amazing. No promises but have them reach out to me. I’d love to have each of them test with us for a few things,” I said.

  He tucked the card into his script. “Noah and Olivia are going to flip out. I’ve been trying to convince them it’s time to take their chances in New York.”

  “There’s no better place, and I should know.”

  “You’re an actress too?”

  “I was. I studied to be one, anyway. Didn’t quite pan out for me, though.”

  Gerald pulled the flyer announcing auditions for Twelfth Night out of his pocket. “It’s never too late. We hold auditions in three weeks,” he said, passing it to me.

  “I don’t know about that. Besides, I’ll be heading home next week.”

  “Topsail has a funny way of taking hold. I was supposed to go home years ago.”

  I laughed and took the paper from him. “I’ll think about it.”

  I decided to walk back to the resort. The Topsail streets were crowded with people who’d just left the show, stopping off for an after-dinner drink or dessert. With its cute shops and quaint restaurants, Topsail really was the quintessential summer beach town, and I could understand what Gerald said about wanting to throw off the rest of the world and settle down here.

  I stopped to buy a homemade vanilla bean ice cream cone from a seaside cart, licking all around the sides as I made my way back to the hotel. I gave my name at the Retreat House wrought iron gates and followed the carved path up to the large front doors.

  Unlike the bustle of downtown Topsail, the hotel was strangely quiet, with just a few guests mingling about the lobby. I ducked into the ladies’ room to wash my hands, which were sticky from melted ice cream, and when I came out, I spotted Todd and Louisa heading into the Palm Lounge, together. My heart flip-flopped, and my stomach fell. Were they on a date?

  I tiptoed out of the bathroom and crept slowly around the corner toward the lounge, which was set up in the evenings as an after-hours bar. I stealthily slid along the wall and into the room, where the two of them were huddled up in a small banquette in the corner of the room, sipping cocktails and watching the live jazz band.

  I sighed and leaned back and into the wall. They looked so happy, so right together. It was hard to believe their relationship ended, let alone imploded. Todd whispered something in Louisa’s ear. She threw her head back, laughing, her luscious hair landing gently across her back and shoulders. He pushed a few strands out of her face and took another sip of his martini.

  I’d seen enough, or at least, enough to understand they weren’t quite as over as they purported to be. I ducked down and tiptoed out of the lounge and back to my bungalow, where I fished my phone out of the nightstand drawer and plugged it back into the wall charger. After a few minutes, the phone came back to life, pinging away with text messages and missed calls from the last several days—half a dozen texts from Merritt, updates on castings from Courtney and Stephen, baby bump photos from Grace, and then there was the one message that stopped me dead in my tracks. Three simple words from Sam.

  I Miss You.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I stepped forward to the register. “I’ll have a half-caff, triple, venti, soy, no foam latte.”

  The woman behind me snorted and mumbled, “At that point, why even bother?”

  I turned to her. “Ordering coffee is the only point in the day when I feel completely in control of my own life. Sad but true.”

  “Joanna, you don’t need to explain yourself to me, or to anybody else, for that matter. And that is sad.”

  I studied her face and came up empty. “I’m sorry, do I know—”

  She jutted out her hand. “Shelly.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “Shelly?”

  She leaned in closer to me. “Shelly Rivers, aka Mistress Monica.”

  Mistress Monica looked completely different without her makeup, wig, and latex jumpsuit. Fresh-faced, dressed head to toe in workout gear, her auburn hair slicked back into a ponytail tucked under a Retreat House baseball cap, she resembled all the other middle-aged moms milling around the resort.

  I pushed my sunglasses up on my head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Honey, this is my day look. You know,” she said, taking a swig of her coffee, “I’ve been thinking about you since my workshop, and wondering how you’ve been getting on here?”

  I pointed to the beach. “With views like that, who could complain?”

  “You’d be surprised. Do you have anywhere to be? Wanna grab a table and
finish our coffees?”

  “Sounds great. I have a couple of hours free.”

  We found a small table under the patio awning and settled into two large club chairs. “I didn’t realize you stayed through the whole Boot Camp session,” I said, settling down into one of the chairs.

  “I’m here most of the summer for one-on-one dominatrix training, as well as the group sessions. My husband and I just love Topsail Island, it’s our own undiscovered paradise. We’re just happy to be out of LA for a couple of months. Plus, our kids are at a sleepaway camp in the Poconos all summer anyway, so why not, right?”

  I don’t know what was more surprising, that Mistress Monica had children, or that she had a husband.

  “I see that look in your eyes. I’m not someone you expect to have a family,” she said.

  “If I’m being totally honest, no, I guess you’re not.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

  “And he, your husband, he doesn’t mind what you do for a living?”

  “Mind? God, no. How do you think we met? Besides, I told you, being a dominatrix isn’t about sex, at least, not for me. For me, it’s about having power and control, not over another person, but over myself. So, tell me, have you heard from that guy that cheated on you since you’ve been here?”

  I set my coffee down. “He sent me a text.”

  She shook her head incredulously. “And let me guess, it was something pithy and vague, leaving you with a million more questions than answers.”

  I held up three fingers. “Three big little words, ‘I miss you.’”

  She leaned back in her chair, tapping her long red fingernails against the coffee mug. “I’m sure he does. The more important question, though, is, do you miss him?”

  “Is it weak of me if I say I still do?”

  “Honey, there are weak loves, but there’s absolutely no weakness in loving someone, even someone who ultimately hurt you. But at the end of the day, what you want is a man that messes up your lipstick, not your mascara. Trust me on that one.”

  I relaxed into the chair and let her words sink in.

  She set down her drink mug. “I know, I know, wise words coming from a porn star, who woulda thunk it,” she said with a wink.

  I smiled. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “How well do you know Louisa Brier? The other day at the seminar, she introduced you as her good friend.”

  “We met a couple of years ago. She was coming off a pretty rough breakup and came to a few of my LA workshops. After that, she started sending other friends my way, women trying to get over a heartbreak, who needed a different kind of outlet.”

  “And this was after her breakup with Todd Aldrich?”

  She nodded. “They’ve come a long way since then. In some ways, Todd’s become the unofficial mascot of this place. Proof you can coexist with your ex.”

  “And in all this time…”

  “Have they rekindled the flame? I don’t think so. Todd mostly keeps to the kitchen. He works for the hotel, not the Boot Camp. Like I said, according to Louisa, they mostly coexist, nothing more.”

  I thought back to what I had seen the night before. They didn’t look like they were coexisting, what they looked, was…cozy.

  Mistress Monica swallowed down the last of her coffee and checked her watch. “I should get going. I’m meeting up with a client soon. If you’re free this afternoon, you should come to my workshop, How to Whip Your Life and Man into Shape. Pun fully intended.”

  After coffee, I broke the “unplugged” rule and took my phone down to the beach so I could call Merritt for her birthday. I laid my beach towel over a small dune and settled into the sand. Zosia and Emmy were out on the ocean, taking a surfing lesson with Austin. I stood up and waved to them just as the class was paddling out to the break. They each gave me a small wave back, and I turned away to dial my sister’s number. Merritt picked up before the first ring.

  “What’s wrong?” she panted.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m calling to wish my big sister a happy birthday, that’s all.”

  “You practically just gave me a heart attack. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you ’til sometime next week.”

  “I couldn’t let your birthday go by without at least a call.”

  The edge in her voice relaxed. “Well, I’m glad you broke the rules. You’ve been on my mind all week, especially after I saw the tabloid photos of Emmy J surfing on Topsail Beach. How are you? Hopefully you took my advice and have been stepping outside of your comfort zone too?”

  “Well, let’s see, in the last few days I’ve been oyster harvesting and had a V-Steam, so I’d say so.”

  “What’s a V-Steam?”

  “Are you telling me that you, a card-carrying lesbian, doesn’t know what a V-Steam is?”

  “No, but now I want to. Enlighten me, please.”

  “I’ll send you the link from Goop, and Gwyneth Paltrow can tell you everything you need to know about the V-Steam.”

  “Looking forward to it. So, how are you, Jo? Really?”

  “I’m starting to come out of the fog, but my therapist seems to think I can’t fully address my breakup with Sam until I open up about Mom.”

  The phone went silent for a moment before she said, “I think he’s right. God knows I’m not saying what Sam did was okay, but you’ve got to figure out you before you can even begin to understand the motives of somebody else.”

  My throat squeezed with the familiar tightening that happened anytime the subject of my mother came up.

  Merritt sighed heavily into the phone and continued, “I’ve tried to tread carefully, to not overstep my role, and let you figure out your own way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve been really worried about you, especially these last few years. Sam and I used to talk about it a lot.”

  “You and Sam talked about me?”

  The revelation hit me like a rogue wave. I had no idea she and Sam ever spoke, let alone about me.

  Merritt’s voice softened. “When mom died, it was like the light inside of you went off, but you’ve got to stop punishing yourself. It’s time.”

  “You don’t understand. You didn’t treat her the way I did.”

  “Jo, you were six when she got sick, a baby. I was thirteen. How could you have possibly understood what it meant to be on chemo and everything that followed? It’s not like it is today, the advice back then was to shield you from as much of what was going on as possible.” Her voice softened. “You were a little girl who wanted her mom to come to your tap recitals and field trips, just like all the other moms. Nobody did a very good job of telling you why she couldn’t be there.”

  “But I punished her. She was fighting for her life, and I punished her for it. I treated her cancer like something she was choosing over me. I wasted so much time being angry at her that I—” My words caught in my throat, and I knew if I kept talking, they’d spill over into tears. “I should go,” I said, struggling to get the words out. “We really aren’t supposed to be on the phone.”

  “Jo, come on.”

  “I’ll give you a call again next week, when I get home.”

  “I thought you were coming out to California after the Boot Camp? Please tell me you are? I think it’d do you some good.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to take off any more time. I’ll give you a call when I get sprung out of here next week. Happy birthday, Mer. I love you.”

  The phone went silent for a few seconds before she said, “Love you too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I threw myself into the last week of the Boot Camp with renewed interest, taking advantage of all the offerings, from transcendental meditation to wind surfing—anything and everything to take my mind off Sam, Todd, and my mother. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. As part of the final push to relationship recovery, our sessions with Dr. P doubled, and we were now meeting with him twice a day, once for group therapy and once fo
r one-on-one sessions.

  Staying under the radar during group therapy was easy. I’d hang back, let Dr. P throw a grenade-type of question to the group, and wait for the explosion of emotions and feelings that inevitably followed. Keeping closed off during our one-on-one meetings, however, was proving more and more difficult. I was open to discussing my relationship with Sam as much as Dr. P wanted, but every time he veered the conversation toward my mother, I punted it somewhere else. By our third session he caught on to my strategy and hit me with one of his own.

  “In psychology, this diagram is what’s called a Vicious Flower,” Dr. P said, setting a worksheet down in front of me. On it, he’d drawn a picture of a flower, and in the center of it, the word Belief. In each of the five petals he’d written the word Consequence.

  “Joanna,” he continued, “I want you to take a moment and write down one belief you have about yourself, the world, relationships, really anything at all you can attribute directly to the death of your mother. Then, in each petal, I want you to write a consequence you’ve faced in your life because you’ve steadfastly held on to that belief.”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  He looked at me, a glowing warmth radiating from his blue-gray eyes. “You can. I’m right here.”

  I took a deep breath, popped the cap off the felt-tipped pen, and placed it on the paper. Slowly, the black ink soaked onto the page, creating a larger and larger blot. Finally, when I thought the paper might split in two, I lifted the pen up and let it hover over the center of the flower before closing my eyes and writing out the single sentence I’d been dreading my whole life.

  My mother died believing I didn’t love her.

  Then, circle by circle, hands trembling, I listed off the consequences of carrying around that burden—abandoning my acting career, drinking, the poor relationship I had with my father, and in the last petal…Sam. As fat tears rolled down my cheeks, I set the pen down on the coffee table and slid the worksheet back to Dr. P. He slipped on his reading glasses and scanned the paper. “Now, we can really begin,” he said, folding the paper in two.