CHAPTER 14
On Monday, I go for a run without my phone, sure that if I leave it in the kitchen, I will return to multiple missed calls from Leo. A watched pot and all that. I finish my run in record time and am surprised, maybe gobsmacked, to find that I’d missed nothing at all.
By Monday night, the feel of my un-ringing phone in my hand is torture. My new plan is to leave the phone in the sunroom so that I can be present with my kids for homework, dinner, Wheel of Fortune. By removing my attention, I will trick my phone into ringing.
I check it before I take my kids upstairs. Nothing. I punish my phone by leaving it in the sunroom while we read. It punishes me back by not ringing. I take it with me out onto the porch to watch the blackness of the night, and I feel uniquely powerless, as if the entirety of my happiness lies in someone else’s hands. I don’t know where I lost my power. He wanted to stay. He kissed me. He said he loved me. How am I suddenly Elizabeth Bennet, wandering the moors and hoping Mr. Darcy shows up?
This last thought annoys my sensibilities enough that my fingers dial Leo’s number. My throat is tight as the call connects and I hear the first ring. He’s going to say “hey” and explain where he’s been. I’m going to act cool about it. Second ring, third ring. My heart sinks when the call goes to voicemail. I listen all the way to the end, just to hear his voice, before I hang up.
He’ll see that I called and call me back when he’s free. I go to bed with the ringer on high volume so I won’t miss it.
On Tuesday, I text Kate to tell her he’s not coming back. She’s at my door in ten minutes.
I’m not crying when I open the door. “Let’s quit the usual crap about how maybe he lost his phone or is stuck under a bus. There’s no reality where it’s normal that a person who texts me three hours a night after spending the entire day with me just stops. Unless he’s decided to. And if he was dead, it would be in the news.”
“Are you done?” She pushes past me and puts a box of cookies on the counter.
“Probably not.” I pour some coffee for each of us and take a cookie. “I just need you to be sensible and honest with me. I feel like I can’t trust my own mind right now. ‘I love you. I miss you’ and poof? At least Ben was honest enough to tell me.”
“Okay, so now Ben’s the model for male behavior?” We’re sitting at my kitchen counter, side by side, mugs in hand.
“Tell me what to think,” I say.
“I agree it’s weird. I’d be less surprised if it sort of dwindled away. Like fewer, shorter texts. ‘I love you’ turns to ‘love you’ turns to ‘ly.’ That kind of thing.”
“That’s actually what I thought would happen. The slow exit. Not like immediate out of sight, out of mind. And he’s in freakin’ L.A., where women have actual suntans and highlights. Staring at that all day, it’s hard to remember why you were in love with the woman with the unruly hair and flowy tops.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she kids.
A car pulls up and my heart is in my throat. He’s changed his mind. He’s returning my text in person to tell me he’s going to stay and direct children’s theater full-time. “Go see what it is,” I tell her, head in hands.
It’s a courier, asking Kate to sign for an envelope with my name on it. It’s too thick to be a love letter, and I hate myself for living in one of my own screenplays. No one writes love letters and has them hand delivered. I open it and find a stack of hundred-dollar bills and a note from Weezie: Hey, Nora, Leo says he owes you back rent. Thanks again for taking care of him. Here’s hoping L.A. works out! Weezie.
I count out twenty-one thousand dollars. “Oh my God. I’m being paid off.” I start to cry, but then I’m so mad that my tears dry up. I explain to Kate how we agreed on seven thousand dollars for seven days. But when he decided to stay and help Arthur, I had no intention of charging him. I was sleeping with him for God’s sake. What did that even make this?
I grab my phone and Kate stops me. “Wait. Let’s rehearse before you go off half-cocked.”
“I’m just texting Weezie,” I say. But my heart is beating so fast that I can’t type. “You do it.” I hand her my phone and dictate: “Hey, Weezie! Hope you’re good! Thanks for the cash, but that was way too much. I was only charging him for the first seven days, so I’ll have the rest dropped back to you. Please send address? Thanks!”
Kate shows me the text to review. “That’s way too many exclamation points. I look like a maniac.” She deletes one, then two, and finally we think we’ve struck the right mood and she sends.
Immediately typing bubbles appear. Oh, wow. I must have misunderstood his text. Okay, thanks! I’m shacked up at his place for I don’t know how long. Next text is his address, a penthouse on Sixty-Fifth Street.
“Well done. She’s matched you in exclamation points. Now we need to get your shit together.” Kate urges me toward the shower and goes out to inspect the tea house. She returns with two empty wineglasses and all of his bedding. I come downstairs towel drying my hair and find her fondling his sheets.
“So what did you want me to do with these? Any chance I can keep them?”
“Take them directly to your car.”
One time in high school my boyfriend dumped me and my best friend Ellen and I ate ice cream until we were sick. I made out with this guy freshman year in college, and when he never called me, my roommate and I got drunk. As I look at Kate now, I can’t think of any self-destructive pastime that will make me feel better. I’m aware that I am going to need all of my reserves to get through this.
“What are you going to tell the kids?”
“They know.” As I say it, I realize that it’s true. They haven’t mentioned his name in days. They’re careful around me, overly thoughtful. Wasn’t I the one who was supposed to be protecting them from another broken heart? “Maybe they just assumed. It’s Ben all over again.”
On Wednesday morning I drop the kids at school, force myself to run, and then somehow find myself in the car headed south on I-95 toward the city. My intention is benign; I need to return the money that does not belong to me. And in returning that money, I will set off a chain of events wherein Weezie as his proxy will have to inform him that the money has been returned, triggering the memory of me in Leo’s mind. He will have no choice but to stop what he is doing and call me. Nora, he’ll say, I miss you so much, and your returning this money shows me just what a good and true person you are. I’ll be on the next flight . . .
Oh, also, I’ve gone completely insane. My second reason for delivering this money is that I definitely need a change of scenery. And by “change of scenery” I mean I need to see where he lives. Somehow this will help, I tell myself, coming to see his city life so that I can release him to it. Yes, this is a great idea.
I get off the FDR on Sixty-Third Street and head west. I find a parking garage on Sixty-Fifth and Lexington Avenue and decide to stop there so I can enter his neighborhood on foot. As I walk west the streets become less congested, though it always feels like it’s garbage day in Manhattan. I cross Park Avenue and look both ways, up and down the median. They’ve planted tulips in red and yellow, and I stop to take a photo.
Women pass me in heels I could never stand in. I look down at my peasant top, jeans, and sandals and think, When did I turn into Carole King? His apartment is between Madison and Fifth Avenues. The town houses that line both sides of the street are exquisite brick and limestone buildings, and I have a momentary feeling that I am trespassing. His is a prewar doorman building in the middle of the block. I loiter and wonder not for the first time how I got here.
I’m walking into the building through the narrow, gilded door and the doorman stands to greet me. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“Yes, I have something for Leo. Vance.” I indicate the envelope but don’t offer it to him. I realize that I’m not ready to leave. “Is Weezie here?”
“I believe so. May I have your name?”
“Nora. Nora Hamilton.” He dials and I am full of regret. I don’t have anything to say to Weezie, and there’s no reason for her to know I drove ninety minutes to see Leo’s apartment.
“She says to go right up. Just press PH in the elevator on the left.”
I’m grateful it’s not one of those elevators where the doorman has to ride with you to operate the thing. I press PH and take advantage of the mirrored wall and long ride to check my teeth and my overall bearing. Teeth are fine, but I’ve lost weight in just three days, and I look really tired.
The door opens into a small foyer with a marble table and an umbrella stand. There’s only one door to knock on and it’s already open. “Nora! This is so fun! What are you doing here?” Weezie is in her pajamas and has a bagel in her hand. “Come in. Come in.”
“I’m really sorry to drop in like this, but I had an appointment in the city so I thought I’d drop off the money in person.” Everything is marble and cream. Couches and chairs are arranged so that conversations won’t last more than twenty minutes. There is no place to get cozy. I scan the space for a personal photograph. This place belongs to no one.
“What kind of appointment?” she’s asking me.
“Hair,” I say too quickly and now she’s looking at mine, which has certainly not just stepped out of the salon. “I mean I’m going to an appointment. Gotta do something about this hair, right?”
“I think you look great. Kinda Carole King.” Oh my God. “It must feel so good to have your house back to yourself, especially after a surprise houseguest.” Weezie rolls her eyes and motions me into the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Sure,” I say, because I want to see his coffee mugs. She hands me a white mug that’s straight out of a hotel restaurant. “This place is really stark. Does Leo spend a lot of time here?”
“Ha. He hates it too. Naomi’s decorator did the whole thing while they were in Saint Bart’s in January. He said ‘surprise me!’ and she really did. Naomi loved it but Leo kept saying he didn’t know where to sit. Still doesn’t.”
“I don’t understand,” is all I can say.
“He just didn’t grow up like this; he likes things a little more homey.”
“No, I mean about Naomi. Why were they away together? Filming?”
“No, being madly in love. That’s Leo for you. He falls hard, and then he’s out just as fast. Naomi was actually an exception because she dumped him. I’m sure he told you. Third day of The Tea House shoot.”
“I see,” I say, because I do. I really do. “That explains why he was kind of a drunk mess during the rest of the filming.” I give a little laugh to show that I find this sort of juvenile behavior amusing.
“Well, he owes you a lot. Seems like a little quiet time in the country screwed his head on straight, and now he’s starring in the highest budget film of his lifetime.”
“Is it still on?”
“Yeah, I should have said. They start filming week after next.”
I’ve got to get myself out of this room. I chug my coffee, which is hot and burns my throat, and say, “Well, good luck to both of you. I’ve got to get this hair taken care of, a little less Carole King and little more Naomi Sanchez, if you know what I mean.” I am talking too fast and being too glib. I grab my bag and give her a quick hug. “Take care.”
“Oh no,” Weezie says, and I stop. “You’re in love with him.”
I’m a pretty good liar. I can fake my way through a lot of uncomfortable social situations. Heck, my sister’s a New York socialite. I’ve faked my way through dinners with her friends where they complain about how their nannies insist on getting paid on holidays. But in this moment, I cannot muster, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” I’m so raw, and the thought of spilling it to someone who might have some insight is irresistible.
“I am.”
“Oh no,” she says again. “Did you . . . ?”
“Yes. And he told me he loves me, about a thousand times. I can prove it,” I say, holding my phone up. “He couldn’t go two hours without seeing me, touching me, texting me from a hundred yards away. And now I haven’t heard from him since Friday.”
Weezie looks crestfallen. “I’m really sorry. That’s not his usual MO, at least not as far as I know. None of them ever told me he’d said he loved them.” None of them.
“So he’s not in jail or lost his phone or in the hospital with amnesia,” I offer.
“Nope. There’s got to be something really weird going on here if he’s ghosting you.”
I hug Weezie because I’m supremely grateful that she’s been honest with me. The last thing I need is someone feeding me false hope through a morphine drip. I need to face the very simple facts here and move on.
The elevator is waiting for me, thank God. Better still, there are sunglasses in my purse. I smile to the doorman and head out into midday sun. I am a fool. It’s all so clear to me now that I don’t know how I twisted my mind to avoid it. I must have been having a post-divorce psychotic break. I’ve let myself slip into one of my idiotic fantasy stories.
Facts: Leo was sleeping with Naomi Sanchez. Men who sleep with women like Naomi Sanchez don’t fall in love with women like me. I was a woman with a welcoming, homey house. I was a place where he stopped for a while to recover. He’s had four days to call and he hasn’t. He used money to assuage his guilt. I was a place to rest so that he would be in the right state of mind to rise up and score the biggest movie of his career. I suddenly regret returning the money.