CHAPTER 17
A week before the New York opening, The Tea House has screened in some smaller theaters, and critics seem to like it. They call it “thoughtful” and “powerful,” which is funny because I just call it “what happened.” I told Jackie I’d be at the New York premiere, after she reminds me not to let Leo steal my moment in the sun.
Weezie texts me to ask if I’ll be there. Who’s asking? I kid.
Just me, but I want to make sure you look killer. She asks if she can have her friend, a stylist, send me a few dresses to choose from, and I figure why not. I’m not going to show up looking like I just walked off the cover of the Tapestry album. I have a second credit card with no balance that sort of feels like a loaded gun. I keep it in my wallet in case I need it, really need it. Ben used to count our unspent credit limit as an asset, as in, “Of course we can afford it, we have twelve hundred dollars left on the Visa.”
A box arrives with three dresses and two pairs of shoes. They all have price tags on them, and I try not to look. They are emerald green, silver, and black, all fitted enough to make me look young and viable, but also tailored and lined enough to make me look like a grown-up. With Bernadette’s help I choose the silver one, because she thinks it makes me look like I sparkle. The shoes are absurd and cost more than the dress. They are also silver and have the tiniest strap of leather over the toe and another around the ankle. They are nothing, weightless, yet they cost a mortgage payment. I tell Bernadette that I can just as easily wear the black shoes that I got for Granny’s funeral.
“Fine.” Bernadette storms out of the room and comes back with the phone. “I’m sorry, but here.” She shoves the phone at me like it’s medicine.
“Hello?”
“For chrissake, Nora. Just buy the shoes.” Just.
“Hey, Pen.”
“You are a big deal. You’re going to the opening of your own movie. From what Bernie tells me, you’re going to be gorgeous in that dress. Just for once, go the rest of the way. For me. I can’t bear to think of Leo seeing you in those funeral shoes.”
One thing I love about Penny is how much she cares about the stuff she cares about. The time she found white peonies for her white party. The way the new building across the street from her apartment centers perfectly in her picture window. Bernadette shares this quality, the ability to get nuclear-level excited about the smallest thing.
I try them on while we’re talking. “Pen, they’re the most ridiculously overpriced ounce of leather . . .” I stop talking and turn in front of the mirror.
“What?”
“They’re a piece of art,” I say. Is it possible that I have pretty feet? And maybe that pretty travels right up to my legs? I may be hallucinating, but I think my face might look younger. What are these, magic shoes?
“This is what I’m saying. Go big or go home. For once in your life, just buy the shoes.”
“Pen, how am I going to get out of a car and walk all the way down the red carpet in these shoes?” I try to imagine it as I say it, me clunking along until that pointy heel catches a snag and I fall flat on my face, while Leo and Naomi shake their heads in pity. Penny’s known me my whole life; she knows what I mean. “I have nothing to hold on to,” I say.
“Well, that’s bullshit, because you have me. Let me go with you to the premiere, and I’ll pay for the shoes. When they see the Larson sisters all done up, Hollywood won’t know what hit them.”
I get ready in my tiny bathroom with Bernadette at my elbow and Kate sitting on the side of the bathtub. There’s barely enough air for the three of us, and Arthur has the good sense to wait on my bed. When my hair is blown straight and my makeup is starting to make me sweat, I shoo them all downstairs so that I can get into my dress.
I regret the dress immediately. The shimmery silver shouts, and I realize I was hoping to move through this evening like a whisper. Or maybe I want the evening to pass without me being there at all. It’s too late to right any of these decisions; I don’t own another dress this fancy, and the car is coming for me in fifteen minutes.
Kate and Bernadette gasp when I come downstairs. Apparently, they love this noisy dress. Arthur is more reserved. “You look pretty, Mom. So you’re just going to watch the movie and then you’re coming back, right?”
Kate says, “Well, there’s an after-party and who knows what else; it’s New York City!” Then to me, “You go and stay out as late as you want, I’ve got the kids and you can grab them in the morning.”
Arthur is not having this. I say, “I’m not exactly a party-all-night kind of a person; don’t let this dress fool you. I’m going to watch the movie and come right back home.”
“Okay, good,” says Arthur. Bernadette shakes her head in disappointment.
Penny steps out of her building in a strapless black gown and a black version of the shoes I’m wearing. She breaks into a little run when she sees me in the waiting car on the corner, and I wonder if she wears shoes like this all the time. “I am so ready,” she says as she gets in the car. “Are you ready?”
“Well, I don’t think I could get any more makeup on my face, so I must be ready,” I say.
“You look beautiful,” she says and takes my hand. “So do you know how you’re going to play this? Like he’s going to be there, and there’s going to be a moment where you’re face-to-face and you have to say something.”
My hand flies up to my heart, as if to protect it, and I notice it’s beating too quickly. “I’m not ready. I thought I was ready. I was going to say ‘hello’ and just see what he says back. That was my big plan. But no, I’m actually not ready.”
“Okay, let’s work backward. What do you want him to walk away thinking? That he’s a jerk? That you’re absolutely fine?”
I crack the window and let the fall air fill my lungs. “I want him to think I’m fine, I guess. But I don’t know if I can pull it off. I’m not fine, Pen.”
“Okay, we need to get your head organized. Put these things in the front: You look gorgeous in that dress. You’re the reason all these people are here tonight; you wrote the thing. You’re the star. He’s only there because of what you created. I want to see shoulders back, forehead at rest, and a smile, like you know what I’m saying is true.”
When we were little, Penny’s Barbies always put their best foot forward. They were groomed and well dressed, and, no matter what kind of tragic story line I threw their way, she always had them coming out on top. Tonight, she’s doing the same for me.
“Okay, I’m as gorgeous and brilliant as my shoes,” I say.
“At least.”
Our car has clearance to pull up right in front of the theater. Someone with a headset opens my door and helps me out. I adjust my dress and lay my black wrap over my arm. I blink into the lights. I look back and watch Penny get out of the car and notice she is smiling. I remember to do the same. We pose together for a photo and then start walking the red carpet in small steps and then normal ones. I imagine that my beautiful dress and magic shoes are a confidence costume. They are the cloak of self-assuredness, and I try to walk down the red carpet with a gait and an expression to match them. Plus, Penny is close enough to catch me if I stumble.
When we have completed our trek, I am relieved. People are milling around in the theater lobby, and someone hands us glasses of champagne off of a tray. “Nora, you look gorgeous,” I hear from behind me. It’s Martin. We hug hello. I introduce him to Penny, and he introduces us to his too-young wife, Candy. “This here is the next big thing in Hollywood,” he tells her. “As long as she keeps writing, I’m going to be rich.”
“And so is Nora,” says Penny.
I thank him and down the rest of my champagne.
“Are you writing anything now?” Candy asks.
“Yes,” I say and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Martin claps his hands. “If this film is as well-received as I anticipate, I plan to be in a bidding war for your next project. What’s it about?”
It’s about Leo and me falling madly in love right after you left. It’s about how the sunrise can be the most important thing in the world to a person who’s lost touch with his soul. It’s about a person turning his back on his soul for fame, I want to say.
“It’s more nonsense about love gone wrong,” I actually say. And now I know for sure I can’t let anyone read that script.
The man passes with more champagne and I take one. Of course, I haven’t eaten anything since a slice of Arthur’s bacon at breakfast. Stupid.
“Has Leo arrived yet?” Penny asks, and I shoot her a look that I perfected when I was twelve.
“That’s probably them now,” says Martin, nodding toward the mob of photographers headed toward a white limo.
As I anticipate Leo stepping out of that limo, I only know one thing: I cannot do this. What I dread most is seeing either guilt or pity on his face. It will be my undoing.
“I’m anxious to see how the movie turned out,” I tell Martin. “Are we allowed to go in early and grab a good seat?”
“Sure, go ahead. We’ll see you at the party after?”
“Of course,” Penny answers for me. I reassure Candy that meeting her has been the highlight of my night, and we make a beeline into the theater. I lead Penny to seats in the back row in the center. I cover myself with my wrap.
“What’s this?” Penny asks. “This is your big night and we’re hiding back here? Take off that wrap so you can sparkle a little at least.”
“I don’t feel like sparkling. This was a huge mistake, Pen.” I gesture toward a row of reserved seats near the front where I’m sure Leo and Naomi will be sitting.
Actual panic is creeping in. I’m not thinking about this film as much as I am about Sunrise. I need to take it back. I don’t care so much about people knowing I had an affair with a movie star, but I do mind them knowing how much it meant to me. I can’t take the chance that Leo ever sees that script, or that, God forbid, it gets made and he’s cast as himself. I imagine him saying everything he ever said to me to some starlet to whom he’s infinitely better suited. I imagine him reading it and thinking, Poor thing, she had it bad.
Heads turn toward the left theater entrance, and I know from the excitement on their faces that Leo and Naomi are walking in. I pull my wrap around me more tightly and try to make myself small. Penny takes in a breath. They make their way down to their seats and greet people as they go. He’s in a tux; she’s in red to match the carpet. I wonder how many haircuts he’s had since I’ve seen him. I’m sure he’s going to turn his head and see me, but instead he motions for Naomi to go first into the row of seats, leading her by the elbow and tossing her a quick smolder.
“He’s about to look over here, sit up,” Penny tells me out of the side of her mouth. “Act like I said something funny.” I have no laugh to give, but he takes his seat without looking our way anyway.
“I have to get out of here,” I say.
The look on Penny’s face tells me I’ve probably gone white. She makes her apologies like Bugs Bunny leaving the opera as we step over people’s feet to get free. She leads me out of the theater to a lobby bench. “Are you going to faint or something?” she asks. “Do you want a Coke?”
“I need to breathe, and I need to rethink everything. Literally everything.” Tears start falling, and I don’t even care. “I feel like I’ve planned a vacation to hell. Like I literally chose every flight and car ride, packed my bags, and now I’m saying, ‘Wait. What am I doing in hell?’ ”
Penny puts her arm around me. “You kinda did.”
“What was I thinking falling in love with that guy? What was I thinking writing a movie about my divorce and then showing up here tonight to watch it acted out by my old boyfriend and his girlfriend? Am I seriously supposed to watch them break up in the exact location of the last place I’ll probably ever have sex?”
“You might have sex again,” she says.
“And what was I thinking agreeing to do it all again? Like a whole new movie about my bad taste in men?”
“Nora?” It’s Weezie with a clipboard and a sweet smile. She hands me a tissue. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say. “This is my sister, Penny.”
She takes a seat on the other side of me. “Too hard?”
“Too hard.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I just wanted you to have that part of the movie where he sees you in your silver dress and realizes what a fool he’s been.”
“Me too!” says Penny. “That’s all I wanted. I could taste it.”
“I sort of imagined their eyes meeting as he got out of the limo,” starts Weezie.
“And he’d smile softly and remember everything they had,” Penny continues.
“And he’d slowly make his way over to her and touch her face. Or take her hand? I don’t know exactly, but you know what I mean.”
“I like that part of the movie too,” I say, and they sigh. “Well, I do, and I don’t. That scene is sort of an insult to both of them. Like all that’s happening there is that he remembers she’s pretty so he loves her again. It’s not like he sees her run into a burning building to rescue an old guy. It’s not like anything’s changed. It’s like he just got distracted by something shiny.”
“Screenwriters,” Weezie says and rolls her eyes.
“You can’t build a life around a guy thinking you’re pretty. It’s not a thing.”
“Okay,” she says.
“It’s just not enough. Don’t ever settle for that.”
Penny’s had enough. “Weezie, we need a plan. Like, she’s going to have to say hello to him at some point. I imagine the after-party’s a pretty small affair. Should she call him out? Play it cool? What’s your take?”
“Tell me those aren’t the only two choices,” I say. “I’m incapable of either of those things.”
Weezie laughs. “Polite’s a safe bet. You could pull that off.”
Polite probably is the best way to save face. I can be polite and wish them both well and they can stop feeling sorry for me and we can all move on. But I know I can’t pull it off, not even in these shoes. If I have to stand right in front of Leo and look in his eyes, I’m going to show my hand. And by “hand,” I mean broken heart.
“I’m not quite there yet,” I tell them. “I think I’m going to get some popcorn and we can head home.”