Page 10 of Nora Goes Off Script
“Oh boy.” He lays down on the daybed, arms folded behind his head. He’s facing the steel windows on the back wall, looking out into the forest. The sun’s at ten o’clock so the forest is getting a little light. Today the palette is a mix of white flowers and brand-new celery-green leaves. It’s beautiful to the point of distraction, which is why I write with my back to it. “I really like it here,” he says.
“You’ve said.”
“Let me stay a week, that’s seven thousand dollars, and you’ll never see me again.”
Seven thousand dollars would more than cover new gutters on my house. New gutters would cut back on the rot I’ve seen slowly encroach on my hundred-year-old windows. I might even be able to fix the leak I’ve been ignoring in the attic. There might be money left for a trip to Disney World this summer, a last-chance trip before I wake up with a couple of teenagers.
Alternatively, seven thousand dollars would take a bite out of next year’s real estate taxes, giving me the luxury of not having to scramble.
“Have you ever felt like you’re disappearing?” he asks. “Like you’re sure one day you’re going to wake up and find that the truest parts of yourself have been replaced by someone else’s plans?”Um, I just wrote a movie about it. I believe you read the script?
How many times did I wake up next to Ben and wonder,Where did I go?His face would reflect either indifference or mild distaste, and I’d try to remember back when I was a person who deserved to be loved. I didn’t know what Ben was looking at, but it wasn’t me. I was gone.
Leo’s face is wide open, and I can see he’s made himself vulnerable. He’s in some kind of a free fall that room service can’t fix.
“Yes, I have. But how is staying here going to help? Isn’t there a retreat or an ashram that would do a better job getting your feet on the ground? With better food? And professionals?”
“The sun comes up here, Nora.” A normal person, or frankly my ten-year-old, would tell him that the sun comes up everywhere.That’s how the sun works, genius.But I know exactly what he means. There is something about the way the sun comes up right here that seems to wash the whole world clean. It touches every single leaf as it rises, leaving me both grounded and inspired. It was here that I started to find my lost self again.
“Fine. Seven days. Six nights. Today is day one. You can stay out here.”
“Out here?” He stretches and looks around. “That’s perfect. Where will you write?”
“Maybe you could be somewhere else between ten and two on writing days?”
“Ten and two?”
“Yes. I have a loose schedule. The sunrise-and-coffee thing depends on the time of year of course, but then I get my kids to school by eight, run until nine, shower and clean up until ten. Write from ten to two. Nap until two forty-five, get my kids at three. Homework and dinner.Wheel of Fortuneand wine. Bed.”
“Well, that does sound pretty loose. Spend much time in the military?”
“Hey, it works.” I’m well aware that I’m not going to get anything done today. Apparently, I have a houseguest, and it’s already ten-thirty so the schedule is shot. I’m staring at a blank page and the blinking cursor of doom, and I know I’m not going to be able to throw myself into a new project with the Sexiest Man Alive dozing behind me.
I look up and he’s staring at me. “Am I bothering you?” he asks, but doesn’t seem sorry.
“No. Well, maybe. I can just tell it’s not going to happen today.” I close my laptop and gather my pencils and mug. “I’m going to cut my losses and run some errands. You can rest out here.” There’s weight to the way I’ve said “rest,” and I hope he hasn’t noticed.Rest.As if a single man who wears makeup and plays make-believe for a living really needs a rest.
“Can I tag along?” he asks.
“On my errands?” I must have made it sound more interesting than it is. “I’m just going to the grocery store.”
“Sign me up,” he says, swinging his feet onto the floor. “I’d like to see your grocery store.”
He follows me into the kitchen, and I grab my bag and my car keys. I freeze at the top of the steps to the garage. There’s a little bit of bacon grease on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, and I’m okay with that, but I don’t want Leo Vance to see my filthy garage. I don’t want Leo Vance to get into my dirty Subaru.
“You okay?” he asks. I turn and look at him and am hit with the full impact of who he is. He sparkles a little, and I wonder if he still has any makeup on from yesterday’s shoot. Whatever it is he’s looking for in the country can probably be found on the porch, but he will find no healing in my garage. “Let’s go,” he says and opens the door to the stairway. He’s heading down ahead of me, and there’s no turning back.
My garage is technically big enough for two small cars, but with the lawn mower, the wheelbarrow, my compost bin, and a big sack of fertilizer, you sort of have to walk sideways to get in. There’s a sweet smell of decay with hints of mold and manure, and I can’t get the garage door open fast enough.
“Earthy,” Leo says and opens the passenger door. He sits down, and we both survey the state of my car. There’s a layer of dust over the dashboard and two juice boxes by his feet.
“Arthur’s just recently started sitting in the front seat,” I say, as an explanation, as if he was going to think I’m the one chugging juice boxes as I drive. My cup-holder is sticky with something and filled with coins and gas receipts. I can’t blame Arthur for that.
Leo kicks the juice boxes to the side and puts his window down as I pull out of the garage. The magnolia trees that linemy driveway are particularly flirtatious this morning, exploding with giant blossoms. It’s like their hormones are reacting to the presence of an actual man. I’m almost embarrassed for them.
“So, how far to the grocery store?” he asks. He’s looking straight at me and waiting for a reply as I make my way down my driveway to the main road and struggle with the answer.
Of course, I should take Leo to the Whole Foods in Pheasant Landing. I’ve only been a few times, but it is gorgeous and shiny. It’s the Leo of grocery stores. It’s fifteen minutes away, and we’d have to get on the highway, but it seems more his speed than where I shop. I’m having a hard time picturing him in the Stop n’ Save. It’s closer and much cheaper, but it’s pretty shabby, inside and out. On the plus side, it has the self-scanners so I can effectively get through the store without speaking to another human being, and on Fridays it almost always has canned goods on sale. I am at the end of my driveway: Left to the Stop n’ Save or right to the highway? I am seven thousand dollars richer than I was when I woke up this morning, so I could turn right if I wanted to. But I can’t handle another guy forcing me to run up my credit card bill, so I turn left.
