They stop, and the lady asks, “What are you doing up there?”
“I’m trying to get someone’s attention,” I say.
“Well, it worked,” the man says.
“No, I mean someone in particular. He lives across the street.” They turn and look at the pink building, and a few more people stop to see what they’re looking at.
“Someone in that building,” the lady says. “She’s trying to get his attention.”
I am so awkward as they watch for my next move. This is hard enough, stalking someone who’s blocked your number so you can profess your love. I know I am giving all theDatelinevibes here, but I need to sit with it. I am not going to make a joke. I’m not going to entertain these people. An older man gives me a thumbs-up and keeps walking. No one else makes any move to leave. I am ridiculous, but it’s worth it. Only Janey Jakes could have come up with this scheme.
“Do you love him?” one asks.
“Feels a little like stalking, but less threatening,” says another.
“I’m just trying to make a point,” I say.
“And you can’t call him?” asks the lady.
“He’s not replying.”
My phone buzzes, and my heart stops. It’s Dan: What are you doing?
Me: Trying to get in touch with you
Dan: For what?
Me: Can I come talk to you?
Dan starts to reply and then stops.
Me: It’s hot and I have to pee.
Dan: Fine. Pink building, apartment 5
My heart rate speeds up. I climb down the back of the billboard and cross Sunset Boulevard (at the crosswalk). His building has a little courtyard, and apartment five is on the second floor. I take the stairs too fast, and I’m out of breath when he opens the door.
“Crazy,” he says. He’s in sweatpants with a tear in the knee and a slightly too-small white T-shirt. His hair is a rat’s nest. He looks perfect. I want to rewind back to before I let my worst self break my best thing so I can jump into his arms. I have a million unrehearsed things to say.
But first, “I really have to pee.”
He steps to the side and lets me in. His apartment is entirely white, like a big canvas. White walls, beige jute rug. White slipcovered sofa. “Right there,” he says.
I go into his bathroom and take it in. This feels personal, sitting in someone’s bathroom after having arrived unannounced. His towels are white; his soap is Dove. He has shampoo that cannot be bought at a big-box store.I knew it!Over his toilet is a small ink drawing of his family, the boys all still smaller than their parents. Cormack has his arm around Reenie. Aidan is looking straight ahead. Dan is looking down at a dog.
I come out of the bathroom, and he’s standing in front of the couch. I smell a hint of darkroom chemicals in the air. There are two jars of water on the glass coffee table. His hands are in his pockets and his face is inscrutable.
“Who’s the dog?”
“The what?” he asks.
I walk over, and we both sit on the couch, a continent between us.
“In the drawing of your family.”
“Sparky, he died when I was ten.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
