Monsters (29 page)

My phone rings while I'm looking at Legos. I wish I'd brought the lists. I'm bound to pick the wrong sets. Or maybe I'll get two of the right sets, but they'll both be for the same person. I look down and see that it's Sarah.

“When are we going to talk about Tommy?” she says.

“Never.” There are three sets I'm leaning toward. I decide it will be easiest to buy all three and then just bring the wrongest one back.

“Stacey, this shit is starting to spill over onto me. You know he's not taking my calls?”

“Maybe he's out of town.”

“Maybe he's furious. Come on, Stacey. What the hell did you do?”

“Jesus, Sarah. I didn't do anything. It's just, I mean, I knew from the beginning it was a fucking mistake.”

The person behind me gives me this angry “Excuse me!” and of course I haven't been paying attention. The aisle is full of kids. I try my apology face, but I don't think it's working.

“What do you mean ‘beginning'? This wasn't just a one-night thing?” She makes this exasperated sigh. “How long was this going on?”

“I don't know,” I say, but then it doesn't feel worth it to keep lying, so I just say, “Always.”

“Oh my god,” she says. “Do not tell me you blew him off for that doctor.”

“I didn't blow him off, Sarah. It was just, it was time to make a decision.” I grab a couple packs of these stupid role-playing cards that the boys are into and wander away from the toys into the pillows-and-sheets aisles because even one-sided there's only one conversation that sounds like this. “Tommy's not exactly a good decision.”

“No shit, Stacey. That's pretty fucking obvious. You have to string him along for so long just to figure that out?”

“Fuck you. I wasn't stringing him along.”

“Well, you were stringing someone along, weren't you? Or were you just hoping Tommy would get his shit together?”

“Sarah.”

“Because, really, trying to have a relationship with Tommy is like playing fetch with a blind fucking dog. It's not going to work, but you're just an asshole if you get mad at the dog.”

“No one's mad at him.”

“Sure, that was really obvious when you were screaming at him in public. That was very, very clear.”

“Look, Sarah, I didn't mean to make things hard on you, but you guys are old friends. For you, it'll blow over.”

“And what about for you?” she says.

“I don't know, Sarah. I really don't know.”

•   •   •

Sadie texts me a photo, a self-portrait with candy cane, and it reads,
Help! Too many candy canes on the tree! I'm getting addicted! LOL.
She looks totally skinny, and of course I know what she's doing, hitting the sugar like it's a bump of cocaine. I bet she's eating less than eight hundred calories a day.

I walk in quick circles around the room, and then I dial Tommy's number. When I see that it's connecting though, I hit
end
, which is stupid because he's just going to see the missed call. I sit on the edge of the couch, pinch my lips between my thumbs, and I try again.

“Can't make up your mind?” he says when he picks up. I can hear voices behind him, laughing. He's never alone.

“Please don't start.”

“I didn't call you, honey.” His voice sounds toxic, strained.

“Sadie sent me a text. I don't think she looks very good.”

“She's fine. She's doing better. She's been sucking on candy canes all day.”

Uh-huh, and Red Vines got me through college,
I think. “Did she eat any lunch?”

“You know what, Stacey? I don't fucking know. It's really none of your business anyway, is it?”

“She texted me,” I say. I'm twisting my fingers together into knots. It's the only way I can keep myself from hanging up. “And really, for no reason. It feels like a cry for help.”

He doesn't say anything for a minute. “Fine. I'll talk to her.”

“I'd rather you just watch her. And Tommy,” I say, “don't tell her I called.”

“I wish you hadn't,” he says. He sounds more tired than angry, but he still hangs up.

•   •   •

The gingerbread kit comes with an uneven number of jelly beans, but Ben says Stevie can have the extra. They divide the jelly beans, the miniature holly wreaths. There's only one pack of frosting, but they take turns glopping it on the roof, and then the counter, and then the floor. Bear parks himself at the base of their stools, licking it up. Stevie must have leaned his elbow into a patch of frosting. The sleeve of his sweater is crusted with white. I try not to look.

My phone rings, and Ben jerks up to see the picture that comes up. “Noni,” he says, and sits back down.

“Hey, Mom,” I say.

“We're just coming out of the theater,” she says. “I am . . . well, I'm just overcome.”

“Thanks,” I say. “It's good, isn't it?”

“Tommy is an absolute genius. I mean, he's really an artist. I think I didn't give him enough credit before.”

“He's a great actor,” I say. Ben glances up, his expression a question I don't know how to answer.

I step away from the counter and move toward the back door, snapping my fingers for Bear to follow so I have something to do, something to think about other than
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy
. I'm so sick of everyone thinking about Tommy.

“And such an advocate for your work. I mean, the ending? If he hadn't fought for you on that ending . . .”

“Can I call you back?” I say as Bear pushes past me through the
open door. “We're just in the middle of this gingerbread house. Let me call you after dinner.”

I won't though. I'll wait till the morning. She always works in the morning, locks herself in her study, turns the ringer off on her phone. Sometimes I pretend I can't keep the time difference straight.
I just realized the time,
I'll say on the message, like it's an honest mistake.

•   •   •

We usually do Christmas morning together, hence the matching pajamas, and this is my year to host, or technically last year was, but obviously I postponed. Jenny and Todd will bring the kids over as soon as they wake up, and I've told Phillip he can come in the afternoon. I get up at five to make cinnamon rolls, and when the pan is ready I set them by the fireplace to rise. Bear is curious, so I bring a cup of coffee in and sit in the chair next to the hearth to keep him away. I curl my legs up under me and look at the tree. The ornaments are concentrated at the bottom because the boys really did do most of the decorating, and the lights they chose were the twinkling whites. These were Michael's favorites. I hate the twinkling. It makes me feel dizzy. Underneath the tree are all these packages. I bought every single thing on their lists, and it took me hours to wrap it all. I really focused on getting the folds right, making everything crisp. I know any minute now they'll wake up, they'll come running, they'll tear all of it up.

•   •   •

Phillip shows up at one o'clock. Jenny's crew is back home changing out of their pajamas or maybe grabbing a nap. The boys are up in their beds too, but I doubt that they're sleeping.

“Merry Christmas,” Phillip says, and he kisses me.

He kisses me like he knows the boys are in their room. He pulls me tight against him, kneads his fingers into my waist. I am happy to see him.

“I have something for you,” he says, and I say, “Yeah, I can tell,” but he says, “Stacey,” and I think he might be embarrassed.

“Come here,” he says, and he pulls me to sit on the couch. He hands me a small silver box with a maroon ribbon, and I recognize the wrapping. Inside is this little gray velvet box, and I think,
Oh shit,
but when I open it, it's just a pair of earrings, these very classic pearl earrings circled with gold.

“I think I'm falling in love with you,” Phillip says, and I say, “Oh.”

He takes my hand in his, and I look down, study his fingers. He has these nice hands, but his skin is always dry. He has to wash his hands so much at work.

“Stacey,” he says. “We've been seeing each other a long time, but I don't want to
just
keep seeing each other.”

“Oh,” I say again.

“I know that sounds like an ultimatum, but I don't mean . . . I just . . . I want us to be going somewhere with this.”

I think I should be flattered. I should really be flattered, but I sort of feel like I want to walk out of the room. But he is so sweet. He really is so sweet. And I do think this is the right decision. I think Phillip is the smartest, best decision I could make.

I reach into the box and unclasp an earring and try it on. “So these come with a catch?”

“I wouldn't put it like that,” he says.

I think,
I would,
but I just smile, and I lean forward and kiss him. I set my hand on the side of his face. “I like the earrings,” I say. “Catch and all.”

P
HILLIP HAS A
N
EW
Y
EAR'S PARTY.
It's not a work thing exactly, but close enough. I wear the navy dress I took to L.A. It doesn't exactly have the best vibes, but it was expensive as hell, and it fits like a glove. When Phillip picks me up, he just says, “Wow.”

The party is at this private house in Midtown, and there's a valet, thank god, because parking's a nightmare, and it is seriously cold. Phillip comes around to my door to help me out of the car, and he keeps hold of my arm as we walk up the steps.

“Be careful,” he says. “It still looks icy.”

Inside, someone takes our coats, and I notice Phillip is wearing a suit. He looks respectable, sexy. I slip my arm loosely around his waist and curl toward him, put my mouth right by his ear. I say, “I have an idea of something we could use that tie of yours for later.”

“Stacey! Jeez, what if someone heard you?” he says, but his fingers do tighten a little on my waist, so I just smile.

Phillip leads me toward the bar set up in the dining room, which is enormous and full of this dark cherry furniture. Everything looks
turn-of-the-century and the plaster on the ceilings is clearly original, restored obviously, but done by hand by some long-dead craftsman. Phillip gets me a glass of white wine, and as we move toward the living room, we run into a couple of the people he'd introduced me to in the spring. I don't actually remember any of their names, but I remember which ones are M.D.s, and even if I didn't, I think I could probably tell.

“I don't know if you remember Stacey,” Phillip says, making the introductions.

“Oh, right, yes,” says Cara the cardiologist. “I remember you were telling us about your movie. We saw it, by the way.” She sort of furrows her brow line. “It was kind of disturbing.”

“But good,” her husband interrupts. “Disturbing in an artsy kind of way.”

“Mmm, thanks,” I say. I don't care what they think of the movie. It's getting great reviews because it is so fucking perfect and smart, and I don't want to think about the movie anyway. I take a drink of the wine. “This is a beautiful house, isn't it?”

Phillip nods. “The woodwork is really just amazing.”

“So what's it like getting to know all of those Hollywood types? I would think they'd be intimidating,” Cara's husband says.

“Some of them.” I shrug. “It helps if you drink a lot.”

Phillip laughs and says, “She's just kidding.”

Not really,
I think, but I smile, and then, because I'm feeling generous, I say, “Sarah Nixon is lovely. She's very funny and sweet.”

“What about that Tommy DeMarco?” asks the woman who used to be pregnant and is still not drinking, probably because she has to go home later and nurse a baby. “He is gorgeous,” she says, and she sort of fans herself. “I mean, I don't think I could be in a room with him without blushing.”

I can relate to this obviously, but Phillip looks uncomfortable. “It wears off,” I say.

“You're pretty close friends, right?” Phillip says, and I can see now that tonight could go either way.

“Well, we had to work pretty closely during the production, but there's not much need to keep in touch now.” I smile. “We don't exactly have a ton of things in common.”

•   •   •

We're still at the party when it strikes midnight. They have waitstaff that come around with these trays of champagne and hand out little paper horns. The whole room counts down together, and it ends in a cheer and all this honking, squawking noise. I turn toward Phillip, and he catches my lips with his. I think he wants to be discreet, but I grab the lapels of his suit to keep him from pulling away. I open my mouth against his, suck in his lip. I hold him there until I feel him kiss me back, and then I let go.

“Happy New Year,” I say.

“I'm looking forward to spending all of it with you,” he says.

I don't know what I want from the coming year, but I like that he says this. I like it a lot.

•   •   •

When the phone rings, I answer it without looking because it's early. The boys are just getting dressed for school. The only person who calls this early is Jenny, and only if someone's sick. I figure she needs me to pick up the healthy kids for school.

“Are you watching?” It's Sarah. She sounds excited.

“Watching what?”

“The nominations, you idiot. The fucking Academy Awards.”

“No. Shit. I had no idea. Is that today?”

“We got a ton of them. Me, Jason, Tommy. Best picture too.”

“Congratulations, that's fantastic.” I open the fridge and pull out the milk for the boys' cereal.

“It's huge. John is through the roof. We'll make a pile of money on this thing.”

I hear Stevie jump the last two steps to land in the hallway. When he comes into the kitchen he says, “I don't have any socks.”

“Look, I've got to get the boys off to school. Let me call you later.”

“Are you kidding? They can be late. This is huge. We have to plan. And talk dresses. You can borrow my stylist, of course.”

“Oh no. Uh-uh. I'm not going to be there.”

“Don't be stupid. You have to go. The whole thing is based on your book. We'll look like assholes if we don't take you.”

“Wow, that's super generous, but look, the kids are behind schedule already, and if I don't get them off to school, then that means they're home with me.” There is no way, absolutely no way, I'm letting that happen. I still have to take the tree down, catch up from the holiday break. “I promise, I'll call you later.”

Stevie really doesn't have any clean socks in his drawer, but we do find one hidden in the bottom of his pajama drawer, and we borrow another from Ben. They don't match exactly, but he keeps his shoes on at school. It should work.

•   •   •

I'm meeting Jenny for lunch because it's almost her birthday. She wants to hit this new Indian place, which is stupid because we live right by an Indian place we already know we like, but it's her birthday.
I see her car when I pull up. It's possible I'm running a little late. She's sitting in a booth by the buffet, and she's already ordered me a water and a glass of white wine.

“Just one glass,” she says. “We've got plenty of time before we pick up the kids.”

“I think we have enough time that we could have two.”

“So it's buffet, which I know you don't like, and there's no mulligatawny, but they have this tomato soup. The guy says it's vegetarian.”

I wave my hand like,
Whatever.
“I'm sure it's fine.”

I find some lentils that seem palatable and some kind of curry.

“So,” she says when we sit back down, “the goddamn Oscars, huh?”

“Yeah.” I make a swirl of lentils through the curry. “It's very exciting.”

“Have you talked to them yet?”

“Sarah called first thing.”

Jenny frowns. “And Tommy?”

“Not yet.” I break off pieces of the naan and shove it into my design. I think it looks like a starburst.

“You and Tommy fighting?” she says.

I look up, and she's just staring. She's got that mom face again. Not the one that says she's angry, but that she's figuring something out.

I just shake my head. “I don't really want to talk about this, Jen.”

“You don't want to talk about what?”

I don't answer. I keep crumbling the bread.

“Jesus Christ, Stacey. Did you sleep with him?”

“Jenny, can we not do this? It's done. It's over.”

“What do you mean ‘over'? How long was it going on?”

I've run out of bread to tear. My fingertips feel greasy. “I don't know. A long time.”

“Why didn't you tell me? God.” She sighs, shakes her head. “You have this wonderful, sweet, totally attentive guy—who is a doctor, by the way—and you want to throw all of that out for some stupid affair with some stupid actor who fucks literally everyone? Literally everyone, Stacey.”

“Literally? Did you sleep with him too?”

“Don't be cute, Stacey. Don't be fucking cute.” She slams her hand on the table.

“Okay, that's why I didn't fucking tell you.” I drop my head into my hands. I can feel her watching me. “It's not like that.”

“What is it like?” she says.

But the truth is I don't know.

“Are you in love with him?” she says finally, and she says it really quietly, like the answer matters. It doesn't. It doesn't matter at all.

“Jenny, please.”

“What about Phillip?” she says.

“I care about Phillip. I do. There's no reason for him to know.” I know Jenny would never say anything, but I look up at her like I'm asking anyway.

She shakes her head. “I knew that son of a bitch was trouble.”

I think about defending Tommy, saying it wasn't his fault, but I don't actually believe that. He is trouble.

Jenny sits with her arms crossed for a long time, looking at the table. She hates being angry with me, so I know that it's bad.

“I know you've had a hard couple of years, but Phillip has done everything to try and make it better. And I get that Tommy is handsome and exciting, but he's not . . . real,” she says finally. She holds her hands over her face and sighs into them. “I at least hope you regret it.”

I do. I totally do. “It doesn't matter. Tommy's not even speaking to me.”

“What do you mean he's not speaking to you? I thought you weren't speaking to him?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Yeah, it proves how much of a dick he is.”

I can tell she wants to feel bad for me now. She reaches over and pats my hand.

“He's really mean now. You remember that one really bad scene in the movie?” I say. “He's kind of like that.”

•   •   •

The wood floors are covered in these little white mineral stains. It's all the snow and salt the kids and dog keep tracking in. It's almost not worth cleaning, but I can't stand to keep looking at it. I pull a broom out of the closet to sweep up the dog hair and cereal crumbs before mopping, and I flip the radio on. I hear Tommy's voice, and I realize it's that interview show I love, but I think about changing the channel.

“Now, your new movie is based on the book
Monsters in the Afterlife
by the poet Stacey Lane.”

“That's right.”

I drag the broom along the toe kick under the counters, find all the grit that's hidden there.

“I have to say, I read the book, and I thought, ‘There's no way they can make a movie of this.' What made you believe it would work? And I should say, you didn't direct the movie, but you both starred in and produced it.”

“Yes. And it was a project that I really pushed for. I just fell in love with it.”

“But what made you think, ‘This would be a great movie'?”

“I don't know. I guess I thought it would be a great anything, and movies just happen to be what I do. I read the book, and then I read it again, and then I left it on my coffee table for a week, and every time I walked into the room, I picked it back up, and I just realized that I wasn't able to let it go.”

“Are you surprised at the critical reception?”

“You know, I think initially people had their doubts about the whole idea of adapting a book of poetry, and particularly this book, which isn't necessarily an easy read. And maybe that was what drew me to it, at least in part. The challenge. But you know, these are archetypal characters. There's a universality that I thought, with a different medium, we'd be able to tap into.” He laughs. “And really, I wouldn't have put so much money down if I didn't think we'd be able to pull it off.”

“It's interesting that while it's called a novel-in-verse, the book itself is not particularly narrative, and while the poems move from scene to scene, they really read more like meditations.”

“I think that's a great way to describe it. This was one of our biggest concerns when we sat down with our screenwriter, Joe Rosen, who is just a master storyteller, and we knew he could fill in that gap.”

“I understand you brought the poet, Stacey Lane, in on the project as well.”

“We did. I can't imagine that we could have done it without her. I really wanted us to be guided by her vision, which is just so distilled, so sharp, and particularly, with the content of the book, I mean, it's dangerous territory. It could have gone either way.”

“Definitely. There's the potential for the violence to be gratuitous
or titillating even, which is what I was afraid of when I sat down to watch it.”

“Right, yes, that pornographic quality that you can get in some really awful slasher flicks, and I just knew that we needed Stacey's influence to hold us back from that.”