Halfway There (4 page)

The next day we got up around the crack of noon. Ellen called her mom as I got ready. When she came into the bathroom, I told her we needed to get some Motrin.

“Mom said she and Al are going to leave this afternoon. They're planning to stay with friends tonight and meet us tomorrow.”

“The play's tomorrow.” I decided to ignore that she had ignored me.

“Mom's coming with us. Al is going to take us to dinner afterwards at the Wharf.”

“Does she know anything about Shakespeare?”

“I don't know. Besides, you're not going because you want to see
Macbeth
anyway. You just want to see Renée.”

“That's not true. I thought you would want to see her.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. You might just believe it.”

“Hey, this means we have a whole day to sightsee. Where do you want to go?”

“I thought we might hang out by the ocean. I haven't seen one since you forced me to move to Missouri, you know.”

“I didn't force you. You came willingly.”

“I came to be with you. I am not sure ‘willing' sums it up for me, though.”

“Whatever. Why don't we go to Hollywood and see where Lucy Lawless lives?”

“You're a fanatic. You know that?”

“Well, what about going to Hollywood Boulevard? We could see that Chinese theater and all the stars on the walkway.”

“You don't want to go to the ocean?”

“Okay, let's compromise. We'll go to Hollywood today and the ocean tomorrow.”

“I won't even bother to mention that you get yours first.” Ellen moved in behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. Before she could move in for a snuggle, I turned around.

“Do you even remember what cramps feel like?”

“Okay, then. Hollywood it is.”

We spent the day in endless traffic jams, and when we weren't in the car, we were in endless people jams. I think the best thing we did was stop for lunch at some pub. It was exactly what a pub should be, with rich, dark-paneled walls, a good air conditioner, and a wonderful selection of beer. Aside from that brief reprieve, all Hollywood seemed to offer was short buildings, a merciless sun, and relentless crowds. When I couldn't stand it anymore, we got back in the car and drove around and around the winding streets trying to find various homes where such and such star
used
to live. We never did find Lucy's house. She wasn't on the map. I wouldn't have known what to do if I had found it anyway. Strap my bra to the fence or something?

After dinner, we went back to the hotel. As we stepped through the door, I reminded Ellen that we
still hadn't gotten any Motrin. She wasn't amused and ignored me
again
. Later that night, Sharon called to say she and Al would meet us at the hotel in the morning.
So much for the ocean
, I thought, drifting off to sleep.

“When did your mom say she would be here?” I asked Ellen as we sat down at our table for breakfast the next day.

“She said around ten or so.”

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter till. “That doesn't leave us much time to eat.”

“I left a message for her at the desk.”

I nodded my head and ordered a Bloody Mary to make up for the lack of Motrin in my world. Unfortunately, the Asian waiter didn't speak English and my request wasn't listed on the menu. If I couldn't point to it, I wasn't going to get it. It was clear I would have the horrible nightmare of dealing with my mother-in-law completely sober. Well, there was always lunch.

Our waiter came by after we had finished our soggy toast and crunchy eggs. He cheerfully cleared away our plates. There was still no sign of Sharon. I paid the bill and met Ellen in the lobby.

“Did she call?”

“No,” Ellen said.

“It's nearly eleven-thirty. How long do you want to wait? Does she have a cell phone?”

“I tried it already, but no one answered. Let's hang out here for a little bit longer. I'll get the paper, and you can get another cup of coffee.” Coffee wasn't what I had in mind, but I demurred. Three cups of coffee and a complete reading of The
L. A. Times
including the sports section, the Help Wanted ads, and an attempt at the crossword puzzle later, I had had enough.

“Ellen, it's almost two in the afternoon. The play starts at seven. We don't even know how to get to San Pedro. Let's just get out of here. We'll pick up some food on the way. Your mom has your cell phone number.” I stopped. “You did charge it, right?”

“Yes, I charged it.”

“Good,” I continued. “She'll call us when she gets done with whatever the fuck she is doing.”

“Fine. Let's just go.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before my paper hit the floor, and we were out the door and into the parking lot. We got to the gate and realized that neither of us had obtained a map from the concierge. I hurried back to the lobby only to learn they didn't
carry maps, but we could buy one down the street. Another ten minutes and we were finally on our way.

San Pedro turned out to be a wonderful little town right at the edge of the ocean, and Point Fermin Park, where the play was to be, overlooked the rolling waves of the Pacific. Our destination found, we set about getting our picnic dinner together—a little cheese, some fruit, salami, and bread, rounded out with three bottles of wine. Things were looking up. We gathered up our bundle of groceries and headed back to the park. I wanted to make sure we got a good seat.

We arrived around five or so and as we got settled in for the wait, I reached to get the first bottle of wine.

“Where's the bottle opener?”

Ellen didn't even bother to answer. She got up, took the keys, and was gone. It felt a little strange to be sitting by myself on the grass in front of an empty stage, but I wasn't alone for long. Within about twenty minutes, the park began to change from a quiet little spot by the sea to a cult gathering of lesbian
Xena
fans—women in leather costume, women of every size, shape, and age imaginable—seeming to appear out of thin air. It was incredible. I hadn't seen this many lesbians gathered together since the Pride marches I'd gone to in the eighties. I might have been
at the zoo, except that the animals paraded past me and not the other way around. Ellen interrupted my thoughts.

“Wow, where did all these people come from?” She handed me the bottle opener.

“I don't know. They started streaming in a few minutes after you left.” I pulled the cork and poured the red liquid into a very small plastic cup.

“Mom called. She and Al, uh, got stuck at
The Price is Right
. There was some kind of technical problem.”

“Where is that? I don't remember seeing it in the tour guide.”

“The game show?”

“Oh, right, the game show. I knew that. So when should she be here?”

“I wouldn't even try to guess. You want to share that wine or are you taking the entire bottle for yourself?” I looked at the bottle, considering, but finally I poured her a cup. We sat in silence for a bit, taking in the scenery.

“You know,” Ellen smiled at me, “if you keep watching
Xena
, that's going to be you in gladiator leather carrying a sword someday.”

“Hey, there's a camera crew.” I pointed, disregarding her comment mostly because I knew it was a
distinct possibility.

“Go on. You know you've always wanted to be on television. It looks like they're interviewing people.”

I took another sip of wine for courage and walked over. Sure enough, they were doing a documentary about
Xena
fans, sort of like the movie somebody did about Trekkies a few years ago. I stood in line to be interviewed and listened in. It was wonderful to hear that many of these women had found the same thing in
Xena
I had. Finally, I was up.

What do you like about the program? Who's your favorite character? How long have you been watching?
I loved the questions. I told the camera about how great it was to see two powerful women characters. I talked on and on about how their strength legitimized women as true epic heroes. I shared with them how
Xena
had helped me feel brave and that I felt quite an attraction to her. I was about to expound on the merits of
Xena
in comparison to
Buffy
, when the interviewer interrupted me.

“That's really wonderful. I think we need to move on now. Here's my card. We'll let you know when this documentary is finished. Thanks for all your help.” She hurried along to the next person in line.
Did I sound crazy?
I wondered.

It took me a few minutes to find Ellen in the swarming mob of people. When I sat down she asked, “How did it go?”

“Okay, I guess. I think I talked too much.”

“Talking has never been a problem for you. Did you know your teeth are purple?”

“Shit. Thanks for letting me know now, jackass.”

“I thought you might like that. Here, have some more wine.”

The next hour went by quickly, and soon the sun began to dip below the watery horizon off to our left. We could see the actors setting up backstage. There was a flurry of activity when Renée got out of her car, but the crowd quieted quickly as she slipped through the stage door. I opened another bottle of wine and started munching on the salami. The excitement was killing me.

“There you two are. I've been looking for you all over the place.”

“Hey, Mom! Glad you could make it,” Ellen said, standing up to give her mother a big hug. I stood up too and shook some the breadcrumbs off my shirt.

“Aubrie, it's good to see you again,” Sharon said. There was an awkward moment when I couldn't decide whether to hug her or not. To her credit, she hugged
me first. Pulling away, she scrutinized my face.

“What's wrong with your teeth?” she asked, all innocence.

Ellen saved me. “Oh, uh, we've been drinking wine. Would you like some?”

“No. Al and I don't drink.”

I took the bottle from Ellen and poured myself another cup.

“Here, have a seat, Sharon. The show's about to start.” I offered a place next to me.

She sat down beside Ellen. Perhaps it was my purple teeth.

“So, Mom, when did you stop drinking?” I heard Ellen ask, but I decided not to pay attention to them as the curtain rose.

The rest of the evening's a bit of a blur. I really don't remember much except Renée as Lady Macbeth dreaming of the blood on her hands and trying to wash the guilt of murder from her conscience. The next thing, it seemed, were the curtain calls. Cameras flashed and there was rampant applause for Renée. The director came out to say Renée would be available for autographs. I took out the picture I had of her which the Xena Production Headquarters folks had so kindly sold to me. I suppose getting her to sign the
thing had been part of the plan all along.

“Ellen, go on. Go get an autograph.” I handed over the photo.

“Not me. You go get it. You're the fan.”

“Fan of what?” Sharon asked. “What a strange costume she's wearing,” she said as she looked at the picture in my hand. “Who is that?” I didn't answer her because I was sure she wouldn't understand.

“Fine. I'll get the autograph myself. Just stay here.”

I stood on unsteady legs and made my way over to the robust crowd surrounding the little redheaded actress. When I got to the inner circle, my mouth went dry. I couldn't say anything. She had to take the stupid picture out of my hands. At last, I mumbled about feeling foolish, but she was already on to the next person. As soon as I walked away, I could think again, and I found myself almost running back to Ellen, prize in hand!

“Mom's going to head on back.” Ellen seemed not to notice my excitement.

“We're not going to meet Al?” I directed the question to Sharon because I knew she had to be the one responsible for stealing my thunder.

“Al doesn't approve of plays, and it's a bit late for him. What are you two kids doing tomorrow?”
Sharon asked.

“We don't know yet. Ellen wanted to drive up in the mountains and stuff.”

“That sounds wonderful. I'll give you a call in the morning.”

I held my tongue while “Yeah, right. We'll just count on that,” rolled around in my brain. Instead, I watched Sharon head toward the parking lot.

“She seemed in a real hurry to leave.”

“She didn't like how much you were drinking. It made her uncomfortable. I think she wanted us to invite her somewhere.”

“Do you want to invite her to come with us?”

“Ellen? Ellen Mackenzie? You're the winner of our sailing tour. Come up and claim your prize!” a voice over the loudspeaker sounded.

“Does she mean you? When did you get tickets?”

“I got them while you were getting interviewed. Shit, where did I put the stubs?” She dug into her pockets. “Here they are. Wow. I'll be right back.”

No way was I going to wait there, so I threw the bottles and the last of the cheese into the grocery bags and followed her to the stage. Ellen was talking to the director as I came up next to her. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Renée coming over. I tried
not to stare as she interrupted the conversation with something about a cast party. My jaw dropped as Ellen, as casual as talking to our neighbor, commented that Renée had done a terrific job. Renée nodded and thanked her for coming. I wanted to say something, but my brain was blank once again. It was useless. I was just another crazed fan with purple teeth and puppy-dog eyes. Ellen had no problems, though. She was completely at ease having a great conversation with Renée of which I have no recollection until at last they were saying their goodbyes. Renée smiled at Ellen who smiled back. For all the world, it looked as if she was going to invite Ellen to her house. Instead, she and her bodyguard walked off into the night. Of course I watched until Ellen brought me back to reality.