Spur of the Moment (26 page)

Ana only sent the query to agents who accepted e-queries to save money on postage. She created a new Hotmail account just for Ram's book. Email was better than mail anyway: If the agents mailed letters replying to her query to Ramiro, he'd know what she was up to. She'd told him she was going to do it, so it wasn't like she was lying, but this way, if she couldn't sell it, Ramiro wouldn't know and he wouldn't have more evidence to use to “prove” that he had no talent. If she
could
get it published, on the other hand, Ramiro would know that his father was wrong and he had talent after all.

She picked ten agents, a mix of men and women, who said they represented fiction writers to send the queries to.

The book about getting published had said that it typically took a week or two to hear if an agent was interested in seeing the manuscript, then two months to hear back on whether s/he was interested in representing the book. Then it could take up to a year for a publisher to decide to buy it.

Ana checked the new email account the next day, and three agents had responded. One said she wasn't taking new clients, one said he didn't think the book sounded right for his agency, but the other one said she wanted to read the manuscript in its entirety!

Ana was a goddess! In just one day she'd gotten someone interested in reading the manuscript!

Okay, she'd probably only heard back so quickly because email was the kind of thing you could respond to instantly, but the important thing was that she'd gotten an agent interested in seeing his book. The agent still needed to agree to represent it, so it wasn't like there weren't more hurdles to overcome, but Ana beamed with pride that she'd written a query letter that had enticed the interest of an agent.
Take that, Big Weasel! Who says I can't write killer copy?

Over the next several days, she heard from all but one of the agents. Four of those six said they weren't interested, which really pissed her off. She hated that Ramiro was getting rejected when they hadn't even read his book. She was sure they were just being prejudiced against gays. But two others said they wanted to see the manuscript, so she dutifully used the office copier to print off more copies, then she lugged the manuscripts to the post office to mail. It cost nine bucks a pop to mail these puppies, but it was worth it if she could help Ramiro make a name for himself in the literary community.

The postman took the packages she'd put the manuscripts in as if they were just a few more boxes and didn't hold someone's future in their taped-up confines. She, however, watched the manuscripts tossed with the other mail with much more reverence. Like coins tossed in a fountain, they held the contents of a dream.

43

Fairy Tale Middles

T
he last month of Marin's life had seemed so surreal to her. She still couldn't get over the sound of a director yelling “cut!” It was just like in the movies, except this was her real life! The thing that excited her most about her foray into Hollywood, however, was that she'd finally learned what the hell a gaffer was. She'd always seen gaffers listed in movie credits, but until now their role had been a complete mystery. (They do the lighting on the set.)

No, really, the most exciting thing about her life was Jay. Their schedules were difficult to juggle, but the time they did get to spend together was so thrilling, she etched each minute in her memory, reliving every moment again and again. Her life was like a fairy tale, but it wasn't a fairy tale ending where the story stopped and you could only imagine what happened next. She was right smack dab in the middle of all this happiness and excitement, and there were times it didn't seem real.

She was constantly getting caught on the set smiling to herself in a dreamy and entirely idiotic way. Devin teased her gently; Jessica was bitter with jealousy and, despite calling herself an actress, did a terrible job of concealing it; but it was Conrad's remarks that really bothered Marin. He kept insinuating that what was happening in her life off the set was influencing her work on the set. If she ever stumbled on a line, even if it was just in rehearsal, he pounced, making comments about how her mind was on Prince Charming and not her work.

She knew he was just trying to make her look unprofessional, and she was pretty sure she was doing good work, but there was a part of her that worried he might be right. Her sleep was irregular and it was hard to take her mind off of Jay, but she did her best to concentrate on work, and her lines while at work.

When the director called it a day, Marin called Jay. She couldn't believe it when he actually answered his cell phone. They usually had to leave each other dozens of messages and play several rounds of phone tag before getting through to each other.

“I'll pick you up right now,” he said.

“No, no, I'm still at the studio. I still have to go home and shower and change and all that.” No deodorant could compete with the relentlessly hot lights of the soundstage.

“You're beautiful just the way you are.”

“Maybe, but after twelve hours under those lights, I smell like wet dog. Trust me, you want me to shower.”

He laughed. “All right, I'll give you an hour.”

Marin flagged a taxi. “Graciela Burbank,” she told the driver, briefly pulling the phone away from her mouth. “So what's on the agenda tonight?” she asked Jay. She'd learned it was best to ask him this so she didn't end up meeting Steven Spielberg in a t-shirt and jeans. Among Jay's good looks and ample supplies of cash, he also knew an astonishing number of people in Hollywood, which certainly couldn't hurt her career. Marin thought it was interesting how a businessman who said he wasn't involved in the movie biz knew so many people in the movie and television industry. Then again, having money made you popular in just about any circle.

“It's a surprise, but wear a dress, a long one.”

“Hmm, sounds interesting. Okay then, I'll see you at eight.” Marin didn't have a long dress here in California, so when she arrived at her hotel, she dashed across the street to a ludicrously expensive boutique. She felt rich these days with the salary she was getting from the pilot. Besides, if she was going to be a star, she had to look like a star.

She bought a long black silk dress that hooked at the back of the neck and left her shoulders, arms, and back bare. The fabric was so sheer and light she felt somehow more naked than if she actually were naked. She felt daring, going braless, and she loved the way the dress swirled when she spun.

Buying the dress had consumed half an hour, so she raced through her shower, threw on her makeup and jewelry, and dried her hair as fast as she could. She was pinning her hair up when he arrived.

She unlocked the door and attacked him with a hug and kiss.

When they broke apart, he appraised her carefully. “You look stunning.”

“Why thank you. I'm almost ready. Just let me finish my hair and put on some perfume and I'll be ready to go.”

He trailed behind her as she strode across the room to her mirror. He hovered behind her. In the reflection of the mirror, she watched him watch her. He slipped his hands in from the sides of her dress, cupping her breasts. He kissed her neck.

“You'd better stop that or we'll never get out of here,” Marin said, totally unconvincingly.

“I love your easy-access dress.”

“That's how they marketed it at the store, actually, noting how quick my date could feel me up.”

“Those retailers, they know what they're doing.”

They kissed again.

“So are you going to wine and dine me or what?”

He took her to a restaurant at the top of a thirty-two-story building with a panoramic view of L.A. Over a wonderful meal, Marin took in the beauty of the city. She loved this life. There was no time for sleep, or laundry, or playing epic games of Quake with her friends, but she could deal with that.

“How was your day today? Still liking the world of television?” he asked.

“Yeah, love it.”

“What do you think of your show? Think it'll be a top-rated program?”

“I can't really tell if it's any good because everything goes so fast and it's all taped in such a disjointed way, I can't really follow the story.”

“Don't you read the scripts?”

“I memorize my lines and my cues; everything else is a blur.”

“So you'll be as surprised as anyone when you see the first show.”

“Probably. What did you do with your day today?”

“Played golf.”

“Isn't that what old retired people do?”

“I am retired.”

“But you're not old.”

“That's true, but I love golfing. Old retired people golf because they have the time. I'm lucky because I'm young and have the time. There's a quote from Mark Twain, I can't remember how it goes exactly, but the gist of it is that whatever you would do if you were on vacation is what you should do for your living full time. If I could have, I would have been a professional golfer for a living, because that's what I like to do on vacation. But I wasn't good enough for that, so I worked crazy hours at a job that I enjoyed, but that I certainly wouldn't have done on vacation, so now I can golf all the time. Think about it, if you were on a vacation for the rest of your life and never had to worry about money, you'd still perform, wouldn't you?”

“Of course.”

“That's how you know acting is the career you're supposed to pursue.”

After dinner, after he'd paid the check and Marin had finished her cappuccino, she asked, “So, I'm wearing this long elegant dress. Why?”

“Do you know how to ballroom dance?”

“I performed in all the plays and musicals in high school and was a debutante to boot. You bet I know how to ballroom dance.”

“Excellent.”

He took her hand and led her to the dance hall adjacent to the restaurant. There were dozens of couples, mostly older, dancing away, and Jay pulled Marin onto the dance floor. They danced the waltz, the foxtrot, the quickstep, the lindy hop, and some East Coast swing, and the whole time, Marin felt like Cinderella, a gorgeous young woman with her Prince Charming, living the kind of life that only happens in the movies.

It was one in the morning when they called it a night. Jay took her back to her hotel. She liked his house much better—it was enormous yet cozy—but she'd only been there once. Her hotel was much closer to the studio, and with her appallingly early calls, it just made sense to go back to her hotel, depressing though it might be. When they got home, they weren't much interested in décor anyway.

44

Iceberg Lettuce

M
arin couldn't come home for Christmas since they were delayed in taping. She had explained how the studio liked to buy TV series in blocks of six because they liked to have the shows in the can in case the series took off after the first few shows. Then they didn't have to renegotiate with the producers until the next season.

It was about a week before Christmas when Ana got a letter from her. Inside was a Christmas card and a check for $500.

Ana got teary eyed at the sweetness of the gesture. Here she was gripped by jealousy toward her friend, and Marin was graciously encouraging her to succeed in her career goals. Ana was an evil person who didn't deserve friends like these.

The phone rang. “Yeah?” Ana answered, abruptly wiping the tears away.

“Ana, you never should have lent me this book,” Chelsey said. Since Ana had given her
Live From New York,
Chelsey had spent every moment she wasn't with Rob devouring it. She found that she really liked Rob's schedule. She had built-in alone time and didn't have to feel guilty if she wanted a night alone—every other day she got one. She'd hated the schedule when she was a little girl and her father was the one fighting fires and gone all the time. He'd missed so many recitals and plays, and Santa Claus always came at the strangest times—while they were at a restaurant having dinner on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Eve Eve, so Chelsey and her brother woke up to presents that morning. But now that she was an adult, the schedule worked out just fine.

“Why?”

“It's so depressing. It sounds so hard.”

“Well, it is hard, duh. But isn't it inspiring, too? Don't you want to be them?”

“Yeah. I just wonder if I have it in me.”

“I know, I wonder too. I listen to Marin talk about her schedule, and I'm like, and I think working in an office is tough?”

“I only want to hear success stories. No more about how hard this business is. But I'm completely addicted to this book. I don't think I'll sleep tonight.”

“It is dangerous.”

“I'm going to get back to it now, if you don't mind.”

“I understand completely.”

 

 

S
cott took Ana out to a nice restaurant for dinner. At first she balked at the cost of the entrées, but then he reminded her that he made $20,000 more a year than she did. Ana would need a number of promotions and raises to get to what he was making.

“What's the occasion?” she asked.

“I want to romance my girl. I want you to know that this past month has been the happiest of my life.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

“I got us tickets to the Bluebird for a show after dinner.”

“Cool! What band is playing?”

“I have no idea.”

The band turned out to be one neither of them had ever heard of but both immediately liked. Even though the music was loud rock, they could actually tell one song from the next and liked the lyrics. Ana and Scott bounced up and down—it was the closest they could approximate dancing in the crowded room. When they left hours later, they were sweaty and horny from the heat and energy of the club. They made out for a few minutes in the car before racing home, intending to tear each other's clothes off the moment they got there.

In the few minutes it took to drive home, however, they'd lost all their energy and felt suddenly exhausted. The fact that they'd stayed out late on a work night suddenly hit their bodies.

Inside, they found Jason at the kitchen table grading papers.

“What are you doing up?” Ana asked.

“Just trying to finish this up.”

Ana sat next to him. She collapsed on the table, resting her head on her arms. “What are you working on?”

“I'm calculating my budget for Christmas gifts.”

“Christmas? That's way far away in the future,” Ana said.

“It's three weeks away.”

“That's impossible. Thanksgiving was just a couple days ago.”

“It was a week ago, and Christmas is right around the corner.”

“Shit. Scott, what were your plans?”

“I have to go back home for Christmas.”

“But I can't leave my mom for another holiday.”

“I didn't think you would. I'll only be gone for a few days.”

“Don't leave me alone with my mother. Can't your family come here?”

“Where would they stay?”

“Ana, why don't you and your mom come to my family's house?” Jason said.

“No, I'm not going to barge in on your family party.”

“We'd love to have you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Ask your mom first. See what she says.”

 

 

H
is mom said she'd love to have Ana and her mother. Scott would be gone for five whole days. Ana didn't know how she'd bear it.

His plane was scheduled for the afternoon of the twenty-third. That morning when she opened her eyes, Scott was already out of bed. On his pillow was a single rose and a small brown paper bag with a note stapled to it.

Ana opened the bag. Inside was a muffin, an Odwalla orange juice, and another note.

Smiling, Ana took the muffin and orange juice downstairs. The Christmas tree was lit. There was a beautifully wrapped gift the size of an oversized book or painting with a note that said, “Open me.” She tore off the wrapping paper and gasped: It was a painting of her smiling. He'd obviously painted it from the publicity photo on the Spur of the Moment website. She'd always liked that picture of herself. In it, she's leaning forward on a table, the right side of her face resting in the palm of her right hand, her left hand resting on her right arm. She has a comfortable, relaxed expression, an easygoing smile that lit up her face.

“Hey now, no crying,” Scott said, crawling out from behind the couch and sitting beside her.

Ana sniffed. “Were you watching this whole time?”

“I was hiding behind the Lazy-Boy. I've been sitting there wrapped up in a cramped ball for like an hour. I thought you'd never wake up.”

“Scott, thank you. I love it. It's the sweetest . . . it's the best . . . greatest . . . most wonderful . . .”

“You're going to run out of adjectives.”

“I mean, I've been
immortalized.
It's so cool! It's just like those boring paintings of people no one's ever heard of at the art museum except this painting isn't boring and you'll be famous.” Ana pulled Scott to her and gave him a long, slow, passionate kiss. “It's the best present anyone has ever given me. Thank you. Let me go get your gift. It's not nearly as good, but, you know, I'm not an artist.”

Ana ran upstairs and grabbed the gift, then bolted back down the stairs.

Scott tore the wrapping paper off. Inside was a note sealed in an envelope, but that dropped to the floor as Scott inspected the collage Ana had made using pictures of all of the members of the Spur of the Moment gang over the years.

“Guys are just so bad about things like photos and albums and memorabilia,” Ana said “I thought if I made it something you could hang on the wall, you'd have a way to remember all the fun we've had together over the years.”

Scott laughed, his gaze still on the framed collage. “I remember that night. God, I'd forgotten about that.” He pointed to the picture of him, Ana, Jason, and Marin from the night after a show when they'd had a huge water fight back at their house. Ram took the picture of the four of them dripping with water and laughing, buckets or water guns in hand.

“I love it, Ana. It's great. What's this?” he said, noticing the note for the first time. He opened the envelope and read what she'd written on thick, creamy paper.

Scott looked up from the note and met her gaze. “I love you,” he said, pulling her in for a hug.

“I love you. I'm really going to miss you these next few days.”

“I'm really going to miss you, too.”

 

 

O
n Christmas Eve, Grace, Ana, and Jason drove down together.

Jason's mom and stepdad's house was jaw-droppingly enormous. Ana had met Jason's family when they'd come to Iron Pyrits shows or other functions, but she'd never seen his house in person.

“Grace,” Jason said to Ana's mother, “these are my older brothers, Paul and Mike. This is my mother, Camille, and my stepfather, Duncan.”

Mike, the eldest brother, greeted Jason with a sharp punch to Jason's upper arm. Paul did the same. Both brothers were built like defensive linemen—enormous refrigerators with guts—compared to Jason and his quarterback build.

“Hey punching bag,” Mike said.

“Hey douche bag,” Paul added, with another punch.

Jason took the abuse stoically. He obviously had lots of practice.

“It's so nice to meet all of you,” Grace said. “Camille, Duncan, your home is gorgeous. Could we get a tour?”

“I'll take you,” Jason said. “Follow me.” He walked across the living room, which was approximately the size of the Pacific Ocean, to a staircase. “Let's start with the guest wing.”

“The ‘wing'? You have a wing?” Grace spluttered. She was promptly elbowed by Ana, who gave her a stern look of disapproval.

There were three bedrooms in the guest wing alone. Each bedroom had its own bathroom and walk-in closet.

“Ana, crown molding, do you know how expensive that is?” Grace whispered loudly.

“Shh!”

Jason took them back down the stairs of the guest wing, across the living room, and up to the main wing, where his parents had a bedroom the size of Texas, with his-and-her walk-in closets and his-and-her bathrooms. (Two bathrooms that is. One for each of them. Two bathrooms for
one room.)
The master bedroom had a window that went out to their own private patio with a view of the mountains and downtown Denver.

“Jason, you didn't tell me you were fabulously wealthy,” Ana whispered.

“I'm not. Mom didn't move in here until she remarried.”

“When was that?”

“I was a senior in high school.”

Ana didn't have to ask about his father. His dad had moved to California after the divorce was finalized and rarely saw his kids anymore after that. He'd pop up every now and then when he broke up with his latest girlfriend or got divorced for the second, third, or fourth time and felt like he wanted to pretend to be a dad again, but that was it, only when he didn't have a girlfriend or wife to give all of his attention to. Popping up from time to time was more painful for Jason than if his dad had just left forever. Jason could understand that maybe his dad had decided fatherhood wasn't for him or that the sight of his sons was too painful, but always coming in second after whatever miscellaneous women drifted into his father's life was difficult to take. He'd articulated this to Ana one night after his dad had popped into his life again, and Ana had asked him what was wrong. It was yet another reason Ana loved Jason. He was one of those rare men who admitted to having feelings and wasn't afraid to talk about them.

After the tour, Camille asked them to sit down for dinner. All the food had been laid out in matching bowls and platters. There were crystal wine and water glasses, and china plates so delicate they were nearly transparent.

“Your home is simply wonderful, Camille,” Grace said.

“Thank you.”

“So, Mike, Paul, do you live in the area?” Grace asked.

“I own a home in Boulder,” Mike said. “I'm an applications architect.”

She hadn't asked you what your job was,
Ana thought.
And she didn't ask you if you were a homeowner.

“I have a home in Castle Rock,” Paul said. “Brand new place, built to suit.”

“That's wonderful,” Grace said.

“Maybe someday Jason will be able to afford a place,” Mike said.

“I hear he's saving up to live in a cardboard box,” Paul added.

Ana waited for Jason to say how he loved his job and there were some things—lots of things actually—that were more important than money. But he didn't say anything. She wanted to say something, but she was the guest. What could she say?