Spur of the Moment (33 page)

“Both, maybe.”

“That's fair, you don't have to decide tonight. Talk it over with Rob, think about it, let us know. Ramiro, what about you?” Ana said.

“I don't know, Nick, what do you say?”

“New York? I don't know. I've never thought about it.”

“Nick and I will talk it over when we haven't been drinking. We'll let you know,” Ramiro said.

“We can't go if you guys don't come,” Ana said.

“Sure you can,” Chelsey said. “I just don't know if I'm ready for New York.”

“Do you want to write for TV or don't you?”

“I think so. I don't know.”

Ana was suddenly mad at Chelsey. Moving to New York would be terrifying, no question, but it would also be thrilling and exciting and new. Chelsey was always the one who said she wasn't really a personal trainer, it was only what she did to pay her bills. But if she never took any risks to try to be anything else, how could she ever become the person she aspired to be?

 

 

T
hat one performance after the Dark Friday was just about the only time Marin left her room for the next three weeks.

The next day, Marin woke up feeling hung over, though it wasn't from drinking, it was from crying herself to sleep. She had a headache and was too depressed to get out of bed.

She finally got up around three to get something for her headache. She hadn't eaten anything since she'd found out about Jay, but she wasn't hungry. She felt nauseated and queasy. She got a glass of water to wash the Advil down. On the counter was the day's mail, which Ana always arranged in five piles, divided into stacks according to which roommate the mail belonged to. In Marin's pile there were three statements from her bank that she was overdrawn on her account and that she'd bounced three checks. She owed them $75, $25 for each bad check. Who knew how many other bad checks she'd written? She burst into tears. Somehow, seeing her flakiness in black and white seemed proof that she was an idiot. No wonder Jay had ditched her. She was just another pretty airhead who couldn't handle the simplest task of keeping her checkbook balanced.

She went to bed that afternoon and didn't come out for the next few weeks except to go to the bathroom.

She slept up to fourteen hours a day. She wanted to lose herself in sleep. It was the only time she didn't think about what an idiot she'd been. Why hadn't she put the signs together? He'd only ever given her his cell phone number, never his home number. He'd only brought her inside his house once—no doubt his wife had been out of town that weekend. He only met with her when it was convenient to his schedule—and he was unemployed, he should have been able to make his own schedule.

She'd wanted so badly to be in love, and he was so handsome and charming and fun. He was a little bossy, but she kind of liked that. She needed, or at least wanted, someone to take care of her. And he could certainly do that. With Jay, she'd never have to worry about money again. She had so easily been able to see her future with him. She'd so badly wanted to see it, she'd be blind to who he was and the true nature of their relationship.

Her agent called her twice and left messages about an audition for a commercial and for voice-over work. Marin didn't return her calls. She didn't go to any auditions. She stayed in bed, with greasy hair and body odor that overpowered her room.

Ana did her best to get Marin to shower and eat, and to encourage her to perform at the theater.

“It'll make you feel better. Remember how it feels to get on stage and pretend to be somebody else? You love that.”

“I can't. Just have somebody cover for me.”

“We can't keep covering you forever.”

“Have one of the third-level people perform. You said you needed to anyway. Besides, you guys did fine without me when I was in L.A.”

On the Monday after the Friday that marked the three-week anniversary of Dark Friday, Ana decided her friend had been allowed to wallow long enough, and it was time to get serious. Ana brought pizza and beer up to Marin's room.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Marin, you haven't eaten anything in three weeks. Have a beer, please? Just a beer.” Ana popped the top off and Marin took it grudgingly. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. She took a long swig and immediately felt dizzy.

“Are you sure you don't want a piece of pizza?” Ana said.

“I don't know if I can keep it down.”

“Why don't you try?”

Marin had to concentrate on chewing. Her throat was so tight, it was hard to swallow. She only managed a few bites, but it made Ana happy.

“Marin, you've got to snap out of it. Lots of women have been duped by cheating boyfriends. Don't beat yourself up over it.”

Marin shook her head. “It's not just Jay. I just feel like a failure. I always pick the wrong guys. There is something wrong with me.”

“What do you mean always? You've never dated anybody for more than a couple weeks.”

“No, nothing. Never mind.”

“Marin, it's me, Ana, you're best friend in the world. Come on, tell me. What other guys?”

Marin took another long swig of beer. “There was this guy. In high school. Senior year. He was older. Good looking. Rich. He . . . he hurt me. He'd punch me sometimes, or shove me. He never took a bat or a knife to me, never hurt me so bad I had to go to the hospital, but I could see it in his eyes . . . he was just, I really thought he was capable of hurting me, really hurting me. Like he wanted to, you know? That's why I ended up going to college in Boulder. I just ran away. The school year wasn't even over. I just hid in our house in Aspen for four months, then went to school in Boulder. When I go home to New York, I'm still scared I'll run into him. Isn't that ridiculous? In a city as big as New York?”

“Jesus. I'm so sorry. I can't believe you never told me that.” Ana digested this news. “Marin, you have to know that none of this is your fault.”

“Yes it is. I never like guys who are nice to me. I must secretly be a masochist.”

“You haven't had good luck with men. That doesn't make you a masochist. You're being way too hard on yourself.”

“That sounds like something I'd say to you.”

Ana saw just a hint of a smile on Marin's face. “That doesn't mean it's not true for you.”

Ana hugged Marin. They clutched each other tightly for several minutes, Marin's tears falling on Ana's shoulders.

Ana pulled away. “Marin, would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Take a shower. I love you, but you're rank.”

Marin didn't say anything.

“Please? For me. I'll put some nice clean sheets on your bed while you're cleaning up.”

Marin rolled her eyes, but finally relented and dragged herself to the bathroom for a bath.

 

 

T
he next morning, Ana woke Marin up with a voice booming with enthusiasm. “Get up get up get up! Who knows what exciting adventures await you today. Look, I brought you breakfast. Breakfast in bed.”

“You are such a cheerleader.”

“Yeah, I know. Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader.”

“I didn't mean it as a good thing.”

“Believe me. I know. Eat, or else I really will start cheering.” Ana stood in the center of the room and started clapping her hands together.

“You/Can do it/You can do it if you try/V-I-C-T-O-R-Y/ You can do if you try! What do we want?/For Marin to eat/ When do we want it?” Ana's response was cut short when a flying stuffed rabbit struck her squarely in the face. “I'm your best friend in the world and you pummel me with stuffed animals? Nice.”

“Give me back Mr. Jeepers. He's my only solace in this dark time.”

“Eat some fruit.”

Marin rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh but sat up and balanced the tray across her lap. She forced down a few pieces of fruit, with Ana watching her to make sure she ate. And she did feel a little better after eating something. So much so that after Ana left for work, Marin decided to venture out of her room. She only made it as far as the couch, but it was progress.

Ana harped on Marin every morning before she left for work and every night when she got home.

“Food doesn't cure depression,” Marin said.

“Do you want to be depressed?”

“Of course not.”

“Do what actors do. Pretend to be the person you want to be until you actually become that person. Fake it till you make it. Sound familiar? What kind of person do you want to be? A depressed anorexic who smells bad? No!”

This particular motivational speech was met by another missile assault piloted by Mr. Jeepers.

Eventually, however, with Ana and the rest of Marin's roommates encouraging her to start eating and performing again, life did start to seem something like normal. Finally Marin mustered the energy to call her agent and apologize for being so difficult to reach. She said she'd had bronchitis. She was feeling better now and would be very interested in going on any auditions she might be right for.

Three days later, when her cell phone rang, she figured it was her agent. She looked at the caller ID and noticed the 310 area code, but didn't think twice about it.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe.”

Marin's heart jumped. “Jay? Why are you calling?”

“I missed you.”

“Your wife isn't company enough?”

“We've separated. For good this time. Because of you. I want to be with you.”

Marin was furious with Jay. Also with herself, the way her heart leapt at the thought that he wanted to be with her.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you cheated on me. And on your wife I might add.”

“That was a mistake. A one-time thing. I'll never do that again. Ever. I promise. Please, let me just see you, talk to you in person.”

“No Jay, it's over. Goodbye.” She clicked her phone off and struggled to breathe normally.

When she emerged from her bedroom a few hours later, there was an enormous vase of exotic flowers on the table.

“These came for you,” Ramiro said. “I wasn't sure if you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you.”

“That fucking bastard. They're beautiful.”

“Jay?”

“Yes Jay. He claims he left his wife for good.”

“What are these?” Ana asked when she got home minutes later.

“From Jay. The lying bastard.”

“Why is he sending you flowers?”

“Claims he's left his wife for good.”

“Whatever. Anyway, he's a cheating scumbag. What do you care?”

“I don't.” Marin went to the cupboard, got a glass, and poured herself some water. “He says he wants to see me.”

“You're not going to see him, are you?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Don't even think about it.”

“I won't.”

But she did. It was all she could think about. Maybe he did leave his wife for good. Maybe they could get married. She'd never felt anything with anyone else like what she'd felt with Jay. She couldn't just throw that all away because he'd made one mistake, could she?

 

 

A
few days later, when Marin got home from an audition for a commercial for a used-car lot, Jay was sitting on the front porch.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I missed you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you lied to me, before you cheated on me.”

“I know you have every reason to hate me and no reason to ever speak to me, but I really want to talk to you. Let me take you to dinner, okay?”

“No, not okay. Go home to your wife. Leave me alone.”

“I told you, it's over with Linda. We have lawyers. The divorce proceedings are moving forward as we speak.”

“Jay, I have to perform at the theater tonight. It's over between us. I don't care if you're getting divorced or not.”

“You can't mean that.”

“I can and I do. Goodbye, Jay.”

Marin went inside and pulled closed the door behind her, her heart racing. She'd done the right thing. She knew she'd done the right thing. Then why did it feel so hard?

Be
strong,
she told herself. Jay was like heroin—addictive, and very, very bad for her. But she craved it all the same.

53

White Picket Fences

S
unday night, Rob brought over two videos,
Monsters Inc.
and
Ice Age,
both animated features. Chelsey and Rob snuggled beneath a blanket, eating popcorn.

When the second movie was over, Chelsey said, “Those were such cute movies. I almost wish I had kids of my own just so I had an excuse to go see movies like this.”

“When do you want to have kids? Sooner or later?”

Chelsey thought a moment. She tried to imagine herself in New York, trying to go for auditions and working the crazy nights she'd have to work while trying to raise children. “I don't know. Not right away. Maybe a few years down the road.” Chelsey changed the subject abruptly. “If I wanted to go to New York, would you come with me?”

Rob expelled a deep breath. “New York, huh?”

“We wouldn't have to go there forever. Maybe three or four years. I could really try to get a shot at writing for television or writing sketch comedy, and maybe even performing sketch comedy. If it doesn't work out, we can come back here and chalk those four years up as an adventure, no harm done.”

“Fighting big city fires, wow, that'd be a trip. A total blast. It's pretty far from South Dakota . . . but yeah, I'm in.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you want to go, I'll support you.”

“I don't really know if I want to go. I just wanted to know if you'd go.”

“Just say the word, love bug, I'll pack my bags.”

Chelsey had wanted to be a writer for television since college. For many reasons. The idea had begun with the thought that she would star in her own workout videos and aerobic workouts aired on television. Then she thought about how cool it would be to entertain hordes of people by writing for the shows she loved to watch. Plus, she had an opinionated streak to her, which she expressed every day in her evangelistic approach to exercise and diet.

But now, suddenly the cut-throat world of Hollywood seemed less desirable. She could easily see sticking around, marrying Rob, and having kids. That was starting to seem like the biggest fantasy she could imagine. Maybe she would end up writing books instead of teleplays. Unlike actors, writers were allowed to get fat, be ugly, and get old. Yes, the pay was crap, but look at the advantages!