Story Girl (23 page)

“It sounds horrible.”

“It is.”

“So why bother?”

She asked me this with such genuine sincerity that it finally dawned on me how much I’d been withholding from my parents.

“Because I can’t seem to stop myself.”

“But how are you going to earn a living?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I guess I’ve been doing it continuously.”

“I don’t want you to end up broke and alone.”

I wanted another cupcake.

“Does that really make me such a bad person, Tracy?” She dabbed at her tears with one of her dusty-rose doilies, and suddenly I felt like something close to a monster.

“No – it doesn’t.”

I wanted to hold her tightly in my arms, but I couldn’t.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you anything to read.”

“Why haven’t you?”

I shrugged.

“Well, if you have a good romance stashed away – I’ll take it.”

“I do have one – called Happy Hour – about a wealthy old man who falls in love with his male gardener.”

“Anything more traditional?”

I started taking a mental inventory of all the stories I’d written.

“Nothing about a boy and girl in love?” she asked. “You must have something.”

It was just the crack James needed to slip back into the front room of my mind.

“I don’t do Harlequin, Mom.”

“And I don’t read them.”

“I do have a story about a general who falls in love with a draft dodger.”

My mother sighed.

“Well, Mom – stories need drama.”

“I know that. Regular people – extraordinary circumstances?”

I nodded my head like she’d just revealed herself to be Cher, but I was still more concerned with extraordinary people drowning in the shallows.

“I used to love your little sagas – the ones you wrote in high-school.”

“You did?”

“Of course, Tracy – you remember? I even had Golden Frog framed.”

We sat together in bewildered silence until she did something wonderful. She tossed the entire stack of doilies high up in the air, a la Mary Tyler Moore, and watched them land all over the room as if a powerful wind had blown in and displaced their very neat and predictable existence.

“I think I’m going to go make us some homemade tapioca pudding. It’ll take the edge off of everything, Tracy. And I’ll pop us some corn in the meantime.”

She was behaving like the most wonderful person who’d ever existed, and I was suddenly certain that she would never rip out my father’s heart by tearing down his shed.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to write you a traditional romance.”

“Really?”

“Something nice – I can do that.”

“I will consider it my Christmas present.”

I was touched by her loyalty, even in spite of everything. She might be the only person on the planet who’d consider such a thing as a gift and not just a tedious part of some pile.

Unless I was counting that guy in L.A.

chapter
33

W
HEN SHE
’
D LEFT
the room, Lucy attacked the doilies.

I was debating whether I should scold her when my cell phone started vibrating. It was probably another rejection – this time from a non-existent production house that I had yet to even send a script to. Maybe they just wanted to get a cosmic jump on things.

“Hello?”

“You never called me back – you promised you would.”

“I was with Mary, who happens to be the most awesome person in the world. And I had another outbreak – so I’ve been sleeping it off.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Listen, James – I’ve been dealing with major family issues.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the Sheila thing.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It’s so necessary – I have to explain.”

“What for?”

“I mean, I ran into her at a Coffee Bean right after you and I had another botched phone call. Can you believe it – in a city this big? It was like the universe was testing me. We went for Chinese food, and I was barely there. I felt like such an ass the whole time.”

As I listened to him unload his conscience, I realized that a change had taken place within me. Instead of the usual fireworks
that would accompany such a disturbing conversation, I once again possessed absolutely no desire to wound him. The knowledge that he’d gone on a date with my friend didn’t even cause me stomach or chest pains – let alone any murmurs from the band that cued the awful skin show.

“But I was stung, Tracy. I’m weak and needy, I guess. And you’re right, you’re not the one to decide how I feel, and it was so shocking to hear that from you because it runs counter to the whole mythology of love – which I didn’t even realize I believed in. But I do.”

I rubbed gently at my temples.

“Tracy – are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“I do believe in all the ridiculousness and craziness of romantic love – all the wacky insanity. I believe in it because I want to believe in it – and that’s what I discovered. That’s what you’ve helped me discover.”

I wanted to warn him that my parents had believed in it too.

“I was trying to hurt you, Tracy. But I only ended up hurting myself.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” He sounded sort of amazed, as if witnessing the flesh of my very own hand coming through his phone.

“You’re not my own personal trash heap, James – so I don’t want to dump my junk on you.”

I could almost hear him thinking, trying to cross-reference my words with my tone of voice. The rhythm of his breathing made me wonder what it would be like to fall asleep against him.

“So I’m off the hook?” he asked.

“It’s not for me to put you on the hook or not.”

The breathing stopped. He was probably afraid of what I’d say next. But I said nothing.

“You’re not mad?”

I didn’t answer right away. It was such an important question, and I had to check every corner of my scared little ego to come up with an honest answer – it also helped that imagining him with Sheila was just a little too far to stretch.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I care about myself.”

“What does that mean?”

I wasn’t exactly sure.

“It means that I can care about you. And I want you to live your own truth. That’s what I want for you because that is all I’ve ever wanted for myself. All I’ve ever wanted is to be loved without conditions, but I guess I have to be the one to start.”

“Oh, okay,” he said – as if I’d just decided on pepperoni pizza.

I picked a chunk of super-sized sleep out of my eye.

“Are you gonna stay out there with your family then?”

“For a bit.”

He held his breath again and I knew he wanted to ask me something.

“What, James?”

“Do you have any real interest in getting to know each other better?”

“I don’t know. It scares me because I don’t want to get trapped in my old patterns.”

“You don’t want to lose yourself?”

“I just can’t do it, James.”

“Why do you have to lose yourself?”

“Because that’s just what I do.”

“But, Tracy – ”

“I just can’t give up my freedom. I’ll need room to grow and be left alone and make mistakes or whatever you want to call them. And then the other person – you – will inevitably think I’m cruel – and then I’ll think I’m cruel.”

“Okay, so you don’t have any interest in getting to know each other?”

“I didn’t say that – I’m just trying to admit in advance what I’ll need.”

“From me?” he asked.

“No,
from me
.”

“And it’ll work both ways?”

“I would think so.”

“What will this look like, Tracy?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe it will look just like this phone call.”

“Maybe it will,” I said. “I hear people talking – where are you?”

He didn’t answer.

“James?”

“I’m in the bus traveling north on La Brea, and a couple of women in front of me are arguing about citrus fruit.”

“Why are you on a bus?”

“I wanted to see what it was like.”

“So what’s it like?”

“It’s okay. A little exhausting.”

“You’re not doing this to impress me?”

“Maybe three percent.”

“Do I have to give the money back?”

“No, and stop asking.”

“Good. I promised my parents I’d fly them out to L.A.”

“Will they come?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

I yawned and tried to come up with a reasonable answer, “The shed.”

“Huh?”

“Long story.”

“I searched the want ads today. Lots of jobs available in the restaurant industry, but I’m not sure how well I’d do balancing trays.”

“You’re searching the want ads?”

“Are you impressed?”

“I’m surprised. I thought you’d be writing.”

“My muse told me to search the want ads.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Can we hang out when you get back?”

“I hope so.”

“I’d like to go for a bike ride with you, or maybe a hike somewhere. Whip up some sprout sandwiches... and we could sit up in the hills and watch the ocean.”

“That would be really nice.”

I could feel us both smiling over the phone.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this honesty thing – especially when I don’t get in trouble for it,” he said.

I suddenly saw his face at the end of a leash, and it was me who was tugging at him – pulling him this way and that until all he could do was pant and beg and follow me around.

“I can hardly wait to see you, Tracy.”

He started to say goodnight, but I stopped him.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“I never want to end up as the warden.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tracy – ”

“I can hardly wait to see you too.”

He hesitated only for a second, “Good then.”

We said goodbye, and I stared at the ceiling until the intercom buzzed – my mother informing me that another snack had been prepared. It was a comforting idea, but this time I wasn’t willing to stuff an empty space that no longer felt so empty.

chapter
34

I
N MY NIGHTMARE
, James and I were mannequins.

Our lives were firmly set in fiberglass – not even the tiniest allowance for wiggle room. All I could do was plot getaways in my head, but there was nowhere to go because I couldn’t move. James tried to reassure by reminding me that it was our job to stand in the window and look pretty – to show people what they wanted. Everything else was simply a heartbreaking impossibility.

The new morning was coming at me through the eyes of my lousy old stale self. I wanted to be the person from last night – the one who’d been so sensible and understanding in the face of such gut-wrenching adversity.

A headache started in my right temple, probably triggered by the tension I felt drifting up the stairs and into my mother’s bedroom. I rolled out of bed with trepidation, wondering what might be in the works – but even more concerned with my own heaviness.

I sauntered into the kitchen as casually as possible, and nodded in response to the chipper greetings from my family – although everyone’s body language suggested that something awful was about to happen. My father and grandmother were tense while my mother looked as though she were about to march onto some bloody battlefield.

The last of my serenity evaporated with the steam from the boiling kettle. After graciously handing out mugs of tea, my mother announced that this would be the day the shed was
coming home
– much like a demonic child that only she wanted around.

This was bad.

By jeopardizing her husband’s garden patch in such a careless way, she was threatening the very fabric of her current existence – and I had to wonder if it was deliberate.

My father quietly stood and placed his cup and half-eaten donut on the table in front of him. Without a sound of any kind, he gently picked his keys off their brass rack, left the house, and backed his Caddy down the driveway.

His serene demeanor and lack of protest were very worrisome. Stories of super calm people who erupt in a postal rage were rolling through my head, and I wondered if he would return to the house armed to the teeth with death-inducing weapons.