The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet (5 page)

I laugh. She sounds really excited. “I want to
hear both.”

“Well,” she says in a heavy, extremely pleased
way, “Len and I are going to be permanent West Coasters soon. We’re leaving New
York. We bought a house in Pacific Palisades. I’m moving back home. Finally.”

My brows shoot up, surprised. “Really? I never
thought you’d leave New York. It seems so you and like you’re really happy
there.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “I’ve been
wanting to come back to California for years. I’m a So Cal girl, remember? And
it’s definitely going to simplify our life. Manny’s been living fulltime in
Malibu forever—”

My heart stills.
Alan is still living in the
Malibu house?
I didn’t know that and I always thought after we ended he
would leave there. But he didn’t. And I’m suddenly filled with conflicting
reactions and some of my thoughts are vain in the extreme.
Stupid, Chrissie.
Stupid. Nothing Alan does has anything to do with you anymore.

Linda’s racing chatter pulls me from my thoughts.
“—and Manny is a fulltime occupation. So demanding. And everyone important in
our life is here. My mother lives in Encino. Doris is not young anymore. I’ve
been trying to get her to move in with us, but New York, no can do. So we moved
closer to Doris and she’s moving in and the timing is brilliant.”

Brilliant? Brilliant for what? Trying to keep up
with Linda is always so challenging. But she looks excited, almost giddy.

“That’s great, Linda. You seem really happy.” I
laugh. “Was that the big news or the little news?”

Her lids shoot wide and if possible her eyes show
even more excitement. “Little news. Chrissie, I’m going to have a baby. A
little boy. After all these years with Len, we are starting a family.”

I stare at her, that revelation stunning me. I
don’t know which is harder to get my head around. The thought of Linda being a
mother or that her stomach is washboard flat and somehow she thinks she knows
it’s a boy.

“I can’t believe it, Linda. I’m so happy for
you.”

Her smile is enormous. “Me, too. Do you want to
see him? I love to show Bobby’s picture, even though he is not really
officially ours yet.”

Officially ours?
Comprehension rolls over me and I blurt out, “You’re adopting. You and Len are
adopting a little boy?” Once I say the words, I regret them, because that
didn’t sound like the right response. She’s over the moon and my voice sounded
a little bit—I don’t know what.

Thankfully, Linda didn’t seem to even take note
of my clumsiness in crafting a response.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Len got cut long before we
were married. The damn man’s plumbing doesn’t work. So adoption was the only
way. We’ve been on the list forever. I didn’t think anyone would ever trust us
with a baby.” She makes a face, and I smile. “But they did. So we’re going to
be new moms together, Chrissie. Isn’t that wonderful?”

She rummages through her bag and pulls out her
wallet, flipping it open. She shoves a picture beneath my face. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” she gushes.

I stare at the picture of the baby, maybe two
months old, and my face lights up as well.

“He’s adorable, Linda.”

I’ve never seen Linda so happy. Her sudden
interest in wanting to be better friends with me makes sense now.
New moms
together.
In her own totally weird way, Linda is in nesting mode. And maybe
I’m the only one in her glitzy circle of friends that is soon to have a baby.

My smile grows larger. “Kaley will already have a
friend when she gets here.”

Linda nods enthusiastically. “Isn’t it cool? Sometimes
all the timing works out perfectly all on its own.”

We sit for a while, Linda just staring dreamily
down at Bobby’s picture, but I’m trapped in thoughts I can’t seem to keep away.

“How is Alan?” I quietly ask.

Linda’s expression changes, not in a good way.
Her gaze locks on mine and I tense. She can be so intimidating.

“I think we should have an understanding,
Chrissie, if we’re going to be friends. If you ask about Manny, expect an
honest answer from me. But if you don’t ask I won’t talk about him. I think
things will work better between us this way. He is a touchy subject for the
both of us.” She pauses to give me a stare full of meaning. “I’m your friend.
I’m his friend. I won’t ever lie to either of you about anything and in the
friend war, Manny will always win with me.”

That turns my entire body crimson because there
is a lot in her voice when she says that.

I meet her stare for stare. “Jeez, Linda. I only
asked how he is. I didn’t need that speech. I just want to know if Alan is
doing all right and it’s not like I can pick up the phone and talk to him. I
haven’t heard from him since the foundation party. I still care about him, OK?
I always will.”

Linda arches a brow. “Aha.”

My temper flares. “What the fuck does
aha
mean? I hate when you say that. And would you please stop staring at me that
way?”

Her brown eyes grow more intense. “
Aha
means grow up, Chrissie. Isn’t it time you learn how to manage your life
without a buffer? If you want to talk to Manny, pick up the phone and talk to
him.”

Girl stare. Serious girl stare.

Linda relents. “He’d take the call, Chrissie, if
you phoned him. He wants to hear from you.”

She says that in her all-knowing way and my anger
is rapidly replaced by other emotions. How does she know that?

“I can’t call him. Not after that thing with Neil
at my dad’s party.”

Linda makes a sigh that sounds like a frustrated
growl. “It’s already blown over. I doubt Manny even remembers it. Guys get over
things. Or is there some other reason you won’t talk to him even though you obviously
want to?”

Direct hit. “No other reason.” I somehow manage
to say that with sincere calm.

Linda shakes her head, exasperated, then rummages
in her bag again. She mumbles, “I’ve been debating how and if I should give
this to you. But you opened the door on your own, Chrissie. So you pretty much
decided for me.”

She dumps a gaily wrapped present on my lap.
Every muscle in my body tenses.
Violet ribbon.

“Don’t stare at it like it’s going to bite you.
How small can you be?” Irritated, she pops a cigarette in her mouth and lights
it. “It’s a present for Kaley. Manny gave it to me to give to you. I didn’t
think it was smart to do that at the party. I’m not sure it was smart to do it
now.”

So much is running through me. I’m afraid to open
it, even though my finger disobeys my will by tracing over Kaley’s name written
on the envelope in Alan’s handwriting. I’m touched and knocked off my feet
simultaneously by the gesture. A part of me is desperate to see what he sent
and a part of me says
don’t do it, Chrissie.

Why would Alan send a gift for Kaley? Suspicion
and fear push in on me, making it almost impossible to breathe.

“Just open it, Chrissie,” Linda says, annoyed and
impatient. “It’s not going to be anything awful. Manny is very appropriate at
gift giving.”

I gnaw on my lower lip. Linda’s right. I’m
behaving stupidly. I pull free the card from beneath the ribbon and carefully
open the flap. Something falls into my lap as I read the note inside. One
sentence.
May every day of your life be filled with happiness and joy—Alan
.

The lump in my throat is strangling. The fear
that
this
is not a meaningless gesture consumes me.

Linda makes a husky laugh. I look at her. She’s
holding whatever it is that fell into my lap, staring at it and shaking her
head.

She hands it to me and I go numb.
A check?
The
amount alone is suggestive, and even if Linda is thoroughly amused by this,
there is nothing funny about it.

“Kaley’s first check—” Linda’s laughter
intensifies. “—but I don’t think you should put that in the baby’s first
moments book. Jeez, how ridiculous. He made it out to her, like an infant has
ID and is born with a bank account.”

My heart is pounding quickly to the point the
blood is gushing through my ears, blocking out Linda’s words. Alan sent a
check. Jack’s voice whispers in my memory, from that long ago phone call in New
York when he ordered me not to accept the cello from Alan. “
Manny is in a
rough place. He needs to learn new habits. The only way he will ever learn to
deal with his issues is if the people around him don’t let him buy his way out
of them.
”

I can’t take in air. The earth has fallen away
beneath me. And Linda is still mindlessly droning on.

“He sent one for Bobby, too, when he found out we
were adopting. He sends a check every birthday and Christmas to Pat and Jimmy’s
little ones also. Ridiculous amounts. Sweet and thoughtful, don’t you think?”

Bobby? Pat’s little ones?
The
rampant emotion coursing through me stills. Is this just some Alan ritual? Am I
being hyper-reactive and overly paranoid? Maybe the check means nothing.

As if Linda knows the moment everything inside me
calms, she smiles. “Aren’t you going to open the gift? The gifts are always
so
amusing, like he thinks kids are nothing more than mini thirty-year-olds.”

Linda sounds normal, like this is no big deal. I
carefully remove the ribbon and then the wrap. I study the book, every detail.
My insides are frantic and loose again.

Linda’s eyes fly wide. “Is that a first edition?”

I nod. Collector condition. First edition.
Alice
in Wonderland.
My favorite. I don’t even remember telling him that, but I
must have, otherwise how would Alan know? And inside is another inscription.
May
you always believe in magic and the impossible. Alan Manzone.

I sit, stunned. “He wrote a note inside. I can’t
even imagine what he paid for this book. And he devalued the condition just to
put a little note there for Kaley.”

Linda grins. “Oh, no he didn’t, Chrissie. He
didn’t devalue a damn thing. Think of the irony.
Alice in Wonderland
with Alan Manzone’s autograph.” Her humor hits her with such force she’s
hugging her middle. “Twenty years from now it will probably be worth double.
Some crazy fan will pay a fortune for that if you ever put it up for auction.”

She can’t stop laughing. I watch her, trapped in
a storm of warring emotions, and then I burst out laughing, too. I can’t help
it. There is too much inside me to process, and Linda’s humor is intoxicating.

We slouch in the cushions, heads close, until our
laughter runs its course.

Linda smiles affectionately. “What are you
thinking, Chrissie? You have the strangest look on your face.”

Flustered, I scrunch up my nose. “I should
probably call him to thank him. That’s all, Linda. That’s what I’m thinking.”

Linda nods, her expression neutral, deliberately
so I think.

“Do you have a current phone number for him,
Linda? I doubt the one I have still works.”

She grabs my mobile phone off the coffee table,
flips it open, goes to contacts and starts punching in numbers.

“This one always works. It’s never disconnected,”
she tells me.

Oh God. I didn’t want this. A permanent way to
reach Alan. But Alan sending presents makes me wonder where things stand
between us. We haven’t talked since Jack’s party. I don’t ever want to be
enemies with Alan, not ever. I’ve worried that since the
punching incident
.
And I never expected to receive gifts from him for Kaley. I can’t help but
wonder if this gesture is maybe his way of telling me that everything between
us is OK.

I’m probably making too much of this. Calling
Alan is probably the wrong move. For me. For him.

I take the phone from Linda.
My stomach
knots. She put Alan in my contacts under the name Molly. I ignore the
not-so-subtle innuendo. I click closed my phone and toss it back onto the
table.

I’ll call Alan later after Linda’s gone to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

I
close my bedroom door and sink down on my bed. Crud, it’s 1 a.m. I’ve never
known anyone who can talk as much as Linda can.

I take my lower lip between my teeth, staring at
my phone. It’s too late to call a normal person, but for Alan this is
primetime. Unless he’s at a party or, worse, with a girl. Then it would be
totally
ghastly
time.

I tell myself
just do it.
What’s the worst
that could happen? It might be awful? It’s already awful, the want, the need to
talk to him.

I try to tell myself calling him is necessity,
the only way to know for sure he’s not wondering things I don’t want him to
wonder. But it’s more complex than that. Every emotion is always something more
complex with Alan.

It’s us. Connected in the disconnect. Emotionally
messy and emotionally tangled together, regardless of where we are, together or
not, in that indefinable way it has been from the first day we met. Even after
that dreadful scene at Jack’s party, when Alan looked at me before he left, I
knew we hadn’t ended that day. And no matter what I do, I am and always will be
in some way heart-tied to Alan.

It’s not my fault. It’s inescapable. It’s
him
.
Linda is the strongest, most confident woman I have ever known, and even she
seems relentlessly held in Alan’s epic universe by having had some sort of
history with him. I’ve often wondered if she just married Len to make the
Alan-hold fit better. Linda and Len definitely don’t match as a couple and she
is a practical girl. It’s a weird match. Strangely, the Alan-factor makes it
more logical to me.

I hit the call button. Ring. Ring. Ring. My leg
starts to jiggle double-time. Answer the phone. Answer the phone. Answer—

“Yes?” Abrupt. Imperative.

I’m shocked into stillness. It’s not just a
private line. It’s one Alan answers.

“Yes?” This time it’s barked, and I realize I
missed my turn to talk last round.

I crinkle my nose. “It’s me.”

The second I say that I kick myself.
Fuck, can
you be any more lame, Chrissie?
It’s vain to think he’ll figure out who it
is from that and definitely potentially devastating that I’ve had one of those
Chrissie
cute-cute
conversational moments and he might respond with something more
in the line with how he said “yes.”

Fudge, why doesn’t he say something? “If you
don’t start speaking soon, Alan, I’m going to fall asleep. I’m exhausted.”

He laughs. “Sorry. I’m not over the shock that
you called. I wasn’t expecting you to. You surprised me.”

Weird, blunt Alan honesty.

“I wasn’t expecting
to
call,” I whisper,
then cringe. God, that was sort of a bitchy thing to say. I change course. “I
wanted to thank you for the presents. But Alan, you shouldn’t have done it and
you shouldn’t have sent a check. That I’m ripping up.”

“I thought I should send something,” is all he
says.

That makes me tense. I’m unsure what that means.
“You didn’t have to. And you definitely surprised me.”

“Good.” I can hear it in his voice. He’s smiling.
“You should keep the check. Let Kaley decide later which present she prefers.
My experience is kids usually pick the money.”

We both laugh, kind of stiffly, and then there’s
another moment of awkward silence. I should probably say good night and run
while I’m ahead.

“Do you want to hear something silly?” I ask.

More awkward moments of nothing pass through the
phone. Then Alan laughs. “Sure, Chrissie. Tell me your something silly.”

“The backside of my house is all glass. I can see
the ocean from every room and at night when the oil derricks are lit up, to me
they still look like pirate ships.”

My body covers in a burn. Oh fuck, why did I say
that? I just dragged us back in time to the night we met, to our walk on the
beach. What the hell is the matter with me?”

“What do you do all day?” he asks.

My eyes fly wide. Alan just pivoted in
conversation, when Alan never pivots. I’m not sure why—to avoid sensitive
history he doesn’t want to revisit or for my sake. I let out a breath I didn’t
realize I was holding.

“I’ve been working on my music. You were right.
Some of my journals are definitely filled with song lyrics.”

He laughs again. “The chord notations, Chrissie.
A dead giveaway for anyone but you.”

I flush. “Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Thanks a lot.
That was sort of mean.”

“So tell me about your music and what you’re
thinking of doing.”

I sink down against the bed. “I don’t know what I
want to do with it, Alan. I’m just doing it. Probably nothing. Just something
to do.”

Two hours later, I’m curled around my pillow
beneath the blankets, fighting off sleep, with the phone resting between the
bed and my ear since I’m too tired to hold it any longer. The minutes have
passed filled with his meaningless questions about unexciting tidbits of my
life that I can’t figure out why he wants to know. But I’ve missed the thrill
of Alan’s voice, so I answer the questions so the call won’t end. I love his
low, raspy accented voice. The way he curls the words off his lips. Every word
a velvet seduction.

Rubbing my knuckles into my eyes, I can feel that
sleep is starting to win. “I need to go, Alan. I’m too tired to talk anymore.
But can I say something before we hang up?”

This time when he laughs he sounds tired, too. “I
guess I have been monopolizing the call. Go ahead, Chrissie.”

I brace myself and say quickly, “I don’t want you
to ever hate me. I don’t want us to be enemies. Not ever. It’s important to me
that we don’t hate each other. Maybe someday be friends. I’d like that.”

A long pause. His even breathing grows louder
with each second. Finally he says, “We are the farthest thing from enemies,
Chrissie. I will always love you.”

My heart turns over, my tightly coiled nerves
unfurl, and the last of my energy gushes out of me. I say it without thought,
my drowsy mind betraying me, “Me, too,” and then sleep.

~~~

I
wake sweaty and hot beneath too many blankets with something hard cutting into
the side of my cheek. I lift my head. Crap, the phone. I fell asleep talking to
Alan.

My cheeks flush. I didn’t want to hang up so I
listened to Alan until I couldn’t, letting the sound of him follow me into
sleep.

Fuck, Chrissie, how pathetic is that?

I roll onto my other side and toss my mobile onto
a night table. 10 a.m. I’ve slept halfway through the morning. And Linda is out
there. Another day trying to figure out how to amuse her.

Struggling to sit up, I chastise myself for the
uncharitable thought. I expected having Linda here to be hard, awkward for us
both, but it’s nice, really nice. Comfortable. But then that’s Linda. She’s
like Rene. Everything just works for her, even incredibly emotionally
complicated relationships with ex-girlfriends of a guy she had a thing with,
too. 

That always bothers me more than it should, that
Linda and Alan at some point had a thing together. Totally ridiculous, since I
was a little girl at the time and I’m not even sure what kind of
thing
it
was. Neither of them talks about their history together, though being that it
was Alan, sexual is the logical assumption.

I feel another internal proprietary kind of prick
and scrunch up my nose.
Face it, Chrissie. You’ve moved from pathetic to
ridiculous this morning. Stop it. Alan wasn’t yours back then and he isn’t
yours today.

After peeing and brushing my teeth, I go down the
hall, finding the door open to Linda’s room, and peek in. Nope, not there. I
continue on to the kitchen. Empty as well.

I frown. I take in the room in a single fast-moving
gaze. What the hell happened in here? It’s spotless. I make my way to the
center island and find a tray with a carafe of coffee labeled with a Post-it
note: decaf. Fruit salad. Muffins—I lean in to smell and then touch—fresh baked
blueberry, still warm.

Jeez, it’s like rooming with Mary Poppins, only
Linda is definitely a weird incarnation of that. Why is she going out of her
way to be exceptionally kind to me? She’s my guest. I should be doing things
for her. But then I remember our time at The Farm. Her take-charge attitude of
Alan’s house. Her delicious cooking. How she made sure everyone had everything
they wanted, always.

I pour a mug of coffee, smiling. Linda is so
sweet in her own way. After putting a muffin onto a plate, I take my breakfast
with me as I look for her again. Waddle. Waddle. Waddle. I exhale loudly. Not
in the living room. Well, she’s certainly made herself at home here if I can’t
find her.

I look at the door to the downstairs. Nope, not
doing it. Then I notice that the door into the garage is open. I climb the
stairs, go into the garage and maneuver through the cars. The door is open to
the patio we built above the second floor.

A widow’s walk, someone had called it, but it was
just the only place where we could have a large patio on our slanting mountain
property and the views from here are incredible. Ocean, islands and Santa
Barbara visible in one direction, mountains the other.

I don’t see her but step out anyway. Linda is
sitting reclined in a chaise dressed in tight, short aerobics pants and a half
top, feet clad in Nikes, hair back stylishly, and full makeup. She’s stunning
even dressed like that.

I set my coffee and muffin on a table before
sitting down beside her. “Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast. You must
have gotten up early.”

She smiles. “I can’t sleep here. It’s too damn
quiet.”

Her eyes start searching the front drive as if
she’s expecting to see something. I laugh. “You’ve turned the chairs the wrong
way. The view of the ocean is on the other side of the house.”

Her eyes sparkle impishly. “I’m waiting for the
return.”

I frown, not following. “The return of what?”

“The most incredibly hot guy, shirtless, ran by
about an hour ago. He came from that direction.” She points east. “I figure
that’s about the limit of entertainment up here so when he has to come back
this way I don’t want to miss it.”

Laughing, I prop my feet up on a stool. “You’re
awful, Linda. And yep, he’s going to come back this way. Runs every morning. He
lives in that house up on the hill above me.” I shake my head, tearing off a
piece of my muffin. “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize him. That’s Sandy
Harris’s brother, Jesse.”

Her eyes sharpen. “Sandy Harris the music
promoter? His brother? The reporter from the
New York Times
? That Jesse
Harris? Really?”

I nod. “Yep. Moved in two weeks ago. I haven’t a
clue why he’s living up here. He hardly ever leaves his house. It seems strange
him being here given that he works for the
Times
.”

Linda shrugs, untroubled. “Maybe he’s writing
another book.”

“Another book? What are you talking about?”

Her eyes brighten, excited and amused. “You don’t
read Jesse Harris’s books? He writes all those spy thrillers. They’re
incredible. I love them. The Dante DeMaze books. Amazing stories. I can’t
believe you haven’t read any of them.”

“Who has time to read?” My brow crinkles. “I
didn’t know he was a novelist, but he does spend a lot of time sitting on his
patio with his laptop. You’re right. He’s probably writing a book.” I let out a
heavy sigh since one bothersome mystery—why a reporter became my neighbor—is
solved. I look at her. “I was kind of worried with a reporter up there.
Especially with how much Neil is in the papers these days. Jesse’s always
sitting up there looking down on my house writing something. I’m so relieved.
You’re probably right. He’s just writing another book.”

Linda grins. “Who cares what he’s doing? Who
cares if he’s the press? Lucky you. He’s a fucking gorgeous man. He’s been the
highlight of my morning.”

I roll my eyes. “For me he’s just part of the
scenery. He runs past my house every morning. But he’s a nice guy—” For a
moment my thoughts carry me back to Alan’s party in Manhattan that spring, how
Alan dumped me and Jesse stayed with me through that long, horrible night. “A
really nice guy. So don’t give him shit when he’s back from his run.”

“Fine. But I am a sucker for a hot blond-haired,
blue-eyed man.”

“Really? He’s definitely attractive, but—” I
crinkle my nose. “—he must not be my type because he doesn’t do anything for
me.”

She gives me the
aha
look as if to say,
I
know your type, Chrissie.

I flush. “So is that what we’re going to do this
morning? Wait for him to run by?”

Linda smooths back and fluffs her hair with her
fingers. “Why not? It’s fun to look.” She smiles, overly affectionately again.
“It’s nice. Just sitting here. Having girl time with you.” She laughs. “The
world changes. Music changes. Fashion changes. Technology changes, but women
never do. We chat over coffee and talk about men. What else is there to do?”