Chapter 43 I hope you’re not the jealous type.
I hope you’re not the jealous type.
Sean
THE DULCET TONES of a piano greet me in the foyer of the Shirley Brasserie. There are no TV cameras. No journalists. No paparazzi. No one knows I’m here except my date—one Vera Caladizzi. She raises a feeble hand and gives me the royal wave from a table by the window.
I lope over, take her hand, and kiss it. “How did I get so lucky to have dinner with the most beautiful woman in the room?”
She smiles around the oxygen tube in her nose. “After all I’ve been through these last few weeks, you’re not getting away with just a kiss on the hand! Come here, you big hunk!”
She yanks me into her aura of baby powder and rosewater. For a woman who’s just had heart surgery, she’s surprisingly strong—and fast. I turn my face just in time for the kiss to land on my cheek rather than smack on my mouth.
Straightening the lapels of my tuxedo jacket—yes, I wore a tux for her—I slide into my chair and reach for the bottle of merlot that’s already on the table, chilled to European standards.
“Did your doctor give me clearance to get you drunk, Vera?” I pour her a glass without waiting for an answer.
She picks it up by the stem. “If I can’t die of pleasure drinking too much with Sean O’Sullivan, whatever was it all for?”
“Ah, a woman after my own heart.”
I pour myself a glass, too. I got done with the audition less than two hours ago.
It didn’t go well. I was too distracted what with Josie’s sudden departure and the police investigation.
I admitted that I bought the hat online.
I hope I convinced the LAPD that I didn’t know it was the stolen one.
If not, perhaps the very large check I sent to the NYC Theater Development Fund will keep them from pressing charges.
“I thought your heart was already taken,” Vera replies, taking a prim sip of her wine.
“Propriety demands a gentleman only speak of the lady he’s with.”
“Well, propriety might want to step aside unless you want to talk about doctors and hospitals.” She sets her glass down and smooths the napkin on her lap. “I’d rather talk about young love.”
“Young love is a wily asshole.” I take another swig. “Pardon the language.”
“Or we can talk about Hamilton. I love that show.”
I can’t tell if she’s teasing me. I gulp the rest of my wine and wince as I refill my glass. “It’s a gem, all right.”
“Will you sing me a piece?”
Okay, she’s teasing me, there’s no doubt about it. “What? Here?”
“Indulge a sick old lady, will you?”
“You’re milking it, Vera. Shame on you.” I wag a finger at her but sing a few lines of “One Last Time” anyway. It’s worth it for the smile I get.
We order a selection from the raw bar and some salads.
As we dive into the oysters and shrimp, I can’t help thinking about Josie with her shellfish aversion or whatever love/hate thing she has with it.
She’s really gone, back to Florida, according to Emmy.
Will I ever see her again? I don’t know.
Not that it matters. Regardless of our feelings for one another, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. She made that clear. I’m her shellfish.
“I bet she’s thinking about you, too,” Vera says, peeling the scales off a shrimp.
“Oh, I’m not thinking about her.” After abstaining from alcohol for so long, my face has a lovely numb feeling going on. Too bad it doesn’t extend to my heart.
“This is a safe space, Sean.”
I’ve heard that line before. I raise an eyebrow. “What did you used to do for a living, Vera?”
She sips her wine with a smile. “I was a therapist.”
“Oh boy.”
“The good news is, whatever we talk about is privileged, so you can stop pouring wine over all those feelings and get it out.”
“I don’t think so.” Although maybe it’s time. Maybe this woman can help me. “Okay, fine, I am thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her.” I pause. “Does that make me weird?”
“Why would that make you weird?”
A shrimp cartwheels across my fingers as I fumble with it. “It’s just that she told me to leave her alone. She doesn’t want to be with me, and I should respect that, right?”
“Of course.”
“But I’m worried about her. Not even Emmy has heard from her since she left. And the press are having a field day with her.” My stomach clenches. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I feel so exposed. “I just want to know that she’s okay.”
“What’s so weird about wanting to know that she’s okay?”
“Because I’m doing it all the time. Constantly.
Like, I can’t relax. Unless I’m jumping out of the way of a bomb—literally, on set—I’m thinking about her.
I’m worrying about her. I’m missing her.
I’m talking myself out of calling her. I’m…
” I take a deep breath. I hate this, everything about it, but if I don’t do this now, it’s never going to happen.
I glance around and lower my voice to a whisper. “I think I might be obsessed with her.”
“What?” Vera leans in. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
I lean forward, too. “I might be obsessed with her.”
“What?” Vera cups her ear.
“Obsessed! Obsessed! I might be obsessed!” My shoulder bumps the wine bottle, and I grab it with a yelp. The couples near us glance our way. Our server looks like she’s about to call for backup. Meanwhile, Vera is chuckling to herself. She’s messing with me! I can’t believe it.
“That was mean, Vera,” I growl. “I don’t like you anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” She pats her lips with the corner of her napkin. “I was just having a little fun. But in all seriousness, you’re not the first person to come to me with this concern.”
My heart jolts. “Really?”
“Really.” She pauses as our salads are served.
“But I think we need to talk definitions for a moment. Obsession is something very specific and unhealthy. It’s not just thinking too much about someone or something.
It’s about being unable to separate yourself from them.
Hoarding their love or their attention. Not caring about their happiness, only your own.
It’s a selfish, jealous feeling. Does that sound like what you feel for Josie? ”
My fork hovers over my salad as I ponder it. “I don’t think so.”
“How do you feel about her?”
I gulp air. “I want her to be happy. I’d love for us to be happy together.”
Vera narrows her eyes at me. “What a monster you are.” She titters and stabs a tomato.
I’m not sure what’s happening. I expected a different reaction. Horror. Or sympathy. Maybe a twelve-step program. “You don’t… see a problem here?”
Vera’s eyebrows lift as she swallows. “I don’t think you’re obsessed with this woman, Sean. I think you just really like her and don’t want to lose her.”
I take a huge lungful of air, like I’m facing an incoming tidal wave because, if I want to trust what Vera is telling me, she has to have all the information. “When I was a teenager, I filled this notebook with poems and drawings of this one girl I liked.”
“How sweet.”
“No, not sweet. Excessive.”
She gives me a pointed look. “I cut off a lock of Luke Appleby’s hair when he was having a sleepover with my brother and kept it in my jewelry box for eleven years.”
I cough a little. “You—Are you messing with me again?”
She pops a bite into her mouth. “No. That’s a true story.”
“That’s insane.” Although it does make me feel better. Maybe we’re all obsessive weirdos sometimes. My fork hangs in midair. “What about—” I start to ask but then chicken out. There’s no need to go there.
“Go on, Sean. No use being a quitter now.”
“What about the cosplay?” I whisper. “Am I obsessed with that? Because I really like it. I really, really like it. Like, I’m so happy doing it. And I have way too many costumes.”
“Liking something a lot isn’t bad, Sean. In fact, this cosplay hobby of yours doesn’t sound all that different from what you do for a living, and no one would accuse you of being obsessed with your work, would they?”
“It’s different,” I say. “It’s embarrassing.”
She sets down her fork. “Who did that to you?”
“Who did what?”
“Who took your passions and made you ashamed of them?”
I stutter. “I—I’m not sure.”
“What was something you loved to do as a child? Something that lit you up?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Working in the costume room with Mam.”
“Hmm.” She nods. “And who made fun of you for it?”
I feel my lip twitch. “My da, a little. But more my brother.”
“Did your brother do it to you with other things, too? Maybe that notebook you told me about?”
I feel my jaw tighten. “As a matter of fact, he did.”
“I wonder why he would do that?” Vera nudges her wineglass at me.
I refill it, memories of Seamus with his binoculars filling my mind’s eye. I think I’m starting to get what’s going on. “Because he was ashamed of himself, and picking on me made him feel better.”
Vera taps her nose and points to me. “You got it, Seanny Bear.”
It’s like a map has been unfolded in front of me, one that leads to new and exciting places in my brain where I’m not an incurable weirdo.
“Buying a stolen hat is a little over the top, though,” she admits. “You did know it was stolen, didn’t you?”
Emboldened, I try to explain. “I like authentic things. There’s history behind them.
When I wear them, it’s more than a costume—it’s like I get to be part of something I couldn’t be a part of when it was happening.
Maybe I was too young when it filmed, maybe I wasn’t the right person for the part, maybe someone I really respect wore it.
And somehow that energy”—I use my hands to mime this magical, invisible energy that comes from these things.
I’m sure I look like a loony doing it, but Vera’s convinced me she’s my safe person—“that energy comes through the costume. I feed off it. It invigorates me. Plus, the auctions are really thrilling, too, especially when a lot of people are bidding for the same item and there’s a lot of money involved. ”
She smiles gently. “Well, here’s the thing, Sean.
It’s not the hobby itself that’s problematic.
It’s how you go about it. If you’re pouring your love and attention into the hobby as a replacement for pouring your love and attention into the people in your life, that’s not healthy.
” Her gaze goes sharp. “Have you been doing that?”
I think about all of my past relationships, how I kept those women at arm’s length. How I was never able to get close to anyone. And how the only place I felt I could really let go, really feel, was when I was dressed up. Hidden.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Did your costumes ever love you back?” Vera prods.
I chuckle. “All right, you’ve made your point, Dr. Heartbreak.”
“Don’t be afraid to feel deeply, Sean. Passion is not perversion. The people who feel most deeply are the ones who get the most out of life and who give the most to others, if they’re brave enough.” She puts down her fork. “That was delicious. Now what shall we share for dessert?”
We split the profiteroles and a lime sorbet.
All my tightness has loosened up, and I find myself telling Vera more stories about my cosplay adventures and even about Josie and me.
She tells me about her kids and grandkids, about her first husband, George, and how awful that marriage was, and then her second husband, Frank, who was the exact opposite.
“Is Frank still with you?” I ask. “Or did you dump him for me?”
She smiles. “He died six years ago.”
I place my hand over hers on the table. “I’m sorry. You must miss him terribly.”
“I do, but at least I had him to miss.” She squeezes my hand. “So, did you and my stand-in do anything after you ate? Don’t you dare hold out on me! I want everything she got!”
I chuckle, thinking it’s a good thing I don’t have to base this date off of our Hamilton on the Roof adventure. “Well, we didn’t go anywhere afterward, although now that you mention it, we did get a dance in.”
“Lovely!” She pats her oxygen tank. “But I’ll have to bring Harold with me.”
I hop up and grab the machine’s handle. “Hello, Harold,” I say. “I hope you’re not the jealous type.”
The piano player sees us coming and gives a nod and a smile—it’s the same dude from before.
Vera and I dance to an easy three-step, careful to go only as far as the oxygen tubing allows.
Her hand is as light and fragile as a bird in mine.
I can feel the bones of her spine. What must it be like to have most of your life behind you?
More adventures in your past than in your future?
And how would it feel to dance like this with Josie fifty years in the future? Would she feel like this in my arms?
I’ve never caught myself thinking this far ahead before. It makes me wonder if my train has added some stops to it, after all. Like, maybe it doesn’t just run between Good Time Guy and Obsessive Weirdo. Maybe there’s some nuance to Sean O’Sullivan, after all.
And, maybe, like Snack suggested, Josie and I could be good for one another even when it’s not fun. It’s a little late for that, perhaps, but maybe not. A trip to Florida isn’t completely out of the range of possibilities.
When we’re done, I thank Vera for the pleasure of her company and, with an unexplainable skip in my step, accompany her to the parking lot where her son is waiting with the car.
“Now be honest, Vera,” I tease. “Are you going to try to kiss me on the mouth again when we say our goodbyes?”
“No!” She titters.
“Vera,” I warn. “Tell the truth.”
“Well, maybe. Actually, yes.”