Chapter Three #4
“I’m so sorry,” I said, from safer ground. My sandals sunk into some mud. I felt like an idiot child.
He looked at me, puzzled, walking slowly back. He unlatched the fence with a clinking metal sound, and then reattached the
latch. The horses started acting like storybook horses again.
“This might be a new level of bridal shower anarchy. You don’t date actors but you do provoke semi-wild animals?”
“I suppose? Honestly, I wasn’t thinking,” I admitted. The moon was bright enough to see him in a shadowy kind of way. This
would have been a great moment for Ian and Cassie.
“Thanks for saving me,” I said, standing closer to him than I should have.
“If I save your life, you have to have a drink with me. That’s the local custom.”
“That seems reasonable, absolutely.”
He brought out two drinks to the back of the venue, where there was a loose assemblage of chairs and tables for workers to
lounge on during their breaks. I sipped slowly so I wouldn’t run after any more wild animals or, as was more likely, become
one myself.
“So after the movie wraps, what are you on to?” I asked, trying to force myself to stop thinking about his lips.
“I run a drama camp for teenagers every summer. Camp Firefly. My parents used to run it, and my sister and I took it over last year when my mom got sick. We hold it right here at the winery, actually, during the day. Theatre, acting for film, and playwrighting. I teach acting for film, my sister teaches improv, and usually there’s a writing component but our writing teacher just quit today. We’re in a bit of a scramble.”
“I used to teach at a drama camp when I was a teenager. Some of the happiest memories of my life, actually.” I used to spend
the whole year at school just pining for the summer months, a few platform tents by a lake up north where I felt like I could
truly be myself.
“Well, what do you think about taking a ninety percent pay cut and teaching kids how to write audition monologues for six
weeks?”
“Ha ha, is it union?”
“No way. It’s probably technically volunteer. But we give any out-of-town teachers their own cabins out by the lake. The previous
teacher used it as a semi-writing residency. She wrote a short film and a play last summer. The cabins are pretty bare bones
but quite lovely.”
Oh, he was serious. I didn’t know if I should be insulted, as someone with an IMDb page as long as my arm. This was a teenager’s
job, was it not? But I searched his face, and he looked quite sincere.
“Oh, wow, that is a crazy idea, but it does sound appealing. I was hoping to write a new feature this summer. It’s hard to
do that while on set every day.”
“Plus, you could spend every day with me. We could become a new power couple and you could write shows that star ME.” He took
a swig of his beer just then, so I couldn’t see what he really felt. But it definitely killed the mood to have him confirm
my worst fears about an actor actually being interested in me.
“That does sound appealing,” I said, draining my drink and taking my phone out of my back pocket. “But alas, I’m not a teenager
in need of a job.”
“Ah, simply an adult in need of a job.”
“I got fired today. Are you seriously mocking me right now?” I stood up, a little shaky on my feet.
“Nah, nah. I just think it would be fun. I love running the camp. And I’d love to have an excuse to spend more time with you.”
“I mean, spending more than a night or two in the county is very appealing. I’m not going to lie. Like, the air smells amazing.
Do you notice it anymore? What is it?”
He took a deep breath. “Campfire, lilacs, cedar? And a little garlic and wood-fired pizza.”
He took my phone out of my hand. “I’m putting my number in your phone. I’ll send you all the information about camp. We start
in just over a week. Promise me you’ll think about it. The kids will be so impressed to have a teacher who’s such a superstar.”
I’m the one who usually employs the superstar line on actors to get them to do what I want.
“I’ll see what your offer feels like in the sober light of day,” I said, backing away from Ben and wandering back to the group.
I texted Rocco that we were going to want to leave soon and did my best to gather everyone up into a gaggle in the parking
lot. I kept looking back at Ben behind the outdoor bar. Lila, who brought over the final stragglers in our party, noticed.
“Ben is a good guy,” she said. “I’m not just saying that.”
“Oh, I’m not interested. He seems cool, though.”
“I know he seems a bit like a player, but he’s not, you know. He’s been around a lot more because his mom is pretty sick right
now. He’s kind of the family rock. Everyone wants to date him. But he rarely has a girlfriend.”
“Oh, no long-term hometown girlfriend, from high school, even?”
“I’m forever looking out for the single sister bridesmaids! You interested?”
I made a note to use this line in a future film. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
There’s no way to say I don’t date actors without sounding like a super bitch. So I just smiled.
We drove through Picton looking for the McDonald’s because Katie was demanding milkshakes and Big Macs. I took a photo of
her, Hazel, and Marlon with their heads through the limo sunroof, hands full of burgers, shrieking with glee, the golden arches
behind them. The town was so quiet you could hear crickets.
Val, Hazel, and Katie started making Instagram videos in the empty parking lot, Marlon directing them, while Yasmine slept,
and I sat quietly with Kris.
“How are you holding up, about the getting fired thing?”
I told Kris about the job offer, the strange fork in the road.
“On the one hand, it feels like a step backwards, and on the other, it feels like it could be a special way to spend the summer
by a lake, making art in a way I haven’t been able to for years.”
“If it feels like fate intervening, I think you should pay attention to that. Imagine staying here, what does your body feel
like?”
We watched everyone dancing through the window for a few beats as I contemplated the answer.
“It feels relaxed,” I admitted, “perhaps even some butterflies?”
“That’s a sign,” Kris said, lifting a chicken nugget up to mine in a cheers.
On the drive back to the house, Rocco slowed so that two deer on the side of the road could cross to the other side slowly
in the moonlight. “I planned this for you guys,” he joked. We’d all calmed, sleepy and content, on the strange limo benches
with the windows down. I felt as though I had otherworldly eye contact with one of the deer. Maybe the gummies lasted longer
than I thought.
Everyone straggled into the house and I hung back, giving Rocco a well-deserved tip.
I stood on the porch staring up at the moon as the limo retreated into the darkness.
I felt like I’d never seen so many stars in the sky.
What would it mean to stay here all summer?
If this were one of the many movies for hire I’d penned in recent years, the heroine would be off to the races into the act one break.
But real life isn’t a movie. A chorus of coyotes howled in unison in the distance.
For the first time, I longed for some director’s notes.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed. My mother’s number. I ignored it. Unlike most mothers in Christmas movies, she was never the
person to steer me in the right direction or offer relevant advice. Her only advice to me about men was don’t date a man who can’t tell a good joke. That one never made sense because my mother has no discernable sense of humour and my father had an occasional moment of
dry wit but had never told a joke in his life that I’d ever heard. Every time my phone buzzed, it felt like it was mocking
my need for solace and advice. She knew where the bachelorette party was, she was invited, she knew she had to RSVP. But my
mother never thought about the feelings of others or following social rules. If she showed up now, she’d have to sleep on
the couch. I turned my phone off.
It sounded like everyone had wandered off to bed. I brought Katie a glass of water, a few saltine crackers, and a tiny tube
of travel Advil. When I opened her door, she was staring up at the ceiling and babbling about something. It reminded me of
the summer before she went off to college and was learning how not to hold her liquor; after enough alcohol she starts to
have mumbling conversations with herself. I used to find it very annoying but now I saw her in that state so rarely that I
found it charming. I clicked on her portable white noise machine and handed her the glass.
“I don’t think wedding rompers are meant to be nightgowns,” I said.
“Sissy, tonight was so fun. I mean, Sarah had strippers at her party, but Big Macs and coyotes was a good time.”
“Is she home safe?” I said, nodding to her cell phone. Sarah and Katie always called each other to say good night and make
sure they were all tucked safely into bed whenever they spent a night apart. It was either adorable or codependent, but either
way it seemed to work for them.
“She’s good. She got a lap dance from two girls at once, apparently quite acrobatic.”
“You don’t get jealous.”
“Nah, I know she’s mine. Plus strippers are hot and I know Sarah tips well.”
“That’s sweet. Eat a couple of crackers with your preventative Advil.” She ate one like Animal from The Muppets, and then laughed, and then choked a bit at the laughing. She was covered in crumbs.
“Did you bring PJs?”
“Yes, but they are, tragically, across the room.”
I flipped open her immaculately packed suitcase and pulled out a pair of old jogging shorts from high school and an oversized
Phoebe Bridgers tour shirt.
“Here. Off with the romper.” She sighed but complied. We were back in our roles of the parent elder daughter and the goofy
young peacemaker. It was comfortable but I didn’t like to think too deeply about why we were like that.
“You deserve love too, Elise. You’re missing out on so much of life,” she said, pulling down her shirt.
“I’m not missing out on much besides bad dates.”
“When you feel like you’re someone’s whole world, nothing beats that feeling.”
“Aren’t we not supposed to think of our partners as our whole worlds?”
“I’m just saying you’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m focused on my career right now.”
“Shouldn’t you get some experience, for that career?”
“I’m not going to be making romance movies forever. I have loftier goals.”
“Are you writing those scripts?”
I looked away. I hadn’t even opened those files in six months, hoping the feature I was trying to shop around right now would
find a home.
“Why are you suddenly so articulate when you’re hammered?”
“At least get laid. Have some crazy sex with a guy who knows how to drive a tractor! I’m worried about you. You need to stop
being so stubborn and picky.”
“I get laid as much as I want. I just don’t tell Instagram or the family group chat. Plus I think it’s good not to settle.”
“Sure, but at least keep an open heart. Promise me you’ll say yes to someone. The next guy to make you blush, say yes to that
guy. I saw the way you blushed at that stand-up comic, even though his jokes were shit.”
“No they weren’t!”
“See? You even respect his dumb jokes. That’s good. Say yes to that guy. Say yes to yourself.”
She was mumbling into her pillow by then. I tucked her in, drew the curtains closed, and as I left the room, I heard her mumble,
“Did Mom call you?” and then a gentle snore. It still broke me, how much Katie assumed our mother would show up for us.
I pushed open the old wooden window in my room and looked out at the moon. It was so bright. I went downstairs and out the
back door, creeping over the grass and onto the pool deck.
I peeled off my dress and dove into the water.
Say yes to yourself, I thought, as I broke the surface and took a deep breath of night air.
It’s one of those things that would be embroidered on a pillow for divorced women.
But it also felt like a good direction for my life.
Trying to make a go of an arts career always felt like you had to compromise your own vision in some way, you’re always saying yes to other people until your luck turns.
And I didn’t mind paying my dues, but I was starting to feel ragged.
Rebecca could be a night swimmer, I thought.
Rebecca could be the kind of person who didn’t dye her hair, and who could identify mushrooms in the forest and can peaches.
Rebecca could be a better swimmer than I am.
I realized with a sober start that I actually wasn’t a great swimmer.
My best stroke was a half dog-paddle half breaststroke.
The coyotes howled again, and I returned to city Elise, doing my clumsy breaststroke back to the ladder.
The rungs were slippery as I climbed back up onto the pavement.
I was naked under the full moon, potentially like a horror movie heroine, but feeling a shift, nonetheless.