‘Funny, I never had you down as…’ he pauses, bends his arms, wing-like, and starts clucking. ‘…chick-en!’
‘Fine,’ I say, standing up, walking down the steps and climbing into the very rickety rickshaw. ‘Nobody calls me chicken!’
‘All right, Marty,’ he laughs, climbing in beside me. ‘Next time I’ll remember the DeLorean!’
I admit the rickshaw ride wasn’t all that bad, and the intimacy it provided may even have passed as quite enjoyable. The rider, with calves as wide as my thighs and bum cheeks as tight as Joan Rivers’ forehead, rode us through Central Park, past the great lawn and through the dark trees to Broadway. At no point did he pedal us under a New York City garbage truck or cut up a yellow cab. After a while, I even allowed my knuckles to relax, allowing them to return from white to pink.
‘So, what’s so special about this place?’ I ask, standing on Broadway, Ben having just helped me remove my kitten heel from a grate.
He gestures to a non-descript shop front. ‘This, or I should say, what this place used to be.’
‘What was it?’
‘Shakespeare and Co.’
‘Where the bookshop scene was shot?’
Ben nods. We both stare up at the empty façade.
‘Bookshops are like sinking ships around here,’ he says.
‘Tell me about it,’ I sigh. ‘This would break Astrid’s heart.’
I sink down on the sidewalk in front of the store to nurse my feet, my mind still turning over the meeting with Mike.
‘This whole Jennifer Lawrence thing is really bothering me,’ I say, trying to conceal how much I’m enjoying the fact that Ben has sat down beside me and our bodies are propped up against each other. ‘I’m not sure Truman being with someone forceful really works. And the humour’s meant to be clever, not bawdy.’
‘Amy Schumer might be a better option.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, giving it some thought but not convinced. ‘I saw her once, I don’t know why people bang on about her size so much, she’s completely normal.’
‘I saw her once too at some restaurant in London. What’s it called,’ he thinks for a moment. ‘The Firehouse?’
I pull away a little to look at him face to face. ‘You’re kidding?’
He shakes his head.
‘I saw her there too! Wait a minute,’ I say, slowly recalling my dinner with Caroline. ‘You’re the guy who was sitting next to us! I brushed my arse against your table.’
‘I knew I knew that arse!’ he laughs, impersonating my British accent.
‘Ha-ha,’ I smile, allowing myself to nuzzle into him a little, which he reciprocates.
‘But seriously, the time we met at the theatre, I had a really strong feeling we’d met before or that we knew one another. But I thought it was that party and you said “no” but…’
‘I really didn’t like you at the theatre.’ I know I should tell him that I remember him from Verity’s New Year party, that his sequels comment riled me, but before I can he tells me, ‘I just wanted to talk to you, but you were all hostile and mean.’
I laugh. ‘Sorry about that! I really didn’t like you after our first proper meeting at the restaurant.’
‘I was a bit full on. I was probably showing off, trying to impress you. What would Sally say is the statute of limitations on apologies?’.
‘Three months?’
‘Well then, I can just slip it under the wire!’ We pull apart and he looks at me intently.
I smile, loving the fact that Ben knows the script as well as me, if not better. I feel bad that I wrote him off as an over-stylised, over-opinionated moron with poor table manners. If I’d known then that he’d turn out to be a funny, smart, kind, cake lover and a Nora Ephron fan, I might have given him the time of day.
‘Would you consider having dinner with me some time?’ I ask, continuing the script.
‘Are we becoming friends?’ He doesn’t look quite certain if I’m asking him as Nina or as Sally.
‘Well, I…I guess we could,’ I say, not feeling quite certain either.
‘A female friend,’ chuckles Ben, impersonating Harry. ‘You may be the only good-looking woman I haven’t wanted to sleep with all my life.’
‘Given we have to work together, and the fact you have Jen in your life, that’s probably a good thing,’ I say, though somewhere inside I can’t help feeling ever so slightly, disappointed.
23
‘I can’t believe they’ve asked you to stay on for more meetings!’ says Astrid. It’s Monday morning and I’m Skyping from my hotel room.
‘Nor can I! I feel dreadful leaving you in the lurch. Has Mr Love called yet this morning?’
‘Nope. He’s been busy with nursey, she’s been here a lot the last few days.’
Astrid picks up the computer to show me the newly revamped kids’ department. There are lots of stuffed toys and a couple of small chairs, and she’s trimmed the newly painted white shelves with fairy lights.
‘It’s looking gorgeous, Astrid. You must have been working super hard.’
‘I guess I have been here more than usual; Aidan hasn’t been wanting to go out much.’
‘He’s still low?’
‘Low doesn’t cover it.’ She kneels next to the old wooden toy chest, which she’s filled with book-themed costumes for dressing up. ‘He’s somewhere where the light doesn’t shine.’
‘Is he getting help?’ I ask, concerned as much for Astrid as I am for Aidan.
‘Counselling and anti-depressants.’
‘Are they working?’
‘Not really,’ she says, folding a Cinderella dress. ‘He’s taken to hiding in the spare room most of the time. If I get as much as a “hello” I’m lucky.’
‘Shit, Astrid, that’s awful.’
She tries on a Cat in the Hat hat to lighten the mood. ‘On the upside, I have the bed to myself and get to watch as much trash on Netflix as I want.’
‘There’s always a positive.’
She puts the hat back into the trunk and spirals a curl of hair round her finger. The circles round her eyes are dark and her hair has lost its usual sheen. ‘I wish I were there; you could take some time off, be with him.’
‘I prefer to be busy. He’ll get through it. We’ll get through it.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am. Anyway, tell me about New York. How was Ben?’
‘Good.’ A smile spreads across my face that I can’t contain.
‘Nina Gillespie,’ she says, knowing immediately that I’ve something to tell. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing happened!’
She arches an eyebrow at me and folds her arms, an indication that she isn’t going to let go of this until I’ve purged.
‘Maybe a little flirting, but that’s all.’ I say, hoping I haven’t got my wires crossed, after all he did say he didn’t want to sleep with me.
‘This is classic Ephron!’ she says, grinning. ‘Obnoxious twerp turned romantic hero. Ben is so your Harry.’
‘Astrid, you cannot compare Ben to Harry!’
‘Well excuse me Sally, I mean, Nina!’
‘We’re colleagues, that’s all,’ I say, all po-faced. My head mostly believes it but somehow my heart seems to be trying to tell me something different, I’ve been pushing inappropriate thoughts of him aside all weekend. ‘And besides, just because I realise he’s not a total moron doesn’t mean romance is suddenly in the air. Let’s not forget he does have a girlfriend.’
‘Maybe that’s part of his charm, he’s just out of reach.’
I shake my head despairingly. ‘And remember, he is still a hipster.’
‘And there are some things that love just cannot overcome!’
‘Indeed,’ I say, hoping that I sound more emphatic that I feel.
‘And tell me, what has Mike tasked you with this time?’ She gets up to tweak a bit of bunting.
I tell her about how Mike wants Anna to be played by Jennifer Lawrence, and h
ow much I dislike the idea, and how, when I spoke to Caroline last night she told me I had to just do it because Mike Steinfeldt knows more than you will ever know. Not that I could hear the sound of her counting money on my behalf or anything.
‘I just can’t see how the female lead from X-Men and The Hunger Games could possibly work as an Ephron character.’
‘Wasn’t Anna supposed to be a demure, classical beauty?’
‘Supposed to be,’ I say. ‘The only Nora Ephron character I can think of who’s anything like a Jennifer Lawrence character is Rosie O’Donnell.’
‘Becky in Sleepless in Seattle, right?’
‘Right.’ Over the years Astrid has become a bit of a default Nora Ephron fan, listening to me chatting on endlessly about her and humouring me by watching her movies time after time.
‘How does that help you reinvent Anna?’
‘Becky’s straight-talking with a dry sense of humour.’ I’ve been giving this a lot of thought over the weekend. ‘I figure if I try and give Anna those traits it might help me find a sort of Ephron–Lawrence hybrid.’
‘Sounds complicated.’
‘It is,’ I yawn, the time-difference beginning to catch up with me. ‘All I have to do is make a reserved, classical beauty into an unabashed tomboy.’ I laugh nervously, feeling this is beyond my skill-set but knowing it’s time to write something regardless.
‘That’s what they’re paying you for, hotshot,’ says Astrid, getting up and taking her computer to the counter giving me a full view of the shop.
I reach for a cookie, and pull out my notepad, which Ben scribbled all over it during our last meeting. ‘As Ephron always said, “as long as you’re revising, the project isn’t dead”.’
As Astrid serves a customer I start to doodle what the new Anna might say on finding out Truman is missing. I try to channel some of the rage I felt towards Will:
ANNA
(to Jules)
Because you know if he has done a runner I will hunt him down, grab him by his scrotum, take him to the floor and tear his scrawny little balls off with my teeth.
I stretch my arms out in front of me, fingers locked, pleased that I can imagine Jennifer Lawrence saying it but frustrated that I’ve reached a point that this is the sort of thing I’m considering in a script that’s supposed to be an ode to Ephron. I fear she’d turn in her grave reading this.
I take a photo and ping it over to Astrid. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s good, but not very you.’
On my screen I see Bat Shit Crazy enter the shop.
‘Hello,’ says Astrid, and I do too.
‘Good morning,’ she says. Astrid and I exchange a glance acknowledging that’s the first time she’s greeted us intelligibly.
I get up to stretch. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever finish this script.’
‘You’ll get there. Just remember, it’s all about flipping the bird at Will.’
There are days when I wish I’d never risen to Astrid’s challenge of proving Will wrong by finishing the script. To think I could have done what most women do and changed my hair colour or pierced my navel. Only I could rise to the challenge of proving someone wrong by having a script made into a Hollywood blockbuster.
I don’t say it but the motivation to prove him wrong is waning, the anger I once felt has faded and with it my inspiration. ‘Still, the fact remains that currently I’ve hit a great, stonking wall.’
The shop bell sounds and Freddy steps in.
‘Big delivery today,’ he says, placing a box on the floor.
After several trips back and forth and once a mountain of boxes has been piled high in the centre of the shop, he wipes his brow of sweat, and asks Astrid to sign the papers. As he opens the door to leave, Bat Shit Crazy brushes past him, almost taking him out with her bags. ‘Oi, watch it!’ he calls after her.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, once he’s gone.
‘Just the usual crazy,’ says Astrid. She goes to tidy up the book Bat Shit Crazy’s left open on the centre display table. ‘Look at this.’
‘Can’t,’ I say, craning to see what she’s looking at. ‘What is it?’
‘Bat Shit Crazy’s left it open at a Picasso quote – When inspiration comes, I want it to find me working.’
‘Sounds like advice I should heed.’
‘Maybe she left it open on purpose.’ She reads the quote again.
‘You know,’ I say, feeling a renewed sense of purpose beginning to build. ‘Maybe I’ll crack on after all. Call you later?’
‘Sure,’ says Astrid, looking at the stack of books in the middle of the shop and reaching for the Stanley knife.
‘Maybe the problem isn’t Anna per se, maybe it’s Truman,’ I mutter, a little later, accepting another coffee to fend off the jetlag. I’ve found a little café, which does free refills, near the Washington Arch. It’s the perfect spot for editing. ‘Truman is witty and smart like his dad and scrupulous like his mother so he’s unlikely to marry Anna as Mike imagines her.
‘Perhaps if I change Truman to being more like Anna it might make the relationship more plausible. But that means remodelling Truman, again, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to do that so…’ I stare out of the window and find myself in a daydream about Ben, wondering if he really meant what he said about not wanting to sleep with me. But I quickly admonish myself for even going there with someone with a girlfriend and decide to set my mind back on work.
I pull out my notebook with the Cafe Luxembourg notes. I’ve already dealt with the wedding scene rewrite, made Jules an ear-rubber, and Truman indecisive at ordering food. ‘I’ll rewrite the Italian restaurant scene, put in Sally ordering food, and the Clinton stuff, that should be fun.’
Harry and Sally sitting in an Italian restaurant they used to visit every Sunday for brunch.
WAITER
What can I get you folks?
HARRY
Four seasons pizza and a beer.
Waiter writes down Harry’s order and turns to Sally.
SALLY
I’d like the Niçoise salad but with warmed tuna and the dressing on the side, and I’d like green olives not black, if you have them, if not I’ll have anchovies but only if they’re fresh, if not then nothing.
WAITER
Not even the salad?
SALLY
No, then I’d like the salad with cold tuna and the dressing on the leaves.
WAITER
Huh.
HARRY gives the waiter an ‘I put up with this for ten years’ look, then looks at Sally fondly. The waiter leaves.
SALLY
(aligning her cutlery)
Some things never change, right?
HARRY
It reminds me of the first meal we had together.
SALLY
On the road to Chicago?
HARRY
When you ordered apple pie in a way I’d never heard it done before. I knew then…
SALLY
(dismissively)
You knew what?
HARRY
(matter of fact)
That I would marry you.
SALLY
Did you know you’d divorce me too? (after a beat) I should have known.
HARRY
Known what?
SALLY
That it would end badly.
HARRY
Why?
SALLY
Because you hit on me when you were going with Amanda.
HARRY
No I didn’t.
SALLY
Yes, you did. It shouldn’t have trusted you.
HARRY
That’s an over-simplification. We both know adultery is just a sign that something else is wrong.
Harry stops to consider what he’s just said.
SALLY
What?
HARRY
Jess said something similar to me when Helen and I split up.
SALLY
Jess was smart. I miss Jes
s.
HARRY
Me too.
Sally reaches out to rub Harry’s hand. There is a moment between them. Sally is quick to pull her hand away, consider the feeling then dismiss it.
SALLY
So what went wrong?
HARRY
You were caught up in Truman; you barely knew I existed.
SALLY
That’s not true! You were caught up with work and Clinton; you barely knew Truman and I existed.
HARRY
I was caught up in work because you were caught up in Truman.
SALLY
(realising Harry is probably right)
Well, what’s done is done. What’s important now is finding our son.
HARRY
Remember that time he ran away? How old was he then?
SALLY
He was about to start kindergarten.
HARRY
God that’s right, he had it in his head that kindergarten was a giant chicken coop.
SALLY
(laughing)
You remember how hot that summer was?
HARRY
We’d go to the beach at the weekend and Truman would refuse to come out of the water because the sand was too hot.
SALLY
Seems like yesterday.
HARRY
We should have had more kids.
SALLY
I never wanted anyone other than Truman.
HARRY
A little girl would have been nice.
SALLY
Maybe.
HARRY
I miss Christmases. Remember Christmas of ninety-six?
SALLY
(dreamily)
We had to dig our way out of the apartment the snow was so deep.
HARRY
But Truman insisted on taking his sledge to the park.
SALLY
(laughing)
We almost froze to death.
HARRY
I’d never seen him so happy.
SALLY
That was the last great holiday.
HARRY
(reflectively)
Yes it was.
SALLY
Three years later we were divorced.
HARRY
And then George Bush was elected.
SALLY
What’s that got to do with anything?
HARRY
Everything began to go to ruin.
Both are silent, reflecting on what has been. The silence soon becomes awkward.
If Harry Met Sally Again Page 15