by Amy Craig
You forgot elitism. Wylie kept smiling.
Nash stopped at the edge of a side gallery. “These have always been some of Nolan’s favorites.”
She peered around the corner and braced herself for heavy-handed oil paintings and horse-drawn carriages. Instead of a riot of colors, she found herself staring at portraits of a woman. In each painting, her square face and stoic expression confronted the audience without diminishing her appearance. She looked like a woman ready to face the world with thoughtfulness, whether in a ruffled cravat or a cocky hat.
“It’s a series of self-portraits,” Nash said. “The artist was a Russian diarist, painter and sculptor. Historians say she had musical talent, but illness destroyed her voice and she lost her chance to be a professional singer.”
“So she painted,” Wylie said, reaching for the canvas as she recognized the resemblance between herself and the female painter.
“I’m sure she kept singing as well,” Nolan said. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her chest. “The man who started the museum had two sides. This artist has two sides, but she wasn’t afraid to look in the mirror and see herself.”
Wylie relaxed against his chest and exhaled. “Most college boys have pinups on their walls.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. “Nash didn’t say this was the only poster we had, but he’s right, I’ve always loved it. My mother has always loved it. This woman? She could accomplish things. She stared into the mirror and she worked the system.”
“You don’t need me to work the system, Nolan. You’re more than capable of doing that by yourself. I don’t want to be art on the walls. I don’t want to be a reminder of someone else.”
“What would you paint?” he asked her. “Would you paint yourself standing at the edge of the sand in Triangle Pose? Would you paint yourself poolside with a cold cocktail?”
She shook her head and looked at the severe painting, seeing the highlights and the keen intelligence in the woman’s eyes. “I’d paint myself on the beach next to Penny Lane, head raised to face the world.”
“I could see that.” He turned her in his arms and drew a deep breath. “I could see that defiance from the moment we first met. I could also see the vulnerability. You don’t have to choose one persona, Wylie. You can be fiercely independent and still be willing to let go so the people you trust can take care of you.”
She bit her lip to stem the tears gathering in her eyes. “Do you talk to all your first dates like this?”
“No, only the ones I love.”
She remembered her fear as the echoes of the gunshot faded into Los Angeles traffic. How can I take responsibility for the idea of more than myself if I froze when the moment called for action? The woman in the paintings didn’t recede into history and the comfort of a dream. She left her mark on more than one canvas, like she had earned the right to be seen. “I haven’t earned this kind of chance, Nolan. I haven’t earned this kind of confidence.”
He glanced over her head and smiled. “That’s the thing about art, Wylie. You’re just looking at the masterpieces. You never see the mistakes and the moments of doubt. You never see the compositions that went in the trash.”
Nash waltzed into the room, swinging his keys. “Are the lovebirds staying for dinner?”
Heat flooded her cheeks and she nodded, needing food to temper the rush of feelings brought on by Nolan’s confidence. “Did you pack us a picnic?”
“Hell, no,” he said. “At the end of the day, the last thing I want to do is cook.”
She laughed and linked her arm with his, suppressing her fears and holding onto his words like the promise of morning sunlight. “So far, your favorite activities seem to be movie nights, winding down by the pool and rescuing women.”
“Perfectly normal activities,” he said, “but you didn’t need rescuing.”
“I was living in my car.”
“You had options.”
“Hmm-m,” she said, thinking of the choices people made every day. Penny Lane had chosen to be with her friends over and over again. Instead of cowering in the parking lot, she had run toward Dougie without fearing the consequences. Wylie knew heroes went down in history for choosing love over life, but she wondered if she could be that brave. Her heart had grown large enough to make room for Nolan’s success, but she wondered if her presence would distract him. She wondered if she would be strong enough to step back and take second place to the things he needed to achieve. Aren’t we all looking for that happily ever after?
She scanned the white walls, wondering how long it would take her to digest the museum by daylight. The pieces reminded her of the people who came in and out of her life—Rusty’s simmering aggression, Esther’s bold swagger and Penny Lane’s heart of gold. At the end of the day, she wanted the canvas of her life to be more than the gray flocking of a lifetime of dust.
Nash led them to an opaque glass door separating the gallery space from the museum restaurant. “It’s not officially open for business yet,” he said, “but we’ve hosted a few exclusive events. Nolan said you might have feedback on the menu.” He opened the door and revealed an elegant mix of mint-green scalloped booths, laminate tabletops and brass mid-century pendants hanging from the ceiling. The room smelled like citrus polish and fresh herbs when it should have smelled like decades of dust and grease.
“Just the two of us?” she asked, turning to Nolan.
“Unless you want Nash to join us?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”
He frowned. “You were starving when we left the house.”
“That was before the strawberries and the cocktails.” She looked over Nolan’s shoulder and saw Nash reach for the dimmer switch. “Maybe we can take it to go?”
Nolan frowned like she had spent the evening on her phone instead of juggling her feelings for him. “Go where?”
“Griffith Park?” she asked, hoping to steer clear of the romanticism of the beach. It would be too easy to fall into the familiar, lulling pattern of the waves and believe fate wanted their relationship to work out. In contrast, the largest park in the city boasted fifty miles of trails that wound through woodlands and canyons. More than one homeless person had probably set up camp amid the native oak and walnut trees, but she knew police patrolled the trails. She always associated the park with hints of lilac and sagebrush. “I’m sure the observatory is open.”
“We could just go home,” Nolan said.
She stalled, unwilling to let the night end with the bittersweet agony of goodbye sex. “Why? You spent so much time setting up this night. Let’s enjoy it.”
Nash disappeared into the kitchen and left them standing amid the mid-century splendor. She laid her head against Nolan’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. “I had fun pretending to be your girlfriend. It gave me a way to escape the unsteadiness in my life.”
He rubbed her back.
She felt him hesitate as he neared the edge of her shirt and the stretch of exposed skin on her lower back. “I’m just not sure how long I can go on pretending,” she said.
His old roommate returned with a canvas tote filled with white cardboard boxes. She heard the muffled clink of thick glass as he offered it to Nolan. “Good luck, man. The Fern Dell entrance closed at sunset. Send your driver up to Vermont. There’s a drop-off area just past the horseshoe driveway. You could sit out on the lawn and have a picnic.”
Nolan refused to accept the tote.
She reached for it. “Thanks, Nash.”
“Are you sure?” Nolan asked.
She nodded, too afraid to meet his gaze. They rode in silence as the driver navigated Western Canyon Road and pushed the sedan to climb the hills. The food in the bag cooled as the hum of the car’s vent fans filled the silence between them.
He reached for her hand. “What’s on your mind?”
She let him toy with her open palm. “All the things you’re going to do in the next few years.”
“Rikard was right,” she whispered. “Your life doesn’t have room in it for me and the security I want.”
“Let me make that decision,” he said.
She shook her head. “I have to take care of myself—my wallet, my health, my heart. I could let myself fall in love with you, but what would you be giving up to return that love? You’ve got so much work do to, so much to build that’s bigger than yourself.”
He shook his head. “Wylie, we all need security, belonging and achievement. What happened to the girl who threw herself into causes? The one who went all in?”
She’s scared and worried she’ll drag you down. “I was never that girl.”
Chapter Twenty
We’re going out with a bang. Wylie watched the driver pass the observatory and head for a designated unloading zone. If nothing else works out, I’ll have the memories from tonight. She looked at the world-famous Hollywood sign in the distance and wondered how many dreamers had come to the mountaintop to mark their first night in town. For her and Nolan, the visit might mark their end.
When they left the car, she ignored the sign’s optimistic white letters and focused on the observatory. A crowd of visitors threaded their way across the lawn and a reel of headlights illuminated them as cars passed, circling for parking.
Nolan took her hand and she transferred the tote to her free hand, content to lose track of her thoughts amid the crowd of late-night stargazers. Like each of them, she wanted to suspend her earthly constraints, peer through a telescope and glimpse an echo of light. She wanted to confirm the presence of something bigger than her life, like Nolan and his ambitions. She knew that the minute she lost her nerve, the domed art deco structure and its durable concrete walls would remain to shelter her terrestrial form from the distant, blazing sun.
A car slowed as they weaved up the hill and the woman in front of them stopped and turned, shading her eyes against the car’s headlights.
“Oh, my God,” Wylie said. “That’s Dottie, my old roommate.” She craned her neck to look at the woman standing next to Dottie. She toted a full-sized backpack and a tourist’s plastic bag, but the car’s headlights moved on. Presumably, the woman was the wannabe actress who had upended her life. “I don’t want to see her.”
“Why not?”
“‘Namaste’ isn’t the only phrase I would say to her.”
He laughed and swung her hand. “You hit Cynthia’s pride where it hurts. Most people would argue she deserved it.”
“I should have walked away. What did my tantrum accomplish? Neither one of us feels good about what happened.”
“Was it cathartic?”
She thought about the question.
“It’s a double standard,” Nolan said. “Society lets men and children beat up each other and indulge their impulses, but it’s a novelty when a woman steps into the ring. You and my mom fight with words and you both get shit done. Say what you want to say. Society shouldn’t expect women to rein in their emotions when they let everyone else take a fair swing.”
“We still correct the kids when they act out.”
“Yeah, but most of the time they get immunity.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “I don’t think you should go around beating up people who give you a wrong look, but a physical release is a human response. Yoga’s good, but the movements are too slow when you need to let off steam. You fought Cynthia with words and I don’t think you should feel bad about that response. I’d like to see you get mad one day and take a swing at me. I’ll know it’s an honest blow and you’ll know you don’t have to hold back.”
“So you want me to beat you up?”
He laughed. “No, I want you to know I’m still going to be there when you’re done. I’m still going to help you depressurize, even if I deserved it.”
“Like, in bed?”
“I want you to say what you mean and stand up for yourself—in bed, in business or in court. Have you ever gotten a traffic ticket?”
She shook her head. “I once stole a pack of cigarettes.”
“Did your parents make you smoke every one of them?”
“Ew. That only happens in the movies. I tried to blame it on my friend Natalia.”
“You threw her under the bus?”
Laughing, she remembered the easy pleasure of their date and resolved to savor it. “Exactly.”
“Well, instead of decking your parents, we could go for a run. Take a Krav Maga class. Bed isn’t the only option.”
A man darted out of the park area and pointed a gun at Dottie and her cousin, his face shadowed by a baseball cap. Silhouetted trees and distant overhead lighting dramatized the snarl of his features. “Give me your bag,” he said.
Wylie rushed forward. “Oh my God, we’ve got to help them.”
Nolan pulled Wylie away from the threat, upsetting her balance. She stumbled and held fast to his hand, focusing on the cold metal in the hand of the criminal. This place is too public for such a brazen crime. That man must be desperate. “We’ve got to help them.”
“It’ll be over before you can blink,” he said.
“Look what happened to Dougie.”
He hesitated.
“Nolan, sometimes you’ve got to put yourself in danger to make a difference.”
“The man’s got a gun, Wylie.”
She looked at his features and the way he swung the gun back and forth between the two women, waiting for one of them to react.
Dottie backed up, abandoning her cousin as she started screaming. “He’s got a gun!”
“At least one of them has some sense,” Nolan said.
The man with the gun focused on Dottie and grimaced. He advanced on her screams like a predator intent on silencing his prey.
Wylie wrenched her hand free from Nolan’s grasp. “Call the police. I’m just going to get her out of the situation and distract him.” Without waiting for his response, she waved the tote in her hand and walked past the screaming mess of her former roommate. “It’s just food,” she said when the man focused on the tote. She gauged the severity of his desperation beneath the shifting shadows.
His eyes remained fixed on the offering.
She thrust the tote toward him. “You can have it.”
The man yanked the bag to his chest. “Where’s your purse?”
Nolan put his hand on her back, a quiet reassurance while Dottie and her roommate clutched each other and wailed.
The man’s gaze shifted to Nolan. “Your wallet!”
Nolan shifted and tossed the man his wallet. The offering buffered her vulnerability as he moved his frame in front of hers. “Get out of here,” he said.
The man blinked, his gaze evaluating his intended targets.
Nolan jerked his head toward the cover of the tree line. “Security is bound to be here soon.”
Wylie doubted their rescue would be that precise.
The man in the baseball hat’s eyes darted toward the road. He sneered before he beckoned them to hurry up. “Give me what you’ve got.”
She reached for the phone in her back pocket, ready to surrender what she had to convince him to retreat without inflicting real harm on her, Nolan or her screaming sidekicks.
‘Relinquish your property and report the incident to authorities. Don't be a hero. Nothing’s more valuable than a life,’ her father had said during one of their school-age talks.
Nolan shook his head. “Get out of here.”
She tossed the man her phone and watched her twenty-dollar bill and her credit card clatter to the sidewalk. She looked up and saw the hunger in his furtive glances. “That’s all I’ve got.”
Each of them stared at the items, unwilling to upset the tension.
The robber scanned the trees once more and swooped low, dropping his guard to reach for the cash and the card.
Wylie struck without thinking, bringing her knee up until it shattered the man’s nose.
He screamed, dropping the gun and the other items in his hands. Nolan kicked the gun into the shadows of the trees and yelled for help. “Security!”
The man struggled to his feet and made for the parkland.
Nolan moved to chase him.
Wylie grabbed his arm and she felt the tension in his muscles as he considered further action. “Let him go. He won’t get very far.”
“How do you know?”
She looked at the splatter of blood marring the sidewalk like a line drawn in the sand. On one side, a population of strangers waited for empathy and a second chance at dignity. She stood on the other side, her pants stained with the man’s blood, willing and able to help them. “He’s desperate.”
Her heartbeat echoing in her ears, she knew her self-defense move had nothing to do with releasing her emotions. The show of force had defused the situation before the man with the gun had made a decision that would cost him more than a clutch of pawnshop assets. She understood she could take meaningful risks and stand up for herself to help people get their second and third chances, but at some point, law enforcement should handle the action. “Tonight it was armed robbery. Next week, it will be worse.”
“It won’t end,” Nolan said, “but you did good. Scared the hell out of me, but you did good.” He looked at the blood and shook his head. “Where have you been hiding, Wylie the warrior princess?”
She shrugged, feeling the adrenaline flee her system. “You’ve never done that yoga move?” She laughed. “I guess my parents taught me more than I thought.”
Dottie rushed toward them. “Oh my God! Oh my God! You saved us! We’re not even friends.”
Extracting herself from the woman’s candy-scented embrace, Wylie stepped back and considered her former roommate’s statement. “You’ve said that more than once.”