Cause and Affection

by Sheryl Wright

  What a difference. Kara and Briar were polar opposites. While Briar flourished in the spotlight, Kara shied away. She wasn’t shy, just more interested in making sure all those who had earned time in the spotlight got it. Then there were the promises. Briar was always holding out all sorts of potential connections and opportunities but rarely came through. She’d asked him to stop with the name-dropping and was sure it was one of the reasons they had become friends; she wasn’t interested in using him the way others were. She never had to worry about that from Kara, who could name-drop with the best of them, even though Madeleine didn’t always know who she was talking about in Canada. The other difference was how Kara shared her contacts and information based on her desire to learn what and who Madeleine wanted to meet first. She’d had more calls and emails from TV and theatre execs up in Toronto than Briar would mention during one of their “see and be seen” evenings. That too was starting to wear.

  While it was easy to think of Briar James as a friend, she was tired of most of New York thinking she was his latest conquest. She hadn’t thought much of all the media attention until her mother called, asking if she’d switched back to the home team. Just last night they had spent an hour on the phone discussing everything. She wasn’t sure which was more of a surprise, her mother’s renewed and sincere interest in her or the fact that it took her mom to explain why Kara would be pulling away. “Now Maddie, I can’t pretend to know everything, but if my girlfriend’s face was on the cover of every tabloid, smiling for all the world to see, happy on the arm of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor, I might be thinking twice about what it is my girl wants.”

  “Damn it, Mom! Kara knows better.”

  “Does she? All I’m saying is you girls didn’t exactly have a lot of time to get the basics worked out, and now you’re running around with the sexiest man alive…even I would be having a hard time.”

  Off the phone, she’d sat quietly trying to look at the situation from Kara’s perspective. For one thing, if she was worried or even just jealous, she hadn’t said a word, and Madeleine had taken that to mean she had no concerns. Yeah right. Here she was, sitting in New York, putting in six-day weeks trying to stage a new show, and all she could think about were those yacht club wannabes and A-listers who did take an interest in Kara. And Kara wasn’t seen each night on the arm of the competition. Briar wasn’t the competition—or was he? Not in her mind, but would Kara see it that way? In a way her mom was right; they’d hardly had time to work on themselves and their relationship before she was off to the Big Apple. They had been writing, and that helped. Or at least it had. Now Kara’s emails were sporadic, and her romanticisms had dried up. That didn’t mean she was anything but sweet when Madeleine called her, but a distance was building between them.

  Madeleine removed a folded piece of parchment from her bag. Staring at the broken wax seal, she carefully unfolded it. It was a work of art. Handwritten text spoke eloquently of Kara’s feelings for her. What that woman wouldn’t vocalize she mastered on paper. Maybe it was the skill that made a difference in her work, but it had made a difference with her too. How could so few words say so much?

  Pulling out her phone, she sent a text to Kara, “I’m missing you something fierce, and I’m worried too!”

  “Worried? Why?”

  “I’m worried about you. I know I was supposed to be home by now and I’m concerned that you might be thinking I’ve changed my mind…”

  “Have you?”

  That reply pissed her off, but she reeled it in remembering her mother’s warning that Kara really didn’t know what was going on.

  “It’s strange. I like it here. NYC is a vibrant place. I don’t know if I’ll feel that way when it comes to moving to Toronto.”

  There was a long delay before Kara’s reply came. “Do what you need to do. I support you.”

  Madeleine read the text again, “Do what you need to do. I support you.” She wasn’t sure if that was support or some passive-aggressive bullshit. Was she mad? She had to know the delays in production had nothing to do with her? “I support you,” she muttered under her breath. Not I love you, or I miss you, just I support you. What the hell did that even mean?

  Her phone beeped with another text. This one was from Briar. “Reservations for Daniel at 9. Wear something sexy!”

  She snorted at the message. “At least Briar knows what he wants. Why the hell can’t Kara just tell me what she needs?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kara waved Harjitt back into the car. Uncharacteristically, she slipped into the front seat of the Lincoln, grumbling as she wrestled with her seat belt.

  “I take it the meeting did not go well?”

  “I don’t know what I hate more, that bullshit racist, sexist, elitist asshole or this place.”

  Harjitt seemed to be focusing on navigating the sedan through the pothole-littered and unpaved parking lot. “It’s pretty down here. I’m surprised this part of the lake isn’t covered with condos and marinas. Of course, they could pave the parking lot.”

  “They could do a lot of things but the Boulevard Club is old money, and old money is cheap money. Fuck!” she uttered, letting out her frustration. “The outside smells like piss and the inside’s filled with pissy old men!” Pointing to the entry gate as they slipped by and out onto Lakeshore Boulevard, she complained, “They’re even too cheap to pay for real security! I swear half the homeless people in this city head on down here nightly to piss on the privileged and arrogant membership.”

  “So lunch with Dad—not much fun?”

  “You know, I’m ashamed to even walk in that fucking place and here he is, planted in his big wingback chair and acting like the king of the world.”

  “Did you eat?” he asked, as much a mother hen as the rest of the Wexlers.

  “Did you?” she retorted, suspecting the kitchen staff was less than accommodating for her non white driver. But Harjitt didn’t just drive her car. In addition to chauffeuring her mother and sister around, he acted as a proxy to all of Kara’s social media accounts, and he kept her extremely fluid schedule current.

  “Are you kidding? Those jerks wouldn’t even pour me a coffee.”

  She looked at him, her mind in several places at once. “I don’t know how you put up with it. Fuck, it pisses me off. Fuck!” She was quiet for a long time, seeming to drift away. Finally, she pointed ahead of them. “Don’t turn. Stay on Lakeshore. Let’s head over to the Docklands and get a burger and a beer. Are our golf clubs in the trunk?”

  “Does my Nani like to tell people she was born a great Ranee?”

  She laughed, finally releasing the tension she was carrying. “Good. We can hit a bucket of balls, and I can get this monkey off my back. Then we’ll grab a burger and beer.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said, turning right on to Cherry Street and heading for Poulson Pier. “I love coming down here. It’s like, I don’t know…kind of special since it’s so undeveloped. You know, compared to the rest of the lakefront.”

  She agreed as they bounced their way across the Cherry Street lift bridge. “Now that the city’s approved plans to develop the Docklands, I kind of worry no one will ever see this place the way we do.”

  “I kinda wish they hadn’t put the dome up over the driving range yet. Like I know it’s the first week of December, but it doesn’t feel like it. I’m going to miss that view of the lake.”

  Sitting in the pub just feet from the Cherry Street Lift bridge and the Keating Channel, Kara pushed her plate away. She had polished off exactly half her burger and was playing with her fries. She wasn’t hungry anymore. The truth was she hadn’t been hungry for some time now. She ate out of necessity and nothing more.

  Pointing to her plate, Harjitt asked, “Do you think they should be called chips or fries? I mean, if they’re not made with regular potatoes…”

  “Sweet potatoes are still potatoes, wise guy, and I guess we’re in a quasi-English pub, so my vote is for chips.”
>
  He nodded as if he were really contemplating her choice of verbiage. “By the way, my grandmother finally watched that Katherine Hepburn movie, you know, His Girl Friday. She wants to know if I’m half as smart as Katherine Hepburn’s character.”

  “How is Nani? I do miss that woman. Did she like the bolt of Italian red silk I sent her?”

  “Of course! I swear she loves you more than me. So thanks for that.”

  “Ah, you’ll always be her number one baby boy. So, did she really like it?”

  He smiled, giving her the point in their endless debate on who his grandmother loved best. “She says she’s too old to wear it. She hoped you wouldn’t be too offended, but she wants to save it to make a wedding dress for my sister.”

  Kara laughed for the first time in days. “I’m not saying it couldn’t happen, but when it does, my money is still on her walking down the aisle on the arm of her blushing bride. How do you think Nani will handle that?”

  “Oh, she’ll kick and fuss for a bit then she’ll see how happy Priya is, and that’ll be it. I know if you were walking my sister up the aisle, she would already be over it. Nani thinks you’re the best catch in town.”

  “I hate it when your grandmother and my mother agree on something. Scary,” she mouthed, making a face. Not wanting to get too deep, she asked, “How is Priya doing with her residency?”

  “She just finished her family care rotation. She wants you to know you were right. She said if she had to wipe one more snot nose her head would explode!”

  “Your sister is too smart to waste her life in family practice.”

  He nodded. “She’s applied for a surgical fellowship. Which you predicted she would. So, now I have to ask…how come you can figure out complete strangers like me the day we met and Priya from one cup of tea, yet this thing with Madeleine is killing you? Is it really all the grief from your dad or…?” He tilted his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think love is making you very happy.”

  She was quiet for a long time. Most people would be too scared to confront their boss on her feelings for another woman but Harjitt was as much family as Samantha or even Joanne. “You know, the night I got into your cab, I took one look at you with your baby fuzz beard and your man bun and still wearing that doily thing like a tween boy, and I knew you weren’t old enough to be driving a cab. Hell, I didn’t think you were old enough to be behind the wheel, but the first thing that popped into my head was, get him talking—find out if he’s in trouble—then propose a solution. It never occurred to me to get out of your cab or question whether you could drive much less if you should. Maybe my brain doesn’t work right. I mean, that’s what most people would have been thinking, but there I was all worried that someone had made you into a little limo slave.”

  “Well, I for one am very glad you don’t think like other people. If you did, I’d still be sitting at the airport praying for a decent fare or any fare at all.”

  Kara harrumphed. It was never easy for her to take credit. In a way she was the textbook leader, accepting fault for mistakes and losses while passing all the accolades of her successes onto her team. “You know, I used to hate my old man whenever it came time to accept awards for the company’s hard work. Everyone used to think it was jealousy or envy but it was more about him not sharing the glory with the people who made the wins possible. This year is the first year the company will attend the Clios without him hogging all the glory. I decided I want to take all the principals for the campaigns who are finalists for awards. I imagined standing at our table, standing to applaud our winners, and sending them up to accept the awards. I also imagined it would be the first year I would attend with a guest. I really thought Madeleine would be at my side. Now…”

  He was quiet. Finally, he asked, “Did she say she wouldn’t be there?”

  She shook her head. “Frankly, at this point, I didn’t even ask.”

  “Kara…dude! You have to talk to her. She’s not a mind reader; not like me,” he offered with a wide irreverent grin.

  She threw her cloth serviette at him. “Am I talking to my friend or my mother?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Marsha is a straightforward woman, and she’s got a wicked sense of humor.” When his quip didn’t seem to elevate her mood, he grabbed her cell phone. At first she didn’t react; after all, daily social media posts to her accounts were part of his job; that and keeping her schedule, running her errands, and keeping her car, which he claimed as his, at the ready.

  “Don’t tell them which restaurant. If you’re doing a check-in, just say we’re at Poulson Pier. I don’t want to share this place with the world.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she asked what exactly he was posting. Instead of answering, he placed the phone on the table, suggesting, “We should get you a new outfit for the awards.”

  “What?” she asked before shaking her head, “I’m not going.”

  “You have to.” He held up her phone. “Madeleine said yes. She’s excited and looking forward to it, and she wants to know if you’ll be her guest for the opening night of Fever. It looks like next weekend is shaping up to be something special.”

  She grabbed the phone, reading the text message he sent and Madeleine’s immediate and positive response. “Huh… Where the hell am I going to get something formal this late?”

  “Since you asked, my uncle has been pestering me to take you to his shop. He says he’s found a perfect ladies’ tux pattern for you. Come on,” he said, getting to his feet. “If he fits you today I know he can have it ready for Friday.”

  Still staring at her phone screen, she looked up to him. “Are you sure about this?”

  He smiled, offering, “A wise woman once told me we can never be one hundred percent sure of anything. We can prepare, and we can aim higher. That’s the one hundred percent we put our faith in, not what we’re sure of, but what we prepare for.”

  She shook her head. “I’m never speaking to you again,” she warned, following him to the car.

  “I can quote you all day,” he said with glee.

  * * *

  Madeleine set her phone aside. How interesting, and not to mention a relief. She had been so worried about Kara, about her feelings and her wishes, that she had put off inviting her to the opening. At first it was about not being confident they would open on time, then it was about Kara being so withdrawn from her. She knew the Clios were coming up, but when Kara failed to mention them, she had assumed she wasn’t invited and worried that Kara would be there and just didn’t want her along. Now it would be a very busy weekend. Fever would open on Friday night, then the Clios were Saturday night and at Lincoln Center no less.

  Almost panicking, she grabbed her phone and searched the web for images of previous awards nights. “Shit, shit, shit!” Where the hell am I going to find something this formal… She grinned like a mad woman. This is New York, and Briar is always saying it’s the world in microcosm. Briar might know all the hot spots in town, but that wasn’t the expertise she needed.

  She made her way from her workspace, a folding table she shared with the stage manager, to the dressing rooms. She knocked hesitantly and waited for the royal proclamation to enter. Dame Anderson wasn’t really like that but all the kids—oops, young people in the cast—had gotten to calling her the queen just because of her title.

  “Enter.”

  Madeleine pushed the door open to find Dame Anderson’s expectant face looking up from her book.

  “Madeleine, how lovely to see you. I was half expecting Briar to stomp his big feet in here and demand another rehearsal. That man does fret.”

  She smiled, closing the door behind her and taking a seat in the straight-back chair. Letting out an exasperated breath, she asked, “I’m afraid I need your help.”

  Swinging her feet off the love seat crammed into the modest space, she set her book aside with a conspiring grin. “You want to know what it’s like living in Canada in the winter?”

  Madeleine held bac
k a sigh. “I’m from Minnesota. My momma raised me ready for that. But…”

  “You know Vancouver is very different from Toronto. Don’t get me wrong, I adored Vancouver, but the rain does rival English weather. At least Toronto has its brilliant summer, but you pay for it in the winter. Of course, a Minnesotan would understand that, but that’s not what concerns you.”

  “No, yes, I mean, how?”

  “You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and extremely talented. Which I can attest to. No one has ever gotten my two left feet as well harnessed as you. I must say I actually feel like a dancer these days. That’s your doing. You took a cast of rambunctious man-children, chorus girls, and aging actors and turned them into something wondrous. Now you must ask yourself, can I do it again, and should I continue here or head to the ‘Great White North.’ Yes, they do call it that, and unlike Americans, when they say white they mean snow, not people. That is one difference I would suggest you put in the plus column.”

  “I wanted to ask you about buying a formal dress, but you’re right, I’m worried about moving to Toronto.”

  She nodded her understanding. “Everyone is different, but for me, moving to Vancouver both made and broke my career. Yes, I say made because the show launched me. It also broke it. That wasn’t about filming in Canada but Hollywood looking down on the genre. I did a few films but never A-list material.”

  “I like the one you did with Angelina Jolie,” she contended.

  Smiling, Dame Anderson hauled her rather large purse open, digging out a mini folio of pictures. “She sends me updates of the children each year.” Handing over the folio, she explained, “In many ways moving to London saved my career. Perhaps I should say it gave legitimacy to it. Instead of being that TV actress clawing her way into movies, a la little fish in a big pond, I was a Yank actress with a hit show under my belt and the roles, real roles, began pouring in and suddenly I was queen of the costume drama. But you didn’t come for career advice, did you?”