Happier Than She's Ever Been...

by Menna Van Praag

  ‘Long spoons?’ Ben asked. ‘That’s new. Did you add it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that.’ May smiled and said, ‘Well, I heard this story once from some inspirational fellow. It was about heaven and how it’s like a magnificent dinner party, every guest having one long spoon which they can’t feed themselves with, only the person sitting across them at the table. So everyone has to feed everyone else. I remember thinking it was a wonderful metaphor about connection, taking care of people and what brings us the most joy.’

  Ben watched the road, smiling to himself and wondering if he could possibly ever love the woman sitting next to him more than he did in that moment.

  Six hours later they were back in the centre of San Francisco, walking along the pavement, hand in hand, on their way to a romantic dinner.

  ‘I was okay, wasn’t I?’

  ‘You were magnificent, absolutely magnificent.’

  ‘Really?’ May asked. ‘Really?’

  Ben pulled her close and kissed her. ‘Yes, for the millionth time, really.’

  ‘I think I remembered to say everything I meant to,’ May said. ‘I talked a lot about courage, didn’t I? Maybe a little too much, and about always having compassion for yourself, how finding your passion in life is the best diet there is… what else? Oh yes…’

  While May chattered away, Ben touched the little ring box in the right-hand pocket of his trousers. He’d been carrying it around for three days and nights now, and wondered if tonight would be the night. He thought perhaps he should wait until tomorrow, since this meal was supposed to celebrate May’s first ever TV appearance. But then perhaps a proposal would be the perfect end to a perfect day. At least that’s what he hoped.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Oh, what? Sorry.’ May’s question brought Ben back. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m not fine,’ May said, grinning. ‘I’m so completely and utterly happy, I can’t quite believe it.’ She turned to him. ‘You know, I’ve decided I don’t want to be a multi-million-dollar bestselling author.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ben raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘No,’ May continued, ‘I mean, I’d love for a million people to read Men, Money and Chocolate and have it support and inspire them all. But I don’t want to be rich and famous. I don’t want to be sucked into the world of Comparison, Control and Crazy –’

  ‘Eh?’ Ben frowned, wondering what on earth she was talking about and how much he’d missed while thinking about his proposal.

  ‘Oh, it’s just something Lily said…’ May trailed off. ‘Anyway, I love the life I have – with you, running the bookshop, hopefully helping the women who come to me, knowing what’s real and what matters. I don’t think I could handle fame and fortune anyway. Apparently it’s like heroin: you get a stab of it and you’re sucked into the unreality of a world where all that matters is success, appearances, being better and more brilliant than everyone else in the room.’ May thought back to the days when she sat on her sofa eating boxes of cookies and tubs of ice cream. ‘And, given how I used to be with chocolate, I don’t think I’d stand much of a chance with heroin. Or cocaine…’

  Ben gripped the little ring box, preparing himself, thinking this might be the perfect time. He’d just wait for her to finish.

  ‘Maybe some people can handle it without losing their hearts and their heads, but I doubt I could. I mean, we witnessed that last month, right, what I’m like when I lose myself in something.’ May smiled. ‘In fact you’d better watch out with me; I think I have a bit of an addictive personality. You should have seen me back in England when I was miserable and eating every cookie, croissant and chocolate cake in sight…’

  Ben cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. But before he could say anything, May glanced up to see that they’d reached the restaurant.

  ‘Hey, wonderful,’ she said, grinning. ‘We’re here, I’m so hungry I could easily eat a whole chocolate cake right now.’

  They fell through the doorway, laughing and stuffed full of food.

  ‘I never said I had fat toes,’ May objected, giggling. ‘You’re making it up.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you did. I remember you wiggling your toes as you said it.’

  ‘Well, since the show was live, it’s my word against yours,’ May said triumphantly, ‘and I choose to believe mine.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? I recorded it.’ Ben rushed into the living room to the television. ‘So now we’ll know the truth.’

  May ran after him and they both collapsed onto the sofa. She clutched her stomach, giggling. ‘I ate far, far too much food. If I laugh again I think I’m gonna be sick.’

  ‘Not on my red leather couch you’re not,’ Ben said. ‘Hey, May, there’s something I wanna ask you.’

  ‘Okay.’ May sat up a little, not for a moment suspecting what it was going to be. ‘I’m listening.’ Then her eye caught the flashing red light on the answer phone. ‘Oh my goodness, we’ve got sixty-three messages!’

  ‘What?’ Ben sat up and peered at it. ‘Who on earth…?’

  ‘Maybe it’s just from friends who saw me on TV today,’ May sighed a little. ‘Oh my goodness, how completely and utterly mortifying.’ Though secretly she was really rather touched. ‘Hey, maybe Faith called, which reminds me I must call her. But, sorry, what was it you wanted to say?’

  ‘It can wait a sec. Let’s listen to these first.’ Ben pressed the playback button. And for the next ten minutes they heard messages from the assistants of every book agent, newspaper editor and TV producer in San Francisco and beyond. They’d all seen, or at least heard about, the show and they wanted to talk. They loved the book title. They loved May’s story. And, of course, they loved May. After every single message had played, Ben and May turned to each other.

  ‘Wow,’ he said.

  ‘Wow,’ she said.

  ‘It’s pretty amazing,’ Ben admitted. ‘What are you going to do?’

  May shrugged as though she hadn’t really thought about it, as though she wasn’t really considering it, as though it didn’t matter much to her at all. ‘I don’t know.’

  Ben felt a small puff of panic float up inside him. Trying hard not to show it on his face, he prayed he wasn’t about to lose her all over again. ‘Well…’

  ‘Well, I suppose I should call them all back,’ May reasoned. ‘I mean, that’s only polite, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And maybe, I mean, it’d probably be sensible to have an agent at least. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And it might be worth getting a little more publicity for the book,’ May mused. ‘I mean, to get the message out there to as many women as possible.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ben fingered the box in his pocket. He could see that she was pretty overwhelmed with all the attention. That she was basking in it. That it was just starting to sink in. May was happy. Indeed, though she was trying to play it down as much as possible, she was clearly overjoyed. And Ben could see that his own little declaration of love wasn’t going to add very much to it. Now was not the right time. He would have to hold onto it for a little while longer.

  The next month flew by in a flurry of phone calls, meetings, interviews, appearances, book signings and readings. Ben and May saw less and less of each other, and the gap between them grew wider. May, though she denied it to herself, became increasingly distracted by the demands of her newfound fame. And Ben started to feel that their relationship had devolved into something more akin to a chance meeting at a Hollywood party, with him trying anything to get her attention while May sneaked glances over his shoulder to see if anyone more important had just walked into the room.

  At first May was oblivious to this, and Ben didn’t bring it up. He hoped it would pass, that May would stay true to her word. He hoped the allure of fame and fortune would prove weaker than her love of their life together. But, unfortunately for them both, Ben underestimated the power of the drug tha
t had beguiled May. Her addiction had returned, but this time the seductive nature of attention and adoration was far, far stronger than chocolate.

  It didn’t happen straight away. For a little while May kept her focus on her heart, her attention on spreading her message of courage and compassion and helping women with their struggles in life. The first few interviews were fine. The first few fans didn’t turn May’s head. The first few weeks of increasing interest, compliments and soaring book sales didn’t knock May off centre too much. She still sat in the kitchen with Doughnut, reading the local paper, a little embarrassed whenever she saw her picture. She still took Ben coffee in the mornings and kissed him. She still sat at her desk, writing back to requests for advice and gazing out at the beautiful view of San Francisco.

  But it didn’t last. The stability of her relationship simply couldn’t stand against the riptide that was slowly sucking May under. Her inner knowing, her intuition, her sense of self – they were still too soft for May to feel the little nudges that warned her against the mercurial nature, and false high, of fame and fortune. And by the time May realised the illusion of what she’d given a piece of her soul for, it was too late. She wanted it too much. The drug was in her system and she needed her next hit.

  Now whenever Ben gently tried to bring up how lost and distracted she’d become, May fobbed him off with false words of wisdom, reassuring him that she knew exactly what she was doing, that she was entirely able to stop at any moment she chose. But Ben could see the look of desire in her eye when another magazine editor called, when her agent negotiated bigger and bigger deals for TV and public appearances, when she saw another pair of four-hundred-dollar shoes in a shop window, even though she already had six similar pairs.

  It was Lily, who wasn’t so scared of losing May’s love, who finally confronted her. ‘They want you wearing what?’ she asked when May called to tell her about a photo shoot for a magazine.

  ‘A corset,’ May said. ‘It’s not like I’m going to be naked.’

  ‘And you don’t think it’s a bit… provocative, demeaning and entirely unnecessary. You’re a writer, not some sort of slutty film star.’

  ‘Lil!’ May gasped, having never heard her publisher be so rude.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said, ‘but film stars are expected to take their clothes off, aren’t they? And I’m pretty sure that writers are expected to keep them on. What does Ben think of this?’

  ‘He’s fine with it.’

  ‘You haven’t told him yet, have you?’

  ‘No, but he will be,’ May said. ‘He’s supportive.’

  ‘He’s scared of losing you,’ Lily retorted, ‘so he’s making the mistake of not taking care of you, of not telling you what he really thinks. I hope that corset’s supportive. Or you might be doing a topless spread.’

  May laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, I’d never do that.’

  ‘Oh?’ Lily sounded sceptical. ‘It seems to me that you’re so lost in the fantasy world of fame and fortune right now that you’d trade in your morals, principles and integrity tomorrow if they offered you the cover of Vogue.’

  May was silent, crushed by Lily’s low opinion of her, but suddenly wondering if she’d ever, ever in a million years be in the pages of Vogue. The possibility lit up in front of her like a star falling to earth.

  ‘Oh, I can’t believe it. You’re thinking about it now,’ Lily snapped, ‘aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ May said, horrified at being caught out. ‘No, of course I’m not.’

  ‘I warned you this might happen, didn’t I?’ Lily said sternly. ‘You’re addicted. You’ve been corrupted. All the attention has gone to your head and you’ve lost your heart. You’ve forgotten that you started all this to fulfil yourself and then to help people. Not to be a success. And now that’s what matters most to you. You care too much for the least important thing at the expense of the only important thing.’

  ‘No.’ May paused as she took in Lily’s words. ‘I don’t. Does it matter that I like the attention as long as I’m still helping people?

  ‘Someone needs to save you from yourself before you sell your soul for a fantasy. Someone needs to love you more than they want you to love them.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ May frowned.

  ‘That they’ll have the guts to tell you the truth about what you’re turning into, even if you’ll hate them for it. You need an intervention,’ Lily said. ‘I’m just praying that boyfriend of yours grows a backbone – before it’s too late.’

  But Ben didn’t dare tell May the truth any more. He was still holding out for the moments, late at night, when May forgot about her adoring fans and photo shoots, and just curled up to him and squeezed him tight. He still cherished the now few-and-far-between times they talked about absolutely nothing, just to connect. He kept the engagement ring in the drawer of his bedside table, hoping that one day soon all the attention would be enough for her and she wouldn’t need it any more. He hoped that she still loved him enough to want him. He hoped she still knew herself enough to realise what was false and what was true.

  And then came the announcement that finally broke the now fragile bond between them. Lily had only bought the American rights to May’s book so her agent was free to sell it all over the world, a job in which she took enormous pleasure. The number of the countries slowly began to add up: France, Spain, Bulgaria, Russia, Brazil, China, Iceland, India, Japan… And May found it all incredibly thrilling, if mainly for the kudos rather than financial reward, which, with small advances, wasn’t yet significant. Until the agent landed the coup of her career in a deal with an extremely prestigious publishing house in London. They wanted to publish Men, Money and Chocolate in just three months, in time for Christmas. They wanted the author to come over for at least a month for pre- and post-publicity. They wanted television appearances, book tours, magazine spreads, newspaper interviews… They offered May half a million pounds. She took it.

  LOSS

  May was packing. Three large suitcases lay on the bed, each half-filled with clothes, shoes, make-up, toiletries. Ben sat on the sofa in the living room, pretending to read the newspaper.

  ‘It looks like you’re going on vacation,’ he said, without looking up.

  ‘It’s not a holiday,’ May said, sighing, ‘it’s work. And I invited you to come. It wouldn’t matter, it would be free. The publishing company is paying for everything.’

  ‘Oh, it “wouldn’t matter”, would it? That really sounds like you want me to come,’ Ben said. ‘Well, excuse me, but I think I’ll decline that heartfelt invitation. Anyway, you know I can’t leave the shop.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ May snapped, annoyed at his lack of support or enthusiasm. ‘It’s not like we desperately need the money now, is it?’

  ‘It’s not about the money,’ Ben said. ‘Not everything is about money.’ He knew of course he could go with her. Of course he could leave the shop. But that would be making it easier for her to go, and he was damned if he’d do that.

  ‘Fine,’ May said, not wanting to get into yet another fight about the merits of money. She stuffed another three dresses into a suitcase, along with two pairs of jeans. One could never predict the English weather so it was always best to prepare for every eventuality. She glanced over at Ben, still hiding behind his newspaper. She tried to let it go, but, still convinced she was right, she couldn’t.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re acting as if this bloody brilliant book deal is, like, the worst thing that ever happened to us.’ May sighed. ‘Hell, I thought you’d be happy, I thought you’d at least be proud of me.’

  Ben looked up. ‘Careful, it sounds like you’re turning into an American. You might just have to come back.’

  ‘What?’ May frowned. ‘Of course I’m coming back. What the hell – what are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It’s not nothing.’ May held another dress in mid-air. ‘You think I’m not coming back?’

  Ben
shrugged. And for a moment, in the silence, she sensed him. Hurt. Scared. Alone. Her heart twisted in her chest and the only thing she wanted right then was to run to the sofa, hold Ben tight, tell him how much she loved him, promise him that everything was going to be okay.

  ‘Of course I’m coming back,’ May said softly. ‘How could you think –’

  ‘I never know what you’re gonna do,’ Ben cut in. ‘You just do whatever you want; you don’t tell me.’

  May dropped the dress into the suitcase and suddenly, at his words, the distance between the bed and the sofa seemed infinite. He’d poked at her again and any sympathy she’d had evaporated in a puff of hurt. She felt her hackles rise, all the sharper because what he’d said was true.

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ May retorted, ‘and you’re being a baby. I’m doing this for us. With this money we can pay off the mortgage and all our debts; we can even buy another bookshop if you want.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want,’ Ben said, aware that right now he did sound like a baby. ‘I’m perfectly happy with this one. I don’t want to be the CEO of some chain of stupid corporate bookshops. I like being with the customers. I like connecting with people. You used to like it too, before you became better than everyone else – too important to bother with the likes of me.’

  May glared at him, not knowing how to best defend herself from the accusation. ‘Well,’ she snapped, ‘if that’s the way you feel then maybe I won’t come back after all.’ Though, of course, she didn’t mean it.

  ‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’ Though, of course, he didn’t mean it either. But, once it was said, both of them felt so hurt and angry that neither wanted to be the first to take it back.