by Amanda Brown
Without prompting from the life leader, a scruffy-haired man in a black T-shirt who was seated at the table introduced himself. “I’m Jeff,” he said in a deep baritone that sounded incongruous with his youthful grin. “I play bass for the Funeral Pyre. We’ve got a gig tonight in the city at the Cat House. I can put you on the guest list if you want.”
Brooke laughed out loud. “Jeff, you’re out of luck. She’s hopelessly in love!”
Elle blushed. “Brooke!”
“No secrets here,” Brooke said, poking Elle in the shoulder.
The rest of the people seated around the table introduced themselves to Elle one by one. There was Walter, a CEO; Gloria, a dental hygienist; Anne, an interior designer; Carolyn, a school principal; Jean, a legal secretary; and Nicolette, whom Elle recognized as the evening anchorwoman on Channel 4.
Brooke thanked the group for allowing Elle to be there. “You all know how hard it is to find someone to understand our addiction, and even though Elle never even watched Home Shopping before she met me, she’s been my greatest support outside of the group. I wanted to bring her today so that she can fully understand the importance of these meetings and what the meetings and the members mean to me.”
Suddenly Miranda jumped up from her chair and called the meeting to order.
Elle pulled a compact out of her purse to make sure that her mascara hadn’t been smudged from her watering eyes. The room was dense with cigarette smoke. At least ten people in the room had replaced one addiction with another. Satisfied with her mascara, she looked doubtfully at Miranda.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Miranda,” she began. “I’m a recovering home shopper. As your life leader, I’ve spent a lot of time telling you how I overcame Home Shopping and what Shopper Stoppers has done for me, but today I’d like to tell you something more important.”
“Hi, Miranda. Tell us your story!” the group said warmly in a loud, unified chorus.
“I used to be lonely. Now I’m not lonely, but I know that if I do get lonely, shopping won’t fill that aching void. I have to turn to you…my friends. That is what recovery is all about. It’s about friendship, support, and anonymity. It’s about coming to people whom I can share my worst fears and secrets with and know that they’ll never, under any circumstances, be revealed. That is friendship to me, and it’s why I’ve been Home Shopping-free for one year, two months, and three days!”
Elle looked at Brooke’s tear-splotched face and knew that she would never, under any circumstances, reveal the identity of her group members in L.A.
Chapter Forty-one
“Catchy little tune.” Elle noticed she had been humming “You must pay the rent, I can’t pay the rent” as she collared Underdog for his afternoon walk. “I’ll pay the rent.” She opened Underdog’s dainty jaws to mouth each booming word.
“My hero!” she answered gaily, fluffing her puppy’s crown of wispy fur. Underdog whined and trotted around in a circle, impatient to go out.
“Poor thing, I’ve been neglecting you.” Elle glared at the pile of deposition transcripts littered about the couch. “I’ll take this afternoon off, handsome, and we’ll go for a walk.”
When they returned, fresh-faced from the brisk spring wind, Elle warily inspected her answering machine. She shifted Underdog where he was cradled in her arms and reached to play the tape.
“Elle.” Warner still didn’t bother to introduce himself, knowing his voice would always be familiar. Elle gave Underdog a hopeful squeeze.
“I’m calling from the office.” He paused. “From Miles & Slocum, I mean. I, uh, hoped you’d be here today. Listen, I know this is short notice, but I’ve had sort of a weird couple of days, and I really wanted to talk to you. Can we have dinner, maybe, tonight?”
Warner lowered his voice, speaking tenderly. “You’re still the only…the only person, I think, who understands…what I want in my life. I’ve had so little time for what’s important.” Elle moved her ear closer to the machine.
“Anyway,” Warner sighed after a moment of thought, “I’m making some changes. Listen, sweetie, call me here. Sarah’s not coming in today. Maybe we can meet downtown.”
Elle pounced anxiously for the phone, dropping her contented pet with a thud. “Oh, sorry, Underdog,” she gulped, dialing rapidly. “It’s Elle Woods calling. Can you connect me with Warner, please?”
She held her breath, feeling her heart pound as she tried to restrain the excitement in her voice.
“Elle on oh-two,” Warner said in falsetto, imitating Mia. “Just what I wanted to hear.”
“Oh, Warner,” Elle cooed despite her effort to act composed. “It’s so great to hear from you.” She hadn’t seen him nearly as much as she had hoped through this internship. “What’s up?”
“Listen, Elle, I can’t really talk here. I’ll be downtown working on this brief for a while, and I wanted to see you. Not in the office, though. Can we meet for dinner? My treat. There’s something I wanted to talk over with you. You alone.”
Elle jumped with delight, nearly dropping the phone. “Warner, of course,” she answered breathlessly. “Time and place.”
He paused, collecting his thoughts. “It’s been too long, Elle. Let’s do this right. How about Masa’s?”
“Warner, that’s my favorite!”
“Perfect,” he decided. “Seven-thirty, then. I’ll reserve a table, under Huntington. Table for two.”
“Huntington,” Elle repeated dreamily. “Table for two.”
“Right.” Warner was businesslike. “Looking forward to it.”
“Seven-thirty,” Elle smiled, charmed. She started to ask Warner for a hint, but he had already hung up. “Never mind,” she thought, envisioning Warner reserving a table for two: “Huntington. Two Huntingtons.” She had been so busy she had hardly thought about Warner, but his voice brought all of her dreams crashing back. She knew from his air of mystery that this sudden dinner invitation could only mean one thing.
Her next call was to Josette.
“Eet eez always a new story,” Josette said, and laughed, graciously waving off Elle’s repeated thank-yous for taking her without an appointment.
“Warner’s taking me to dinner tonight!” Elle was beaming.
“I knew eet was Warner.” The manicurist smiled, one eye fluttering into a coquette’s wink. “Ees eet a special occasion?”
“You bet it is.” Elle nodded. “Josette…” She paused. “I think…In spite of myself, I’m hoping he’ll come back to me tonight. For good.”
Josette arched her eyebrow. “Eesn’t there a woman already his fiancée?”
“I think it’s over,” Elle admitted. “He called me and said he had to see me alone. He said he’s been thinking over his life, and he’s making some changes. He wants to tell me about them at dinner.”
Elle’s enthusiasm didn’t quite convince Josette. “Are you sure that’s what he means?”
Elle nodded eagerly. “He was totally mysterious, but he hinted at it, you know? He’s reserving a Huntington table for two! That’s exactly what he said,” she gushed, launching the hand Josette had finished into a victory sign of two shining fingernails. “Two. Two Huntingtons, but not Sarah. Finally, it’s Warner and Elle.”
Chapter Forty-two
Elle idled in her parking space, pondering the mechanics of car energy. “If I turn it off but leave the CD player on, that drains the battery. But I’ll probably be asphyxiated soon if I sit in here any longer.” She surveyed the dark interior of the parking garage and turned the engine off.
She peeked at her watch again, annoyed at its holding pattern. It had been 7:30 last time she checked, and was only 7:32 now—7:33 if she looked down from the top of her hand at an angle, but that was cheating. Elle checked her lipstick in the vanity mirror.
“One more song,” she decided, and flipped the Styx CD to “Babe,” a song she loved when in love. “You know it’s you, babe,” Elle sang blissfully, ranging far from the tune. Singing
had never been her strength.
She finished her operetta and sat again in the quiet, warmly envisioning a link that defied circumstance, a reunion stronger for the separation. In her heart, she had waited for Warner, never losing faith. He was her Velveteen Rabbit, finally opening his eyes to love’s constancy. She breathed deeply, dreaming of their future.
Deciding that fifteen minutes satisfied the feminine necessity of tardiness, Elle entered the low-lit restaurant. Her silver Gucci mules clicked quietly but steadily with each hasty step, an apology ready on her lips to console her waiting date. “Huntington, table for two,” she beamed to the maître d’.
“Yes, madam,” he crooned, leading Elle to an empty table. She was oblivious of the admiring stares taking in her beauty and her silver metal-mesh dress with plunging neckline and green rhinestone straps.
“Would you care for something to drink while you wait?” He motioned to a server.
Elle sighed, downcast. She ordered mineral water, gazing uninterestedly at the menu. Warner had beaten her at the delay game, so he started with the upper hand.
“Elle!” Warner rushed to the table just as her drink arrived. She didn’t stand to greet him. “Hello, Warner,” she nodded, feigning indifference. He leaned around the table to kiss her cheek.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was heavy,” Warner said with a shrug. As if she hadn’t driven in the same.
“I just sat down, don’t worry.” Elle sipped her water nonchalantly. But her eyes defied her attempt at composure, shining with delight.
“You look beautiful”—he reached for her hand—“as always.”
Elle smiled. “Thanks.” She stirred the ice around her drink, chasing the lime about with the red plastic straw, apprehending it finally with a poke. Winning lines she had rehearsed in the car emptied from her mind as if through a sieve. “It’s been too long,” she attempted.
“Definitely,” Warner agreed, opening the menu. “Much too long. I’m starved.”
Elle turned to her own menu and commented stupidly on the range of appetizers. She felt like cornering him, asking what this was all about. Don’t push him.
Warner motioned to the server to bring a wine list. “It’s great to see you, Elle. It’s so nice to get together again.”
“It’s wonderful.” Elle smiled eagerly. Nothing had changed after all.
Elle began chatting about the Vandermark case, asking Warner politely about his research. He frowned, waving his hand to dismiss the topic. “Elle, you never did care about that stuff.”
Elle retreated. She had spent such energy on Brooke’s case, thinking that she and Warner would have that, at least, in common.
“But, Warner, I care about it now. I’ve become totally involved in this case.”
“You’re full of surprises, Elle.” Warner laughed. “How about this for a surprise…I’ll have a steak tonight. And rare!” He beckoned for a waiter and ordered a red wine without consulting her.
“But you always have it rare.” Elle squinted, puzzled. “‘I want something that took its last breath in the kitchen,’” she imitated Warner’s old line.
“Elle, you’re right,” Warner smiled. “It has been too long. God, I haven’t said that in ages. I forgot…I guess you wouldn’t know. I hardly ever eat red meat anymore.”
“Since when?” Elle arched one eyebrow suspiciously.
Warner hid behind the menu, playing embarrassed. “You’ll laugh…I’ve been a different man lately. Sarah says red meat is bad for my heart, you know, so when I’m with her I never eat it anymore.”
“Sarah’s bad for your heart,” Elle said. She shook the ice in her glass, more angry than nervous.
“Ha-ha, you’ve got me there,” said Warner, winking. When he saw her disappointment, his tone dropped and he spoke seriously.
“Okay, Elle, I’ve let a lot of things change me. It took me a while to notice it myself. I thought I had to grow up, you know, into this new life. But I caught myself!
“See, I took a look around,” he continued, “at what I was becoming…no, at what I was letting myself become.” At that Warner shook his head abruptly, and his grin returned. “No more, though, baby: I’m a new man. A new, steak-eating man.”
“How daring,” Elle muttered, not loud enough to be heard.
The server arrived and poured wine for Warner to sample. “I’ve had it before.” He motioned for the man to keep pouring. “Anyway, Elle’s the epicure. Let the lady taste it, please.”
Obligingly, the server handed a sharply fluted glass to Elle, who sipped and nodded her approval. Red, as if he didn’t know she would have chicken or fish. She scanned the menu hastily for tomato-based pasta.
“I think a toast is in order,” Warner said as he hoisted his brimming glass.
“Allow me,” Elle agreed. “To the old Warner. The old, steak-eating, USC golden boy.” With his USC golden girl, she added mentally.
“I’ll drink to that.” Warner clinked Elle’s glass. “In solidarity.”
Elle smiled shyly. “To Poland?”
“To what?” Warner set his glass on the table and squinted at Elle, not sure if he had heard her right. “Oh, right,” he chortled, toasting anew. “Why not? Here’s to Poland.”
Elle frowned, unsatisfied.
“I mean it, Elle.” Warner spoke naturally, soft with instinctive charm. “Since I’ve seen you again, through this internship, and around school…it’s made me think about the things we used to do, when we were together.”
Elle sighed, her tender eyes anchored to Warner. “Warner, I think about it all the time. Things were good back then. Why…” She trailed off, shook the crimson pool of wine like brandy in her glass, wondering why Warner had left her last spring.
“‘Why’ is right,” Warner agreed with a hearty nod. “Why, just because we checked ourselves into law school, why should anything be different?”
“‘Checked in,’” Elle repeated. “That’s the way to describe it. It’s a madhouse, law school. A regular cuckoo’s nest.”
“Elle, that’s what makes you so lovable. Your charm is that you’ll never change. You’re a homecoming queen, even among toads. I didn’t know what to think when you showed up at registration. It was so…unlikely.” Warner smiled, gazing at Elle’s captivated face.
“Man. I couldn’t bear to see you waste…what you’ve got”—he dropped his gaze beneath her eyes—“at a dull place like Stanford. Law school can suck the life out of you, Elle. And you were always so full of life.”
“Warner,” Elle gushed, “oh, I know. I know. I felt the same way about you. Your films! Remember how you directed documentaries? Remember Vegas?” She paused, tracing patterns on the tablecloth with her fork. “You had such joie de vivre. Then one day”—her eyes narrowed—“you just traded it all in.” She imagined Warner buying Sarah a toaster, and shuddered.
Warner reached for her hand. “Elle, you’ve known me better than anyone. What you say about me…” He drew back, shaking his head with self-reproach. “Elle, it’s true. I bought into this law school routine. I put other things…more important things…on the shelf. But I’m not going to live that way anymore, and I guess I should thank you.”
Elle gasped, blushing. She waited for the words she dreamed Warner would say, wondering whether he had taken the Rock back from Sarah, or maybe gotten another ring for now. She was too excited to speak.
“Maybe that doesn’t make sense.” Warner hesitated, releasing her hand. “I’d like to think I would have come around even if you weren’t in law school, but I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It was you who made the difference. Seeing you just be yourself, my Elle from college, the calendar girl…taking the same exams as anyone else.” He smiled. “Elle, you’ve taught me a lesson.”
“What do you mean?” she prodded, thinking he had gotten a little off track.
Warner laughed. “I mean you haven’t changed, Elle. And you shouldn’t, and neither should I, just because of law school. It’s a
damn degree, that’s all. Everything can be just the way it was before.”
“Oh, Warner,” Elle cried, “I’ve wanted so much to hear you say that!”
“I know, Elle. I can’t believe it took me this long.” He reached under the table, fishing for something. “I should have realized this when I first saw you at Stanford.” Warner stood up suddenly, reaching deep into his pocket.
Elle shivered, knowing what moment was at hand. “Warner, thank God, you’re back!”
“Listen, Elle, the old Warner is back. What was important to me before law school is important to me again. No matter what Sarah says.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and sat back down, resting his fist, clenched, upon the table.
Elle gasped as Warner’s fist opened with a flourish. She expected the Rock! Instead, two white golf tees spilled onto the tablecloth.
“I played golf in college, and I’m going to make time for it again. Law school or no law school. I don’t care what Sarah says,” Warner stated firmly, sitting back with satisfaction.
Elle gaped in shock at the golf tees. She stared at Warner for a moment, then shot from her chair, almost upending it. “Ladies’ room,” she explained, forcing a smile. Warner shrugged, and was glad to see his steak arriving. Elle managed to stifle her tears only until the bathroom door closed behind her.
Elle replayed the voice mail that directed her to the office of Kohn & Siglery in San Francisco. Chutney Vandermark was to be deposed at 10:30 that morning. It was the last deposition scheduled before the will probate proceeding.
“Sorry I can’t drive over with you, Elle,” Christopher Miles said. “Try to meet me there a little early, around ten.”
Elle looked at her watch and jumped from her seat, which was a tubular creation, more artful than cozy. She caught her knee beneath the desk and winced.
Drawing back, Elle rubbed her knee and noticed a small run in her nylons. “Great,” she said, reaching for her purse. She didn’t have time to change, and she didn’t want Chutney to see her lugging binders around with a run in her hose, like a harried proletarian. She’d disgrace the Delta Gamma house.