Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights

by Mary Ellen Courtney

  Having to do all the thinking and all the work meant no buzz for me. He didn’t have a feel for it yet. I figured he needed to build a little body memory around it, but he had to stay put to do that. I didn’t want to discourage his effort; so after half a dozen tries at showing him precisely where he should be, I gave up. As my grandfather would say, close but no cigar. But just the fact that I’d gotten that far was a glimmer of hope for both of us.

  He was totally turned on by the whole project so decided to try what he hadn’t nailed with his hand, with his tongue, a good idea in theory. It was like cruel shoes to discover that when his tongue hit the mark, the bridge of his nose hit another, very painful mark. I tried sliding up the bed while pushing down gently on the top of his head. He took it to mean bear down, which was exactly the wrong approach.

  I humored him so things finished on a high note, at least for him. It’s just that, let’s face it, we all have a sweet spot. It might drift around a little depending on what our mind is playing around with, but at a certain point, things get real focused and want lots of attention. You have to be at the station and wait around to catch the train. That’s where hot chemistry works like a mind-altering drug. It takes care of the first fifteen minutes and expands the target area to things as far afield as your big toe. I only mention that because the night before with Stroud, my big toe had moaned and I still had all my clothes on. Steve got up a happy man. I’m a generous person at heart so that much was nice. Time would tell if I’d made headway or created a monster.

  He dropped me at home with a little extra on his good-bye kiss. I changed clothes and ran downtown to meet Karin for our Monday morning breakfast at Café Café. I told her the story. When I got to the part about pushing down on his head and trying to escape through the headboard, she started laughing so hard green tea shot through her nose all over her granola. Nice.

  “It’s not funny! I showed him where the clitoris is as instructed.” I dropped my voice for that last part.

  She couldn’t stop, so I looked out the window and drank coffee to wait her out. She finally came around.

  “Okay,” she said. “Baby steps.”

  “Baby steps, my ass. It was like being impaled,” I said.

  “Is that the first time he’s gone down on you?”

  “Of course not. And he’s always been in the neighborhood so it’s been nice. It’s just the first time he’s been at the right house and now we discover his tongue and nose don’t fit in the overhead compartment.”

  “I think it can be fixed,” she said.

  “Oh really, by whom, that gyno-plastic surgeon on the Westside?”

  “No. He’s just got to make his approach from a different angle.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. It sounds just like him when he’s talking about golf.”

  “Well if you’d had it with him in the beginning you wouldn’t be trying to break a bunch of bad habits. Maybe a golf analogy will make it easier.”

  I knew she was right. I wasn’t exactly a novice at the whole thing, or maybe I was. But I’d never run into anything like that. There’d been plenty of bores, but they were like driving a Prius, a matter of patient endurance, low fuel consumption, and ultimately regret.

  My husband and I tried to generate something past boredom. We watched strange people on DVDs. All the women had French manicured claws; is that supposed to be hot? We never could make a connection. The fact that we hated each other probably didn’t help. I could mark my calendar at six-month intervals when he invariably said he wanted a divorce. I spent years getting shot through with that adrenalin, not taking jobs, not making a plan. I didn’t call his bluff until the end. Steve and I like each other. And I was impressed with his willingness to learn.

  “This isn’t an old habit. I’m afraid it’s one of those quickly learned new ones,” I said. “I should have just said ouch.”

  “Yeah, ouch comes in handy.”

  We spent the day getting the sets up and running so the lighting guys could rig and run tests. Location shoots are a hassle. They had to keep cops at either end of the block to keep out the real drunks and homeless dogs, so they could run actor drunks and actor homeless dogs through the scenes. We ate lunch with the crew under a tent in the middle of a peed on downtown street. Film crews are like families; everyone talked about what they’d done on their hiatus. They thought dressing my dead grandmother sounded like a horror film. I said it was more Bergman meets Fellini.

  “Who’s that?” asked the twenty-year-old assistant to the assistant of somebody or other. Oh Jesus.

  “A couple of ancient directors,” I said.

  Needless to say I didn’t give up the trucker story. Unlike a real family, they’re a non-judgmental bunch. They would have loved the Thelma and Louise visuals, if they knew who that was. But still. Karin and I wound down with cups of tea.

  “So when are we going to meet Stroud?” she asked.

  “I think that’s better left down there.”

  “Have you heard from him?” she asked.

  “Crickets, he doesn’t have my number.”

  She thought I should call him. I said I was just getting around to acting like an adult with Steve. She didn’t think there should be so much thinking involved with good sex. And so the conversation went. Karin voting for playing with fire because life’s short, me hoping my fire playing days were behind me.

  She couldn’t understand why I would turn my back on the wild animal; it might wander off and not come back. I reminded her that that particular wild animal wandered for a living. Besides, the logistics were difficult. Steve and I floated back and forth between each other’s houses; we both had keys and he frequently showed up to swim. No decision was made by the end of the day.

  I swung by Nordstrom’s on the way home and sniffed through men’s aftershaves until I hit a bingo. I went home and swam laps. Steve had left a message saying he was going to New York on Friday to do more work with the sound guys. He wasn’t satisfied. I should have known that was coming. Nobody was that good without being a tad obsessive. He planned to spend the weekend with his family and come back Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on how much work they got done. He was on his way over with food.

  My mother called and started right in.

  “I’d just like to see you get married again. I’m afraid you’re going to miss out on having children.”

  “I don’t want to have children with just anybody,” I said. “I’m not sure I want children. I never even liked dolls.”

  “Every woman wants children. I wish you’d had them in your first marriage, then it would be done.”

  “Done with a crazy person. I’d be tied to that whipping post for life.”

  “He wasn’t that bad, Hannah.”

  “Then you marry him. You didn’t even like him.”

  “He grew on me.”

  “Mom, stop. He just wore you down.”

  “I never understood where he got all his rules is all.”

  “Thin air. And they didn’t apply to him.”

  She’d been to her mall-walking group, Silver Sneakers, and had met a man who invited her to an AA meeting; he’d been going for twelve years. She said he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would go to AA.

  Half my friends go to AA or Alanon. I didn’t see any particular pattern, except that they might be more interesting. They were definitely faster on the uptake when it came to jokes, that is if they’d quit drinking before every cell was fried. I decided to not get into it with her.

  “Anyway, I told him you think I drink too much,” she said. “And he invited me to go with him.”

  “You told him you drink too much in the first hour?”

  “Oh, Hannah, I told him you think I drink too much. I was just trying to find some common ground.”

  “Are you going?”

  “We have a date to go tomorrow. It’s his birthday.”

  I kept my reaction down to a low roar. I didn’t want to sou
nd too excited and scare her off. Years living with a knock down, and frequently drag out, alcoholic had been hard on all of us. Binky’s even worse; she’ll try to put a stop to it for sure. Mom was really going because she felt like there was some chemistry between them.

  “I thought you just met him today, Mom.”

  “I’m a good judge of these things, Hannie.”

  “Well I think it’s great. Call me tomorrow night and let me know how it went.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Well, I better get to bed. I want to run out in the morning and get him a birthday present.”

  I told her to skip the birthday present until she knew him a little better. I figured she’d see what I really meant once she got there. I had a picture of her introducing herself: “Hi, my name is Jackie and one of my daughters thinks I drink too much.” They had their work cut out for them.

  Steve came in with take-out. He jumped in the pool and I got out the new aftershave. I took it into the bathroom as he was getting out of the shower.

  “I bought you a present.”

  “You don’t like mine?”

  “It’s great, but I smelled this on one of the guys and thought I’d like to smell it on you. Variety is good.”

  He looked at me with the same curious smile from the night before. I told him I was going to fix dinner, meaning transfer from cartons to pottery.

  He came in the kitchen and put his neck near my nose. “What do you think?”

  I sniffed. “Yum, I think I love it.”

  I lit candles, dimmed the lights, and added a log to the fire. We talked about his trip to New York and our last run before wrapping the show for good.

  We decided to spend our first Christmas/Hanukkah in Hawaii, religiously neutral territory, not that either of us cared about religion. He always went some place sunny when he finished a project. He needed sunlight to purge the gray pallor that developed after sitting in the dark for six or more months editing a picture. I loved Hawaii period; it was my favorite place. We’d make plans when he got back. We did dishes and got ready for bed.

  We were lying looking at each other. We started out very slowly, taking it right from the top. We roamed around each other while things heated up.

  He slid his hand between my legs and looked at me. “You need to keep showing me. I can’t be completely responsible for both of us.”

  “I know.” I showed him again, he stayed put twice as long.

  We talked in low voices. I almost started laughing when I considered making a chip shot analogy, not that I’d even know how to do that. Instead I rushed him when it felt like his nose was going to revisit. It still involved a lot of academics, but we were improving, if you call avoidance an improvement. Baby steps. He’s a nice man. I squelched the thought that maybe he wasn’t a slow learner at all, just stingy.

  Steve decided to stay behind and do some laps when I went to work.

  Karin was already on the set talking to Jim the gaffer and his assistant David. I loved Jim; I detested David. His frequent sexual observations were always creepy.

  “Is Vampire Chick going to meet someone before this is over?” asked David. “Or is she going to end the show just rubbing them out herself?”

  David always referred to one of the saddest characters in the show as Vampire Chick. She’s an uninspired young artist who really belonged at home with her parents in Palos Verdes. Instead, she sewed shirts and baked cookies for ungrateful deodorant deficient poseurs, and secretly masturbated to vampire shows on her computer. The masturbating part was off screen.

  “They’re not mutually exclusive, David.” He snorted, either at the idea that we could take care of ourselves thank you very much, or because I was using my snotty voice.

  Karin and I went back to Café Café for lunch so I could give her a progress report in private. I told her that we’d had a definite jump up in skill level, but that I didn’t want to overwhelm him with the bad news about the overall fit.

  “A little talking goes a long way,” she said.

  “Did you and Oscar talk?”

  “Not technicalities. What we said isn’t appropriate for the lunch crowd. We talk now.”

  “That’s what I mean, I don’t want a bunch of talk. The whole Stroud thing felt like it had a mind of its own. Steve says he can’t be responsible for both of us. What part of him is he responsible for?”

  She started cracking up. “Steve? A heart beat is my guess.”

  “He’s okay.”

  “You’ve got some magic glasses, girl.”

  I told her he was headed to New York. She said I should call Stroud. I told her she needed to let it go.

  “Just call him and see if he’s coming this way. Keep it simple.”

  The rest of the day was uneventful. The Director sets the tone and ours was much calmer since rehab.

  Steve and I talked early in the evening; he was going to bed and catching a ridiculously early flight to allow time for a meeting at the other end. I said I’d start researching beach houses but he already had a deposit on one and he’d send me the link.

  I let out my breath. I’d been trying to stuff the memory of Stroud, how that had felt, but now, with space and time opening in front of me, it rushed back in with a vengeance. I slid the Nancarrow CD in. It sounded almost as good at home as it had dancing in a dark bar. The lead singer had been a hottie. I got out Grandma’s box and found Stroud’s card. I wandered around the house turning it over and over in my fingers. My bare feet rippled over every bump and cleft in the stone floors. I poured a glass of wine and ate a banana. I felt so guilty. I called.

  “Hi Alan Watts, it’s Hannah Spring. Or should I call you Stroud.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  We were quiet. Part of me was embarrassed that I’d called; but the wild animal part had opened her lazy eyelids and pricked her ears when she heard his voice. She smiled.

  “I wondered if you’d call,” he said.

  “I thought I’d give you my number in case you’re coming this way.”

  “K. Now I have it. Car still okay?”

  “It’s fine.”

  We fell quiet again.

  “Do you have plans to come this way?” I asked.

  “No. Maybe Bakersfield on Sunday, quick flip-flop though.”

  “We’re burying Grandma in Altadena on Saturday.”

  “Be good to get that done.”

  “Well I just thought I’d call.”

  “I heard that. Your not a boy boyfriend?”

  “He’s going to New York for a week.”

  We said good-bye and I kicked myself around the house for a good hour. What was I doing? I knew exactly what I was doing, or at least I thought I did.

  THREE

  “I feel possessed,” I said. “Like I’ve lost my mind.”

  “There’s nothing rational about it,” Karin was back at the granola. “I don’t know why you’re beating yourself up over this.”

  “Because it’s not fair to Steve. Can you imagine his reaction if he knew I was even fantasizing about a truck driver from the boondocks, much less calling him?”

  “He wouldn’t be happy no matter who it was.”

  “Well, he didn’t say he’s coming.”

  “He’ll come.”

  We put in another day making sure that Layla’s slobbiness was in all the right places, that Vampire Chick had fresh looking cookies to offer some asshole who was taking advantage of her, and that the old lady landlord had her doilies and chipped cookie jar in order. Bruce, our director, sent his assistant to see us after lunch.

  “They’ve written in a sex scene with a living person for the vampire girl,” she said.

  “Really?” we said in unison.

  “Yeah. Her agent has been hammering the writer. He doesn’t want her left hanging like that, too hard to shake the image. They’re going to do some heavy petting; then cut to train in tunnel stuff. She’s still a nice girl.”

  She handed us the new script pages and rushed o
ff.

  “Why can’t she have on-camera sex and still be a nice girl?” I asked.

  “She’s from a good family,” said Karin. “And we’re not on cable.”

  I drove home in mostly stopped traffic. It would be nice to work in the wide-open Southwest. I had no idea what India was all about; Margaret said we’d have drivers. That alone could seal the deal. Both projects were starting up at the end of January. I needed to make a decision.

  I called Steve when I got home. He was heading out for dinner with friends. I envied him a trip to New York while I was pinned down in the last gasps of a bad show.

  The phone rang. Eric. “There’s been a hang up. Mom went to an AA meeting today. I guess you knew about that. She came home, called Binky, and read her the riot act about being an alcoholic.”

  I thought my brain would explode. “Mom is blaming Binky because she’s an alcoholic?”

  “No, Mom is blaming Binky for Binky being an alcoholic,” he said.

  “Perfect. I think maybe Mom missed the message,” I said.

  “No maybe. World war three has broken out down here.”

  They’d been screaming and crying for hours. Mom was insisting that everybody attend the burial. After going to the meeting she had decided to see her mother buried, I didn’t get the connection. She was also hoping that Binky and I would make up. I didn’t see that connection either.

  “We need to get Grandma buried before we leave for New York on Monday,” said Eric.

  “You’re going to New York?”

  “Business trip. Binky has agreed to be there, but it has to be Sunday.”

  “I can’t do it Sunday. I have plans,” I said. “Can’t we just go back to Plan A? Let them all stay home?”

  “Mom’s coming and now she won’t do it without Binky,” he said. “She says it will be good for her.”

  “This is nuts.”

  “It gets better. The nice man is coming.”

  “What? She just met him. Well she can’t be drinking then.”

  “Who knows? As you like to say, he’s a man. Anyway, what do you say, Sunday okay? We plan to get there by 11:00 and do the internment at noon.”