“You didn’t ask?”
“No, I didn’t. I mean, he asked.”
“He did?!” Jane said.
“He asked about giving us money?” Wendell tried to clarify.
“Oh, no,” I said. “He asked if I want to have dinner.”
“What’s going on?” Constance asked, rejoining us.
“Instead of getting Cal to take the part, genius here got a dinner invitation,” Grady said.
“Dinner?” Constance said. “That’s terrific.”
“No, it’s not,” Grady insisted. “We need money more than Dewey needs a date.”
Constance put a hand on his arm and said, “Calm down Grady. Now we’ve got a plan B.”
“A plan B? What do you mean?”
“Dewey is our plan B,” Constance explained. “If we can’t interest Cal in the show, then we’ll interest him in Dewey.”
“Oh no,” I said. “We’re not doing anything like that.”
“Now it won’t be that bad,” said Grady. “He’s a hottie, after all.”
I stared at him. I couldn’t believe he’d said that.
“What?” he asked. “Just because I’m straight doesn’t mean I’m blind. He’s a good-looking man.”
“I’m not going out with him in order to get money for the Barnyard Players.”
“If someone needs to take one for the team…” Wendell interjected, obviously offering up himself. “So to speak, I mean…”
Then he blushed.
Then I blushed.
Then Grady blushed.
The women laughed at us.
Chapter Seven
A Line in the Salt
“What was that?” Mac asked as I drove back to his place.
“What was what?” I pretended not to know exactly what he was talking about.
“You asked my lawyer out to dinner.”
“Why shouldn’t I? I think he’s cute.”
“I should think it was obvious why you shouldn’t ask him out.”
“Obvious how?”
“You and I.”
I made a face at him. “There is no you and I.”
“Yes there is,” he insisted. For some reason I couldn’t fathom, he decided to put on his safety belt. Except he couldn’t quite get it to work. Fortunately, the car wasn’t beeping like it would be with a living person.
“Mac, there is no you and I because there is no you. But, even if there were—”
“Don’t you see? We’re meant to be together.” He let go of the belt and it thwapped back into its holder.
“We’re meant to be together?” I said somewhat incredulously. “That would explain why we’ve hated each other for a decade and a half.”
“Hate is a very strong word.”
“Really? What would you say has been going on between us?”
“Well, on my end…I was mildly annoyed at you.”
“You told people if I came to New York you’d put out a hit.”
“My feelings were hurt.”
“Mac, you dumped me. You got what you wanted. You don’t get to have hurt feelings.”
“You said terrible things after we split. Cruel things.”
“You dumped me!”
“I don’t see why we have to dwell on that. It’s in the past and we’re together now.”
“We’re not together. You’re dead.”
“I’ll grant you it’s a mixed marriage of sorts…”
“It’s a marriage of no sorts—wait. Is that why you left me everything? You were still in love with me?”
“Yes, you were the love of my life.” He said too quickly. I wasn’t sure whether to believe it.
“So, you just pretended to hate me?” I said.
“It made sense at the time.”
I made a wrong turn and Mac corrected me. I got us pointed toward his house and made a stab at changing the subject. “So, you were telling the truth about having cancer. I’m sorry Mac. That must have been tough.”
“Actually, I think I avoided the tough part.”
“I suppose. But maybe if you hadn’t…killed yourself, well, maybe you wouldn’t be here.”
“Then I’m glad I killed myself. I like being here.”
“Really? You don’t have any desire to see what’s next?”
“God no!”
“Why not?”
“Well, consider the options. A—there’s no God, I’m facing eternal nothingness. B—there is a God and mistakenly he’s let’s me into heaven. It’s full of televangelists and self-righteous goodie-goodies. For eternity! Or C—there is a God and I go to hell, where I’d spend my time with a much more interesting crowd but unfortunately we’ll be roasting on a spit.”
I was silent for the last few hundred feet of the drive. Despite those very unappealing options, I still really wanted him to go away. Whatever happened afterward was, well, natural. As we pulled in to the driveway he asked me a question that made my stomach turn. “What time are we going to dinner?”
“You’re not going.”
“Why not?”
“Because for one thing I didn’t ask you. I asked him.”
“And this is your opportunity to rectify that mistake.”
“I don’t want you there.”
“Dewey won’t mind my being there, I assure you.”
“He won’t know you’re there.”
“Exactly. How can he mind then?”
“I’ll know. And I’ll mind.”
I got out of the car and stormed up to the house. Mac followed me, rather effortlessly.
“I don’t understand why you don’t want me to come,” he said.
“It’s a date. You’re my ex. That doesn’t work for me.”
He didn’t say anything as I opened the door and walked into the house. Suddenly, I realized that there might not be anything I could do about it. Mac might come on the date whether I wanted him to or not. I had to figure out a way to stop him from doing that.
I had about four hours before dinner. I thought about going shopping and picking up a new outfit. Of course, we still hadn’t fixed the bank accounts, but one of the mom and pop stores they had might give me credit for a day or two. Still, a little beauty rest before our evening seemed the wiser choice.
“I’m taking a nap,” I told Mac. “Dematerialize or whatever.” Before he could respond, I ran upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Hopefully, he wouldn’t follow me. I flopped on the bed, even though I wasn’t quite ready for a nap. Taking my smart phone out of my pocket I jumped on the Internet and searched “getting rid of ghosts.” After a few long seconds the results came up. I read through a couple of listings. I immediately rejected the idea of getting sage and smudging the whole house. I might do it eventually, but I needed something more immediate. Something I could do to keep Mac from joining us for dinner. It took a few minutes but I finally found it. Salt. All I had to do was lay out a line of salt across the doorway and Mac wouldn’t be able to cross it. It was simple.
Why they didn’t teach these useful tidbits in grade school was beyond me.
With that settled, I lay back and began to look forward to my date with Dewey. He seemed very nice, considerate, thoughtful. I hoped he actually was. I have to admit I’m not the best judge of character. I’ve had my share of crappy boyfriends. Starting with Mac. And, well, most of the ones afterward. Of course, most of the one’s after Mac were more interested in my screen persona than me. That was something Dewey had going for him. He seemed to have no idea who I was, and I hoped that meant he’d actually see who I am. God, I hope he doesn’t run around trying to find that DVD before our date. Actually, I hoped he didn’t even have a DVD player...
I must have drifted off, because I popped awake when I felt someone getting into the bed with me. The afternoon light was gray, the sun going down. I rolled over and found myself staring at Mac. He leaned forward and kissed me. It was intoxicating. I still remembered what it was like to kiss him and this was exactly that. He was gentle and
forceful all at once; he tempted and teased even as he was demanding his due. It took me a few moments to come to my senses. I pushed him away.
I stared at him for a long moment.
“I really wish you were more…ethereal.”
“If I were a gossamer wisp, would that turn you on?”
“No. Not at all. But at least you’d feel like what you are. Nonexistent.”
“I exist,” he said seductively. Then he took my hand and led it down to his crotch. They say you get a hard-on when you die. Apparently, it doesn’t go away.
I jumped off the bed.
“That’s enough of that,” I said.
“If I’m remembering correctly, you used to have a healthy interest in sex.”
“I still do. Just not with you. Dead or alive.”
“I’m hurt.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I was serious when I said we belong together.” He sat up on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you call Dewey and cancel. Stay here with me. We can fool around. It’ll be like old times. We were good together, weren’t we?”
We were good together. The sex was one of the few things I remembered positively from our time together. But it didn’t make sense to go backward.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “You and I are finished. I want you to get out.”
“Of my own bedroom?”
“No, out of my bedroom. Ownership has transferred.”
Grudgingly, he left the room. I took a quick shower, threw on a pair of jeans that showed off my ass, and a crisp, white, button down shirt. I was a little nervous about the date. Mac’s come on had put the idea of sex in my head and it wasn’t going away. It would probably be a bad idea to sleep with Dewey. He was handling Mac’s estate after all. Not to mention I was leaving town as soon as I could. On the other hand, that might be exactly the reason to do it. If it was a disaster, as most of my relationships were, it would be a short-lived disaster.
When it was time for Dewey to arrive I decided it would be best to wait outside. Of course, first I had to stop in the kitchen. I hurried down the stairs, finding Mac stretched out dramatically on the sofa. When he saw me coming downstairs, he called out.
“You’ve changed, Cal.”
“Of course I’ve changed. It’s been fifteen years.” I didn’t stop. I continued right through to the kitchen.
“You don’t love me at all, do you?”
That stopped me. I turned and stared at him closely. Did I love him? Did I love him at all? “Look Mac. I feel a certain amount of affection for the person you were when I met you but…that’s not who you are anymore.”
“But I can be that me. Time is no longer an issue. We’ll put things on a kind of spiritual rewind.”
“I can’t though…I can’t go back and be the person I was then. I have to be who I am now.”
I began looking through the cupboards. They were pretty bare. What if he didn’t have any salt? I wondered. What would I do then? As though to mock me, Mac asked, “Should I change my outfit? Do you think he’s bringing us to some place fancy?”
“Why don’t you have any food?” I asked. “Did you turn anorexic?”
“No. Dewey told the cleaners they could have it all.”
“Crap.” I stood in the middle of the kitchen trying to think. How could I get Mac to stay home? I decided to try something. In an authoritarian voice I said, “I command you to stay in this house.”
“Do you think I’m a genie and you can just make wishes?”
Just then I heard tires crunching on hard snow; someone had pulled into the driveway. I hurried out of the house, uncertain what to do. Dewey’s SUV sat behind Mac’s. They were nearly identical. My foot slipped and I almost went down on the back stoop. Behind me, Mac giggled and said, “Be careful. It’s icy.”
I looked down to make sure I had my footing and that’s when I noticed the bag full of rock salt sitting next to the steps. Salt. Exactly what I’d been looking for. With Mac standing in the doorway, I grabbed the rock salt and dumped the entire bag onto the steps.
Dewey had gotten out of his SUV and was now staring at me. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”
It did look quite the mess, but so far Mac had not attempted to cross it.
“I nearly tripped,” I said to Dewey. Then rushed on to, “We should go. We don’t want to be late.”
“Late? Late for what?”
I shrugged and said, “Life?”
“Don’t you want to get a coat?” In my typical California way, I’d walked out of the house without a winter coat, yet again. It was freezing but there was no way I’d cross that threshold again.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I said. Then I reached over and pulled the back door shut with Mac glaring at me. Anger seemed to radiate off him like heat in the desert. Obviously, the salt was working.
Quickly, I jumped into the car. As soon as Dewey was behind the wheel I said, “Go.” He looked at me strangely and started the SUV. We pulled out of the driveway and for the first time since I’d arrived in Marlboro, I began to relax.
Dewey explained he was taking me to the restaurant that I owned. Well, not the restaurant. I owned the building and the restaurant paid me rent. I nodded in what I hoped was an agreeable fashion. I really wished we were going some place that wasn’t quite so about me. The stereotype about actors is that we’re all egomaniacs and I’ll admit I have my moments. But when I’m dating I actually prefer things to be about the guy I’m with. Truth is, I find myself a little boring—or at least I’m not as impressed with myself as other people seem to be—and the things about me that aren’t as boring are sometimes a little tricky on a date.
Two things ruin a date for me quickly; one is a long discussion of Lust/Anger/Joy, particularly if I get a question like, “Tell me the truth. The sex scenes were real, weren’t they?” They weren’t. They were cold, humiliating and tedious. The second thing that ruins a date is questions about McCormack Williams. Usually this only happened when he had a new play out or was up for some award. My dates would ferret out the fact that we’d once been together and then they’d want to know all about him. Something I never understood. I knew all about him and I didn’t want to.
With Dewey, I had the feeling I was safe from a discussion of Lust/Anger/Joy since I’d gotten the impression he’d never seen it. And, so far, he’d only discussed Mac in the most professional terms. There was some hope it would be a nice evening.
“It’s called Nectar,” Dewey said. I hadn’t been paying attention.
“What is?” I asked.
“The restaurant we’re going to. They use only locally grown foods.”
“Oh, should I have worn Birkenstocks?”
He glanced at me. “I’m not sure. Would you have been more comfortable?”
“No, it was a joke.” Then I did one of the worst things you can do on a date. I began to explain my joke. “See, in L.A. we have these granola types who don’t use leather and are totally green. Everything has to be organic and vegan. You probably don’t have any idea what I’m talking about.”
“Oh no, I do. We have tourists. I mean, the locals are just locals. We eat locally grown because it’s good for the local economy. It’s usually organic, but that’s really the only way small farms can compete against the corporate farms these days.”
There wasn’t much to say to that so I kept my mouth shut. A few minutes later, we pulled into an older property on a small hill. There was a two-story, white clapboard house at the crest of the hill and behind that a large red barn. The house had an enclosed porch all the way around the front, and as we drove up I could see that diners were already eating by candlelight.
As he pulled the SUV into the small, makeshift parking lot between the house and the barn, Dewey asked, “Aren’t Birkenstocks usually leather?” Piercing another hole into my rather lame joke.
I smiled as best I could and said, “I think you can get them made of hemp and things like that.”
Dewey just said, “Oh.”
On the way into the restaurant, I nearly froze to death. I did really need to start wearing a jacket. Even the thin one I’d brought from Los Angeles would have been better than simply the button-down shirt I was wearing. Dewey gave me a glance and I thought for a moment he might put his arm around me to keep me warm. It wasn’t an altogether unwelcome thought. Though, why I was thinking so favorably of someone who didn’t get my jokes was a bit illogical. I mean, didn’t all the magazines say you needed to share a sense of humor? Maybe they just meant straight people.
Carrying a nice leather briefcase he’d gotten out of his backseat, Dewey held the door of the restaurant open for me and I walked in. It was a darling little place. Aside from the wraparound porch there were two parlors and a dining room all filled with small tables covered in white linen tablecloths. None of the tables matched exactly and I noted that they chose not to use matching dishes either, using instead second hand dishes in a variety of interesting patterns. On the wall were baskets, old photographs, and silver spoons retired from service. I found the place completely charming.
As we waited for the maître d’, I nodded to Dewey’s briefcase and asked, “You’re not billing me for this, are you?”
“I brought signature cards for the bank and your temporary checks. And maybe there’s another form or two you could sign. It won’t take long. And, no, I won’t be billing you for dinner.”
I was about to say something flirtatious about getting my money’s worth when the maître d’ came over and recognized me. He was a man of about fifty, well-preserved, and a bit severe. He did his best to remain professional and not react. However, when we were seated in the second parlor with a charming view of the barn in back, he leaned over to put my napkin on my lap for me and whispered, “I just love your work.”
I smiled a thank you, hoping that Dewey hadn’t heard him.
But he had. As he put the signature cards in front of me, he said, “I’m going to have to get this movie of yours. It must be something.”
“Please don’t,” I said too quickly.
“Oh. You’re not proud of it.”
“Actually, I am proud of it. But, at the same time…well, it creates certain expectations.”
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