Elena Undone

by Nicole Conn

  Barry butted his head in the door.

  They all sat in guilty silence. Nash looked like he’d swallowed the canary.

  “What’s up in here?” Barry teased. “Planning a bank heist?”

  Nobody spoke. Barry shook his head. “Okay, well you have a phone call, El…and you two should be getting to bed.”

  As he handed her the phone he exchanged places with his wife. “Hey guys…how ’bout a quick bowl of ice cream…then let’s all hit the sack.”

  Elena watched as Tori hugged Poppa Bear, snuggling him close, as if to make up for their transgression. She walked out of Nash’s bedroom and into the living room, lifted the phone.

  “It’s Peyton…” Peyton’s voice was very congested. “Peyton Lombard.”

  “Oh, Peyton.” Elena smiled and then said with genuine concern, “You sound terrible. Oh my gosh, how are you feeling?”

  “Better, actually.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.”

  Long pause.

  “So, you know that project I was talking about?” Peyton asked.

  “Yes…yes, the one you spoke about at Tyler’s, right?”

  “I’m getting ready to start fleshing it out. I was wondering, you know, if you’re interested...if I could see some samples of your work—see if this would be a fit.”

  “Oh, sure. Yes.” Elena found herself feeling very nervous, put a hand to her hair to smooth it, as if anyone could see her. How could she show such old work? Would this professional writer think she was a joke? I mean, did she really want to humiliate herself? But before she could think further about the implications she heard herself saying, “If you’d like I could bring by my portfolio. I could even do it tomorrow.” And then to try and cover up, “We could meet for lunch...”

  Another long pause and Elena felt her heart thudefor heartding. “That is, if you feel well enough. Or coffee. Just coffee is fine.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Peyton responded. “I know just the place.”

  *

  The next morning Peyton sat, dressed in her black jeans, a black muscle shirt and covering her for warmth a teal Façonnable that was as soft as it was cozy. She sat at one of three concrete picnic tables not far from a gorgeous mini-waterfall at her favorite park. She liked the tables here because while they were all near the cascading water, they were far enough apart for privacy and set amidst a huge clearing of yawning gentle slopes of green, terraced to contour the edges of a brook that ran through the entire length of the park and emptied into a small lake at the bottom.

  Even with the ducks clamoring endlessly she was deeply engrossed answering e-mails on her BlackBerry as she waited and was unaware, at first, that Elena had shown up, until she heard a bag plopped on the table.

  “Oh hi,” she said.

  “Hey there. Sorry I’m a little late. I…” But she let it go as she rummaged through the bags, pulled out a gourmet bottle of lemonade, several containers filled with salads, desserts, even a couple of flowers.

  Again, Peyton was aware that Elena was a beautiful woman, but here, in the daylight, she could see even more clearly her flawless olive skin, those deeply piercing brown eyes, and when she turned to her to smile uncertainly, Peyton realized she was staring, cleared her throat. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble, really,” Elena answered. Their eyes met. “I… You know when you’re sick you just want things to make you feel better. Besides...I sort of feel like no one’s been taking care of you.”

  Elena felt flustered as she pulled items together. Seeing Peyton in this new setting threw her for some reason. A glow radiated about Peyton she hadn’t noticed before, and she found herself drawn to this woman in a strange but fascinating manner. Peyton had such charm and warmth about her. Elena shrugged, continued her task. “Maybe it’s the mom in me?”

  Peyton blushed. “I look that bad, huh?”

  “No…no, I mean, with everything you’ve been through—your mother, all the stuff your ex put you through—who sounds like a real piece of work—no offense. It’s like, what about you? Who is taking care of Peyton?”

  “Believe me I’m not a saint…and I’m not a martyr either. Just not a great time in my life.”

  “This project and I are going to change all that,” Elena announced as if it were a foregone conclusion that Peyton would naturally pick her as the photographer, then realizing how presumptuous that sounded, shifted. “Can I pour you some lemonade?”

  “Yeah, lemonade sounds great.”

  “How are you feeling, anyway?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” Peyton watched Elena as she fussed about and then eyed the brown leather portfolio, pulled it toward her. “May I?”

  Elena stopped, then nodded. “Just remember—it’s been years since I’ve been really working.” She sat down next to her, touching the portfolio almost as if she wanted to take it back, then settling in, she sighed. “Well, I guess…at least you can see my style.”

  Peyton opened the portfolio, and slowly began to look through the work, taking her time to appreciate the framing, lighting and what she could see was a very elegant eye in Elena’s photos.

  “You know these are really very good.” Peyton’s voice was laced with genuine appreciation. “I’m impressed.”

  Elena turned to her, smiled modestly, suddenly felt very shy. “Well, you start out thinking you’ll be Annie Liebowitz...and then...”

  Peyton leaned over to examine the photos more closely. Elena moved next to her, pointed at a shot, their bodies pressed together as Peyton studied a child’s photo, then turned to Elena.

  “She’s so beautiful... What a great setup.”

  “Children are my favorite subjects. They’re still so innocent, no pretense... They show everything they’re feeling.”

  Peyton was about to respond, but when she turned the page she saw what appeared to be a naked woman in a sensually evocative silhouette.

  “Wow.” Peyton shook her head. “I love this one...”

  “Oh.” Elena cleared her throat, then laughed off-handedly. “That’s me actually...”

  Peyton turned to look at her, surprised. It seemed so out of character.

  “I shot that after Nash was born. I had an idea, lit it...and thought I might as well.”

  Peyton suddenly became aware of the fact that they were way too close, cleared her throat. “It’s...great. They’re all...really good.”

  But when she turned Elena was looking right at her with those eyes—those unwavering eyes.

  Peyton got up and returned to the other side of the picnic table and then, covering, asked, “Why didn’t you keep it up?”

  “Oh…you know, the usual things. My family. Responsibilities...life.”

  Their eyes met. Again. And Peyton became uncomfortably aware tkedably awhat Elena was one of the few people she had ever encountered who had absolutely no problem holding a gaze.

  “You know this is one of my favorite parks,” Elena announced to break the silence.

  “Really? It’s one of mine too. Isn’t it a little far from where you live?”

  “I make the drive because it’s so beautiful.” Elena’s smile was revealing, vulnerable. “My sanctuary.”

  “Look.” Peyton cleared her throat, and attempted a businesslike tone, “I, uh, think you’d be great for this. If you’re interested.”

  “Yes, Peyton. I’m definitely interested.” Elena studied Peyton carefully a moment. “So, uhmm, what’s—where did this idea come from?”

  “Oh, I’ve had this project on the back burner for—well, forever. My agent kept telling me no one was interested and that I could do it on my own time. But then, while my mother was sick, we really ended up connecting.”

  Elena smiled sympathetically.

  “She and I had had a really rocky relationship—you know, she’s very conservative, wasn’t excited about my lifestyle choices…very Emily Gilmore. But underneath it all, I realized she was so much more interesting th
an I ever gave her credit for.”

  Elena found herself riveted by Peyton’s story, her history. “Go on.”

  “It’s just that women are so complex, so multidimensional...I want to dig below, show all our colors...everything that is indelibly female and makes women so…so delicious.”

  Elena had never heard women spoken about like this before and she wasn’t sure if she felt awkward, uncomfortable or simply unsophisticated. “Oh…okay.”

  “Maybe I’m thinking too broadly. Just you know...the extraordinary essence that makes up woman in all her glory from A to Z.”

  “It’s a wonderful project, Peyton.”

  Peyton looked at Elena. Smiled. And then Elena’s phone rang. She wanted to ignore it but duty called.

  “I’m sorry—I’ve really got to run. Pick up Nash from soccer practice.”

  They both sat for a moment longer, and then both started talking at the same time, then laughed.

  “But, you know, I think I can get together Thursday afternoon. To, you know...keep moving things forward.”

  “Sure. That’d be great.”

  “Okay then.” Elena stood a moment longer, then awkwardly lifted a hand to r Td a hanwave. “Bye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  *

  Over the next several weeks Peyton and Elena found themselves meeting briefly for coffee at Pinot Latte, a quick lunch here and there, even several more times at the park, all in an effort to move the Women’s Glory Project forward. Even if they both began to notice that they spent less time actually working on the project and more time talking, enjoying one another’s company, sitting in the park and feeding the ducks, sharing history and stories, neither seemed to be overly concerned.

  It soon became routine for Elena to call Peyton after she had sent Barry off to the church and got Nash and Tori settled at school, to check in and see what her day was like. They’d spend at least a half hour on the phone chatting about pretty much everything and nothing, and then, depending on Peyton’s meetings and Elena’s family schedule, would invariably find a chunk of time to connect.

  “Blimey, Lombard, has it occurred to you that you’ve gotten literally nothing accomplished and are spending more and more time with this chick?”

  “She’s not a ‘chick’ A, and B, we’ve gotten a lot accomplished,” Peyton stated emphatically, even while knowing just as emphatically that more often than not the research she intended to go over with Elena invariably sat on the table between them, whether it was at Pinot Latte, or the park, and several times had never even made its way out of her briefcase as they sat endlessly chatting about other things, exploring their backgrounds, sharing their day, problems, anecdotes.

  At almost precisely the same moment across town, Nash noted to his mother, “You realize I haven’t seen you when I get home from school for like the last three weeks?”

  Elena had been mindlessly folding laundry and suddenly realized she had absolutely no idea what kind of photos she was actually going to take for the project.

  “Damn,” she whispered under her breath.

  “What?” Nash asked, taken aback. “It’s not like a crime or anything, just you’re never home anymore.”

  “Well, I guess I’ve just gotten so busy working on this new project.”

  “And that’s great, Mom. Can’t a fella miss his mom?” He peered at her, charming her and she gave him a hug, then ruffled his hair.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll try not to be gone so much.” She had just remembered while folding Barry’s T-shirts that she had forgotten yet again to pick up his dress shirts from the dry cleaner.

  “Where the hell have you been?” demanded a peeved Margaret when Peyton picked up the last of her messages as she drove home. “Did you forget we were supposed to get together for dinner Friday at eight? Orson’s? n t OrsonPlease don’t bail. We really need to talk.”

  It hadn’t occurred to either Elena or Peyton that they were spending too much time together. And it was only now dawning on them because those around them were making note. The time they spent together rushed by so quickly. What they both knew was that meeting with one another was the one thing they both looked forward to during their day. And, they both also knew, it was the one thing that made them look forward to tomorrow.

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  We met—of all places—at the dog groomer’s,” Delilah giggles, her bouffant hair jiggling right along with her. In her mid-sixties Delilah is all frill and jiggle, an aging beauty queen from the South. “We’d both been going there for at least five years—probably even ran into one another a time or two. We both showed dogs in competition—and became fast friends. But we were both married.”

  “Delilah and I were attracted to one another from the first moment,” remarks Gary, mid-fifties, very distinguished, very Stewart Granger. “For years we did the shows together —never acted on it—never even told one another.”

  “Married almost thirty years and I discover the day my husband passed away that he had been seeing Gary’s wife for half of them! Can you even imagine?”

  “Yeah, they’d hook up while we were traveling to the shows.” Gary glances at Delilah as if to say how could they not have known it, but shrugs. “Don’t even waste time resenting it. We had the best time just being together, doing our favorite thing together...”

  “And now darling...” Delilah snuggles their Cavalier Spaniel. “Gary and I are happier than we could ever dream possible.”

  Peyton opened the door and Elena stood there. She was dressed a bit more casually this visit. Rather than wearing her drab plain church wear, Elena was in jeans, and a sky-blue sweater. Instead of her hair being in “the severe Indian braid,” as Wave had quipped, adding, “Hell, she looks like bloody Pocahontas! You ever think she lets that thing free?” Elena’s hair was now pulled up in a clip, her full thick brown hair falling softly at her shoulders.

  “Hey.” Peyton realized she was standing there rather foolishly.

  “You have a beautiful house, Peyton,” Elena remarked, trying to understand Peyton’s confused expression.

  “Oh…oh thank you. Please, come in.”

  Peyton gave Elena a brief tour of her family home, explaining that her mother had left her the house, and she had always loved living out in La Canada, far enough away from Los Angeles so she could feel like she was up in the woods, secluded, but close enough to get to meetings and all the stuff that was required for her work.

  Elena was impressed with the beautiful home, struck by how differently Peyton had decorated her environment, how masculine the wood tones were, the huge dining room table, the artistic prints, the sage green walls. It was in stark contrast to her own home, which was very plain, very simple, if cluttered. Peyton’s home was cluttered in a different way; instead of laundry, books littered the corners. Instead of what Elena always referred to iad eferredn her head as domestic drab dailyness, Peyton’s house bordered on exotic. But not uncomfortably so. It was a completely different kind of “lived in” feel than Elena was used to, but Peyton’s style intrigued her.

  Peyton nabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses and then directed Elena out to the gazebo where all the work was laid out for them to discuss.

  Several hours later, with the sun just beginning to fall, Elena and Peyton lounged comfortably on the outside minicouch as they started a fresh bottle of wine. True to form they had completed remarkably little work, speaking about their families, one story winding to the next, filling in the blanks, exploring one another’s universes, eagerly gathering details.

  Elena noticed that after several glasses of wine Peyton had become more relaxed, her body more comfortably settled against one side of the poolside settee, while she sat at the other. She noticed Peyton’s hands. Her fingers were long and lean, masculine almost. Strong. She used her hands when she spoke, and Elena found them mesmerizing. “...I thought she’d be good to raise a child with you know...make a family...” Peyton mused. “Guess I was wrong�
�”

  “Trust me, I do understand.” Elena looked at Peyton with sympathy. “Barry and I really only have one thing in common and that’s our son, so, I know how people get to a place where it’s more about the children than about…them.”

  Peyton glanced at Elena as she took a sip of wine. She seemed so carefree here, it was delightful watching her unwind. Elena sat across from her, and Peyton noted Elena mindlessly playing with the thread upon the throw that covered both their legs as the evening had grown cool. “Sometimes I think I only married Barry to rebel against my parents.”

  Peyton looked confused. “My father’s very old school. Very Indian with a quiet but stern hand. My mother’s from Spain, and very Catholic.”

  “Now that’s a lethal combination.” Peyton grinned.

  “Yes it is!” Elena laughed. “For years I felt like...like a mummy.” Elena clasped a hand to her throat. “I felt like I was going to suffocate from their inflexibility—their extreme dedication to ritual and tradition. They even spoke of marrying me off to a distant cousin when I turned eighteen. I couldn’t bear it.” Elena looked down, sadly. “So…I began to stage my great revolt and—let me tell you when I was accepted at the Academy in London it was almost more than they could handle. What could be worse for my parents than for me to be an actress and marry an actor of all things?”

  They both shared a laugh, and Peyton refilled their wineglasses.

  “That’s where I met him.” Elena glanced over to the pool, and Peyton was struck again by how deeply brown and intense Elena’s eyes were. “At first I thought I was happy with Barry...he offered me freedom for the first time in my life. We got married…almost right away…actually I got pregnant.”

  “Ohhhh.” Peyton wasn’t sure how to acknowledge this intimate detawn ntimateil in Elena’s life.

  “Yes, shortly after we discovered we were going to have a baby we quickly got married, moved to New York, and it was all very exciting. Nash became my sole focus and he brought me so much joy. Barry was struggling with his acting, and even when we had so very little—my family cut me off until they visited and met their grandchild a few years later—I still felt, well, as happy as I believed possible.”