Don't Tell the Moon

by LILY TEEGARDIN

  “If they point their cameras at us it will only be because they don’t have bigger fish to fry. Just be glad that I’m not Johnny Depp. That poor bastard can’t take a piss in an elderberry bush without getting caught for it.”

  She had to giggle despite the seriousness of his face. “Ok, first of all, EWW. Urinating on a fruit bearing bush is rather gross. And B… “

  “What do you mean B? After ‘First of all’ would come ‘Second of all’…. Not B.” His lips danced with a quiver of a smile. “You always do that and it drives me crazy.”

  “But you haven’t even heard B yet, so how can you judge?” She held out her hands, thoroughly enjoying his confusion.

  “I’m thinking that there is only one way to win this argument.” He stopped walking and with one quick motion, pulled her into his arms and gave her a sound kiss.”

  “Ok, y-you win,” she stammered into the collar of his jacket. “But you don’t play fair.”

  He pulled back more quickly than she would have hoped.

  “You’re right,” he said, stepping away from her. “That wasn’t fair. My apologies.”

  They walked the kilometer back to the house, without a word spoken between them, the silence ringing in her ears more blaring than if a police siren had been following.

  Sara swallowed the hot tears that threatened to fill her eyes, and bit the lining of her cheek. Had she said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing? Should she say something now?

  She decided that truth was the best way to begin.

  “Alex, half of my time with you is over. I’ve enjoyed working for you… being with you… more than I can say.” She didn’t look into his face for fear of not being able to finish her thoughts. “But most of all, you have become a true friend. You’ve shared your dreams and your secrets with me, including some pretty dreadful jokes, and I’ve done the same with you. I feel horrible that you feel as if you’ve injured me in any way, or that you need to apologize to me for anything.”

  He remained silent, only pausing briefly to check the intersection they were about to cross for oncoming traffic.

  “I sort of assumed that you felt the same way.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

  Her stomach churned with butterflies. She had just given him the perfect opportunity to point out that what they shared was a congenial employer/employee relationship, not to be confused with a genuine friendship.

  “I don’t think my jokes are dreadful,” he finally mumbled.

  The weight dropped from her heart.

  “Oh, yeah?” She felt his warm hand on her back as he guided her across the street. “Well, what about the tape worm joke? That is perhaps the most disgusting…”

  “The tapeworm joke is a classic!” He eyed her with mock incredulity, his almond eyes lifting at the corners, one hand held midair for emphasis. “I bring down the house with that joke, each and every time!”

  “It’s disgusting. A terrible joke. Although not as bad as the one about the Indian and the bee hive,” she said, shaking her head and adding an elaborate eye roll.

  “Oh, yes, and I suppose you are the queen of funny stories? As I remember, the last time you tried to recite a humorous anecdote, you botched the punch line three times, finally tossing up your arms, breaking into a fit of giggles, and proclaiming, ‘I’ve forgotten how it ends!’”

  He recounted her quoted words in a high soprano voice that did make her break into said fit of giggles.

  “Well, that was because you got me drunk on white wine, and you know that I can’t drink white wine,” she coughed, a tear of laughter streaming down her reddened face.

  “And why I insist on serving you fine wine in a crystal goblet, when your palate is accustomed to moonshine from a glass jam jar, I’ll never know.” He affected an accent of royal snobbery, ducking her playful punch.

  “I will have a glass of that yummy red stuff, though, as soon as we sit down,” she remarked in her best southern drawl as they entered the gate to his home, neither one of them caring about prying eyes. “No need for a fancy glass. Just hand me the bottle.”

  “Sara,” he said, suddenly serious, as he turned the key in the lock. “I don’t like to think about your leaving this house. I suppose I can’t change that, but I hope that our friendship remains long after.”

  “I’d like that too,” she whispered, the sudden hard knot in her throat preventing any clear sound. “I’d really miss your jokes.”

  In the course of her work, Sara came to know some of Alex’s neighbors and a few of their staff, but only one dropped in frequently, and he was a welcome face to her.

  Friendly, funny, and outgoing, Stuart was Alex’s closest neighbor, a sometime tennis partner, and a theatrical producer. He was a man’s man, she supposed, ruggedly handsome, and a bit of a rogue, according to Alex, with four quick marriages in his past, but she could always count on him for an amusing story and warm hug and peck on the cheek.

  “Sara, my Sara. Leave this old codger and come work for me,” he would start the conversation with a wink. “I need a pretty woman to brighten up my surroundings, and I’ll pay you twice what he does.”

  Alex would respond with a growl. “Yes, take her. The little Yank refuses to cook a decent steak and kidney pie, and all I’ve had to eat since she arrived is American hot dogs and something called southern soul food.” Then he would grab her by the arm and wink at her, once pulling her into his lap and planting a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “I’m not working for either one of you,” she harrumphed, hands on hips. “I’m just here to write a tell-all book on the both of you. I’m calling it ‘The Very Strange Englishmen I’ve Met in my Travels’.”

  The weeks had flown by in a mad flutter, like birds from a forest fire, and Sara had begun to savor the final days as they ticked away. She now spent her moments observing his face and listening to the sound of his voice, instead of interrupting him with her own new stories and discoveries. She wanted to record the memories of him in her mind for the rest of her life, hoping to remember far into the future a certain smile or a brief touch.

  The realization that she had fallen in love with him had come as a shock, considering that she had loved him as a film idol. However, this feeling was quite different - raw and personal, and something that wasn’t going to go away when the lights in the theater came back on. Something that would bring actual physical pain once he was out of her life. She’d suffered that pain before and just the memory of it left an icy, cold patch in the center of her chest.

  So, like a squirrel preparing for the winter, she gathered each moment and hid it in some small corner of her mind.

  “I have to leave for the weekend,” Alex grumbled, flipping closed his cell phone with a resounding thud. “Another bloody problem with Beekeeper. I’ll be so damn glad to have that monstrous series finished and done.”

  “I’ll pack a bag for you,” Sara answered, hiding the disappointment on her face into the small, black frying pan where she had just cracked an egg for his breakfast. They had talked about a picnic on Sunday, a small celebration of their friendship before her departure, which was now quite imminent.

  She kicked herself in the shin in frustration as he dashed from room to room, collecting papers into his briefcase.

  “Because of the fire they’ve run into horrendous scheduling problems. The producers are pulling out their hair. The director, and by the way, the third… THIRD… has threatened to quit. Why they think that I can convince him to stay is beyond me. I’m an actor, not a magician!” He continued his rant, zipping up his briefcase and then unzipping it once again to check for a pen. “Damn it! Sara, can you please find something for me to write with?”

  She went to her large kitchen drawer, rummaged briefly, her fingers touching upon two ballpoint pens - Scribbling on an old discarded grocery store receipt and finding both in good working order, she handed them to him.

  He bussed her on the cheek and strode to the door where a taxi awaited him.
>
  “I’ll be back Sunday night,” he said in a tone that indicated he was not happy about this turn of events, although he never mentioned the tentative date they had arranged for their ‘picnic’.

  “What do you mean he’s out of town?” Stuart’s lip twitched with annoyance. “He was supposed to sign this acceptance today.”

  “He’ll be back Sunday night. Some problems with Beekeeper,” she shrugged, trying not to let the disappointment show in her voice. “Or else I’m certain you can call him if it’s an emergency.”

  “Oh yes. I did hear something about that on the grapevine. Poor Alex. I can feel his pain. Starring in a series like that is tantamount to climbing Machu Picchu. In high heels,” he tittered, enjoying the visual in his mind’s eye. “But of course, he’ll be crying all the way to the bank when it opens number one next year.”

  Sara felt a small pang of guilt at her own disappointment. Alex was busy trying to part the Red Sea, and here she was, moping about a canceled picnic.

  “Well, nothing for it then,” Stuart sighed with a patience that only came to those who were used to dealing with often unattainable film stars. “It’s not due until Monday, Tuesday at the latest.”

  Sara set down his tea and slid in the chair opposite of him, a small frown on her face.

  “So why are you so glum?” he asked, leaning across the table and taking her hand. “I would have thought that you would be delighted to have the old pain-in-the-neck gone for a bit.”

  “I’m… I’m just fine,” she stumbled over her words a bit, making her cheeks glow. “I burned my finger on the tea kettle, that’s all.”

  “I dated an American girl once.” He blew gentle puffs on all five of her fingers. “She insisted on making tea in her microwave oven. Three minutes, she claimed, was the necessary time for boiling the water and brewing the tea. All done in a cup, by the way. It was quite ingenious.”

  “So did you marry her?” Sara teased, at the same time sliding her hand out of his to pick up her cup, before he noticed that there was no burn to be seen.

  “No, I didn’t. Should have. Pretty thing. But of course it wouldn’t have worked. She was far too clever to get mixed up with theater people.” He sipped at the tea, his face lost in the memory.

  Sara found herself nodding at that sentiment. Far more clever than some of us, the thought came to her.

  “So then,” he almost shouted, pulling himself out of his reverie, “it seems Fleming has done us a favor!”

  “How so?” Sara fairly jumped at his exuberance, having been lost in thought herself for the moment.

  “Well, as it happens, since I can’t proceed with this contract until Alex returns, and you have no one to mollycoddle for the day, let’s make the best of it and get in a bit of fresh air sport. Have you taken a river boat ride along the Thames since you’ve been in our fair city?”

  “I… uh, no. But I’ve collected all the brochures. It was something that I had hoped to do one day.” She kicked herself for the enthusiasm in her voice, not entirely certain that she was done sulking due to Alex’s departure, then giggled at her own silliness. “Are you sure you have the time for it, or are you just being a good ambassador?”

  They ran to the ferry boat docking in a pouring London rain, her umbrella turning inside out in the blast of a spring wind.

  Sipping the hot coffee in relief after finding an empty table with a roomy bench next to the window of the ferry boat, Sara listened to Stuart’s running commentary regarding the attractions they passed on the banks of the Thames River.

  “Of course, you are familiar with Big Ben, by rights the most famous and best known landmark of London,” he stated, pointing at the tall, ornate rectangular tower that bore a large clock face on its four sides.

  “Magnificent,” she nodded in awe, wiping her rain matted bangs to the side of her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ve seen it in so many films and of course in magazine and book photos ever since I can remember. It takes my breath away to see it in reality. Stuart, do you ever take it for granted?”

  “No,” he said, his eyes lighting up with pride. “The sight of it makes my heart skip every time I return to the city after having traveled to other places, other countries.”

  Her eyes drifted to the opposite side of the churning, brown river where the London Eye, an enormous structure akin to a Ferris wheel on steroids, loomed in the mist. Sara snapped several photos with her camera, zooming in and out, trying to catch the perfect shot.

  Stuart pointed out the National Theater and The Globe, the reconstruction of the famous theater from William Shakespeare’s day, as the ferry chugged past, dropping the names of dozens of famous British actors and actresses who had appeared in these noble venues. Sara recognized some but others sounded only vaguely familiar. Most had Sir or Dame in front of their names, and Sara smiled at Stuart’s enthusiastic roll call.

  They ferried under historical bridges, each one eliciting a story from Stuart’s infinite fountain of information. The shoreline was dotted with names of architecture that she had heard throughout her life time: Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower of London, and Tower Bridge. Her camera buzzed and beeped as she captured one shot after another, enticing Stuart to pose in many of the photos, he being quite the pleased and eager participant.

  The boat slowed and stopped at another docking ramp to let off some of its passengers and take on others, and their tour was momentarily halted.

  “He was shattered when she left him,” Stuart said abruptly, his eyes never leaving the rain droplets on the window pane of the boat.

  For a moment, Sara thought that he was referring to one of the monarchs that he had mentioned in his mini-lecture, and looked up in confusion.

  Noticing her bewilderment he gave a brief sigh. “Your boss. They were together for many years, but the stress and demands of his career overwhelmed her. The tabloids were unrelenting, day in and day out, and some were quite cruel to her. They enjoy stirring up trouble just for trouble’s sake – makes for better sales.” Stuart’s face reflected a small bitter smile. “And of course, there were younger actresses who had Alex in their sights; a few he was forced to shake off in a less than gentle manner. Not everyone can handle the stress of a celebrity relationship, and in the end, Ellen succumbed to the pressure.”

  “Stuart,” Sara replied, eying him with a look of warning, “I am as eager to gossip as the next person, but I don’t think that we should be discussing this matter. Alex hasn’t brought it up and I think that if he wanted me to know, he would have told me himself.”

  Her face was flushed and she wondered for a moment whether it was because Stuart had revealed a personal confidence, or because for the first time, the unknown ghost in Alex’s bedroom now had a name.

  “Sara, I’m not telling you this to kill time with idle rumor or scandal mongering. I care a great deal for Alex.”

  “Then why would you want to…” She couldn’t find the right word. Surely Stuart realized how much Alex valued and guarded his privacy.

  “Something passes between the two of you when you are together.” He delivered his thoughts carefully, aware that he had raised her hackles. “You have brought happiness back into that house.”

  “We’re friends, Stuart. We have a very comfortable relationship. I don’t think that you should insinuate anything beyond that.” Her face was now truly burning and her heart pounding.

  He covered her hand with his. “Darling, please don’t misunderstand my intentions. If anything, I believe you are very good for him. But I consider you as a friend as well, and I’m just filling you in on a crucial detail or two so you will be aware of the past. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “So, you’re saying that they might reconcile?” Her stomach was now tied in knots. “But that can only be a good thing, then. I don’t understand the necessity to warn me of anything. I’m a temporary employee and in just a matter of days, his old housekeeper will return and I
doubt that I’ll ever see Alex again. We live in quite different worlds, you know?” She had to bite her lip to keep the tears from clouding her eyes.

  “No, Sara, they won’t reconcile. Ellen is married to someone else.”

  “Still, I don’t see what this has to do with me,” she said, shrugging her shoulder and hoping that he couldn’t sense her immense relief.

  “I’m merely saying that we all should learn from past mistakes, even if they are someone else’s. Alex will always be the target of those with their own agendas. I would hate to see you tangled into one of these traps.”

  “Me? Oh Stuart, I think that you have misread a great many things. Yes, we enjoy each other’s company. I hope I can speak for him as well in that regard. But he is Alex and I am his temporary housekeeper. That is all the relationship can ever be. Otherwise, I would be the one with an agenda, wouldn’t I?” Guilt flooded her stomach. Her true feelings for Alex were perhaps less innocent than she wanted to reveal to Stuart, and maybe even to herself.

  He leaned over and gave her a light pat on the arm. “Alright, darling; I guess I was mistaken. No harm done. The Alex and Ellen story is pretty much common knowledge in this town. I haven’t revealed anything that hasn’t been whispered about over every dinner party in London. I just felt that you were entitled to know as you seem to be quite fond of him.”

  Looking into his eyes, she saw honest concern, and relaxed somewhat.

  “I am,” she sighed, staring out at the sun that had suddenly broken through the clouds. “But still, I don’t think that I’m the reason for his renewed happiness.”

  “Well, my dear, that is your opinion.” He picked up the camera. “Come on girl; give us a smile, then. You’ll want to be in some of these photos, or your friends won’t believe the stories of your adventures in London.”

  THAT’S an understatement, she thought, but attempted as bright a smile as she could manage with Stuart’s words still rumbling about in her head.

  He let his small suitcase drop with a thud on the parquet floor of the foyer and removed his shoes and coat.