The Idea of Love

by Patti Callahan Henry

“The thing is,” she said, “sometimes I call his old number to hear his voice on the answering machine. I didn’t know they’d given his number to someone new already and when I called today, they called back wanting to know why I called—” She trailed off.

  “Oh.”

  “It’s embarrassing. But it’s all I have left of him—his voice. And now, not even that. I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  “Okay, so what do you want to do? You pick. Anything,” he said.

  “A movie,” she said. “They have a theater here, the one I was telling you about. And during the afternoon they play favorites that aren’t in the theater anymore. Dollar-movie day.”

  He smiled. Could this get any better?

  * * *

  She had to stop with the lies. Now. Hunter knew enough about her to find out who she really was, who Sims was and continued to be. It wasn’t hard these days what with Google and Facebook. What if Hunter visited the marina? That alone would make her out to be a liar. It was time to end this charade. Maybe she’d just flat out tell him. Just rip off the deceit Band-Aid and tell him.

  A movie was a great idea. No talking. And that meant no lying. And what was she doing with this guy anyway? Surely she could find other distractions. But a movie? Now there was a great distraction.

  They sat side by side with a tub of buttered popcorn between them.

  “Don’t you love this movie? I mean, have you even seen it?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’ve seen it,” he said.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I do like it, but I’ve seen it more times than I can count.”

  “Well, once more won’t kill you. The storm will be gone by the time we get out.” Ella settled back in her chair, pried open the Milk Duds, and settled in for The Mess of Love. “And then we’ll finish our tour before you have to leave tomorrow.”

  It was the perfect romantic comedy. At least that’s what it had been praised as for the last ten years. It had made the “Best of the Year” lists when it came out. Unrivaled. Yet Hunter seemed bored, checking his cell phone and leaving twice for the bathroom.

  She glanced at him during a funny bit about the best friend mixing up the boyfriends and Ella saw him mouthing the words, a soundless narrative. She leaned closer and whispered, “You sure know a lot about this movie for not liking it very much.”

  Hunter took another handful of popcorn. “I’ve seen it a bunch of times,” he mumbled.

  Then it ended with a long street, shimmery gas lanterns creating a circle of light where the characters meet and kiss in front of a theater marquee. They live happily ever after, frozen on film. Still Ella and Hunter sat there, taking turns reaching into the popcorn bucket. Onscreen, the outtakes scrolled: the actors flubbing their lines; the actress tripping on her dress; the dog peeing on the set and the kids running and screaming. The credits rolled by on the split screen, also.

  “I love seeing the mess-ups,” Ella said. “It makes the movie more fun to see.”

  Hunter shrugged. “I think it takes away from the fantasy that was just shown. Who wants to know that the actors are someone other than who they just played? Who wants to see them as real people?”

  “I do,” she said. “Most people do, I think. It’s fun to know. It’s like a secret peek behind the curtain.”

  Hunter made a small noise, like a cough, and stood up. Ella placed her hand on his arm. “One more minute.”

  “Okay.”

  “And look at these jobs rolling by, Hunter. It’s kind of funny. The credits go on forever. Do they have to mention anyone and everyone who ever, even for a minute, had anything to do with the movie? Like the guy who once brought you a sandwich?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ella pointed at the screen where the actress was ruining a scene with laughter and names scrolled on the left side. “There. I mean, what is a ‘best boy’?”

  “The assistant to the gaffer,” Hunter said.

  “And what’s a gaffer? It’s like a secret language for movie makers.”

  “A gaffer is the guy who is in charge of the electrical department.”

  “Or woman, right? Gaffer—it sounds like the guy in charge of killing someone who mucked up their lines.”

  Hunter laughed and shook his head. “The name comes from the men in England who used to carry a gaff to turn the lights on.”

  “You sure know a lot about movies,” she said.

  “Kind of mandatory when you live in L.A.,” he said, and shrugged. “Let’s go. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Ella took one last glance at the screen. “And a ‘key grip.’ What is that?”

  He took her hand and pulled her toward the aisle. “I have no idea.”

  On the way out, Ella dumped the dregs of the popcorn into a trash can. “You know,” she said, “the movie has a perfect ending, but it’s never like that in real life. No one waits under the marquee.” She pointed upward at the theater sign. “You know, for that huge moment. Love isn’t so dramatic like that. Grand gestures.” She spread her arms wide and ran to the gas lantern, stood underneath it. “They don’t really happen.”

  He caught up with her. “And even if it did happen in real life. Look—” He pointed up. “The damn lantern would be out of gas and he’d look like a fool.”

  “A fool,” Ella said, and the flood of shame washed over her, again.

  “It’s a funny word, isn’t it?” he asked. “Fool.”

  “Yes, it’s the very idea of it that’s funny, too. But the idea of something and the real thing aren’t the same.”

  “Like love,” he said. “It’s more of an idea than a real thing. It’s something that wants to be bigger than it is. Maybe it’s just an idea we carry around until we don’t.”

  If what Hunter said was true, if love was just an idea they carried around, then why the weight of sadness? “Wait,” she said. “That can’t be true. I love my mom. That’s a real and true thing. That is not an idea. When I lost my mom, when I lost my husband, I lost more than an idea.”

  “Then there should be a different word,” Hunter said. “We don’t have enough words for love. We can’t keep using it to describe everything from hamburgers to best friends to spouses to moms. It’s not the same damn thing.”

  Ella laughed. “It sounds to me like love sort of pisses you off.”

  Hunter smiled. The corners of his mouth reached up high, and his eyes crinkled, but his lips never parted. He seemed to fight the smile, and his face wouldn’t let him. “Yes, sometimes it pisses me off,” he said. “It’s too casually said, and too casually used.”

  “Let’s see if we can go an entire day without using the word,” Ella said. “Want to try?”

  “Easy for me,” he said, and then he drew closer, so close that he could have kissed her.

  seven

  Ella couldn’t wait to tell Mimi about her afternoon, how all of a sudden she was having an adventure. It might all fold in on her—it probably would—but it was something for now.

  Mimi answered the door before Ella’s fingers tapped on the wood. Ella laughed. “How’d you know I was out here?”

  “I hear it all.” Mimi winked. “Not really. Just heard footsteps heading my way. I hoped it was you.”

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “Come in. Come in.”

  Ella stepped inside and Bruiser ran straight for her, jumping as high as he could, which was about mid-shin on Ella. He barked. Of course he barked. His tiny little paws swept across Ella’s legs. She leaned down and tucked her fingers behind his ears, scratched his head and greeted him in a baby voice she’d never used before. “Hey there, Bruiser. How was your day?”

  “He’s had a rough one,” Mimi said. “I wish they could figure out what’s wrong with him. If you’d met him last year you’d love him better than you do now.”

  Ella smiled. “Let’s take him to a different vet.”

  “I’ve tried three. It’s a mystery.”

  “Then let’s try
four.”

  “I just don’t have the money for that. Plus, it really isn’t fair on the little guy. He hates the vet.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said. “I really am.”

  “It’s fine, darling. Others have worse problems than I do. A barking dog isn’t enough to kill me. At least not yet.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “Well, you look like you’ve had a glorious day. All sun-swept and smiley. Tell me about it.”

  “I met Hunter at the farmer’s market and just had fun. That’s all. But I’m about to run to the grocery store and I thought I’d see if you needed anything.”

  “I don’t need a thing. Now sit down and let me get you that promised pound cake. I made it fresh this morning just in case my wish came true and you stopped by again.”

  Ella laughed. “You need bigger wishes.”

  “Oh, I have those, too.” Mimi walked to the kitchen and took down two delicate plates. Painted pink and crimson flowers circled the outer edge of the china. Mimi hummed to herself as she cut a slice of pound cake, yellow and thick with a thin brown crust like baked bread.

  “That looks so good,” Ella said.

  “Sit down and enjoy.” Mimi placed the china on the side table next to the blue chintz chair. Ella sat down and picked up the plate.

  Mimi took a bite of the cake and closed her eyes while she finished. “I will never grow tired of this.”

  Ella took her own bite and savored the buttery texture, the melted crust on her tongue, the sugary aftertaste. “I will never ask how many calories are in this. Ever. Because it doesn’t matter, I will eat it anyway.”

  “Thatta girl.” Mimi took another bite and then placed her plate on the coffee table. “Now tell me more about Hunter.”

  Ella recounted the day, and she loved talking about it. She loved telling Mimi every detail.

  “Well,” Mimi said. “It sounds like you’re having a great time. You do know that eventually you will run into Sims.” She clapped her hands together. “And I do wish I could be there for that.”

  “I know. I know. I have to stop. I have to tell Hunter the truth. He’s leaving tomorrow so I won’t keep this up, but … oh, you must think I’m a terrible person.”

  “Far from it, my dear.”

  “It’s not the best way to deal with a broken heart, but it’s seemed to help these last few days. I’ve tried everything else. Almost. I have a whole list of things to do to get over it and I’ve tried all of them.”

  “Well, I’ve heard it said that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone,” Mimi said.

  Ella’s laughter came with a burst, pound cake still in her mouth. “God, Mimi. I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Why ever not?” she asked.

  Ella shook her head, then wiped her mouth and leaned forward. “I love Sims. After my mom died, he came along like a miracle. I’ve loved him ever since.”

  “Ah, the hole in the soul created by death.”

  “What?”

  “That place where someone is lost. You just up and stuffed Sims in there.”

  “I did not replace my mom with Sims. That’s not even possible. I just love him. I’m keeping busy until he wakes up and comes back to me. I mean, I know what I’m doing is just a silly distraction to stop thinking about losing the one thing that seems to be everything. Like your bookstore—I’m sure it meant everything to you. How did you get over losing it?”

  “Well…” Mimi settled back into her chair. “I don’t think there is a way that any human can get through life without at least once feeling like you have lost everything that means something. More than once usually. If there is such a person who says they haven’t, they’re the luckiest person in the world. Or a liar.”

  “So what do you do when that happens?” Ella asked.

  “I’m not so sure there is something to be done. It’s something you be.”

  “I don’t get that at all. I’m being for sure, but here is what I’m being—mad. Sad. Humiliated. Lethargic. Pissed off. And I don’t want to be any of those.”

  “Well, those things first.”

  “Now you’re going to tell me that the next step is accepting it. I know. I’ve heard it. I’ve read it. Acceptance.”

  “You don’t want me to say that?” She smiled that damn coy smile. Ella wanted to be angry with Mimi, wanted to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t. There was some kind of wisdom wrapped up in her laugh and her quick retorts and possibly in her pound cake.

  “Accepting the unacceptable,” Ella said. “That’s what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I never said you had to do anything like that, but if you could find a way to do that, my, wouldn’t you have all the answers in the world?”

  “Exactly,” Ella said. “And I feel like accepting it means saying that I’m okay with it this way. That I want it this way.”

  “Nope. I think it means—and what do I know—but I think accepting it means you recognize that you can’t do anything about it. You can’t fix it. You can’t change someone’s heart. You can’t make someone love you.”

  “God, Mimi, I feel just so much better now.” Ella flopped back on the chair and dropped her head onto the cushion. She took the entire wedge of remaining pound cake with her, stuffing it into her mouth, eating it whole.

  “I don’t have what you’re looking for, Ella,” Mimi said. “But I know this—you have what you’re looking for.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You don’t really think I’m going to tell you, do you?”

  “And why not?”

  “You don’t get off that easy, missy. You expect me to give you the question and the answer, too?”

  “Mimi, you sure you weren’t a philosopher instead of a bookseller?”

  “Fairly sure.”

  “Okay,” Ella said. “I’m game.”

  “That’s my girl!” Mimi replied.”So do you know what it is? That thing you’re looking for?”

  “It’s the pound cake,” Ella said around the huge bite in her mouth. “That’s what I was looking for.”

  Mimi laughed. “You know, something else always happens. Something. And then there is always something you can do, say, create, read, breathe, eat, make, laugh, and then—who knows what—something always happens next.”

  “Not always something we want,” Ella said.

  “Not always but sometimes it is.”

  “You are infuriatingly optimistic, Mimi. Hell, haven’t you ever loved someone so much that you thought you’d die without them?”

  Mimi closed her eyes and one tear, a long trail of some lost sorrow, nestled into the folds of her face. “Yes,” she said. “I have.”

  “What happened to him?” Ella asked.

  “She. It’s what happened to her. My daughter.” Mimi’s voice cracked, fractured.

  “Oh.” Ella jumped up from the chair and stumbled over the corner of the flowered throw rug before she knelt at Mimi’s side. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mimi patted the top of Ella’s head. Bruiser barked. “Thank you,” she said.

  “What happened?” Ella asked.

  “She was four years old. A rare case of viral meningitis in the days when we didn’t have a doctor here who knew exactly what to do.”

  “Your husband … your family. It must have been terrible.”

  “It was. But there wasn’t a husband, or I guess he was a husband. Just not mine.” Mimi took in a long breath. “I don’t talk much about this because it’s so long ago. Someday you’ll say the same, how long ago it all seems. But I was just out of high school and fell in love with a married man. I didn’t know he was married and I loved him, so maybe I just didn’t want to know. But by the time I found out that I was having his child, I did know he was married. So I never told him. I couldn’t make him choose because there wasn’t a choice—he already had a family. I never told my family who he was either. No one has ever known. Not even now. When she died, when my Rosie died, I lost my heart an
d I thought for good. I escaped into a life of books. I built that life and it was a good one. I never married. I never had another child. Books and friends filled my life and still do.”

  “Oh, Mimi.”

  “That’s enough for now, sweetie. It really is. I need a nap.”

  Ella stood and looked down at the old woman. How old was she, exactly? How long had it been since she suffered such an unimaginable loss? “Thank you for telling me, Mimi. I wish I knew something better to say. Something more than ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “Oh, stop. Now go enjoy your little fling and come back for more cake later.”

  “It’s not a fling.” Ella shook her head. “And I need to stop. It’s wrong.”

  “Oh, the dualism of youth.” Mimi smiled. “Everything is so black and white for you. Go enjoy some in-between for once.”

  Ella laughed, and she wished, fervently for the first time in a long time, for something other than Sims’s reconciliation. Instead she wished she’d known Mimi forever.

  * * *

  It was torture, pretending he didn’t know every line of the film, every camera angle and lighting mistake. That he didn’t know what lines littered the cutting room floor. Blake still abhorred the fact that his favorite line had been nixed. (“I want to come home to you.”) And, God, how he hated that actress who had slept with everyone on the set while playing the innocent on screen. He wanted to talk about all of it with Ella, and that was the problem. He wanted to share it with her.

  “That part,” he’d wanted to say. “That part was when the actor had a hundred-and-two fever and pushed through, but got everyone else on set sick.”

  Blake had acted like an ass, and he knew it. Getting up, checking his phone—he’d been rude. He didn’t know how else to be in that situation.

  Now his hotel room was frigid. Shit. Icicles should have been hanging off the ugly mauve curtains. He’d left the air conditioner on high. He clicked it off and tried to open the window before he realized it was a fake knob. The window was permanently shut. He dropped onto the couch and pulled out his notebook. He didn’t feel like dictating today and he most definitely did not feel like talking to Ashlee and hearing about the dinner party or the movie preview or any damn thing. He also, oddly, didn’t want Ashlee knowing any more of this story. He just wanted to write down ideas. One by one. A scene list. Yes. It was coming together. He probably didn’t even need to see Ella again—his imagination was churning and returning.