by J. J. Murray
“I don’t want that,” Patrick said.
“You will find me one day all stiff and blue,” she said.
He collected his tools. “Mrs. Moczydlowska, you will outlive us all.” He started for the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked, shuffling rapidly behind him.
And now we get to dance. He turned and smiled. “I am going to set a few traps in the basement.”
“You must . . . you must check my bathroom before you go,” she said.
“What’s wrong in there?” Patrick asked.
“There are water bubbles on the handles,” she said.
No doubt from the condensation in this sauna of an apartment.
“And the lever gets stuck,” she said.
There’s nothing wrong with the lever.
“And the drain is slow, so slow,” she said. “It takes two minutes to go down.”
He nodded. “Could I come back and fix all that tomorrow ?”
Mrs. Moczydlowska almost smiled. “Yes. You must come back tomorrow. You must fix. Or I call your boss.”
“I will see you tomorrow, then.” He opened the door. “Turn off your oven tonight, okay?”
“This once I will do,” she said. “But if I freeze to death, it is on your head.”
“Use lots of blankets instead,” he said. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” she said. “Good-bye, Patrick.”
While he checked, emptied, and reset several traps in the basement, he heard Mrs. Moczydlowska’s creaking floorboards above him. I wish she had someone else to check up on her, and I wish she wouldn’t feel she had to make up things for me to do. I’d visit her if she asked me to. She’s no worse than any other tenant. She just doesn’t want me to know she’s scared and lonely. In a way, this job only makes sense to me because of the Mrs. Moczydlowskas of the world. As much as she complains, in her own bitter way, she is happy to see me.
Before going home, he looked for Feel the Love, Lauren’s first movie, at Video Free Brooklyn on Smith Street. He had rented it a long time ago, and he was surprised to find it wedged tightly between Fast & Furious 6 and Feel the Noise. At the counter, he showed the owner an ancient rental card.
“You haven’t been in here in a while,” he said. “The previous owners used this card. Let me get you a new one. I’ll need to see a credit card.”
“I, um, no longer have one,” Patrick said. I haven’t had a credit card since Natalia, and I only got one to impress her. I didn’t tell Natalia it only had a five-hundred-dollar limit.
“A debit card will do,” the man said.
“I’m old school,” Patrick said. “I write checks.”
“I don’t take checks,” the man said.
“I’d actually like to buy this if I can.” Patrick handed him the DVD.
The owner looked at the case. “This is a classic. Surprised we still have it.” He opened the case. “It’s got a few scratches. I’ll let you have it for ten even.”
“Done,” Patrick said. He handed the man a ten.
“It’s a shame about her and Chazz Jackson, huh?” the owner said.
“Yeah.” No it isn’t! I want so badly to tell this guy, this stranger, that I am talking to Lauren Short and that I’m about to go home to talk to her all night . . . sort of.
“Funny how life sometimes happens,” the owner said. “One second you have it all, and the next second you don’t.”
“Right.” And because Lauren lost it all, she found me.
That doesn’t sound right.
“She’ll land on her feet, though,” the owner said. “She’s an old pro. I can’t wait to see her in what she does next. That woman is a true actress.”
“You may have to wait a long time,” Patrick said. “She just dropped out of a pilot for a sitcom.”
“She did?” the owner said. “I didn’t hear or read about that. How do you know?”
I’m “talking” to her. “I must have read it somewhere,” Patrick said. Which is true. “Stuff happens, you know?” Patrick said. And I’ve been waiting a long time for my life to happen, and it’s all happening because I wrote an e-mail to an angel who wrote back. “If you get a copy of I Got This, hold on to it for me, okay?”
“She was really sexy in that one,” the owner said. “I may keep that one for myself.”
After a quick shower and after watching a few minutes of Lauren performing in Feel the Love with the sound turned down, he read Lauren’s most recent e-mail. After rejoicing over her test results, he tried to imagine her voice reading the e-mail to him.
I know she’s relieved, but why am I so relieved? I mean, aside from knowing she doesn’t have an incurable disease. It isn’t as if she and I are ever going to—
He paused the DVD when the screen filled with a closeup of Lauren laughing. I would love to see her laugh like that in person. My God, she is so beautiful. I may leave her like that all night. I don’t care if the image gets burned into my TV screen.
He started his reply.
Lauren:
You said I sounded 45. I still don’t know how I feel about that. I feel 65 some days. Today, though, I feel younger because of your great news. I’ve always believed that bad things happened to good people for a reason and that good things eventually happened to good people. You’re the proof.
I’m watching you right now in Feel the Love. You are really fun to watch. I have you paused on my TV while you’re laughing in the second scene. You have a lot of teeth. I’ve counted at least 48 so far.
I hope you’re laughing now.
I wish I had your grace. I know that sounds weird, but I’m not the smoothest person in the world. I bang into things. I don’t mean to. I just do. I’ve gone through three tool bags from banging them around so much, and I find bruises on my legs and arms nearly every morning. You’re fluid, smooth, and natural. There’s something poetic in your every gesture. Even your hands speak. You may have a little Italian in you.
I was engaged once, too. Her name was Natalia, an Italian girl from Carroll Gardens. Natalia was a nice girl, quiet, kind of shy. After she returned the ring (she didn’t throw it into the East River or the Hudson, and it’s probably still at the pawnshop), I had trouble speaking her name, too. At first. I can write her name now.
I guess you could say that Natalia and I were high school sweethearts. She was my first real girlfriend. She worked at Casa Rosa and then at Fragole, first as a waitress and then as a cook. Natalia could really cook. In fact, she cooked so well, she left this part of Brooklyn and me entirely.
She told me I wasn’t part of her “plan,” but she never told me her plan while we were together. Her plan was to marry a rich guy and start her own restaurant, and she did both, and in that order. She has a thriving restaurant in Bensonhurst, a rich husband, and two kids. She probably doesn’t even have to work.
I run into her every now and then during mass at St. Agnes. We speak, but it’s still awkward. There’s more, but I don’t want to depress you, and she broke it off nearly twenty years ago. Life must go on, right?
Guess what? We have something else in common. We’re both not looking. If you’re up to it, maybe we can “not look” together. I may be pushing 45, but my eyes are still young and strong. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for together.
I think the love you described in your e-mail only exists in movies and romance novels, not that I have ever read any. I never felt that kind of love with Natalia. We weren’t all that romantic, though I wanted to be. I didn’t really know how to be romantic. I guess you could say we were kind of cool and calm. Maybe that’s how I got to be so patient. Remember Talia Shire in the first Rocky? Make her taller and give her longer hair, and that’s Natalia. I used to call her Adrian. She never called me Rocky.
You thanked me for some reason, and I don’t know what for. I should be thanking you for giving me someone to come home to. You are definitely keeping me warm these cold November nights. Thank you.
I’ve now f
rozen Feel the Love at the face you made after your character’s first kiss. You couldn’t be acting. You have such an angelic look of wonder on your face. That had to be real.
Thank you for these “real” conversations.
Patrick
PS: Is freezing your face on my TV while I’m writing to you creepy? I hope not. If it is, please tell me.
15
Lauren read Patrick’s e-mail and felt her cheeks warming.
Thinking she had an “angelic look of wonder” on her face, she took her laptop into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. There’s something bright there, she thought. Whatever it is has faded my crow’s-feet. Happiness does wonders for crow’s-feet. I hereby resolve to be happy from now on. Crows, be gone!
She swept into her bedroom, shot her legs under the covers, and started to type.
Patrick:
No, it’s not creepy to “watch” me as you write to me. It’s flattering. I admit I did laugh at the idea, though. And trust me on that kiss—it wasn’t that great. We had to do five takes. The face you think is angelic is actually relieved that the scene is over. The boy couldn’t kiss. Not . . . one . . . bit. I may have been his first kiss for real.
I was thanking you because you are keeping me sane. You’re helping me make sense of things. You have an uncanny ability to wake me up and calm me down at the same time. That is a rare gift, and I like it. And it makes sense for you to watch Feel the Love. Thank you for choosing that one. You have good taste.
You think I have grace, but I really don’t. At . . . all. I have to work at it. You need to watch some of my blooper reels. I managed to trip over wires and cords, even though they were all clearly marked and taped down. I even tripped over things that weren’t there. I fell through doorways. I banged my shins on stairs. I walked into walls. I was a bruise by the time shooting was through. They used to joke that I needed a stunt double to walk across a room. Yeah, I was that clumsy. I’m not as clumsy now, because I’m getting older and move more slowly. And on my vacation, I intend to stay in bed, where I’m safe, warm, and cushioned.
I think I talk so much with my hands because if I do fall, they’ll be ready to break my fall. I’m glad you like my hand gestures. Believe it or not, I learned to use my hands from watching TV newspeople, especially the ones who did the weather. There weren’t any Italians in my neighborhood, so I had to improvise. Thank you for thinking I’m smooth and natural, though. It’s nice to hear compliments, even if the creepy Brooklyn man making them is freezing my face on his TV in the middle of a laugh, smile, or kiss. (Just kidding . . .)
I have a few choice things to say about Natalia, but I better not. Like you said, that was a long time ago, and life must go on.
Oh, what the heck. She didn’t deserve you. There, I’ve said my piece. And if I ever had to choose who to go not looking for a relationship with, it would be you.
That made no sense! Or did it?
Heart-to-heart time, and you must never reveal any of this to anyone, especially Entertainment Tonight.
I thought I was in love with Chazz. There, I wrote his stupid name. He was born Charles. He doesn’t even look like a Charles. And his middle name is Ransome. Some screwy family name. Charles Ransome Jackson. He once told me he was going to name his first son Ransome. I guess his sexual preferences are holding Ransome for ransom, huh? (That was bad. Sorry.)
Chazz and I were good together (at first), and we had the same goals, ambitions, and plans (at first). We were supposed to star in a series of movies and become the “it” couple in Hollywood, but that didn’t happen, mainly because he didn’t want it to happen. He blew up and became “Action Jackson” after making Killer Squad. I swear, that script only had three pages of dialogue. What a farce! He told me once that he only actually appeared in one-third of the action scenes in that movie. His stunt double should have been paid a lot more than he was.
And then I became his “actress girlfriend” and eventually his “former actress girlfriend” and “longtime girlfriend” and eventually his “longtime fiancée.” We weren’t the “it” couple he promised we’d be. In every picture in magazines and online it was him featured front and center with me attached to his arm. Sometimes they cropped me out entirely. I had nice hands, though. They’re still kind of sexy.
Looking back, I realize that Chazz and I weren’t a couple. I know I will cringe the next time I see a picture of us, because I will see me holding on to him while he searches for another camera to take his picture—or for another man to take off his pants.
I didn’t want to bring any of this up tonight, but I did. I’m sorry if I’m depressing you. I have no right. It’s over. I need to let it die. I will write no more about Chazz.
And the thought of not writing about Chazz makes me very happy. : )
I don’t know how to end this e-mail, so . . . bye.
Lauren
PS: Write back. Please. I’m all alone, with nothing to do all night . . . and all day . . . and all night . . . and all day . . . and . . . you get the picture. . . . ; )
16
“He was a fool,” Patrick whispered after reading Lauren’s postscript. “And you don’t have to say please.”
I couldn’t stop writing to you even if I wanted to.
Lauren:
“Chazz, the Spazz” was a fool. Any man who would even think of hurting you is a fool. Any man who takes you for granted is a fool. Any man who would even think of making you cry is a fool. Any man who jeopardized your life is a fool—and a coward.
If I ever had the chance to speak to him, I’d say, “What the #!%! were you thinking, Chucky? You have to be the dumbest #!%! on earth! Lauren Short is an angel. Are you trying to send yourself straight to hell?”
I would never hurt you, take you for granted, make you cry, or jeopardize your life. I am not a fool or a coward. I just wanted you to know that since we’re “not looking” together and you have to trust your traveling companion. I trust you completely, and I truly enjoy your company.
I have just now decided to memorize Feel the Love. Not your parts, of course. All the other parts. That way we can “talk.”
That is creepy, isn’t it?
Patrick knew it was creepy, but he left it in the e-mail. Why aren’t I talking to her on the phone? Why don’t I ask for her phone number? But if we’re not looking for new relationships, we shouldn’t be exchanging phone numbers, right? Besides, if I say something creepy by mistake on the phone, I can’t take it back. There’s no backspace button on a phone.
I just had a discussion with myself. I sometimes do this. It is an occupational hazard of those who are 40, work alone, and live alone. I won the argument. I always do.
I was seriously considering removing all references to memorizing Feel the Love. But then I told myself that perhaps Lauren might think it was sweet.
Please think it is sweet.
I really like “talking” to you.
Patrick
PS: I, too, am all alone, with nothing to do all night
17
He is talking to my younger self by memorizing a movie, Lauren thought. Hmm. Is that creepy, strange, or sweet? Let’s just call it “sweetly strange.” And what he said about Chucky . . . He’s completely right. Chucky was and is a coward.
But what does it say about me if I was about to marry that coward?
Patrick:
I talk to myself all the time, too. I usually ignore most of what I say to myself. It’s better that way. I think I’d rather listen to you, if that’s all right. You have so many good things to say. I even sometimes talk to you. Why won’t you answer? Can’t you hear me shouting? : )
I am so glad you’re looking at Feel the Love and not at some of my other movies. I loved doing that one. That script was tight. That cast was stellar. They took m
e in when I was a rookie and helped me shine. I wish I looked like that again. I had abs and a flat stomach then. I had proportion, you know?
Lauren was relieved that Patrick hadn’t picked I Got This, the only movie in which she bared an intimate part of her body. It was only the side of one breast. You couldn’t even see the nipple, and yet fourteen years later my mama still won’t talk to me for more than a few seconds because of it. “Oh, you’ve gone Hollywood now,” she told me. “What’s next? Playboy? Penthouse?” That was fourteen years ago! Get over it, Mama!
Lauren relaxed her fingers.
Should I mention this problem to Patrick?
Have you seen I Got This? If you haven’t, there’s this one scene where part of my breast is visible. Because of that one scene, my mama won’t talk to me much anymore. She told me I had “gone Hollywood.” What do you think?
Lauren
PS: About my mama, not about my breast. Unless you have an opinion . . . ; ) Remember, I’m all alone, with nothing to do all night . . . and all day . . . and all night . . . and all day . . . and all night. . . . You still get the picture. . . .
Well, look at me fishing for another compliment, Lauren thought.
She hit the SEND button. She bit her lip.
I just asked a man I have never met for his opinion about my problems with Mama and part of a breast I flashed in a movie nearly fourteen years ago. I hope he focuses on my problems with my mama. But what if he doesn’t?
She looked down at her breasts. You two still look good. The rest of me has sagged, but you two . . .
She giggled.
I’m talking to my breasts. What is happening to me?
I do think I’m getting happy.
This man is making me happy to be alive again.