Good Nights

by Heather Grace Stewart

I study my Mom’s face. It’s lightly tanned and healthy-looking, but small and pixelated. Her floppy, pristine, white sunhat shades her grey-blue eyes, exposing a few wrinkles at their corners. She’s officially a senior now, but she hasn’t looked this good in years. She looks well-rested and happy.

  I stare at her for a moment. She’s too far from me—a whole sea and ocean away. I wish she could give me a hug right now. You’re never too old for a mom hug. You’re never too old to hear her tell you, “everything is going to be okay.”

  “Well, you’re so pale, and you know I don’t like your hair in a ponytail. It’s too frizzy like that—it’s so sleek and pretty when you wear it down. And whose number is this anyways? I almost didn’t answer, but you called three times.” She’s wearing a hot pink one-piece swimsuit, and that’s my pool in the background, but I’m okay with her being there. She changed my diapers, nursed me, held me until I finally fell asleep every night for a year after Dad died. She deserves to take a dip in my swimming pool whenever she darn well wants.

  “This is my friend Hank’s phone.” Hank leans over the bed, and, though I’m sure he intends to smile with his whole face, reveals only his bald sunburned head and bushy eyebrows to my Mom. He raises his eyebrows and says a jovial, “Hello there, Mrs. Hannah.”

  Mom blushes and lies back in her lounge chair.

  “Oh, my!” She giggles. As Hank walks back to the room’s elaborate wet bar, his back turned to me, she lowers her voice and whispers. “He’s very big! I hope when he’s with you that he’s gentle…”

  I cut her off. “Mother!” I roll my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a security guard here at the hotel, and he was put on Doug’s detail for the week, but he wants to quit.”

  “Who wouldn’t want to quit working for Doug? Oh. That bastard was here, by the way.” She frowns.

  “I know Mom, that’s why I’m calling! He had me worried sick about you.”

  “Oh, what did he go and tell you, now? That man. Lies, lies, lies.”

  “He made me think you might be in hospital. That’s why I rushed here, to have him fly me to you. So, you’re fine?”

  “Sweetheart I’m better than fine. You won’t believe it. I’ve met the most incredible man.” She sighs and starts to fan herself. “Cruz is tall, tanned, and Spanish. He’s so full of energy. We’re taking Salsa lessons together. He’s just out getting us something to eat.”

  Cruz? He sounds at least a decade younger. Go, Mom! “That’s fantastic. Me too! I mean, I’ve met someone too. He’s definitely not a salsa-dancing Spaniard.” I chuckle. “He’s a bird-studying Brit. And he’s absolutely wonderful.”

  “So that’s who you’ve been up to!” Mom laughs. “I knew you were happy. You don’t need me as much when you’re happy.” She sighs, but she looks serene as she says it.

  “I can’t wait to talk about your new man more, but I think I have to go beat up my ex-husband.” I frown, furrowing my brow dramatically as if I’m three years old again.

  She looks at me and shakes her head. “Don’t beat him up. Beat him at his own game.”

  I raise an eyebrow. She has a point.

  “I think you’re right. Before I go, Mom… did you really ask the realtor to take the house off the market?”

  “What? No! Did Doug lie about that, too?”

  “Yup.” I sigh.

  “I told him I was waiting to ask you,” she says. “I do love this place… seems a pity to let it leave the family…”

  “Sold. Tell the agent we’re doing a private sale. I’ll vid you later, maybe tomorrow.”

  “You make fast decisions in your older age…” She smiles at me.

  “I didn’t always, but I finally know what I want. And Mom… I need to go before I lose it!” I blow her a kiss.

  “Bye dear.” She raises a mojito in the air, and it makes me grin.

  I turn the video call off and hand the phone back to Hank, who takes it and offers me a pineapple mojito. He’s been making me snacks and drinks over at the wet bar.

  “Oh, I don’t think I should have another drink. These are pretty strong.”

  “I’ll watch over you. I overheard what Doug did to you. Worrying you like that for no good reason! You’ll need liquid courage for your meeting with him.” He leaves the drink on the wet bar, just in case I change my mind, turns a brown leather chair towards the bed and sits down.

  I look up at the closed garment bag hanging in the closet. Hank is just staring at it, too. It’s a star in a universe that neither of us wants to explore anymore. But, it’s there, beckoning us. It’s hard to ignore. What do we do with it?

  “So,” I walk over to the bag and start to unzip it. “You still convinced I should go to this party?”

  Thirty-four

  Hannah

  Hank sits back and puts his feet up on the ottoman. “I don’t know… Doug has some kind of television deal lined up for you, right?”

  “Something like that.” I crouch down as I continue unzipping the garment bag. “I need to at least find out what the terms are. From the sounds of it, it’s a lot of money. I probably shouldn’t pass it up…”

  Hank crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “It’s really none of my business…” His voice trails off, and I realize that he isn’t sure if he should continue to be so candid.

  I stop what I’m doing for a second and stand up. “No, go ahead. I’d love your opinion.”

  “I’ve been watching that guy the past twenty-four hours, strutting his stuff like he owns the hotel. He comes off like a complete phony. I don’t get why you’d want to work with him.”

  “Well, I don’t.” I toss the bag over the back of the other leather chair and begin pacing the floor. “I just thought I should hear him out. Hear what he has to offer.”

  “What he has to offer?”

  “His business was my business for over ten years, and walking away from it all, forever, well, it’s just not the easiest thing to do…” I choke back tears. This is it. I’m really going to walk away from a career I spent over a decade building.

  It’s not about the money, or the fame, because that’s all so fleeting, and not important in the end. It’s all of the time and energy I’ve invested. It’s hard to accept, but I need to put it all behind me. I’m going to have to look at my sitcom work not as a loss, but as a stepping stone that took me to where I want to be. I’m a different woman now, with new goals. I can’t keep writing fiction when there’s so much truth to be told.

  “If it makes it easier, I’ll walk away with you.” Hank says. “I’d love to see the island and meet the people you’ve been talking about.”

  I stare at him. “You’re going to quit the VIP security business, just like that?”

  “Just like that.” He reaches over to a pizza box on the table and grabs a large slice of the Hawaiian he ordered for us. It’s from some place down the street. I found it funny when he didn’t want a single item on the room service menu. He doesn’t fit in with this whole scene, either.

  “I don’t like these people,” he says, as if confirming my thoughts, “and I don’t like living here. Sometimes new adventures beckon, and you have to leap and figure out how you’ll land while you’re still up in the air.”

  I grab the garment bag and fully open it, revealing a stunning strapless gown inside. It’s a beautiful, deep forest green color with thousands of sparkling diamond studs decorating the bodice and a fitted mermaid style skirt that flares out just below the knee. I stare at the dress, breathless for a moment, but all I can think about is Tripp’s forest. Our forest.

  I turn to Hank. “Can you help me get out of Cannes without a scene? Protect me from the paparazzi?”

  “I sure can try,” he says. “I know a few back streets, and we can slip onto the five o’clock ferry as it leaves.”

  His plan makes me smile. “You seem
ed so serious, a little conservative because of your job, but you’re actually spontaneous!”

  “I can be.” Hank grins.

  “Well, if you’re up for a new adventure, you’re in luck. I happen to know someone who might need your muscles, at least for the summer. And your brains, of course—I wouldn’t want to treat you like a piece of British Beefcake.” I smile at him.

  “Beefcake, ha!” He chuckles. “Yeah, a lot of the VIP ladies here treat me like that. One even shoved a fiver down my pants. Was quite dismayed she didn’t think I was worth more.”

  I bite my lower lip. He’s easy on the eyes, but I’m not about to say it.

  “So,” he leans forward with interest, “we’re talking construction work on the island? Sounds…” As he begins to ask me more, my phone buzzes on the bedside table.

  “It’s charged! It’s charged!” I squeal. I resist the urge to wrap my arms around him to thank him for loaning me his charger. It feels like we’re best buds already, but I’m not sure how he’d react to a hug from me yet, and besides, he’s got a bad case of pizza-sauce hands.

  My phone’s screen displays a couple notifications, but the only one I truly care about is a text from Tripp, sent ages ago.

 

  My heart skips a beat. He’s here for me. I knew that. I felt it this entire time. But he thinks I need space! This is not good. So not good. I mean, it’s lovely that I’ve met a man mature enough to realize people sometimes need space in a relationship, but that’s not what this is! I don’t want space; I want to be drinking tea with him, naked in bed! I need to clear this up…

  “Go call your man.” Hank sees the conflicted look on my face and smiles up at me, then bites into another slice of pizza. “I’ll clean up in here and wait for you to get ready to leave. I have a feeling this is going to be a night to remember.”

  I take my tote, dress, and phone and walk to the large bathroom, closing the door but leaving it slightly ajar so that steam can escape. Once inside, I look once more at the glimmering dress in my hand. I’m sure it’s worth thousands. I’m curious, will it look good on me? I’ll slip it on before I shower just for the fun of it. I whip off my t-shirt and leggings, take the dress out of the bag and pull it on. It’s a tight-fitting mermaid skirt, but the style suits my figure, and I feel glamorous. I zip it up as far as I can at the back, then look at my sexy reflection and twirl in a circle to take a peek at my behind. Seconds later, I nearly lose my balance and need to grab the counter for support.

  “Ugh!” It happens so fast, I can only grunt my embarrassment.

  “You okay, Hannah?” Hank calls to me.

  “Fine, fine, just, uh, gas.” Gas? That was smooth. Maybe I’d better just stick to the original plan.

  I grab my phone off the counter, sit on the soaker tub’s wide edge, and start to compose a text to Tripp. I stop when I hear someone entering the room and a voice I would know anywhere. It’s my best friend, Jill.

  “Oh Hank, sexy Hank, here you are. Is it your b-b-b-break?” She giggles. It’s not just Jill, it’s drunk Jill. I know that giggle well.

  “I was hoping you’d join me at the cocktail party. Doug is always so busy at these things…” I hear some rustling, but I can’t figure out what’s going on. I quickly hide behind the bathroom door, in case Jill comes in.

  I look down at my feet. Doug is always so busy at these things. That sounded so… familiar. Like she’s at Doug’s side all the time.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m just here… chilling…” Hank sounds uncomfortable, and I can tell immediately from his tone that Jill has no idea I’m here. I stay hidden.

  “Did you see the scene Doug’s ex made up at Le 360? Did you? What time is it, four? She’s at the cocktail party with him, now. He invited her! I am so jealous that he has eyes for her again. And let’s not get started on that ridiculous Douannah hashtag!”

  Jealous? Jill? But… she hates Doug. She always said so.

  “I don’t think you should be on my lap, and we shouldn’t be talking about…” Hank sounds extremely nervous, too nervous to reveal that I’m in the bathroom. I understand now how it could look like we were together intimately in this room, not just two people getting to know one another. He’s young, this was his first security job, and we both know that he was supposed to stand outside the door. He still feels a sense of responsibility to the work. I’m certain that he wants to leave on his own terms, not because one of his bosses discovers he’s been up to no good with me in a hotel room.

  “Did you see the atrocity that Hannah called an outfit?” I’m pretty sure Hank just lifted her off his lap, but I peek through the crack between the wall and the door to verify my theory. Jill is barely standing, bracing herself on Hank’s chair, stumbling over her feet and her words.

  “Did you see that ass in those leggings?” Jill continues. “She’s gotten a wee bit plumpers, is that how the British say it? Why does the paparazzi make such a big fuss over her? Well. Whatevs.” She exhales loudly. “Doug always preferred me naked anyway.”

  I hear it, but it doesn’t quite register. I need time to process it.

  Doug always preferred Jill naked.

  I slump to the bathroom floor. I can’t feel my legs. My whole body feels numb. My heart is racing and pounding in my ears. I might throw up. Thankfully, there’s a toilet right beside me if I decide that I need to.

  Just then, my phone buzzes, and I quickly grab it off the counter and switch it to silent so that Jill doesn’t hear it. I need to stay hidden and listen more. I don’t want to hear about how my husband and best friend deceived me. How many times? How many years? I don’t want to, but I need to.

  I look down at my phone, my eyes brimming with tears. There’s a new notification on the front screen. I wipe my eyes as the first of what I imagine will be thousands of tears fall. To my surprise, I find myself laughing inside my mind. What I’m reading is very funny, in a cruel, twisted way. It’s a message from Good Nights.

 

  I tap to open the Good Nights app and notice that the time and date are no longer frozen. Everything is back to normal now that I’m off the island and in Cannes, but nothing feels normal here in this place, with these people. Everything feels fast-paced, upside down, and wrong.

  Rate my stay, you ask? I close my eyes, remembering Tripp’s and my tandem bike ride, our intimate dinner, that sensual bubble bath fight, making love by the light of kerosene lamps. It was five brilliant stars, the most amazing stay of my entire life, even though you idiots double-booked us! I find myself smiling, and a wave of warm love washes over me. My hands are shaking, and my heart is still pounding in my ears, but I know that I’m going to be okay. Everything will be okay, in time.

  I close the app and text Tripp.

 

  There. That should do it. Then, just in case, I send one more text:

  I slide the phone off, put it inside my tote, and force myself to listen to what my drunk and lying ex-best friend is saying in the other room.

  Thirty-five

  Hannah

  “So…” Hank sounds like he’s about to throw up, too.

  “Jill. Baby.”

  I know intuitively that Jill is not Hank’s baby. He’s on my side. He wants me to hear the truth, and he’s saying whatever he needs to say to get a confession for me. I knew it the moment he stepped forward to keep me company on that lonely rooftop patio: Hank has my back.

  “I was wondering what this big offer Doug has for Hannah is all about?” he asks.

  “Oh yes, that.” Jill sounds bored already. She prefers talking about herself, I suppose. “Well Doug wanted her here, you know, to get publicity for the new show he shopped to the network. It’s about their
life and challenges as writers and performers. The Write Way: Doug and Hannah. I mean it’s reality, but embellished reality, so I get to write stuff, make stuff up. I’m so psyched!”

  Embellished reality? About me and Doug? How can she even imagine that I’d be on board with this? Who is this woman who used to be my best friend, and what have they done with her brain? I sneak another peek through the gap between the door and wall again. Hank’s expression looks a lot like mine. As Tripp would say, he’s completely gobsmacked.

  “So, you two coerced Hannah here to parade her around for a reality show that’s not even sold yet?” His mouth is open, and he looks incredulous. It seems he can’t even look at her now; he’s turned his back to her, and he’s looking out the window.

  “Tiny details, my friend, small details, never you mind.” She is so condescending. She walks up to him and puts her arms around his waist from behind, but he instantly pulls them off. She keeps yammering, regardless. “Hannah’s old show on Netflix is the bomb since Joyce’s tweet went viral. This new show will be a hit. Total hit. You know what, sexy? You should come along to L.A., work as our security. I’m sure Doug could get you in. He’s already said that I can be head writer. We just need her to sign on as a co-producer, and you know, to let us film them as they go about their LA days, for the ratings. It’s the only way George at the network wants the show… with the fallout after their divorce and everything.”

  She finally stops talking to take breath. Then she begins to laugh. “It’s the motus opera in Hollywood today. Disaster sells well.”

  “I think you mean modus operandi.” I hear total annoyance in Hank’s tone.

  “Whatevs. It’s like, how we do things now, according to George,” Jill says.

  George, CEO of my old network. I exhale, clenching my fists and trying not to punch a hole in the bathroom door. Of course, George is behind this! Of course. Those three deserve one another.

  So, Jill is not only disloyal, she’s also a suck-up and a brainless follower. She’ll copy whatever everyone else is doing, even if it’s wrong, as long as it gets her to the top. I’ve heard more than enough. I’m getting out of here, and I won’t let her see my tears.