“No, being madly in love. That’s Leo for you. He falls hard, and then he’s out just as fast. Naomi was actually an exception because she dumped him. I’m sure he told you. Third day of The Tea House shoot.”
“I see,” I say, because I do. I really do. “That explains why he was kind of a drunk mess during the rest of the filming.” I give a little laugh to show that I find this sort of juvenile behavior amusing.
“Well, he owes you a lot. Seems like a little quiet time in the country screwed his head on straight, and now he’s starring in the highest budget film of his lifetime.”
“Is it still on?”
“Yeah, I should have said. They start filming week after next.”
I’ve got to get myself out of this room. I chug my coffee, which is hot and burns my throat, and say, “Well, good luck to both of you. I’ve got to get this hair taken care of, a little less Carole King and little more Naomi Sanchez, if you know what I mean.” I am talking too fast and being too glib. I grab my bag and give her a quick hug. “Take care.”
“Oh no,” Weezie says, and I stop. “You’re in love with him.”
I’m a pretty good liar. I can fake my way through a lot of uncomfortable social situations. Heck, my sister’s a New York socialite. I’ve faked my way through dinners with her friends where they complain about how their nannies insist on getting paid on holidays. But in this moment, I cannot muster, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” I’m so raw, and the thought of spilling it to someone who might have some insight is irresistible.
“I am.”
“Oh no,” she says again. “Did you . . . ?”
“Yes. And he told me he loves me, about a thousand times. I can prove it,” I say, holding my phone up. “He couldn’t go two hours without seeing me, touching me, texting me from a hundred yards away. And now I haven’t heard from him since Friday.”
Weezie looks crestfallen. “I’m really sorry. That’s not his usual MO, at least not as far as I know. None of them ever told me he’d said he loved them.” None of them.
“So he’s not in jail or lost his phone or in the hospital with amnesia,” I offer.
“Nope. There’s got to be something really weird going on here if he’s ghosting you.”
I hug Weezie because I’m supremely grateful that she’s been honest with me. The last thing I need is someone feeding me false hope through a morphine drip. I need to face the very simple facts here and move on.
The elevator is waiting for me, thank God. Better still, there are sunglasses in my purse. I smile to the doorman and head out into midday sun. I am a fool. It’s all so clear to me now that I don’t know how I twisted my mind to avoid it. I must have been having a post-divorce psychotic break. I’ve let myself slip into one of my idiotic fantasy stories.
Facts: Leo was sleeping with Naomi Sanchez. Men who sleep with women like Naomi Sanchez don’t fall in love with women like me. I was a woman with a welcoming, homey house. I was a place where he stopped for a while to recover. He’s had four days to call and he hasn’t. He used money to assuage his guilt. I was a place to rest so that he would be in the right state of mind to rise up and score the biggest movie of his career. I suddenly regret returning the money.
CHAPTER 15
I spend the week trying to reclaim my house. I start with the sunrise, which I try to enjoy but mostly cry through. I find bright green bedding for the tea house and force myself to sit at the table for an hour a day. I don’t write. How did I let this man stop by for three weeks and steal my heart, my house, and my career?
Sometimes I can’t breathe. Like I walk into a space we once shared and the sound of his voice arrests me. I can hear his voice saying something that must not be true. I’ll just stand there, struck by the pain of it. My mind chases its tail—he said he loved me and he was coming back and he’s not calling and he had a third party send cash but he said he loved me and he was coming back.
School pickup is a slow death, thirty minutes at a time. I try to arrive a little bit late so I don’t have to say these things: Yes, it’s exciting about the movie. No, I haven’t heard from him. I’m fine, really.
Kate moves me around like she’s my handler, throwing her body between me and any particularly offensive comments. I’m raw and exposed. I understand what that means now; I feel like I don’t have skin. I should never have been out with him in public. I could have kept this to myself. I didn’t need to kiss him at two P.M. in the middle of town.