Spur of the Moment (34 page)

54

Potholes on the Road to Happily Ever After

O
ver the next few weeks, nobody talked about moving to New York, but everyone started looking more closely at the people in the third-level improv course Steve Cuddy taught. There were two or three people with promise. Ana talked to Steve about bringing more people up to be staff performers. He was all for it—he'd been telling them for a long time that their group was getting too small and too comfortable. They needed some new blood to keep them on their toes.

When the current batch of third levels “graduated” from their eight-week course, three were asked to become full-time players. All three agreed.

The now-nine-member team of Spur practiced Sunday and Wednesday nights for several weeks before letting any on the newbies on stage. They started staffing the show so four old-timers played—one always playing the emcee—and two newbies played. It was a painful transition after they'd worked so closely together for so long to have these wild cards, who were sometimes passably okay and sometimes excruciating, but practicing was the only way to get better and it was their own damn fault for keeping the troupe so small for so long.

“H
ey Marin, I need the rent for May,” Ana said.

“Um, yeah. I sort of am waiting to hear from my agent if I got that voice-over work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If I get the voice-over work, I'll have money for rent. I need to get more work.”

“What about all the money you made from
Roommates?”

“I sort of spent it.”

Ana laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Marin's grave expression didn't change.

“You're kidding, right?”

Marin shook her head.

“How is that even possible?”

“It was expensive staying in L.A. And I was still sending money back here for my part of the rent. And I needed to buy a lot of nice clothes and everything, you know, so I could look the part. And sometimes when Jay and I went out, I treated. I wasn't worried about money. I figured I was dating a billionaire, it wasn't like the money would ever run out.”

“Except it did.”

“Except it did.”

Ana sighed. “You've got to learn to budget your money, Marin. Especially in a business as crazy as acting. You need to be prepared for long stretches without work. Maybe Nick can help you figure out your finances. Help you budget and plan and all that.”

“That's a good idea. Look, I know I messed up. I should have put some money into savings. But I was wondering, just for now, if maybe I could borrow some money, just for this month?”

Ana studied the wall. Considered. Shook her head. “I'm sorry, Marin, I can't. I mean I don't think I should. You know I love you and I want to help you and be there for you, but I think me bailing you out all the time, your parents bailing you out, it's why you haven't figured out how to balance your checkbook and stick to a budget. You need to grow up. You're twenty-five years old. You need to pay your own rent. You're a smart girl. A smart woman. I know you can do it. You just need to learn that you can, in fact, take care of yourself. You
can
make smart decisions.”

Ana hugged her, then left the room.

Fuck, what was she going to do?

The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Babe, it's me.”

It was Jay.

“What do you want?”

“I miss you. I want to see you. I want to talk to you. Let me take you out to dinner.” She was about to protest. Then he said, “Come on, one free meal.”

Free meal. Maybe she could borrow the money from him. Lord knows he had enough of it. He'd probably just give it to her. It wouldn't make up for what he'd done to her, but it would be a start.

“Okay. Name the time and place. I'll meet you there.”

Money. It was the only reason she was going. She felt a little nervous, but only because it would be awkward to see him again.

She spent the next two hours getting ready, until she looked drop-dead gorgeous. But only to remind him of what he'd lost.

Marin took a cab and met Jay at Vesta's Dipping Grill. She kept telling herself it was just for a free meal, and to borrow some money. But within minutes of seeing him again, she forgot all about asking him for a few hundred bucks. He had her laughing so hard she cried. He told her about his travels and his parties with Hollywood elite. He told her how much he wanted to take her to his place in Paris.

After dinner, Jay ordered desserts for both of them. He ordered the bread pudding for her, even though she'd rather have had the crème brûlée. Although it was no big deal either way really.

“Have you ever been to France?” Jay asked.

“I toured around Europe one summer. My friend and I were in Paris for, I don't know, about two weeks.”

“Did you get to visit Provence?”

“No, though I've heard wonderful things about it. I'd love to go someday.”

“I have a house in Provence. It's on a vineyard. The house is very old, but I had it renovated. Of course I had the builders do their best to keep everything looking like the original, except, you know, to make it have working plumbing and electricity.”

Marin smiled.

“It took two full years. But I tell you, it's so, so peaceful. I found a stone mason and had him carve a granite table, which I put outside. It's a large table, for big parties of families and friends. But even if you're just out there by yourself—the vineyard, the greenery, the rich smells—it's heaven.”

“It sounds lovely. I'd love to see it sometime.”

“I'd like to take you to it sometime. I was thinking maybe I could take you there for our honeymoon,” he said.

He pulled out a blue velvet box and opened it to reveal the enormous ring inside.

Marin gasped.

“We'll have to wait until my divorce is finalized, of course. It might be a while, I have a feeling my wife is going to do her best to take me to the cleaners and make my life hell. But after that. What do you say?”

She would never have to worry about money again. She wouldn't have to worry about rent, or work, or bugging her dad for a few bucks to tide her over. And if she only got sporadic work as an actress, it wouldn't matter. She'd be fine.

“Jay, I, I'm not like your wife. I believe in monogamy. I couldn't . . .”

“Marin, listen. I think the reason I . . . wasn't faithful to Linda was that she wasn't the right woman for me. I was looking for something—someone—to fill the void. And then I found you, and, to be honest, my feelings for you, they were so intense, they scared me. And that's why I . . . but when I lost you, I realized, true love might be scary, but life without you, it would have no meaning.” He took the ring out of the box and brought it toward her ring finger. “What do you say?”

The ring was so beautiful. She wanted it on her finger. She could see a life with him so easily. And it made sense, what he'd said about why he cheated on his wife. He wouldn't have done it if she'd been the right woman for him. Her parents would be so proud of her for snagging such a successful businessman . . . “I say yes.”

He smiled and slipped the ring on her finger. She felt like Sleeping Beauty being whisked away into happily ever after. Everything was going to be just fine! Everything was going to be wonderful! And even if it didn't work out, she'd make a killing in the divorce. Unless, of course, there were prenups.

Wait, wait, why was she thinking these things? This was Jay, the love of her life, the man who loved her so much it scared him, but who had seen the error of his ways. Of course they wouldn't get divorced. They were meant for each other.

Jay kissed her. “I think this calls for some champagne.”

“No, I . . . let's just toast with our wine.”

The waiter arrived with their desserts.

“We'd like bottle of your best champagne,” Jay told the waiter.

Minutes later, the waiter returned with two glasses and a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“No, really, I don't want any. Thanks,” Marin said to the waiter.

“Marin, come on. One glass won't hurt you. We're getting
married.”

So she drank a glass. It wasn't terrible. But honestly, why couldn't he let her not drink champagne? Why didn't he let her order her own damn dessert?

Was this really what she wanted? She wanted a guy with opinions, yes, a guy who wouldn't let her walk all over him, but did she want someone who made every single decision for her?

But what would she do without him? She was obviously a total financial dimwit. She didn't even have health insurance, for Christ's sake. She needed someone to take care of her; she
wanted
someone to take care of her.

Marin thought about what Ana had said.
You're a smart girl. A smart woman. I know you can do it. You just need to learn that you can, in fact, take care of yourself. You can make smart decisions.
What was the smart decision here? To marry a man who lied to her? Who cheated on her? Who did her thinking for her? Maybe she
could
figure out how to balance a budget. Nick could help her. Ana could help her. Maybe she could even hold down a day job, with paid vacations and sick days, and hallelujah, health insurance. Maybe she was rushing into this. There would be no harm in waiting.

“You know what, I really don't think a champagne toast is necessary,” Marin said, slipping the ring off her finger and putting it back in the box. She handed the box to Jay. “I think I need more time to think about this. I love you, but you really hurt me. I need time.”

“Marin. Be reasonable. I'm one of the richest men in America. You'll be set for life. This is exactly like you. So flaky and unable to make a decision. Just say yes.”

The way he said “say yes” wasn't a plea, it was an order. He sounded, in fact, exactly like her father. Jesus, she did not want to marry a man like her father. Why hadn't she seen it before? Jay was exactly like him, always demanding that they do what he wanted, making the decisions for her, insisting that things went his way.

“You know what Jay, you're right. I should be able to just make a decision. I decide that I definitely don't want to marry you. I don't even want to date you anymore. In fact, I never want to see you again as long as I live.”

Jay was speechless as she threw her napkin down on the table and stood to leave.

“What just happened, where are you going?” Jay said, as the gift of speech returned to him. “Okay, you don't have to have any champagne.”

“I know I don't. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. I don't have to be with a guy who lies to me and cheats on me and tells me what to do. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“Do you know how many women would claw out both their eyes for a ring like this?”

“I don't need big fancy diamonds or lots of money. There are some things—lots of things, actually—that are more important than money.” Jason would be so proud, knowing that she actually listened to him once in a while. “Goodbye Jay.”

55

The Future

O
ne Monday night, a lovely evening of not having to do anything (except of course for Jason, who was diligently grading papers in the kitchen), Ana, Marin, and Scott lounged in various positions, watching
Corky Romano,
a film that Scott had picked up from the video store and which Ana had started watching accidentally. She'd come home, collapsed on the couch, and by the time she had the energy to open her eyes to see what was on the television, she didn't have the energy to lift herself from the couch.

“I can't believe I'm actually watching
Corky Romano,”
she said.

“Oh shut up, you make fun of the movies I like, but I've caught you laughing several times,” Scott said.

Damn. She was busted. She shook her finger at him. “That information never leaves this house.”

“Hi kids, I'm home,” Ramiro's voice interrupted as the door swung closed behind him. “Family meeting! I call an emergency family meeting.”

It took a few minutes for them to get off their asses, but after a series of put-upon grunts and groans, Scott turned off the TV, Jason came in from the kitchen, and Ramiro pulled up the footstool so the five of them were in a circle. Even Ana mustered the effort to sit up.

“I have two very important things to tell you. Number one, my agent sold my novel.”

“You're kidding! Ram, that's wonderful!”

“Holy crap! Who's publishing it?”

“When will it be out?”

“It's a small press, it'll be out sometime next year,” Ramiro said.

“Congratulations.
I told you
you were a good writer,” Ana said.

“Ana, I can't thank you enough. I owe it all to you.”

Ramiro hugged her.

“So are you a millionaire? Do you get to quit your day job?” Scott asked.

“Not yet,” Ramiro said.

“How much did you get?” Ana asked.

“Three thousand.”

“Dollars?”

“No, pesos. Of course dollars.”

“That's it? Three thousand bucks? You can't quit your job on three thousand bucks,” Ana said.

“Actually, my agent gets fifteen percent of that, and the government will get about half of what's left over. So about thirteen hundred bucks all told.”

“That's it? You're kidding. How long did it take you to write the thing?”

“About two years.”

“But you'll make a bunch of money when it gets optioned for movie rights,” Ana said.

“Absolutely.”

“I'm so proud of you. I'm so happy for you. A published novelist! At twenty-six!” Ana said.

“So what was the other thing? You said you had two important things to tell us,” Scott said.

“We're in,” Ramiro said.

“You're in?” Marin asked.

“Nick and I. We'll move to New York.”

“Oh my God!” Ana screamed.

“All right!” Marin seconded.

“Wait, wait, there's a catch,” Ramiro said.

“Fuck. I hate catches,” Ana said.

“We're going to move in together.”

“You mean you'll share a room together in our house?” Ana said hopefully, though she suspected that wasn't the correct interpretation of what he'd said.

“No, I mean, we're going to get a place together, just the two of us. I've been wanting to move in with Nick for a long time. . . .”

“Why, just because he lives in a palace and we live in a dump?” Ana said, angry and defensive.

“No, because I love him and I want to be with him.”

“You'll live close to us and visit all the time and we'll still perform together?” Marin asked.

He nodded.

“At least they want to come,” Scott said to Ana. Ana crossed her arms, averted her gaze to the ceiling, and harrumphed dramatically.

“Will we go back to being the Iron Pyrits?” Marin asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe we'll think of something new,” Ramiro said. “We'll still be together. So Ana, what do you think?”

“I'm happy you and Nick want to move to New York. And I guess it will be nice to have one less person to clean up after. I'm just . . . I'll miss you. I'm not good with change. But I guess I'll get over it
eventually . . .”
she sighed.

“So we're really moving to New York!” Marin said. “We'll go up against the big dogs. Get on
Saturday Night Live
and have our own HBO specials. We just have to be sure we don't run into my parents. You don't think I have to tell them I'm moving back to New York, do you?”

“I have to call Chelsey.” Ana darted up to her room, filled with energy suddenly.

Chelsey was giggling when she answered the phone. “Yes?”

“Chelse, it's Ana.”

“Hey.”

“Hey. So guess what? Nick and Ramiro are going to move to New York with us. They're not going to live with us, they are going to get a place of their own, but still, it should be cool. You and Rob can move in with us . . . or I guess if you want to get a place together . . .”

Chelsey didn't say anything for a good twenty seconds. “Um, I don't think . . . we don't want to move to New York.
I
don't want to move. I've been thinking about this a lot, and . . . I like it here. I like performing at Spur. I don't think I could do what Marin did working all those crazy hours with all those crazy people and then just, you know, getting nothing out of it.”

Ana thought that Chelsey sounded awfully damn defensive, but maybe it was just preemptive defensiveness to knock out any arguments Ana might throw out there. “Chelsey, Marin got $60,000 and an absolutely amazing experience that she'll never forget, no matter what happens. I'd hardly say she got nothing out of it.”

Chelsey didn't say anything, so Ana charged on. “So how would you feel if we went without you?”

More silence. “I'd miss you. I'd come visit. You'd come visit, I mean, most of your families live here. And New York will always be there. I can always change my mind and catch up with you guys next year.”

“Yeah sure, of course.” Ana's anger softened. All at once she felt nostalgic for the good old times they hadn't even left yet. “But will you hate us if we leave you?”

“Of course not. We've been talking about New York forever, I just . . . things are going well at my job. Some days suck, of course, but some days are actually pretty fulfilling. I mean helping people get healthy and feel good about themselves, it's really actually kind of a cool way to make a living. And I have Rob. I want kids and a normal life. I've figured out that those are the things that are really important to me. I think before I was feeling really unsettled and now I just feel . . . I don't feel as restless.”

Because you've
settled
that's why you're not
unsettled
anymore. You fall in love and let all your dreams fall away.
Ana was back to being pissed. Right now she was riding more of an emotional roller coaster than she normally was, and normally she was on a DEFCON-five kind of emotional roller coaster. “We'll miss you. I mean we're not going anywhere for a while. We still need to bring on a few more actors at Spur. I thought maybe we could patrol the campuses for talent, see if any improv-ers will be graduating in May.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea.”

“And there are so many things we'll have to do: We'll have to sell our cars and find a place to live and find jobs and save some money . . .”

“I'm happy for you guys, really.”

“Well, I guess Rob's there. I should let you go.”

“See you tomorrow night at practice.”

“See you.”

 

 

A
na pushed aside the sudden feelings of confusion and ambivalence she felt and spent the rest of the night making detailed lists of everything they'd need to do before they left.

The list went on and on, and even after Ana stopped jotting things down and turned off the light, the ideas clattered in her head like a leaky pipe she couldn't shut off.
Am I making the stupidest decision of my entire life? Am I going to become a broke, abject failure? Will I be raped and mugged and die of some horrible disease?
(She pointedly didn't bother to consider that terrible things could happen to her in Denver as well as New York.)
Will I become famous for only a brief moment, and use my fifteen minutes just like that, and become an impoverished failure, a drug addict who dies a miserable, drawn-out death of shame and misery?

And what kind of life would that be, a life without dreams?