What Movies Made Me Do (27 page)

“I’ve been walking the streets,” I said, my voice hollow.

“That bad, huh?”

“Listen, Jack’s getting on a plane. He arrives midnight tonight. I told him you’d send a car.” Shivering, I reached to turn up the thermostat. I better not catch a cold.

“Flying back alone? That prima donna?” Anita whistled her piercing whistle. “Way to go, all right.” She put her hand over the phone. Then she bounced back on. “Do me a favor and tell Paul yourself. He doesn’t believe me.”

I told Paul. He was succinct. “Outafuckingsight.”

I tried to sound casual. “Keep me posted, Paul. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Then Anita got back on the phone, laughing. “Do you think you ran off with him for a fling or for the movie?”

“Look, it was his decision to go back. I was getting used to him hanging around.” My throat tightened.

“You got exactly what you wanted, as usual. We’ll do endless setups when he arrives, we’ll just shoot and shoot.” She sounded very happy.

The film was back on the track. It was hard to believe. “Send me your revised shooting schedule.”

“After I consult Jack. God, Michael Finley’s rattling his sword but good. Paul already made him and his lawyers hotel reservations.”

I laughed. “Jack will be on hand to greet them.”

“Things have a way of shaking themselves down.” Anita sighed. “By Monday I bet Michael resigns to take a plush independent deal at another studio. I hear he set it up just in case.”

I wondered who’d replace him. In a way it didn’t matter. I’d still have to fight tooth and nail to get the rest of this movie made right. I’d miss Michael Finley in a way. I suppressed a pang. I’d grown accustomed to his tactics. “God Anita, we won again.” I raised my voice. I threw a pillow across the rug. “What a team.”

When she hung up I retrieved the pillow and paused, staring at the huge empty skyscrapers around me. I felt cozy in the midst of them. It was damn reassuring to be up here again in my office. I automatically initialed a memo about a women-in-film luncheon.
Buy us a table, and make a $100 donation
, I wrote. I walked slowly back to my couch remembering waking up with his arm across my chest.

Breakfast felt like hours ago. I’d cut him a grapefruit and some good French cheese while he packed his tee shirts in one of my old suitcases. I bought two first-class tickets to Israel by phone—two seats would give him plenty of room to sleep. I told him to drink fluids on the plane. Out in front of my building, it was as though we had already separated.
Sam’s treatment stuck out of the side pocket of his suitcase. I avoided his intense blue eyes before he bent to step into his cab. It wasn’t until he was gone that it hit me. I stood there waving under my orange canopy while a pretty white dog sniffed my boots. Then the cab stopped with a jerk, backed up to me, and he got out, his eyes all hurt like movie close-ups. He grabbed my elbow, pinning me against him, and kissed me hard on the mouth. “I miss you already,” he said, and we looked each other in the eye. “I’ll call you when I get there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You ever come to Italy in the spring?”

“No,” I said, and pressed my knuckles to my mouth as he dived back in to the cab. “I’m not going back upstairs and cry in my soup in that empty apartment,” I said aloud. Then I marched downtown to take possession of my office. It was mine for a while now.

Now I got up and found Rosemary’s Kleenex box in her top drawer. I wondered how many other busy bees were going through stacks of unanswered mail and memos in this silent building.

When I heard footsteps, I blew my nose and slipped my bare feet back into my old sneakers. It had to be Michael Finley. I was in no mood for a showdown, but I straightened my shoulders.

When Rosemary poked her head inside, I almost fell over with relief. Her hair was bright and fluffy and she wore a round-collared blouse, a floral silk scarf, and a blue car coat. She looked stoic, like a small-town junior league aristocrat.

I wiped my cheeks. “What a coincidence bumping into you here.”

She held out a small valise in one hand. “I took the noon plane.” Now she peered at me with new smudges under her pale blue eyes. “Maybe I better go out and get you a book.”
She twisted her mouth on one side. “You know those books that help adults get through?” She shrugged meaningfully out the window at some unseen force.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” I said, plumping a sofa cushion. “Jack Hanscomb just left to go back to work. Anita’s good for at least two days of sanity. My movie’s fine. Nobody’s getting fired this week except maybe Michael.”

“Okay, okay, but I still think you need one of those adult-crisis books,” she said. It didn’t exactly make her feel secure to catch me in tears.

“Why?”

She threw up her hands. “Self-help,” she shouted. “Knowing you, you won’t go to one of your churches, I mean synagogues,” and she looked more woebegone.

“Don’t be so sure.” I said, touched. “How you doing?”

She frowned out the window. The spectacle of my collapse embarrassed her as much as it frightened her.

“I want to hide out.” She spoke faster than usual. “I’m really confused. I been sitting in St. Patrick’s for the last hour talking to myself. I’m making some changes. I’m going to get my own apartment even if I have to move to Hoboken or Brooklyn to afford it. This whole thing with Sam strung me out.”

“Could be a lot worse,” I said. “In two weeks, you’ll be bouncing around this office like new.”

“How bad are you?” She turned to me tremulously.

“Just fine.” I balled up my Kleenex. “I just need time to do nothing at all, time for a good cry.”

“You’re in love with that Jack Hanscomb and he went away,” she accused, biting down on her lower lip.

I shook my head. “He was fun,” and I smiled ruefully at the look of concern on her face. “But I wanted him to go back to work. I want this job. That’s why I was crying. I wanted to win, and I did. I’ve been working for twenty years to make this movie.”

She was nodding and twisting a piece of red hair around her finger.

I snorted a little. “I can’t wait to see how the
Times
handles the story, pretending they knew he was alive all along.”

She smiled weakly. “Well, let’s both do something fun right now. What’ll we do?”

“I’m not going to read some book that tells me life has no real pain because everybody suffers. I know what I’m doing. My pain is real, but so is my movie.”

She kicked at the dragon’s neck on my rug and laughed. “Okay, let’s go to a movie, then.”

“Sure, but first I’ve got to send Anita another bagel bribe to remind her not to drive him off the set right away. I’ve got to monitor her mood until she wraps.”

“What are you sending
him?
” She giggled.

I rolled my eyes and dialed Zabar’s.

She opened the
Daily News
to the movie page. “I don’t care what you say. He’ll come back to you, wait and see.”

I placed the overseas order. “Don’t be silly. It’s not like that.”

She bent her head over the newspaper, her bright hair falling in front of her eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. He needs a lot more rescuing, and you’re probably the only person he’s allowed to rescue him in years,” she said in an embarrassed high voice.

I hung up, shaking my head fondly at her. “Maybe you have something there.” She avoided my eyes. I knew she was also talking about herself. She had never thanked me before. “Thanks for the advice but I want more for myself than a wild card,” I said.

“Then you’ll get more,” she said. “Hey, lookit, a sneak preview. They’re not advertising the name.”

“How come you’re so smart about rescuing?” I asked.

“Because you saved me,” she said, her voice rising, “you know I’m right.”

“Maybe, maybe so.” I smiled.

She checked her watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes to get to that movie.”

“Where’s it playing?”

“At the Ziegfeld. What do you think it is?”

“I could figure it out in ten seconds,” I said, “but let’s do it right. We wait in line for tickets, buy two tubs of popcorn with fake butter, find seats way down front, put our feet up, and enjoy the big surprise when the lights go down and the credits roll.”