Leaving Unknown (27 page)

“It’s fantabulous news about the option, Noah. Do you know how many writers would kill for that chance?”

“It doesn’t mean they’ll actually make the movie,” he warned. “It just means they’ve bought the right to be the only ones who can decide to make the movie for the next two years.”

I swatted him. “I
have
learned a thing or two about Hollywood since I got here.” I teased his seriousness. “Like everything is something-meets-something. Hmmmm…what would
The Boy Who Could Fly
be? Harry Potter meets
The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Clay
?”

He looked impressed. “They said Calvin and Hobbes meets Cavalier and Clay, with elements of Harry Potter.”

“I can’t take too much credit,” I confessed. “No male-coming-of-age-themed meeting would be complete without a reference to Harry Potter. For girls it’s Hannah Montana. Everyone pitches themselves as the ‘new Harry Potter,’ or the ‘next
Hannah Montana.’” I said this as if I, beleaguered studio head, had to endure endless pitches.

“You’ve really taken to LA. I was impressed with your social savvy, suggesting all the places we could go.” For once, I couldn’t read his expression.

“Oh, well, you know.” I gave a dismissive half wave, as if my velvet-rope lifestyle was an incandescent blur of hot venues. I left out the part that I’d never been inside any of the places I’d walked past, but heard about them from Laura-Lola when she came home at night or read out loud to me from
Us Magazine
.

“You definitely don’t miss Unknown then, with nothing but Netflix for entertainment.” Noah’s voice was funny.

Oh but I do
, I wanted to say. Instead I said. “How’s that Ronnie Two Shoes been behaving?”

After a while our main courses arrived. We salted and peppered and somewhere in there a second bottle of wine appeared. Noah asked me about life in LA. I couldn’t tell him the truth—that I had no job, no friends, and lived on a futon in a dumpy squat off an alley…when I
had
a place to sleep, that is. That would feel like failure. I told him about Marion and the characters on the boardwalk, and my observations about LA.

“The deference cars show pedestrians is amazing. I’ve nearly plowed down numerous Californians when I’m not expecting them to step trustingly in front of my car. I’ve stopped traffic dead by merely lifting a foot off the pavement as if I
might
cross the street. It’s surreal.”

“Coming from a town with no stoplights and only a few more intersections, I’d be fine with that. I’m the guy that has commuters muttering ‘damn tourist.’”

“And everyone’s so happy. Like when it rains, they love it because it’s a novelty. And I think secretly because it gives them an excuse to lie slothfully on the couch with a remote
like the rest of the country, as opposed to being healthy, happy, running-outdoors Californians taking advantage of the perfect weather.”

“And you? Are you happy?”

“Yeah, sure.” I didn’t meet his eyes. “Tell me more about Monkey Flower Festival plans.” I felt a pang at the thought of missing the festival.

Noah shook his head and grinned. “Tuesday’s trying to choreograph the kids into a representational dance about the first time Natives used a monkey flower as a salt substitute, with a modern health message about blood pressure and heart care. And April is composing a ballad that includes the scientific and common names of
all
the monkey flower species in the region.”

“Aren’t there hundreds?”

Noah wiggled his eyebrows at me. “
Yes
. And they all begin with
mimulus
.” He began to chant. “
Mimulus debilis, mimulus glutinosus, mimulus luteus, mimulus nudatus, mimulus stellatus
…”

“Those can’t be real!”

“You doubt me?” He pretended offense.

“You make up stories for a living,” I pointed out.

“Fair point. Speaking of…” He looked at his watch. It was midnight. He looked at me regretfully. “I should probably get to bed. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Wait,” I said, desperate. “I haven’t told you about Laura-Lola and Perez Hilton.” I launched into an expanded version of my story, anxious not to lose my lifeline. After that, I babbled about anything I could think of—dubious star sightings, local haunts, California politics, traffic patterns. Noah listened, eyes drooping more the longer I rambled. I was recapping the weather for each of the forty-eight days I’d been in town when Noah’s face split into a wide yawn.

“Maeve, I’m sorry. I love your company, but I’ve got to go to bed.” His look was kind, but tired.

“But you haven’t been to the beach yet! You can’t leave without putting your feet in the sand,” I insisted. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes. It’ll be perfect. Santa Monica by moonlight.” I was already rising from my stool when he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Maeve, what’s going on?” His face was concerned.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on. You need to see the beach, is all.”

“I don’t think so.” He studied me.

“It just seems like we should hang out. Who knows when we’ll see each other again?” I had a brainstorm. “Hey, I know! Let’s stay up all night and watch the sunrise!”

“Watch the sunrise.”

“Yes!”

“Unfortunately, I’ll practically see the sunrise if I want to make my flight. So, I’m going to have to put you in a taxi, I’m afraid.”

“Taxi? Oh, no. I’m not taking a taxi.” I accepted defeat, but refused to have him know the mess I was in. I didn’t want Noah to see flighty, silly Maeve in a jam.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll pay for it. I’m not letting you wander into the night after two bottles of wine.”

“It’s not that. It’s…I mean, I prefer to walk.”

“That’s it.” He crossed his arms. “What’s going on?” He gave me his stern look.

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. Exhaustion washed over me. I was tired of taking care of myself. I wanted someone else to share the load.

“I have nowhere to go,” I confessed.

“What do you mean?” He looked confused. I explained, bracing myself for his upbraid at getting myself into this predicament. Instead, he broke into a laugh. “God, you had me worried. I thought there were shady characters after you or an arrest warrant. You silly goose, you can stay with me. Why didn’t you say something hours ago?”

I shook my head, bemused.

“C’mon.” He stood and I followed him, like a puppy.

The room he let us into was spacious and attractive, and dominated by a king bed. I felt awkward. Noah caught my hesitation, and tugged my hand.

“C’mon, settle in. We’ll watch TV until you’re sleepy.”

We flopped onto the bed, burrowing in against the pillows.

“Where’s the remote?” I feigned casual, trying not to be aware of his body stretched out next to mine. We both looked around.

“Uh-oh.” Noah pointed. The remote was across the room, on top of the TV.

“Well, go get it,” I said.

“You go get it,” he said.

“I’m the guest,” I argued.

“I rescued you,” he disputed. “You should show me gratitude.”

I turned on my side, propped up on my elbow. “Oh yeah? Well I rescued you from being that lonely guy at the bar drinking and eating alone. You should show
me
gratitude.”

“I paid for that dinner.”

“No you didn’t. The studio did,” I countered.

“Well, I gave you a job when you were broke and desperate.” He gave me a superior look.

“Oh please. You were a mess. I saved that place for you.”

His look was incredulous. “Cheeky monkey. I graciously
hired your unemployable self,
and
I chauffeured you around Arizona,
and
I gave you a modicum of literary education.”

“I made you sandwiches when you would have starved to death,
and
organized your life,
and
made sure you paid your taxes and stayed out of IRS jail.”

He shook his head, smiling. “It figures that I finally get you into my bed, and we’re arguing.”

I frowned at him. Clearly the wine had made my brain a little fuzzy. Surely he didn’t mean…I dismissed the thought as fantasy.

Noah laughed and pressed his index finger on the crease between my eyebrows. “Watch out,” he teased. “Your divot is showing.”

“I see London, I see Kent, I see someone’s forehead dent.” I paraphrased childhood lyrics. I thrilled at his touch.

“You seem unperturbed.” He was surprised.

I blew out my bangs and flopped on my back. “It’s funny,” I said. Noah slid down until he was lying on his side, chin on his elbow, listening. Either the wine or his presence was making me brave. Or stupid.

“I worried so much about that divot.” I let the truth come out. “Lotions, creams, massages, never frowning. If I’d known about Botox I’d have bought it by the gallon.” I turned my head to look at him. “Did you know ‘Botox’ isn’t in spell check for Microsoft Word? That’s a fact. It’s that new.”

Noah tugged my nose. “Stay on target, Red 5.”

I resumed my examination of the ceiling. “Some days they were pumping chemicals into my body designed to kill half my cells and I directed all my energy to maintaining a placid facial expression. I’m not sure why I thought I could control that one wrinkle when I couldn’t control my cells, my hair, my dry skin, my chapped lips. Hell, I couldn’t keep down crack
ers. But I was going to block that furrow no matter what. And you know why?” I looked up at him again, but he waited, listening. “Because I knew I was going to die.” I said out loud. And paused to catch my breath. The statement reverberated through my system like a bouncing gong. Right to home plate. Noah’s gaze stayed steady, and the clanging, slowly, quieted. I spoke again.

“I knew I was going to die and I didn’t want to be lying in my coffin with all my relatives looking at me for the last time with a divot on my forehead. I don’t know if I didn’t want my parents to think I was worried about going to…well, wherever you go. Or if I resented the irony that I’d wear into death the mark of having lived a life, when I hadn’t done anything for most of it but be sick. Maybe it was pure vanity. I wanted to be a good-looking corpse.” My laugh was a bark.

“And now?” Were Noah’s eyes shimmering? I’d definitely had a lot of wine.

“And now I’m going to live a long fucking time,” I gloated. “
I
won. I’m going to do so many things in my life and have so many wrinkles that by the time I’m done I’ll be a wizened old crab apple, just like Great Aunt Ida.”

“You don’t have a Great Aunt Ida,” Noah whispered.

“No,” I confessed. “But I have a life. And this”—I pointed at my forehead—“this is the first stamp on my passport.”

I smiled up at him. He leaned down and kissed me. It was so sudden I didn’t realize it was happening until it was. The moment his lips touched mine we locked in an embrace, pent-up longing coursing between us as we kissed intensely. My arms wrapped around his neck as he slid one hand under my head and the other along my back to pull me close, the length of our bodies touching. Time was suspended as the kiss went on and on. It was beyond anything I had dreamed of in all my imagined Noah fantasies. His warm skin, solid body, search
ing lips, were real. He made me feel simultaneously like heated carnal flesh and delicate as an eggshell, the way he caressed me and moved his mouth over mine. He kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, before capturing my mouth again. I couldn’t believe it was happening, and I didn’t want to be
thinking
at the moment. I gave myself completely to the kiss, our tongues tangling.

He pulled back at last, and gently brushed my bangs off my forehead. “Thank God for you,” he murmured, tracing my cheekbone with his thumb. “I can’t imagine a world without Maeve.” He kissed me again and smiled, bumping his nose against mine.

Emotions were raging through me. They must have reflected on my face, because Noah frowned and stopped stroking my back. His expression became frozen. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.” He jerked back. “You weren’t expecting to get jumped. I promised you a safe place to stay—I had no intention…I was going to control myself…Here you were opening up to me and I leaped on you. God, what’s wrong with me? I’m so sorry, Maeve.” He released me and rolled onto his back, looking wretched.

I stared at the man I loved. I could hear my heart thrumming in my chest like I’d been running. When we were kissing I hadn’t heard, felt, or noticed anything but his touch. I wanted him so badly. I don’t know if it was a “decision” or a compulsion, but I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him back against me.

“Stop talking.” I commanded against his mouth, unbuttoning his shirt. He looked in my eyes for a beat, then our lips locked hungrily and he too reached to slide me out of my top.

I stared at him in the semi-darkness of predawn, the low glow of the desk lamp casting shadows on the planes of his sleeping face. I traced the outline of his cheek and ear so lightly
there was barely contact. He breathed deeply, evenly. His face was beautiful, with its sharp cheekbones and precise mouth. His whole body was beautiful, naked next to me beneath the sheet. I knew it now. I was intimate with that shapely mouth, the curve of his hip. The finally discovered tattoo was an old friend, a sun symbol spreading between his shoulder blades. But I wanted to know more. How was it he never had bad breath? Even after two bottles of wine and sleep, his breath smelled like pears. And the scar on his jaw, below his left ear. How did he get that? Part of me wanted to wake him, to gobble every second before he left tomorrow. I glanced at the clock and winced. Today.

It had been the most amazing night of my life. We’d alternated between lovemaking and intimate conversation, pillowed heads facing. I’d told him what it’d been like to be sick, and to feel life return in Unknown, like the needles you feel after your foot’s fallen asleep. He’d told me about trying to hold his family together as a boy, and the invented characters he escaped into. After a while he said it was my turn to stop talking, that he was going to worship every inch of my skin. And he did, starting with my toes, and slowly, achingly slowly, moving up. That time had been slow and tender, full of whispered endearments. And when he’d joined our bodies, something clicked in me and my body and soul became one unit again, reunited at last after breaking, so many years ago. Afterward, dozing, I’d clawed my way out of sleep to kiss him again and again. I loved kissing him. I was starved for it. Time suspended like that, our mouths seeking, tasting, exploring, devouring, until we were both aroused again and made love a third time, passionate. Climaxed and satisfied, Noah had gathered me close and fallen asleep, holding me to him. It was a perfect fit.