A Midnight Sun Page 16

  “It made me think, Mirim. And I thought a lot before coming here.”

  “Scotty, I need you to stop saying these things.”

  “Why? Don’t you feel the same way I do? It never feels the same when I’m with somebody else.”

  I stood abruptly feeling either rage or indignation, but I just could define the feeling. “And it never will feel the same with anybody else, Scotty. We, I mean, you and me? Scott, I need to go to work.” I stomp into my room and grab my purse and briefcase. “I guess you’ll be coming along, too. I need to brush my teeth and…” I push everything I remember to bring into my handbag. “Where’s my lipstick?”

  I run around the apartment while Scotty just stands there where I leave him. When I finally reach the door, he’s standing there with his coat and keys, and the charm bracelet. He has clipped on the new charm and holds it out for me to wear. I extend my hand and let him clip it on. “Why are you running away from this?” He says softly.

  “I’m not doing such a thing. How could I ever run away from you? I love you, Scotty. You are…I’m late, Scott. Let’s go.”

  “You’re skirting this.”

  “Not true. I’m skirting the fact that you are pushing this. Where’s the car?”

  “There, on the corner. And yes, you are!”

  “Scotty, I don’t need this argument, I don’t want this between us. Where is the damn car?” I yell with the last sentence. I feel incensed. To me, yelling at Scott feels like the world is wrong because we never argue. “The car, the fucking car, Scott!”

  “It’s right there!” He is now yelling back and neither of us can stop. He reaches the car first and opens my door. “You are skirting this issue, and I have to believe it’s because you are scared of being with somebody who really loves you. I am asking you to simply search in your heart to see what it is that you feel.”

  “This is not the way Scott. I’m not scared and don’t be an idiot about this.” I strut toward the passenger side and get in. I feel enraged he is doing this because of his timing, it feels like I have to deal with it at the worse possible moment and I don’t feel like going further into the matter. Suddenly, I feel a surge of words coming out for air. I know I’ll regret them but can’t stop myself. “You are so inconsiderate!” I shout at him.

  “So, I’m inconsiderate and an idiot. Since when did you decide I was an idiot. I can’t believe you. I’m trying to– “

  “Scott, STOP TALKING!”

  We both stare at each other while he holds the door of the car open. It takes forever for him to decide to close it and go to the drivers’ side.

  As he walks around the car, I chastise myself for being so harsh with Scott. He isn’t the least bit inconsiderate. Rather, he is kind and generous. He has not only reciprocated my friendship with time and love but has been there for me when I’ve been at my worst. Scotty is the type of guy I always want to have in my life. But, at this moment in time, I feel the deepest and most raw kind of anger, unjustifiably so, but real nonetheless.

  When he is finally seated and has latched his seat belt, he turns the car on and speaks without facing me. “You know what cheeks, I take it back. Never mind what I said. I want the charm and the bracelet back.”

  I feel like he has poked me with a hot knife straight in the middle of my chest. The way he is looking at me is defying. He is enraged too, like I’ve never seen him before.

  I come nearly undone, as close to the gates of bursting into tears as a person can get. But I hold back. I hold everything back because I know the way I’m feeling is momentary and there’s a part of me that makes me retreat and not lash out in anger. “Scott, I’m late. Can we discuss this after I finish work?”

  “I leave tonight, Chipmunk.” He says, and we both fall silent a long time.

  The ride to Meadow Press is silent and icy. Scott only looks at me when he needs directions. He pulls up to the front of the building and unlocks the doors.

  “Change it,” I say and tears fall slowly on my face.

  “What? Change it?”

  “The flight.”

  He takes the keys out of the ignition and doesn’t move for a while. I can see the keys glinting in the sunlight and the distance between us becomes as tangible as the sound of those keys. I open the door and step out but his hand retrieves me right away. We glance at each other and I see in his demeanor the last vestiges of anger. He casts me a last look before lowering his gaze.

  Then, he appears to be more at ease but turns to face forward instead of me. “I’ll change it. See you this afternoon.” He whispers.

  “Right,” I answer but don’t move. I can’t. I feel incapable of anything but sitting there.

  Scott then surprises me by getting out of the car to open my door. I step out onto the curb and he kisses my cheek. “Till this afternoon, cheeks.”

  I stand and watch him go around his car and get into his seat. I have nothing on my mind except him. The way he looked hurt me deeply. By the time I say I am sorry, he is driving away and doesn’t see me.

  Chapter 32

  Marquee

  The Coffee Is ‘Really’ Good, Excellent, Incredible, And It Has Nothing to Do with Drugs. Wink!

  Seattle, January 30th, 1990

  Inside the office, everything is right with the world. Phones ring and it smells of freshly brewed coffee. People gossip about the latest details on the new accounts, are settling into desks, move around hallways with books and manuscripts, or wait around the water cooler as an excuse to delay the tasks of the day. It is as Monday as any Monday I have ever seen in the office. But, everything is right with the world.

  Haggard faces yawn in urgency to overcome drowsiness as I walk past, there’s the regulation good morning salutations and an occasional nod or two. I often get a salute from a new mail intern, who is always chipper and smiling, everyone familiar and yet a complete stranger, so to me, everything is right with the world.

  Scotty is momentarily out of my mind despite feeling how I feel. In the cacophony of smells, rhythms, and sounds, I am a paradigm.

  I look at others and wonder how much of this is true for them. Have they overslept, fought with a significant other, had sex, kissed for the first time with a new lover after a long night, almost got run over while walking their dog, taken their kids to work in a frenzy to do everything just right, had leftover food for breakfast. We all fit into the categories assigned to each person. I wonder if we were all feeling like walking paradigms, or if it is just a Monday thing.

  I plop on my chair feeling deflated. It squeaks. Before I finish sighing with painful regret, Amistad turns to me from her desk and stands.

  “Oh, no. One of those mornings? Extra-large coffee coming right up.”

  I’m grateful I don’t have to say a word to Amistad. She walks out of our shared space, which is not quite a cubicle, but not entirely an office either. Syth comes in and takes one look at me and turns on his heels.

  “Coffee, stat!” He shouts following Amistad into the coffee room. The women in the row right in front of us peek their heads out to take a look at what is happening and go back to their computers and files just as quickly. I likewise, get started, grudgingly, with my work, I have a feeling getting organized for the day will help me figure things out.

  When I pull my work from my briefcase –which I take home every weekend but never manage to go through- the Parker/Fitch letters fall to the carpeted floor. I lean in to grab them and when I sit upright again, Braff is standing in front of my desk.

  “Hey, beautiful. How’s your day- I see. Syth and Amistad getting coffee?”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  He assents and pouts simultaneously. “There, there. A good dose of caffeine will get you going.”

  “Don’t mock me, Wilkins. I’m not in the mood. Be sympathetic.”

  “I thought I was.” He sits on my desk. “What, is, this?”

  I look up from my files and between Braff’s fingers, dangling and pretty, is my treehous
e charm. He holds it much like I had, pinching it tightly, but with the least amount of skin possible touching it. It’s the moment I realize I’ve removed it not knowing why.

  “A charm, for my bracelet.” I mimic the sound and twirl my hand although I’m not wearing it. Then, roll my eyes and sigh, slumping in my chair again.

  “Never mind I asked! It sounds too complicated for a coffee-less kind of morning. Couple of questions, what are you up to this afternoon, and can you find us a new fact-checker? Mine’s working on another project.

  “Besides redoing these revisions that Amistad did?” I lift the pile of manuscripts from my desk. “I have a fire to put out before dinner. Here’s the extension for the fact-checker.” I hand him a handwritten note with the number.

  “So, as I suspected, it is complicated. You go ahead and do your thing. What am I doing? Glad you asked. Besides a date with a hot number in a tight skirt, I have some good news about your Parker.” He taps the letters on my desk. “Maybe we can meet for a coffee break –but not this coffee, the best coffee, a new place I found- say, earlier than fire-dousing o’clock?”

  I lift my hands surrendering. “Sure.”

  “Hey, I’m only here to gather the wool.”

  “Sorry, Braff. This morning has me dragging at my heels.”

  “No worries kid, you’ll thank me later. It’s really good news.”

  I perked up. “Is it that good? What you found out about Parker?”

  “Oh, my dear impudent Mirim.” He kissed my cheek and smirked. “You doubt me still? It’s better than good. In fact, I don’t do good. I do great, awesome, excellent, incredible. I, my dear, am a phenom!” He walks away and I laughed, already feeling better.

  Seeing Amistad and Syth headed my way with a large cup of coffee made me feel even better. “Coffee break it is…” I mumble and set the letters aside so I can get to work.

  The morning ran past me in a blur. I felt tied to the passing of its light through the office, growing from the east across the windows and arching over to the west side of the building until I realized what time it was. “It’s late-o’clock!”

  I had skipped lunch entirely and yet still had work to do. I gulped the last of my cold coffee and my stomach grumbled. In response, my back cracked, scolding me for not moving from my desk the entire day. But I had managed to catch up with most of my ‘weekend’ work.

  My neck was stiff, like my mind, which had become tight and painful, especially every time I remembered Scotty’s sadness and how I had screamed at him. I know a headache will set it permanent residence if I don’t change my desk scene for, say, a less visually appealing but more comfortable lounging couch in the lunchroom. Braff approached my desk as I was trying to stretch.

  “Gorgeous day. Let’s play hooky.” He says grabbing my coat and pulling my hand.

  “Too early –and too old- for playing hooky.”

  “Did you say nookie?”

  “Braff!”

  He smiles. “Seriously, there’s a new café about two blocks away with the loveliest waitress. She has a chin dimple and winks every time she brings me coffee.”

  “Tight skirt?”

  “Yep.”

  “Actually. I could use a bite to eat, but I’m moody, so suit yourself.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Less than ten minutes later, I was sitting cross-legged, delighted with the best coffee I had tasted in town. Braff had called ahead and his favorite waitress had a table and the coffee ready for us the second we stepped through the door. I order a fruit tray and bread before she leaves. Braff a sandwich and tapioca to go.

  “Smooth, Braff. What else will she– “

  The girl with the chin dimple brought a flower and popped it into a cylindrical tube in the middle of the table. She winked. I scoffed.

  “She does that only for me.”

  “I bet. And wait, tapioca?”

  “Yeah, I asked for another to give you. It’s completely irrational how good this dessert is.”

  “So, my lovely.” He sips coffee like I do, I notice, with his eyes closed and smelling it first. “Hmm, so delicious.” He says, “I talked to a man, who talked to a film historian and gave me his contact.”

  I was still watching him, how he drinks his coffee. Then, sets it down carefully with a swift twist of the wrist. Breaking off the strange hypnotic effect he was having on me, I ask. “A historian?”

  “Film historian. I requested a brief on Parker. I should be getting tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

  “Braff, I stand corrected. You are way better than good. What time am I to stop by and grovel at your feet?”

  The waitress heard me and shot me a bewildered look.

  “Saturday night, and no groveling necessary. Your lovely company will suffice. Drinks at Marty’s.” He finished his coffee and leaned forward. “Did you read the letters?”

  “No, I didn’t have a chance to. But I had a fuzzy dream. I don’t remember much. Bad night, not enough REM cycles, I guess. That coffee was amazing.”

  “Told you. So, what do you remember from the dream?”

  “A studio. Or movie set. Parker was restless, reciting lines while holding a rolled-up script. I couldn’t understand what she was saying. A man came up to her and was putting makeup on her. I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Well, this dream was different. I was watching from her this time. Not as a spectator, but as a visitor inside her body.”

  “Okay, better seats. Go on.”

  “She paced and mumbled. I felt her weariness, and she was nauseated somehow. Somebody called to places and she searched the floor. There was an X near a floor lamp. She hid the script behind the cushion of an armchair and stepped on it, on the mark, kneading her hands and arranging her hair. Somebody called to action and she switched the lamp on. She then said a short phrase and then moved to a mirror. I saw myself through her eyes and moved as she was moving. It was strange.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Nothing important, really. It was lines from the movie. After that, I heard a man yell cut and she ran off the set in a hurry.”

  “Don’t know. That part was blurry. I sort off…dislodged from her, for lack of a better word. The next thing I saw was from below.”

  “From below. I don’t understand.” He asked chin dimple for the check and she winked again.

  “I saw her sitting on a stairwell, smoking a cigarette with a man. They were talking and laughing. After they stubbed out the cigarette, like they were hurried. I had a sense of them being called to set, although I didn’t hear anything. And then, that is kinda how it was, a string of images cut into one another, a series of blanking snapshots, like the reel of old movies which aren’t yet smooth.

  “It’s all very fussy now, but most of the images were of her working. I was in and out of her body, watching and feeling like she did and then out again like a spectator. There was a moment I felt this strange feeling. The pain that was coming from her is the best I can gather. She cried, or was crying just then, a lot. I saw a man giving her a large bottle of pills. Then, she slept and became ill. Queasy and vomiting, in and out of her bed. Then sleepy, zig-zagging on her way to the bathroom or back to bed. She’d make it to set and I felt her overwhelmed, sad, and still working. What can it mean, Braff?”

  “It sounds like what you are seeing, her films and her work. She might have been sick or on medication. Did you say pills? It might be important.”

  “Yes, it was on and off, and at different times of the day. Not always the same pills.”

  “It was common at the time, so it makes perfect sense.”

  “What does?”

  Pills. They fed them like candy to actors during that time. Laws weren’t well established yet. At the beginning of the film industry, studios owned the actors and made them work overtime. Uppers and downers –the pills. They used uppers to get them going and energized. Downers for relaxation and sleep.”

  “How repul
sive. Terrible way to treat people. It actually explains a lot –how I felt and why I felt it. It reminds me of the dream where I saw her with shaky hands.”

  “Possibly the beginning symptoms of overstimulation or medicine abuse. The drowsiness and queasiness might be the side effect of opioids or barbiturates. Those were prescribed often and too openly in my opinion. She probably became addicted over time which was commonplace for a lot of actors in the beginning. The historian I met may be able to shine a light on this as well. You should absolutely read the letters Mirim. Maybe there’s something there.”

  I was savoring each letter with the delight of finding out more, but not about Mirim having trouble. I doubt there is anything in them about this, since they are mostly from Fitch and before her career took off. But I guess I will have to read them tonight. It’s going to be difficult though. I have this issue with a friend.”

  He leans in and after approximately a minute of weird staring, he smiles knowingly. “The charm. Who is the friend?”

  “Scott. He’s one of my oldest friends from childhood. We’ve known each other since grade school. He lives in San Francisco.”

  “And he’s here?”

  I take a deep breath and brace myself for what will come after I tell him about Scotty. Surprisingly, Braff is more supportive than I had expected. He listens intently as we walk back to the office. He has both hands in his pockets and looks distinguished and charming, while I juggle with the tapiocas and my handbag.

  I tell Braff how Scotty has been acting lately, about the bracelet and the charm, but I hesitate before I confide in him about the argument we had earlier. When we board the elevator, I just tell him his behavior as of late is confusing and I feel troubled by it.

  Just when we are about to reach our floor, I notice his chin. There is a small nick right on the edge where the chin meets his neck. It looks like a shaving incident but I’m afraid to be too direct. It gets my attention because Braff is not somebody I’d thought of as cut himself shaving. I would have pegged him more as an electric razor kind of guy. “So, Scotty is waiting this afternoon to come get me and discuss what happened between…sorry Braff, I hate to ask but can’t help it, did you cut yourself shaving?”