Writer's Block (Chapter 41 to 50)

Chapter 41

Claire opened the door to her apartment clumsily. Too much beer. As she entered her dark living room, she noticed the flickering red light on her answering machine. She turned on the light and ran to check her messages.
There were three messages from Ryan – Claire cursed herself repeatedly – one from Emma, one from Bill and one from Mark. As she walked away, she heard the answering machine deliver one last message… it was the sound of someone breathing nervously… waiting… and finally, they hung up.
She went back and played it again, trying to recognize the sounds behind it. They were calling from the street; she glanced at the caller id: blocked number. Had it been a pay phone? Had it been from abroad? She couldn’t say.
She decided she was too exhausted to think about it tonight. She would deal with it tomorrow. Right now all she wanted was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

She woke up to the sound of construction workers. “Damn it!” she yelled out her window. An exercise in futility, considering they probably couldn’t hear her on top of all that crazy ruckus. Rubbing her eyes, she breathed in and sat up on her bed. She grabbed her watch from the bedside table: 7:30 am. After shaking her head, she stretched herself and walked clumsily into the bathroom.
Claire went jogging that morning, glad to be up this early to avoid the city’s summer heat. After almost 40 minutes of running non stop, she slowed down, bought the paper, and sat to drink some water, and read on a nearby bench.
She browsed through the Literary Section pausing to read reviews on some of the newly published novels. She tried to remember the titles of a few that seemed promising. She then moved on to the International News Section, finding an article depicting the terrible human slaughter that was happening in Darfur, and what the International Crime Court was doing about it. It reminded her of Ryan, and she felt terrible as she realized how unfair life was to these people. She knew something had to be done, and made a mental note promising herself she would think about something to do, other than donating money to the cause. She had to do something more personal, get involved in some way. It led her to think about human nature and the horrible things men could do to each other.
Pausing every so often to replenish her liquids, she kept on browsing; flicking through the pages indifferently. She stopped at the Entertainment Section, looking for a good movie to watch that evening. She read the reviews to a couple of them, but nothing struck her as particularly interesting or enticing. She folded the paper, and was about to toss it into a bin, when she noticed the title of an article that caught her attention: “From Columbia to Hollywood, By Richard Morris”, she continued to read “Never in my twenty years as an investigative journalist have I been so taken up by a story. (At this point I need to warn my readers that part of the information portrayed in this article, has been handed to me, first hand, from a fellow journalist currently working for the LA Times, in exchange for some local scoop). So, here goes…
It seems our local writer and future novelist, Claire Brickwell, has taken some time off, this past month to relax and visit Emma Peters, her childhood neighbor and best friend from high school, down in LA. Ms Peters is a ruthless lawyer, working for one of LA’s most prestigious Corporate Law Firms, more precisely Latham & Watkins LLP; where she seems to be steadily climbing the ladder towards success.
While in California, the stunning young writer, seems to have awakened the love and yearning of none other than Academy Award Nominee, Ryan Gosling; in such rapture it could be only likened to Noah’s devotion for Allie, his fictional character in the 2005 box office hit, The Notebook (co-starring Rachel McAdams). We all know how the story goes, because unless you’ve been in outer space for the last four years, you have seen The Notebook and know about Gosling’s and McAdams’ overly exposed romance, as they started seeing each other a few months after it premiered.
Now, you’ll probably tell me Gosling and McAdams are history. And you would be right. Nonetheless, Ryan seems to be haunted by Noah’s character once more, as he falls for a woman belonging to a completely different environment. It’s true that Ryan has impressed us, more than once, with his cunning acting skills and his bold movie choices; but does he really think there is any future in his relationship with a Columbia English Literature Graduate?
Rumors are she’s working on a novel, and will probably be publishing it by the end of this year… something we’re all looking forward to. Ms Brickwell has been known to break a heart or two in the past, having shared an apartment for almost three years with Zachary Wilder, the promising New York born writer and exile living in France (You might want to check out his latest novel: A Modern Day Tragedy – I highly recommend it).
During her stay in LA, Claire has impressed Hollywood’s renegade director Mark Shaw, to the point of landing a job to write the screenplay adaptation of A Multitude of Sins, his upcoming movie; starring none other than Robert De Niro and… yes, three guesses? Ryan Gosling!
When asked about her, Bob (who’s not only one of the best actors of the century, but also a personal friend of mine) mentioned she was extremely talented and a beautiful person, both in body and soul.
Considering her current work related attachment to Hollywood, we now understand why she was spotted having drinks at an exclusive LA bar with John Hunter, ‘the shark’ (as his colleague producers call him), who happens to be one of the executive producers to the aforementioned upcoming movie, and seems to display dubious intentions towards our young writer. He, on the other hand, appears to be a more suitable alternative, considering his extensive educational record (that can only be paralleled to his long list of love conquests). Will Claire be the one that got away?
Now my readers may be wondering, why do I even bother to write about this in our local paper? Simple. They’re moving into town! Claire is back in her upper west side apartment, having arrived only two days ago. Shaw and Hunter are in town scouting for shooting locations, and Ryan will be flying in, with the rest of the cast, in about two weeks.
As you may have noticed, all the elements for a thrilling romantic blockbuster are present. We just need Shaw to yell: Action!

She stared at the article in shock. How did they do it? How could they know all this about her? Claire had never imagined these gossips columnists would follow her all the way to Manhattan! (She was glad to see there were no pictures of her next to the article). Up until now, she had enjoyed a peaceful life of anonymity in New York, and she intended to keep it that way.
Letting out a deep sigh, she tossed the paper and walked slowly back home.

Getting any work done that morning had been almost impossible. Claire took a long shower, slipped into her robe, and sat in front of her laptop, savoring a warm home made cappuccino. The cursor blinked annoyingly, almost demandingly on the screen as she had finished typing: 'Section IV: Chapter 15' (almost 30 minutes ago). Nothing. Not even a hint of a word. She stretched her arms, yawned and searched the drawers in her desk for a miraculously hidden cigarette. She could really use one after what she read on the paper this morning.
Nope.
She stood up and walked across the room. A wall covered with books, unfinished essays and random notes, was probably the best place to look. She carefully pushed, lifted, peeped through, turned, replaced and switched items, in search of it. Finally, behind the pile of books she had bought at Emma’s nearby bookstore, she found a pack of Marlboro Lights. Gotcha! She grabbed a cigarette, lit it and stood moaning softly as she breathed out; her hand still on the heavenly shelf. As she slid it off to walk towards the open window, she accidentally pushed the books off the shelf and onto the floor.
You’re such a spaz! she said to herself and knelt down to pick them up. She recognized the novel she had finished in California, reminiscing on what an original and hilarious approach the writer had used to describe the process of planning and committing suicide. Of course, things had backfired eventually, and the novel ended up being a refreshing tale about how life – and death for that matter – is something that just happens, and has absolutely no intentions of following man’s whimsical and foolish choices. She then saw the second novel she had purchased by the same author, and held on to it, thinking she’d like to start reading it today. A few short story collections she had taken with her, but that hadn’t even been touched; proving once more her theory that you should never take more than one book with you when you travel. If you really want to, and have time to read something, you can always count on a nearby bookstore; wherever you are.
Finally, at the end of the pile she was confronted with ‘her Rothko’. She stared blankly at the cover brushing the sand off it. How these microscopic grains of sand had found their way onto this book was completely beyond her. Still holding on to the other book she had set apart; she stood up and walked to the kitchen for an ashtray, setting both books on the counter. She leaned on it for a while as she puffed nervously, stopping only to bite an occasional nail. She put out the cigarette and grabbed Zach’s novel with resolute determination, only distracting her attention from the cover, to arrange the cushions on her couch. She opened the book and sat, lifting her legs up and pressing them against her chest. This was one of her favorite positions, (Her mom had always found it hilarious when she walked into her room and found her in such contortion).
She read the first page “To my Rothko, wherever she may be”, she flipped on to the second page. “Chapter one: An epiphany. He knew now the passion she had felt for him, at such young and vulnerable age, was just an accessory to the passion itself”
The novel grabbed her, making her feel what Claire thought a person would experiment if they where accidentally dropped into an automatic washing machine, for an entire wash and rinse program. She felt a comforting warmth as it soaked every single cell in her body, she shivered as cold water rinsed her off, finally succumbing, as the spin cycle shook and dismembered her leaving her to float, face down and lifeless.
It was all there. They’re life together: how they met, how they got to care for each other, how they disagreed on food and music, how they adored the sound of poetry read out loud. What they did together, what they held back from each other… It described in detail their trips abroad and their usual activities when they chose to stay in. It was the unabridged version of their relationship. It was a detailed description of their intimacy, a blunt portrait of each shared moment, photographed with a bare lens. But most of all, it was a confession, of his thoughts, of his feelings towards her (past and present), of his fears and finally, of his tragic epiphany, as he realized what he had lost unknowingly. It was a declaration, a proclamation of eternal love and devotion. It transcended time and disturbing habits: grabbing the sheets, leaving behind food to rot in the refrigerator, blowing your nose and forgetting a dirty tissue on the bed, burping after beer, eating the last cookie, dozing off during sex…

It transcended life itself.

The phone rang. Claire checked her watch: 6pm. She had been sitting in the same awkward position for almost 8 hours! She struggled out of it and jumped to grab the phone
“Hello?” her body felt sore
“Hey… finally!” Ryan smiled as he pressed his cell phone against his cheekbone.
“Ryan! Hey! I’m so glad it’s you!”
“Who were you expecting?” he laughed
“No one…” (Claire had been thinking about Zach for the last 8 hours)
“So, I called you yesterday… three times, more precisely; but you weren’t home. I also tried to reach you on your cell phone but it wasn’t on”
“Yeah, I know. I completely forgot about my cell phone yesterday. The battery needed charging, and I left it behind after my meeting with Bill.” She paused to catch her breath “As for my day… well, Mark, John and I went scouting for locations… I guess we must have lost track of time”
“Yeah… I talked to Mark last night. He told me all about it” Ryan was walking to the Laundromat carrying a huge white sack. George walked a few steps ahead, turning every so often to make sure he was walking in the right direction.
“It was amazing, Ry… We really had a great time”
“I can imagine… So, what about last night? Did you go out?”
Claire hesitated for a second but decided to tell him about it “John took me to an art exhibit. It was ok” she tried to tone it down a bit
“Great. I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time” he decided to ignore the strange feeling he sensed on the pit of his stomach.
“Yeah… what about you? What have you been up to?” She sat on the couch pushing Zach’s book away from her
“Nothing much really. Shields and I are practicing a lot, and I’m really focusing on my workout routine”
“What about last night? Did you go out?”
“I got together with a few friends at a club downtown… By the way, I bumped into Caroline, she sends her love” he walked into the Laundromat, George sat to wait outside
“Ok… did you have a good time?” Claire pictured thousands of women coming on to him
“It was ok… nothing special” he began to separate the ‘whites’ from the ‘colors’.
“Ok… good” she licked her lips “I really miss you, you know”
“Claire, I’m going crazy down here..” he stopped and turned to look around, checking to see if someone could overhear their conversation “Have you got any idea of what I’ll do to you when I get there?” he whispered into the phone
“Not if I do it first” Claire smiled brushing her hair with her fingers
“Well, I hope you’re eating because lately you’ve been quite a feeble contender” he laughed
“That’s not fair!... You’re turning into the Incredible Hulk with all that workout… how can I compete with that?”
Ryan bent over laughing “Don’t worry… I’ll let you do whatever you want…” he paused “As long as it doesn’t interfere with my wicked intentions” he raised his eyebrows smiling
“Oh… I see… kinky, are we?”
“You have no idea”
“Well, mister just so you know, I happen to have a fire extinguisher in my apartment, so I’m armed and dangerous”
He smiled “Who’s kinky now, then?”
Claire laughed
They talked for almost an hour, teasing each other and laughing at their silly responses. Ryan sat outside drinking Gatorade and rubbing George’s back. At some point during their conversation, Ryan paused to look at his watch
“Done!” he exclaimed
“What?”
“Nothing… just my laundry. I’m sitting outside of the Laundromat right now with George” he stepped inside
“Oh! I see”
“Yep… perfect. Who ever invented the spin cycle should get the Nobel Prize” he went on as he got his clothes out of the washing machine
Hmmm, Claire thought, the spin cycle… how appropriate. She glanced at Zach’s novel.
“So…” she sighed “will you call me tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you anything you want me to, baby? He teased
“Silly goose!”
“Now, my last name is Gosling… that’s a baby goose”
“Man, you’re on a roll today, aren’t you?”


Chapter 42

The next few days Claire had a really hard time concentrating. She was able to finish two more chapters, but that was hardly enough. She decided to cut herself some slack, remembering how she had worked better in California, in a relaxed atmosphere. She convinced herself that the final chapters of her novel would come to her eventually. It was only natural they did.
John joined her in her daily jogging routine at Central Park, and Claire began to feel extremely at ease with him. He did throw the occasional compliment her way, but most of them were innocent and heartfelt. They visited the MoMA together and made it to a temporary Picasso exhibit at the Guggenheim. Claire adored his Guernica, and although the original painting remained in Madrid; she got to admire the process by which it had been accomplished through his sketches and drawings.
They would get together with Mark every other day, and Claire would give her opinion on the wardrobe and make up, that had been carefully chosen for each one of the characters. She got to talk to Bob De Niro on the phone, as he called Mark and asked to speak with her (when he learnt she was sitting next to him). She met her friends for dinner at The Mercer and told them about the incredible things that had happened to her this past month. She was invited over to Bill’s new house for a barbecue, and got to see Tess’ first ultrasound. Every day, she would speak to Ryan and secretly cross out a square in her kitchen calendar… thinking she was one day closer to seeing him again.

Every so often her answering machine would deliver another odd, empty message, with only the sound of breathing surrounded by a busy street. Claire chose to ignore them, deciding it was probably a disgusting pervert, who got a kick out of calling single girls’ apartments and hanging up.
She would sit on a Starbucks coffee shop, and browse through the NY Times in search of another one of those cheeky articles that invaded her privacy. For a while, all was quiet on the western front.
Claire sat to eat the almost compulsory Sunday Soho brunch with Karen, a fellow writer and friend from Columbia. She had seen her a few days ago, at The Mercer, and had kept her properly updated on her life’s recent events. Karen shared her apartment with Joshua, a marketing consultant she had met almost 4 years ago, at a Broadway Musical. Nobody goes to musicals to meet people, but Joshua had seen Karen from across the dimly lit theater, and worked up the courage to come over and speak to her during the intermission. It was Joseph and his Technicolor Dreamcoat. They had left together and missed the second act. Claire enjoyed asking her how was it that the story actually ended. Had Joseph returned triumphant to his loving father and repented brothers, or had he ended up having kinky sex on Karen’s living room couch? Wait… was it Joseph or Joshua?… She kept forgetting. Karen would usually throw something at her as Claire would break into a cackle.
They sat in silence waiting for their food. Karen browsed through the latest edition of Vogue. Claire held the NY Times, but refused to read it just yet. She enjoyed watching people in their everyday activities. It was a beautiful day and they had picked a table outside, allowing her to have a clear panorama of the entire block. She covered her eyes, slightly protecting them from the sun, and stared into the sidewalk, across the street from the restaurant. Herds of New Yorkers (and probably some tourists too) walked, talked and sat in other restaurants, obeying what Claire thought was the eleventh commandment: Thou shalt have brunch in Soho on Sundays (this was obviously a local commandment, but it shouldn’t be tampered with).
She liked to study the expression on people’s faces, and tried to imagine what they were thinking, where they were going or where they had been. This guy got into an argument with his wife, this one just got laid, this woman is considering breast implants, this one has just maxed out her credit card… and she went on. It was a silly habit, she knew that, but it gave her a feeling of… ubiquity. You know, a kind of ‘I know something about you’ connection of some sort with the rest of the universe.
As she strained her mind to accommodate as many people as she could, she was suddenly struck by what she thought was a familiar face. The moustache and beard weren’t quite right, but there was something about his gaze … she closed her eyes and concentrated… Where? How? What? Who? Then it hit her. It was Zach. Zach Wilder. She opened her eyes and began to search quickly amongst the crowd. He had a blue shirt. No, wait!… Was it dark green?… her eyes kept examining, analyzing, combing, almost fragmenting the scene. He was gone. Vanished. Vaporized into the city’s steamy sidewalks.
“Huh!” Claire turned to look at Karen
“What?” Karen kept her eyes on her magazine
“Nothing… I just thought I saw someone” she kept trying to hold onto that familiar image
“Who? Was it someone famous?” Karen looked up and glanced across the street
“No… not really” the image began to fade
“Oh, ok” Karen went back to her article
“Maybe it just looked like someone I know, I’m not sure”
“Well, it’s hard with the sun’s reflection on you face. Do you wanna trade places? Maybe get a better view from where I’m sitting?”
“Nah… I’m fine.” Karen was right, maybe it had been the sun… An optical illusion of some kind. Zach had never let his beard grow before, and he wasn’t into moustaches either. She paused smiling, to think about Ryan and how she liked to feel his scruff on her face when they kissed. It reminded her of an Old Dutch proverb: ‘A kiss without a beard is like an egg without salt.’
“Oh, well. I must be really hungry if I’m having optical illusions” Claire opened her NY Times and began to read.

“The plot thickens By Richard Morris
I have been informed that Claire Brickwell and John Hunter have been spending a lot of time together lately, sharing work and non-work related activities (with emphasis on the latter). Is it possible that these young and talented two, share more than a passion for jogging in Central Park and an obsession for modern art?
They were spotted at the MoMA on more than one occasion; checking out Picasso’s temporary exhibit at the Guggenheim (you don’t want to miss this one), dining out, and buying takeout dinners from exotic food restaurants for an indoors soiree. They have spent entire evenings at Brand, searching for second hand copies of Raymond Carver’s works, and have also shared the occasional brunch in Soho. I must admit that at no point during their multiple encounters have they been seen kissing or even touching. They only seem to hold hands, and that is not even something they do frequently. When asked about her, Mr. Hunter has refrained from any comment other than “She’s a wonderful person and we’re good friends”.
I, having studied his past records extensively, have a hard time believing he’s going through all this trouble without an agenda. A few club owners and some close friends of the Hollywood playboy, have even mentioned he seems to be ‘out of the night scene’ altogether!
As for Gosling, he will be landing on the Big Apple soon, and is probably completely oblivious to the whole situation. My fellow correspondent in LA tells me he’s been spotted clubbing with friends, but has kept a low profile, sticking to some occasional innocent flirting with a couple of LA’s hotties. Brickwell seems to have kept a tight leash on this one… whether she knows it or not.
Now, you might be wondering why I have chosen such a dramatic title for this article. Well, my intrigued readers, it’s time to add another log to the fire.
Zachary Wilder was spotted leaving JFK airport only yesterday, as he jumped into a cab bound for the city. Of course, his affair with Brickwell ended abruptly almost three years ago, when he decided to move to Paris, and begin a relationship with the controversial Parisian painter Sophie D’Almond. Now it seems Mr. Wilder, on the other hand, has come to New York with a very precise agenda: getting his painting back.
Little did I know, when I first read his latest novel, what the story was really about. Well, here it is … A Modern Day Tragedy is nothing but a declaration of love. To whom, you might ask? To Sophie? To Paris? To New York? To English Literature itself?... Nay… it is dedicated to his Rothko. His one and only true love, and the woman his has longed for (unknowingly, as he mentions in his novel) all these years. And who is this woman? None other than our own upper west side inhabitant: Claire Brickwell.
Now where is Will Shakespeare when you need him?”

Chapter 43

Claire walked into her apartment exhausted. Her body, like a ‘tattered coat upon a stick’, bent and sore. She tossed the paper on the kitchen counter and searched the refrigerator for a bottle of white wine. These gossip columnists seemed to be causing in her an emotional drought. As she poured the wine into a glass, she paused to recall the image of the bearded man she had spotted, only a few hours ago, across the street from that quaint Soho restaurant. It was completely blurred, and the odd details that had reminded her of Zach, had entirely skipped her mind by now. The paper had mentioned he was in town, but having finished reading his novel only a few days ago, could be making her see things that weren’t really there.
She paused for a moment considering, and decided to call Bill. She had to know.
“Bill?”
“Hey, Cee… How are you?”
“I’m fine. How’s Tess doing?” she set down her glass and jumped to sit on the kitchen counter
“Oh… she’s ok now… Morning sickness is really wearing her out”
“Hmm… that’s too bad, Bill. They say it gets better with time, you know”
“Yeah, it just ... kills me. Seeing her throw up on a daily basis is quite disturbing”
“I can imagine…”
“So, did you need anything?” he glanced at his watch wondering why she was calling him on a Sunday evening
“Bill, I need to ask you something important, and I need you to be honest with me” she took a deep breath and picked up her glass.
Bill paused. He knew what this was about… or at least he thought he knew. “Shoot”
“Is Zach in Manhattan?”
Another pause
“Bill… just tell me”
“Yeah… he got here yesterday”
“Hmmm…”
“Why?”
Claire licked her upper lip “I think I saw him in Soho, today”
“It is possible, he’s staying at a friend’s apartment near Houston St.” he sighed “Look, Claire I just...”
“It’s ok Bill… I know” she jumped off the counter
“Has he tried to get in touch with you?”
“Not that I know of, no”
“Good.”
“Bill… I read his novel”
He paused: the shit had really hit the fan now “Aha…” he breathed in
“Did Sophie walk out on him?”
“No… he left her almost a year ago”
“What? A year ago?”
“Yep… when he started working on his novel” Bill sat on his favorite armchair and stretched for his cigarette pack
“I see...How long have you known about this?” she walked towards her window and leaned to stare out into the busy street
“For quite some time now, Claire”
“Did he ask about me?”
“Yeah… but I asked him to back off. He had hurt you enough and I told him you were finally over him…”
“Yeah…” she bit her bottom lip
“… He understood and vowed he would not succumb to the temptation of finding you” he lit a cigarette “Well… I guess he’s given up on it now”
Another pause.
“Claire… I have asked him to stay away from you, but I don’t think he cares anymore”
Claire nodded in silence
“Claire, are you there?”
“Yup” she breathed in
“Look… sooner or later it was bound to happen. I just never thought you would run into him so soon… Manhattan is huge… it seems the planets are not on my side lately. Have you thought about what you’ll say to him when you see him?”
“I won’t see him, Bill. I have nothing to say to him” she sounded determined
“Oh, but you will, Claire… you know Zach, he has a way of making things happen” he sat back after tapping the tip his cigarette on the ashtray.
“Well, then I’ll deal with it when the time comes, I guess…”
“Ok” he was honestly concerned about her
“I’ve moved on, Bill… Zach is just a… bunch of dodgy memories from a distant past. Besides, Ryan’s flying in on Tuesday”
“I’m glad to hear that. Being with him will make you stronger” he really hoped it would

They talked for while. Bill kept apologizing for his silence, and Claire kept telling him she understood… there were no hard feelings. Finally she glanced at her watch and remembered she was supposed to meet Mark, John and Bob for dinner at an African/Moroccan restaurant in the East Village. She hang up the phone promising to keep Bill informed about any new developments on the subject, and hurried into the shower.

She jumped off the cab at Tompkins Square and ran towards 6th street trying not to trip on her recently acquired Manolo sandals. She wore tight pants, a strapless top and Emma’s Italian shawl. The cab driver had asked her is she was an actress, and she shook her head, pausing to consider if there were any pictures of her almost daily excursions with John into the world of modern art, in one of the local gossip magazines. She was 15 minutes late. She charged the table where the three men sat, apologizing profusely for her tardiness. It had been one of those crazy days.
She sat beside Bob, for old time’s sake, and nodded at any suggestion John gave her on the menu. She had very little experience on Moroccan food, but had always been more than glad to ‘take a walk on the wild side’; food wise, that is.
They talked about the unusually pleasant weather in New York, and Bob complimented them on the tight schedule they seemed to be pulling off. Claire commented on the Guggenheim’s temporary Picasso exhibit and how it shouldn’t be missed (for the world!). Bob nodded and made a mental note to check it out before it closed down. Everyone was really excited, and Mark mentioned Ryan was arriving at La Guardia tomorrow on the late flight from LA. Claire thought about the reminder she had written on the refrigerator’s door, using her extensive collection of magnetic poetry.

As some point during their pleasant soiree, Claire paused to consider if any of them read the NY Times, and had come across the recent and infamous articles by Richard Morris. Of course they would never say anything to her, but if they had indeed read them, what were their thoughts on the whole ‘Zach situation’? She was afraid Mark would consider it bad publicity, and that it would jeopardize her current involvement in the film. She knew Mark had pawned her off as a serious writer, and all this silly chitchat about the motives behind Zach’s novel were probably hurting her credibility. Maybe she should ask Mark about it. Not now, of course, she’d wait for the right moment; when they were alone and he could be honest with her. She knew John was definitely aware of everything, considering he knew about the novel (probably before she did), and had been pressed for comments about his relationship with her. John had been a good friend these past two weeks, and she had learnt to care for him and appreciate how he seemed to look out for her all the way up to the most insignificant detail. He had bought her a stunning silver and diamond necklace at Tiffany’s, but Claire had refused such a gift, explaining that was not what their friendship was about. John understood and apologized for it, mentioning he never meant to offend her.
It was late, and Bob excused himself, explaining he had an early tennis match tomorrow. Claire was impressed to learn he was an avid sportsman, who lived by the motto ‘mens sana in corpore sano’. John’s cell phone rang and he stepped outside to answer it. Claire seized the moment.
“Mark?”
“Yep” he was sipping on a delicious Cabernet Sauvignon, Bob had picked from the house wine list
“Have you been reading the NY Times, lately?”
Mark nodded. He put down his glass and sighed “Yeah”
“Any thoughts?” Claire was embarrassed “It’s just silly gossip, you know”
“Yeah… I know. Unfortunately, Richard Morris is not only quite a character, but someone who possesses a certain amount of credibility in New York.”
“Damn it! I hate him, Mark… I really do”
“I wouldn’t worry, Claire”
“You wouldn’t?” she was confused
“Well… first, the articles are quite flattering; second, Zach Wilder has become somewhat of a legend in the modern literary world, and the fact that his novel might be dedicated to you, could actually prove to be exactly what we need…”
“Anything else?” she was amazed at how Mark could rationalize something she had been completely unable to put into perspective.
He nodded “… and third, people are starting to wonder who you are. I’ve even heard someone ask about your upcoming novel, just the other day at Shakespeare & Co. Of course, you never know when these things might backfire on us… but so far, these elusive articles have created a mysterious atmosphere surrounding you, and your ability to inspire the people around you.”
“Hmm…”Claire looked at him impressed
He picked up his glass once more and pretended to toast in her honor “There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about…”
Claire smiled as she finished his Oscar Wilde quote “…and that is not being talked about”
Mark patted her on the shoulder “I knew you were a smart girl”

Chapter 44

Claire stood anxiously at the arrivals sector of La Guardia airport. She had told Ryan it was one of her best friends’ birthday, and that she’d be unable to meet him at the airport that evening. Of course this was all a lie, and as she checked the monitors for his flight status, she smiled trying to picture the expression on his face when he saw her there. To her right she noticed a group of reporters and paparazzi who were probably waiting for him too. She sneered at them. One of the reporters caught her, and stopped to gaze at her … he thought she looked somewhat familiar, but couldn’t quite place her.
Claire turned to look away quickly, hoping whatever pictures had been published of her, were scarce and from a distance. One of them approached her to ask about the flight status and she pretended she didn’t understand English. Ryan’s flight had already landed and was probably cruising the runway towards the designated gate. She wondered if he flew first class… and if that meant he would get off the plane first or last. She shook her head thinking how unfamiliar she was with the life of the rich and famous.

She had dedicated the entire day to cleaning her apartment and making space for Ryan’s stuff. She had gone grocery shopping and had even bought scented candles to create a romantic atmosphere. It took her a while to figure out what to wear, and as she finally settled for a mid-thigh length Calvin Klein black dress and a denim jacket, she turned to look at the mess on her bed (after trying out almost every single outfit she owned). She sighed, shrugged helplessly and slowly began to put everything back in its original place.
John called her just as she was walking out the door, asking her if she wanted to borrow his car. Claire refused politely, and promised to call if she needed anything. She hurried across the lobby and ran into the streets to hail a cab. Dan, her doorman, rushed to stand beside her and assist her in the process. From well inside the taxi, she smiled at him and waved.

She noticed the paparazzi as they moved closer to the main hall and began to yell “Ryan!”, “Hey, Gosling!” “Up here Ryan!” She gasped and strained to glance on top of them standing on the tip of her toes… There he was, carrying a bag and followed by a small entourage. She took a deep breath and snuck her way across the crowd, stopping a few feet away from him, panting in anticipation. He kept on walking, as he smiled at the reporters, and answered some of their questions. Suddenly he saw her and stopped.
Claire smiled and ran towards him, (the rest of the world blacked out completely). He dropped his bag just as she jumped on him, locking her legs around his hips. He held her and they gazed at each other, completely oblivious of the camera flashes and the questions that reporters kept yelling at them. Ryan grabbed her head and pressed her face against his, as their lips met in an ardent kiss. After they had eased their rapture, they slowly came back to a room full of people staring, clapping and cheering: “Way to go, Ryan! That’s how you do it! You’re the man!”
Claire licked her lips, and still in his arms, turned to look around embarrassed. She overheard one of them:
“Who’s the babe?”
“That’s Claire Brickwell, the writer… where have you been, man? She’s all over the NY Times!”
She looked back at Ryan and smiled as he slowly put her back down.
“Hey!” he seemed genuinely surprised to see her
“Hey, yourself”
He grabbed her hand, lifted his bag and continued towards the exit. “I thought you had a birthday party”
”Oh well, turns out her birthday is not until November… so” she shrugged teasingly
“You’re terrible, Brickwell… just terrible” he shook his head smiling
“I know…” she hit her forehead “I’m just not really good with dates, you know!”
He paused to gaze at her “You look amazing”
“What… in this old thing?” she grabbed her dress and laughed
He pulled her close and kissed her again.
“Should we get a cab?” Claire turned her head, trying to count how many people his entourage included
“Don’t worry… There’s a car waiting for me” he turned to look back “They’re not coming with us. They’ll just drop my stuff at the hotel”
“Oh… ok”

As they stepped outside, a black limo parked in front of them. A man in uniform got off and opened the door, grabbing Ryan’s bag and putting it away in the trunk. Claire stepped inside and slid to the side to give Ryan some room. It was huge! Much bigger than the one she had been on, when John took her home from Green Door, back in California. She sat in awe, admiring the pleasant atmosphere, wooden-like finish and leather upholstery. There were a few gadgets she felt like trying out but refrained from, afraid she’d break something. She noticed a small cupboard on the side and opened it to find a wide selection of food and beverages in a tiny deluxe refrigerator.
“Help yourself to whatever you like” Ryan took off his jacket
Claire shook her head “I’m fine”
He then lit a cigarette and pushed a button, making the dark glass pane ahead, slide down.
“Hey Sam, how’s it going?”
The driver turned to look at them “Good evening Mr. Gosling. How was your flight?”
“Not bad” he rolled down the window to let out the smoke “Have you met Claire Brickwell?”
“I don’t think I have. Hello, Ms Brickwell, it’s very nice to meet you”
“Hey, Sam… It’s nice to meet you too” she smiled waving shyly.
“Where will it be then?” he looked at Ryan
“Just drive around for a while… I’ll let you know” he pushed the button as Sam nodded and the glass slid all the way up again.
Claire took off her sandals and lifted her feet as she sat to face him in silence. She still couldn’t believe he was sitting next to her, and that she had survived these past two weeks without him.
“Hey there…” he turned to gaze at her as he rubbed her legs gently
“Hmm” Claire smiled “What about those people you came with?”
He took another drag “Oh... they’re just my publicist and some other folks who usually come with me when I’m on location. Don’t worry; they won’t get in our way”
“Oh, I’m not worried about them” she paused “Where are they going now?”
“Well, they’ll probably check into my hotel and leave some of my stuff there, and then check into their own rooms… I guess”
“Ok… What about George?”
“He’ll be coming next week. Are you sure you want him to stay at your place?”
“Positive. If there’s one thing my apartment needs is a gorgeous dog like George. I actually miss him”
“Well… he misses you too… but enough about George… I’m the one who’s been dying to see you” he put out his cigarette and rolled up the window
“Oh…” Claire exclaimed “Cuz I’ve been having a party up here in Manhattan without you!” she frowned at him
He laughed “Come here” lifting her and placing her on his lap.
“Well, I see you haven’t put on a single pound since I last saw you. You’re too easy like this, Brickwell”
“Damn it, Gosling! Look at your arms! I’m starting to think I’ve fallen for Sylvester fucking Stallone!” she knew she was exaggerating
Ryan laughed and paused to gaze at her as he licked his upper lip
“What?” Claire stuck out her tongue
“Oh... you’re gonna pay for that” he started to tickle her
“No... Ryan... stop… please! Don’t!” she laughed as she struggled trying to hold his arms down
None of them remember how it started, but it just did… almost naturally. As they kissed, a sudden rapture led them to tear each other clothes off, desperately needing to feel the familiar touch of their bare skin against their shivering bodies. They lay naked, holding each other just like they had so many times before, touching, moaning, panting, exploring every single corner of their anatomies, recalling smells and sounds.
As Ryan touched her driving her wild, he whispered “Claire…?
“Hmmm…?” she could hardly speak
“I don’t know how to tell you this but… I don’t have anything on me. They’re in my bag” he looked at her embarrassed, he had not expected this to happen
“Oh…” Claire opened her eyes
“It’s ok… we can deal with me later… or not… it doesn’t matter really”
“Ryan, it’s fine… don’t worry” she slid her hand down to touch him
“I don’t, really” he tried to focus on what he wanted to say “It’s just that… I don’t want you to deal with something you might not want to deal with right now”
She licked her lips and kissed him “What’s that?”
“Well…” he grabbed her hand, he was having a hard time concentrating “Parenthood… it might not be the best time for us. Not that I don’t want to have kids with you… I do, really”
“Huh? Who said anything about kids?”
Ryan smiled “Well, this is how you make them, in case you didn’t know”
Claire laughed and kissed him again “You’re funny Gosling… what I meant is that I’ve been taking the pill ever since I got here. It’s totally fine, nothing can happen”
Ryan took a deep breath and pressed her body against his, feeling a sudden rush.
“Now” She gazed into his eyes “Are you going to make love to me or not, Gosling?”

She finished putting on her dress and nodded at him. Ryan slid the glass down and gave Sam Claire’s home address. He sat smoking a cigarette, as Claire lay with her head on his lap, taking an occasional drag. They had made love twice while cruising the streets of Manhattan. Claire felt slightly self conscious about the noises she couldn’t help making, and wondered if Sam knew what had been going on back there. Ryan looked out the window, smiling and gently rubbing her face and lips.

They got off at her front door and Claire introduced Ryan to her doorman, letting him know he would be staying with her for a while.
They shared the elevator with a middle aged woman from the top floor, staring at each other in silence… still longing, yearning for one another.
She opened the door to her apartment and he pushed her in hurriedly; lifting her as he carried her all the way to the living room couch in the dark. She laughed as he threw her jacket across the room, stripped off her dress and laid on top of her.
“Gosling…” she smiled “is that what I think it is?”
Ryan sighed and nodded enthusiastically lifting his eyebrows “Yup… round three”

Chapter 45

She woke up full of energy. She turned to look at Ryan and smiled as he lay next to her, completely unconscious. It was funny, she thought, how men and women were so different. Making love was an energy booster for most women, and it always seemed to wear men out. She gazed at him for a while, trying to take it all in. Her room, her bed, her sheets and Ryan between them. She paused to consider how this extreme happiness she felt could vanish in a second if he left her. She felt vulnerable, having allowed herself to love him so much. She didn’t think she had ever felt this intensely for any man before, and although she knew all her surrender was probably not wise, she couldn’t help it. It was willful slavery and she adored every second of it.
She slid out of bed silently and walked to the bathroom, stepping into the shower.
She hummed a familiar tune from her days back in Boston, when her father used to play music during their Sunday breakfast. Gradually, she began to sing…

“Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...
And the way you look tonight…”

Warm water ran across her body as she held the shampoo close to her mouth, pretending it was a microphone. She danced slowly, trying not to slip on the wet floor as she rubbed her belly with soap. She then remembered Ryan was sleeping next door and lowered her voice…

“Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft,
There is nothing for me but to love you,
And the way you look tonight…”

She laughed as she rinsed her hair and brushed her teeth, muffling the sound of her voice as she sang.

“With each word your tenderness grows,…”

She thought she heard something and turned to peep outside the shower curtain. Ryan stood, leaning on one of the bathroom walls, shaking his head and laughing quietly. Claire was appalled! She screamed and closed the curtain annoyed (and completely embarrassed)

Ryan walked up to the shower and stepped in, singing as he carried on her song
“…Tearing my fear apart...
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,
It touches my foolish heart.”

He wrapped his arms around her, dancing as she struggled playfully; laughing at how silly she must have looked. She turned to gaze at him as the water soaked his hair, and smiled as she noticed how Ryan had seized the conditioner, pretending it was a microphone too. She began to sing with him

”Lovely ... Never, ever change.
Keep that breathless charm.
Won't you please arrange it?
'Cause I love you ... Just the way you look tonight.”

As they finished, Claire clapped and Ryan imitated an ovation… He bowed and kept on saying “Thank you, thank you” he then pointed at Claire and said “Ladies and gentlemen, the musical stylings of Claire Brickwell”, following his cue she began to bow laughing wildly and almost loosing her balance.


They were supposed to meet near Rockefeller Center in Midtown East. They walked hastily along Columbus Ave. all the way down to W 47th St., and then took a left towards the east. They carried their breakfast with them: a couple of Starbucks cappuccinos and a chocolate chip cookie for Ryan.
“I can’t believe were going to be late on our first day” Claire shook her head “This is terrible… Gosling, how did I ever let you talk me into making love this morning?”
“Do you really want me to remind you?” he laughed as he walked next to her
“That was a rhetorical question” she sneered at him
“Relax, Claire… this is not a lecture at Columbia, everyone will be at least 15 minutes late”
“Maybe we should take a cab… or run? What do you think” she wasn’t even listening to him “God, this is terrible, really… terrible”
Ryan laughed as he tried to keep up with her; impressed at the length of her stride. He looked around, admiring his surroundings. Manhattan had always been one of his favorite cities and the fact that Claire lived here, made it even more special. Claire, instead, seemed focused on one thing and one thing only: getting there on time (and not spilling her coffee in the process).
They finally got there: E 47th St. and Madison Ave. She stopped to stare at the tall building that stood in front of them. Suddenly, she came to her senses… she was going to meet the entire cast! All these famous people where going to be sitting next to her! What would happen if she couldn’t remember their names, or worse… what if she didn’t recognize them! She stood in front of the main entrance paralyzed, licked her lips nervously, and turned to look at Ryan who stood next to her, drinking his coffee and munching on his chocolate chip cookie, completely unruffled.
He looked at her “Nervous?”
She nodded bashfully and looked back at the entrance. Ryan smiled and took her hand, leading her inside and onto the elevator. She breathed deeply and stood staring up at the numbers, as they changed on the elevator’s display.
“You’ll do just fine, Claire… trust me. Most people here aren’t half as prepared as you are. Relax” he bent to kiss her and she smiled trying to look relaxed. (She wasn’t).

They walked across a long hallway and into an enormous room. There were already a few people there. She recognized Mark, as he waved at them, and Bob De Niro, who stood right beside him and smiled when he saw her. John was talking to some guy on the far end corner, covering his cell phone after asking, whoever was on the other side of the line, to hold. Other faces looked familiar, but she could hardly tell who they were. It struck her to see how normal all these people looked without the make up and the designer clothes. Everyone wore jeans, shirts and sneakers or open toed sandals. She was glad she had followed Ryan’s advice to dress casually.
There was hardly any furniture, except for a long table full of Evian bottles surrounded by numerous chairs. There was another table on the far side, with coffee, tea, fresh fruit, assorted bagels and cupcakes. It was a luminous room, as the morning sun rays found their way inside, across colossal glass panes that occupied almost an entire wall. She turned to look back at the entrance noticing a sign (probably posted recently) where someone had scribbled in black and red “THIS IS A SMOKING ROOM (SO, SHUT IT!)”. She grinned, amused.
As other people started to arrive, Claire felt relieved knowing they were not the last ones there.
Mark came over and hugged Ryan affectionately. “Good to see you, Gosling! How was your flight?”
“It was ok…” he squeezed Claire’s hand discreetly “I really enjoyed the ride from the airport, though” Mark looked at him slightly confused. Claire blushed and made a mental note to punch him (hard) later that day.
Mark looked at Claire bending to kiss her cheek “How’s my favorite writer doing this morning?”
Claire smiled “Honestly, a bit anxious…” she paused “What the hell, Mark… I’m terrified!”
Mark laughed and led them towards Bob. Claire and Bob hugged laughing and they both walked together towards the side table for some bagels.
“You sound much more relaxed than you did on the phone yesterday, Gosling” Mark picked up his coffee cup
“Well… There’s only so much a man can take, you know” he smiled winking at him
“Good for you then…” He turned to look around “Have you said hi to Catherine already?”
Ryan scanned the room “No, I haven’t seen her yet”
Mark pointed towards a group of people that stood chatting on the side. “She’s over there, let’s go talk to her”

Ryan walked up to Claire with a beautiful woman standing next to him. She was laughing loudly at something he must have said on their way there.
“Catherine, meet Claire Brickwell… ”
Claire shook her hand delightfully
“Hey, Claire… I’m really pleased to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Catherine Keener. I’ll be playing Eva”
Claire studied her for a moment. Yes, she thought, she’s perfect! There was something irresistible about this woman. She was obviously the right age, had a beautiful body and a certain cheekiness to her style. Still, she exuded an air of experience, of having ‘been there and done that’. She was definitely Eva.
“Hi, Catherine… I’m delighted to meet you”
“Call me Cat, everyone does” she smiled. Claire noticed her smile; it was open, vast, as uninhibited as nature itself. She knew instantly she was going to like working with her.
“Ok, Cat… would you like some coffee?” Claire smiled at her as she handed Bob his cup.

They were interrupted by Mark who called for everyone’s attention “Well, it seems most of us are here, so I think we should get started”
They all walked towards the long table that stood in the middle of the room. Ryan sat next to Bob who sat next to Catherine. Mark sat next to Ryan and gestured Claire to sit beside him. The rest of the people arranged themselves quietly on the remaining empty chairs. Next to Claire sat a beautiful young woman in her early thirties. She had long dark hair and dark brown eyes. Claire knew she had seen her many times before, she could also tell from her accent that she was foreign.
“Ok” Mark stood up “So… I know most you of you have already met one another, but let’s just begin by introducing ourselves to everyone else, just this one time, ok?”
Everyone nodded.

The introduction started with Mark; he greeted everyone explaining how excited he was about the project, commenting on the remarkable group of people he had chosen and welcoming everyone aboard. Bob introduced himself making silly comments like his favorite color and ice cream flavor, how he hated dentists and people who worked at the circus; adding finally, he would be playing Seamus, a womanizing bastard, very much like himself. The rest of the people laughed and clapped amused as he bowed solemnly.
Ryan and Catherine were very brief in their introduction, simply pointing out who they were and what characters they would be playing.
Claire now focused on the rest of the main cast, she needed to see, hear, smell, feel, taste them. She had pictured each character in the script a certain way, and although she was flexible about certain aspects, she believed first impressions were of paramount importance.
A tall, slim, blonde young woman called Heather Graham would play Laura, a former dancer and Colin’s depressed wife. Patrick, Colin’s younger brother, would be played by Jason Schwarztman. It was easy to see that Jason possessed charisma and presence to such a point it made him taller than he really was. Aidan’s part, Colin’s long best friend and confidant, belonged to Wes Bentley, a dark fellow in his late 20’s with an intense gaze; the kind that made you think he knew something you didn’t.
Finally, it was the dark haired woman’s turn… Claire sat motionless, concentrating, straining her memory…
“Hi! My name is Penelope Cruz and my character’s name is Victoria” That’s who she was! The Spanish actress from the Pedro Almodovar films!
“Oh… by the way” Mark informed the cast “Diane Lane is flying in tomorrow, she got held back on some family matters. She’ll be playing Patricia, Colin’s mother’

Claire sat back, relieved. She had to admit Mark had done a great job. This casting selection had been more than shrewd. It was vicious. She smiled, completely satisfied.
Mark looked at her gesturing with his head: she was next. She stared back at him in shock, almost paralyzed, shaking her head at him discreetly so no one would notice.
He smiled… “And finally I’d like you to meet Claire Brickwell. Our secret weapon. Claire, please stand up”
Claire sneered at him. How could he do this to her! She looked at him and whispered as she stood up “You’re gonna pay for this, Mark”
“Uhmmm… ok, well..” she cleared her throat and looked at Ryan, who smiled at her, amused “Hey everybody, I’m Claire Brickwell, as Mark has already told you, and I’m not going to be playing any character in this on any other movie …Thank God!” Everybody laughed “Let’s see… basically, I’m the one who should be held responsible for the screenplay” she smiled and plunged back into her seat.
At this point, John stepped up and greeted everybody. He then whispered something into Mark’s ear and dashed out of the room. Immediately Nora, a stout lady in her early 50’s, with square framed thick glasses, handed each person a copy of the final draft, as Catherine read out the first line:

“I’m sorry… Do you have a light?”

Chapter 46

They walked into her apartment exhausted. It had been a long day. Ryan opened the refrigerator looking for something to eat. He got two bottles of beer, offering Claire one. Claire shook her head – she was too tired to eat or drink anything. She collapsed on the couch and kicked off her shoes. She had no idea read throughs could be this hard.

She had sat next to Mark, for what had seemed an eternity, listening to the script attentively as each of them read out their lines; taking notes, frantically, almost obsessively. There were so many things to work on. She needed to adapt the dialogue to the actors; to their accents, to their rhythm of speech, to their innate personality and to the unique poetry in their voices. The characters in her novel had always remained constant, she had created them out of the corners of her own imagination, and of course, their dialogue suited them perfectly. They could never be shorter or taller than she had imagined them; there was no possibility for a thicker accent or a higher pitch in their voice. No room for unexpected pauses or capricious inflections. They had always hit their mark and delivered accordingly.

Claire found this did not happen in a screenplay. There was a beat, a pause, a lingering and a full stop. There was a second voice, an odd spontaneous, elaborate arrangement, an occasional off key instrument and an entire new chorus. She had been lifted, rotated and twisted in every direction possible. Arms stretched, knees bent, mouth opened. She had struggled for air and felt her lungs expand to the point of explosion. She had groveled to the shore and drowned. It had been both creatively and emotionally exhausting.

She sat in a dazed state of mind, wondering if she would make it through this vertiginous ride. Ryan sat next to her and rubbed her leg, drinking beer, staring at her as she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.
“Are you ok?” he had never seen her like this before
She breathed out “I dunno, Ry… it has been quite a ride today, you know?”
“Yeah… I know, but it was also really good”
She opened her eyes and turned, sitting to face him “I don’t think I’m cut out for this”
“What?” he put down his beer “Are you crazy? You were awesome there today! I mean c’mon… didn’t you even notice the look on Mark’s face every time you commented on the script? He’s really impressed, Claire. We all are”
“It’s just so hard, Ryan. And these people are obviously extremely good. The stuff some of them came up with… I wasn’t expecting any of it” she grabbed his beer and took a sip
“Well, this was just the first go. You’ll have plenty of time to interact and get to know the rest of the actors. It’ll be just fine, trust me on this one, ok?” he kissed her on the forehead and got up. “Do you want me to fix you something to eat?”
Claire shook her head “All I want is a hot bath”
“Ok” Ryan smiled at her as he leaned on the kitchen counter
Claire paused to consider how this was his second night in New York and all he had done was work and hang out at her place. It wasn’t fair to him. She was determined to change that “You know what? Why don’t I take a quick shower, recharge my batteries and then maybe we can both go get something to eat at a nice restaurant nearby?”
“Sounds good” he picked up the phone “I just have to make a few calls, is that ok?”
“Sure, go ahead...” She got up, walked towards him and handed him his beer bottle “I’ll see you in a bit”
Just as she was leaving he grabbed her and pulled her against him, laughing. “Do you want me to help you out off these” he tugged her jeans at the waist
“Gosling, give me a break, will you?” she pushed him off “Now you go do whatever phone calls you need to do” she kissed him and ran off to her room before she could change her mind.


Claire stood motionless as hot water hit her face and trickled down the rest of her body, relaxing every single muscle. It was heaven, and for a moment she forgot about all her feelings of inadequacy and insecurity.

They had broken off for lunch around 2 pm that day. Mark had booked a table at Amma, and Indian restaurant on 51st. between 2nd and 3rd. It was one of the few ‘cast bonding activities’ the studio was willing to pay for. Claire sat, at a table the restaurant had prepared to fit the entire cast, between Penelope and Jason and across Ryan.

Penelope proved to be a loud and lively Spanish belle. They instantly became friends and she told her about Javier Bardem – a Spanish actor she had been seeing for some time now – and about the experience of working with a director such as Woody Allen. Claire had always admired Woody. She thought his screenplays demonstrated an unparalleled genius and had actually chosen to review some of his earlier work during her screenwriting classes, back in college. The pace, the rhythm, the timing. It was intellectual comedy at its best.

Jason, on the other hand, was much more reserved. He seemed to know a lot about music and mentioned he had been in a couple of bands. One of them, Mark had mentioned, (eavesdropping into their conversation) had been extremely popular. He had moderate acting experience and very much like Ryan, enjoyed independent films better than big studio ventures. At one point he turned to look at Claire and, in a tone she found to be upsettingly serious, said “I’m actually doing this movie because of you”
Claire almost choked. “What?” she struggled to swallow.
“Yeah… they had sent me the first copy of the script a few months ago and I turned them down. I thought the story had potential, but the script was just not right… just not all there, you know?”
Claire nodded, surprised
“And then, a couple of weeks ago, they sent me the first few pages of your adaptation, and Bang! That was it! I wanted in… no matter how, who or where.” He lifted his glass “It’s all because of you, Brickwell” and smiled shaking his head “All you”
Claire was speechless. What do you say to something like that? Do you agree? Ask him to please elaborate further? Dismiss the comment entirely?
Fortunately Jason went on “You see, I had another project on the dashboard at the moment, so I called them and told them I was unavailable”
“Well,” Claire sipped some water “I really hope you don’t regret doing that”
He shook his head, chewing on his chicken kebab “I won’t” He then turned to look at her again “Do you think we could get together some time soon? I need to discuss some aspects of Patrick’s personality with you.”
Claire nodded instantly “Sure, whatever you need”
“Good”

Claire knew who Patrick was. She had met a few men like him in her life. Men with such insecurity and utter fear of death, they would lead a life full of debauchery and self indulgence; recklessly cheating on their wives and colleagues, feeling no guilt or regret. They were successful men, both in their professional and social lives, plethoric of charm and charisma. Women found them irresistible and other men looked up to them, secretly hoping they could get away with the same things, unexposed. To the rest of the world, they appeared to be confident and pragmatic men. Of course, this was all a façade. The Patricks of this world were sad, hollow men with low self esteem, desperately wanting to be loved and appreciated. Most of them ended up alone after a shattering divorce or treading life, numbly in a loveless relationship with someone who had discovered their void a long time ago. These men didn’t have time for kids or PTA meetings. They made a good living but were not into material things. Money was just a means to an end. To possess, to control, to subjugate: anything and everything they set their minds to. Sooner or later, everyone would surrender.

Victoria had seen Patrick for the first time when they were kids. She was the daughter of Spanish immigrants, thin and awkwardly tall for her age. They had left Sevilla and moved to New York, following a job her dad had been offered. She was already six years old when she first set foot in the US. Victoria had had a secret crush on Patrick from day one, after she had glanced his way on the park while riding the bike she had received for her eleventh birthday. It was slightly big for her, but her parents had already learnt their lesson. Victoria grew almost an inch a day, and they were not about to toss her bike in a few months because she had outgrown it.
Patrick and Colin sat on the edge of the lake, playing with the brand new boats their dad had bought them as a gift, last Christmas. It had been a long wait until the lake had finally thawed out, and they were both very excited. (Colin had hardly slept the previous night, thinking about it).
As she pedaled the oversized bike, she stared at this dark haired boy. Confidence, exuding from every molecule in his body. She fell in love, instantly, almost inevitably. As she dreamed of wedding bells, white dresses and at least four dark haired children, she neglected to look ahead and rode into the bushes, falling clumsily off and landing on her back, a few feet away from her shining red bike.
Colin, having noticed this, ran to her aid. He bent over to look at her and was immediately struck by her beauty. Her long dark hair spread along her lean arms, her lips thick and pink. Her skin, soft, and her eyes dark and intense, as she blushed staring back at him, embarrassed. He had never felt something like this for a girl before. Girls were strange creatures that had to be mocked and teased. They were useless; they couldn’t play ball like boys did, or bate a hook or pee standing up.
He helped her up and lifted her bike asking if she was ok. She nodded, brushing the leaves off her jeans and shirt.
He walked her home that day. They talked and laughed and found out they lived only a couple of houses apart. She asked about the boy who was with him and Colin described, nonchalantly the integrants of his Irish descent family. There was Seamus, his dad, a very busy and important man; Patricia, his mom, who seemed to be going through a rough spot in her life, but that had been a very devoted mother at some point; Colin – that was him – who was already twelve years old and had recently won the second prize in the literary competition at school and finally Patrick, ten and a half, his brother.
He was invited in and offered some tea. Colin refused, explaining he had left his brother alone looking after their boats. He walked out of that house, after pausing to gaze at Victoria once more,(as her mom washed the dirt off her arms and spread some ointment on her scratches), with a sense of accomplishment. He had met his future wife.


Claire stepped out of the shower renewed. She put on her robe and walked into the living room to find Ryan sitting on the couch, watching TV. She smiled, as she spread some moisturizing cream on her arms, pausing to look at him laugh at some clever joke. He caught a glimpse of her, and gestured her to come sit next to him. She walked towards him and sat, grinning. Her hair still dripping wet. He looked at the bottle she was holding and took it, examining it further. “Aloe Soothing night cream, The Body Shop” he smelled it “Hmmm… smells good! Do you always put this on?”
“Hardly” she bit her lip “I usually forget. But it is soothing, just like it says on the label” she pointed at the label on the side
Ryan flipped the cap and gestured her to turn around so he could spread it on her back. He turned off the TV and lifted his leg on the couch as he sat to face her. Claire grabbed her hair and pushed it to the side around her left shoulder. He shook and pressed the bottle, letting too much cream come out of it (he was glad Claire was facing the other way). He then slid the back of her robe down her shoulders as she gripped the front part just enough to cover her breasts. Her eyes wandered across room as she waited to feel his hands on her back. He rubbed his hand together, to spread the extra cream, and began to rub her shoulders softly. Claire sat upright, her back still tense as she licked her upper lip. He bent over and whispered “Relax… you feel so tense”
She smiled and jerked a little, trying to relax her shoulders as she breathed in deeply. Ryan rubbed her back for a while, alternating between soft and hard strokes, as Claire closed her eyes, slowly surrendering. He then slid his hands across her shoulders and down to her arms, grabbing and squeezing them, as she pressed her lips to muffle the sound of her sighs. He pulled her on top of him, and continued to spread the lotion on her chest; her head to the side, beneath his chin. He opened her robe, gently removing her grip and worked his way around her breasts as he kissed her shoulders. Claire didn’t know how much more of this she could take. He then lifted her head and cupping both her breasts slid his tongue into her mouth as she moaned startled. She kissed him back in complete rapture as she felt her body dripping wet both inside and out. He stopped and gazed at her, feeling how much she wanted him. He lifted her and began to carry her to the bedroom.
Just as they where crossing the threshold, the phone rang. Ryan looked at her inquisitively
“Let the machine get it” she kissed him
He smiled and walked towards the bed, leaving the door open behind them. He set her down and she crawled on the bed facing the bed post. Ryan stripped off his shirt, unbuttoned his pants and jumped on the bed, pulling off her robe and entering her from behind. Claire screamed in ecstasy arching her back against his chest as he put his arms around her. He bit the side of her neck as she moaned following his rhythmic movements. A split second before he thought he would lose control he pulled out and turned her around so she would lie on her back beneath him. He then slid to the edge of the bed, spread her thighs and moved up to taste her as she panted deliriously. He paused, giving her time to catch her breath and slowly began to kiss every inch, starting from her inner thigh. Claire closed her eyes and gave in.
As he pleasured her, she overheard the machine in the room next door
“You’ve reached Claire Brickwell’s home. I cannot take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll reach you as soon as possible. Bye!”
“Claire… Are you there?”
She gasped. She could have recognized that voice anywhere. It was Zach.

Chapter 47

Zach didn’t leave a message. He waited for a few seconds and hung up the phone. Claire sighed in relief.

She couldn’t concentrate on what Ryan was doing. Thoughts kept racing through her mind. Flashbacks: the sound of people laughing, a busy sidewalk, a quaint restaurant in Soho, her eyes blinded by sunlight, Karen’s muffled voice, a beard, a green shirt (or was it blue?), Richard Morris, Bill’s voice, an ultrasound, a Rothko painting, a 600 year-old Pagoda, John’s perfect teeth, a Merlot, a shiny red bicycle, boats, a forest green door….
“Wait! Stop!” she pushed Ryan away from her
“What’s the matter?” he looked up at her, concerned “Did I hurt you?”
She closed her eyes and paced her breath. She then shook her head. “No… not at all”
She sat on the bed, her legs pressed against her chest. She felt like crying. Ryan sat beside her, gazing, confused. She turned to look at him. He brushed the hair off her face. “Claire, is there something you want to tell me?”
“No… I’m just…”
“Is it the screenplay? Are you still concerned about that?”
She paused. Was this the right time to talk about Zach? Couldn’t she just pretend he didn’t exist? Ignore the whole thing?
She remembered Bill’s words “You know Zach, he has a way of making things happen”
Why now? Why like this? Couldn’t life just give her a fucking break!
She looked at Ryan who stared at her, waiting. His eyes, bluer than ever as he examined her, trying to guess what she was thinking. She licked her lips and sighed.
This was not the right moment, she needed to think first, find out what she wanted. She bent down to kiss his chest. Ryan grabbed her face, lifting it so she could look him in the eye. “What is it, Claire? What?” he felt helpless. Something was wrong and he couldn’t fix it unless he knew what it was
Claire shook her head “I dunno what came over me, Ry… I’m fine now. I guess it’s just stress. You know… the film and the script and all the work ahead”
He wasn’t quite convinced… there was something else. Had she fallen for some other guy while they were apart? Was she thinking about leaving him? It was too painful to even consider. “Do you want me to leave? Spend the night at the hotel?”
She instantly shook her head “No!”
“It’s ok Claire. I understand if that’s what you need. I just want you to be happy.” He looked away
She grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face her and looked into his eyes so he could see she meant it “Being with you makes me happy, Ryan. You’re all I need”
He smiled, but still he knew there was something else. Maybe she didn’t want to tell him today, maybe eventually she’d trust him enough….
She kissed him tenderly and clinging on to his neck brought him on top of her as she lay back on the bed. They gazed at each other …
“I love you, Ryan… more than I’ve ever loved any other man. Do you believe me?” her eyes were already moist.
She looked so fragile and defenseless. He wanted to protect her, to tell her nothing would happen to her while he was around.
He nodded and smiled, bending down to kiss her. “I love you too, Claire”
She hugged him, pressing his body against hers as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to feel nothing but the weight of his body on her. To occupy her busy mind with his smell, the sound of his breathing and moaning; to feel his sweat and the roughness of his beard on her skin. She wanted to make love until there was nothing left of her to feel.

Skin and bone.

She whispered as she licked his ear lobe “Will you make love to me, Ryan?”
He loved to hear her say his name. It awakened in him a mixture of feelings. On one side he felt like holding her tenderly for as long as he could, on the other, it brought out the animal instinct in him, driving him to make her want to scream in ecstasy and unbridled lust. He kissed her again and slowly made his way inside her. She moaned, kissing him almost desperately, hoping he would feel how much she wanted him. He paced himself, taking the time to feel her, studying every sigh, twitch, moan, pant and shiver as she gazed back at him. She kept her eyes open, focusing on his eyes and the scent of his breath as he lay on top of her. She loved to feel him as he moved inside her, savoring every inch of him, feeling him increasingly aroused. She sighed thinking how safe he made her feel. At this moment in her life, when she felt the void was so deep she would fall in it inexorably, Ryan was a firm grip she could trust to hold on to.

She lay beside him, her head on his chest, both of them catching their breath. He stared at the ceiling, gently brushing her long auburn hair. His body, in such extreme relaxation he feared he would evaporate. His mind kept playing back the images of those previous moments with Claire. He knew her body belonged to him, he felt it every time they were together… but it was not her body that worried him. It was her mind. Claire had a very particular way of looking at things, complex (as most women were), but even more so – he thought – her brain functioned in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. She seemed to believe she should be punished for crimes she hadn’t committed. She felt guilty about anything and everything. It was a pretty selfish way of looking at things – he paused to consider – thinking she had to be held responsible for all the tragedies that came in contact with her existence. As if she owed the world for something she had collected sometime ago.
She had been as much of an unexpected event in his life as he had been in hers. There was no turning back now, he knew that. He had to keep going, to the end, in spite of everything, to the final consequences. Whatever it took. Wherever it led.



“I’m sorry… Do you have a light?”
Colin turned to look at this tall, sleek woman that stood beside him holding a cigarette. It was pouring, and he had offered to share his umbrella while she waited outside. It was late, dark and slightly chilly. She wore a tight white top (her locks of brown hair dripping on it) and a long brown skirt hiding – he thought – a pair of killer legs. He was slightly aroused by her as she looked up at him in her wet clothes. Her breasts visible across her top; her nipples slightly erect from the cold.
He nodded and searched his pockets awkwardly. She smiled excited and offered him one. The last one. He hesitated and she pushed the pack towards him, insisting “I have an extra pack in my purse”
He smiled and took it.
They stood right in front of Ogham’s main entrance, Colin’s bookstore. A quaint, tiny bookstore with somewhat of a regular, idiosyncratic clientele, located in the bohemian part of town. Ogham specialized in obscure and unpopular literary works of art. Books most people hadn’t even heard of, by authors who had starved to death or faded away anonymously buried into oblivion. How shall I put this? If you were looking for the latest novel by Dan Brown… Ogham was definitely not the place to look. As a matter of fact, it was easier to describe this bookstore by the books it lacked than by the ones it cherished.
It was a narrow, two-storey, rundown building with wooden floors and a whirling wooden staircase, that screeched loudly every other step. There was a certain ambience inside, mystic, some would describe it, stuffy and damp, others would say. Countless books, manuscripts and documents covered the walls, shoved in every direction gravity would allow them to dwell, and in no logical order. Still, both Colin – who not only owned the store but was in charge of selecting the exclusive literature it traded – and Aidan, his long time buddy, brilliant despite himself (who dropped out of college three credits short from a degree in Philosophy and Art history); knew exactly where everything was. To them, the distribution of ‘the goods’ was quite logical and sensible… However, the so called logic it followed, remained a mystery to everyone else.
The first thing that struck you, as you walked in, was a sign posted beside an ornate coat hanger: “Bigots kindly refrain”. It was Aidan’s doing. He had always possessed an odd sense of humor. But you see, Aidan saw the world through different eyes than the rest of us mortals did. He had given up on material commodities a long time ago, was obsessed by the idea of timelessness and believed the best way to die was during orgasm.

To the right an old cash machine sat on a desk made out of Shesham wood, slightly discolored by age and the occasional sun beam that found its way in. As you continued towards the back, it spread into a wide dimly lit room, with 2 couches and 3 armchairs belonging to different styles and upholstered in colors that didn’t match. Rosencrantz, a regular inhabitant (and Aidan’s pet cat), had left his trail on every single one of them, as he welded his claws on the sofa cushions and backs, filling the room with feathers and releasing an incidental spring. Guildenstern, his former companion, had died a few years ago from food poisoning.
Upstairs, a similar room, with a big and simple mahogany table and a few chairs surrounding it. There wasn’t a single spot in the wall that hadn’t been covered with books. One might even think it was the books themselves that kept the structure stable and intact, not the brick walls.

He lit her cigarette and curved his hand around to light his. She inhaled in frenzy, as if she were gasping for air after being submerged for too long. She smiled at him, relieved.
“I really needed that” as she breathed out
He nodded and scratched the side of his nose with his thumb. She rubbed her arms and shivered “It’s pretty cold for this time of year”
“Yeah… it must be the rain” he looked up, slightly tilting his umbrella. The sky was covered with dark, heavy clouds and disturbing lightning lit the pavement intermittently.
“I’ll never get a cab in this weather” she looked up and bit her bottom lip
“Do you live close by?”
“Fifteen blocks, give or take” she screamed over the roaring thunder pointing towards the north
“I’ll walk you home” he pointed in the same direction “You’ll never make it otherwise. It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon”
She nodded smiling and they began to walk. She stayed close to him while he held the umbrella above them, laughing as they jumped to avoid the innumerable puddles of muddy water. They didn’t say a word, concentrating on the path ahead, feeling oddly comfortable in their silence.
She opened the door to her building, shaking off the water as she rubbed her muddy feet on the rug. He smiled and waved, turning to head back down the small flight of stairs that led to the sidewalk.
“Do you wanna come in? Maybe dry off a bit… have a cup of coffee?” there was a coolness to her voice, as if it was only natural he did.
He paused, glanced into the sky once more and nodded smiling “Ok”

She searched her oversized purse for her keys. As she found them and began to unlock her front door, she paused to look at him “I’m Eva Esposito, by the way” she stretched her hand to shake his
He shook it pausing to stare at her beautiful blue eyes. “Colin McNamara”


Chapter 48

They settled for a small pizza parlor a few blocks away from her place. They were both starving, and they sat quietly relishing on the smell of freshly cooked dough. They dressed casually in jeans and shirts, and Ryan wore a baseball cap that hid his face slightly. Claire felt sorry for him, having to go into such elaborate schemes just to step out into the street. The waitress brought a couple of beers and they toasted smiling as they gazed at each other.
She walked over to a magazine rack near the entrance, and picked a few for them to browse while they waited for their pizza. As they sat flicking through the pages, Claire took off her shoes and softly rubbed Ryan’s leg with her feet. He smiled keeping his eyes fixed on his ‘reading material’.
She glanced at the pictures indifferently, Britney Spears’ newly acquired cellulite, Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore stepping out a fertility clinic, Jessica Alba promoting a new exercise video to loose those extra ‘baby pounds’. Such utter stupidity. People actually spent good money on these things! For the same price, you could afford a decent used novel at Strand plus a cappuccino.
As she read an article on the healing virtues of papayas, the title across the opposite page caught her attention “Gosling in the Big Apple”. It was a whole page layout, and in the middle of it a few pictures of her and Ryan at La Guardia airport.
They depicted her waiting, as she looked at the monitors; another one showed Ryan and his entourage; them walking together towards the exit smiling, and the biggest one: their notorious kiss. Underneath, it read “Ring any bells?” Beside it a small picture taken from The Notebook, the scene in which Allie and Noah had started going out and she came looking for him after work. Allie kissed Noah in the same position she had kissed Ryan at the airport, her legs around his hips, his hand holding the back of her head.
Was she eternally bound to be compared to Allie or Rachel? Couldn’t they come up with something different by now? How obsessed could people be about this Notebook movie?

She read the article describing Ryan’s arrival to New York, finding an innumerable amount of spelling mistakes and incorrect figures of speech. It was boring, predictable and completely unoriginal. The punctuation was terrible and even some of the verb tenses were wrong. It was probably written by someone who had dropped out of grade school. At least Richard Morris’ articles were witty, had flawless spelling and flaunted a few clever metaphors and similes. He was obviously well read, boasted a vast vocabulary, and his use of punctuation was excellent, not to say viciously effective. Although Claire resented this, she had to give him some credit for that. She wondered if at some point he had been a ‘serious’ journalist/writer and had probably been tempted into the comforting life of a ‘scoop fiend’. Was this bound to be the natural down slope of her career? Would she at some point prefer the easy, indifferent work of someone like Morris?
She paused to consider her novel (only a few chapters away from being finished). It had taken her almost 4 years to write it. And although she had been doing some extra work on the side, she knew this was probably not very cost effective for Random House. They needed her to publish a novel every year. That’s what the business was about. Go! Breed! And come back when you’re in labor and ready to spit another one out… in nine months or so. It was absolutely Vonnegutesque!
Noticing their pizza had arrived, she closed the magazine and dove into the slice Ryan had put on her plate.


She knew his name. She actually knew many things about him. The name of his wife (Laura), the names of all his past girlfriends, for that matter; the bones he had broken climbing trees or playing soccer; the name of his favorite book and musician; the night he had had his first wet dream (as he had fearfully asked his father about the strange episode); the courses he had taken in college. She knew about his brilliant prose, and what a wasted talent some people thought he was, settling for a mediocre life routine running a small bookstore, hidden in an obscure corner of town (his father had other plans for him, you see). She knew he had married Laura out of duty, she was 9 weeks pregnant when they stood in front of the priest, and it hardly even showed. Three weeks later she had a miscarriage and hadn’t been able to get pregnant since. An Irish curse, undoubtedly.
Eva knew about Colin up to the most insignificant detail. She, however, had remained a mystery to him, and to his brother Patrick… and most of all to his mom, Seamus’ wife: Patricia.
Eva was not a young woman anymore; she would be turning forty this upcoming October. Her complexion was not as fresh as it used to be, and her breasts had dropped an inch or two. She still had 'killer legs' as Seamus had mentioned the first time he asked her for coffee after one of his glorious lectures. It was bound to happen. She was in love … no… wait… that was not it. She was in awe, in bewilder, in fascinate. She was 19 and he was 45.
Seamus had married 15 years ago, but decided to wait before they had kids; he needed to be the center of Patricia’s life for a bit longer. Colin was 10 when Eva met Seamus, Patrick was 7. She had seen them playing in the park together, as their nanny sat near them chatting with the other privileged kid’s nannies, stopping every so often to scold them on some innocent mischief they’d accomplished.
Eva knew Seamus saw other women, and she was fine with that. In his own peculiar way he had remained loyal to her all these years. Religiously coming back to see her; once, sometimes twice a week. He bought her a nice apartment in a pretty neighborhood; (the perfect distance from his glamorous downtown everyday life). It was more than she could ask for. He would give her money for any extra things he thought she might covet, and would sometimes even surprise her with a stunning gift. But that was not the reason Eva stayed with him. It was his mind she admired, his education, his original point of view, his knowledge of fine wine and food, his unparalleled love of history and ancient literature.
He was a self made man, having risen from ‘gutter’, (he used this term cleverly as his father had been a fisherman who ‘gut’ fish for a living); all the way into being the founder and president of MC&M: McNamara Communications and Media, Inc.; a gargantuan enterprise that owned and managed newspapers, publishing companies, television networks and art galleries, dealing in business both locally and overseas.
Patricia had seen this potential in him (she had always been too insightful for her sophisticated good looks), and had stood by him as he staked everything they owned to make his dream come true.
Colin had worked at MC&M for a couple of years, but had found it to be a cold and calculating place, with no room for true artists and sensitive writers. It was blood thirsty business down to its very core.
Seamus had reluctantly lent him the money for his bookstore, believing he would eventually grow out of it. Only a few days had passed since Laura’s miscarriage and he felt he should humor him, at least this one time. Colin had vowed to return every single penny (with interest), something Seamus thought was the proper thing to do. So far, Seamus hadn’t seen one dollar of that money (not that he needed it, of course), but you see it was the principle behind it: being a man who stood by his word.
Gazing at him now as he sat on her living room couch, she saw a bit of his father in him. They were both tall, strong Irish men, blessed with even manly features. She didn’t think he was aware of how beautiful he was, and how much she had always wanted to meet him.
She turned over the coffee tin and shook it as she looked at him bashfully “Looks like I run out of coffee” she paused for a second to think “I have scotch!”
Colin smiled and nodded as he looked around her apartment.
She poured both glasses, trying to remember if Seamus could have left something behind he would be able to recognize. No… not that she could recall.
She turned on her stereo and walked over to the couch, smiling; her wet clothes stuck to her body, as she swayed to the sound of Billie Holiday’s ‘What a Difference a Day Made’.


Chapter 49

Day two at Madison and 47th had been another extremely productive work session. Claire felt more relaxed (especially after her morning run) and even paused to enjoy herself, as the actors played with their lines, never missing the opportunity to make an odd remark about their characters’ flaws and peculiar abilities.
She had met Diane Lane, a stunning woman in her forties who possessed an angel-like complexion and a heavenly figure. Another bull’s-eye by cunning Mark Shaw. She embodied Patricia almost to the last microscopic wrinkle in her forehead. Claire wondered how much thought Mark had actually put into the casting. Ryan looked like Diane, with his blonde chiseled features; Jason took onto Bob, dark and slightly stout.
Had it been a fluke? Were these physical similarities a mere coincidence? She didn’t think so. In the brief period of timeshe had known Mark, he had displayed the most extraordinary qualities. He knew exactly what he wanted, how to get it and what to do with it.
She sat beside Catherine and had a blast as the giggling actress wrote silly notes on her copy of the script. Notes with comments such as “Jason’s having a bad hair day” or “I could really use some pot right now”. Ryan looked at them and shook his head, smiling. Claire would sometimes hit Catherine under the table to make her stop: she needed to focus on the script.

It was easier for her today. She had slept profoundly last night, almost to the point of unconsciousness. These rare transient deaths she experienced were a blessing, and (without the aid of smelling salts and a heater), she came back to life, awakening to some kind of epiphany. No, no need for any mysterious resurrecting potions to wake up. This time it had been the phone.
She sat up and squinted trying to focus on the room next door. Ryan had left early for his regular workout. There was an Equinox club in Columbus Circle and she was supposed to meet him there at 11:30 am. She sighed, stepped out of bed and dragged herself towards the phone. She paused to glance at the clock on the microwave display: 9:32 am, in green numbers. Did Mark want to meet her before the read through? Was it John, wondering if he could join her in her regular morning jogging routine? Had Ryan been involved in some freak treadmill accident? She laughed. Letting her imagination run wild like this did have its drawbacks: coming up with ridiculously elaborate scenarios like this one (and many others).
She checked the caller ID. No, no one she recognized. It was a local number, she had no doubts about that, but considering phone numbers followed people around the city nowadays, she couldn’t say from which part of Manhattan they were calling.
She stared at the phone for a moment longer, its constant ringing reminding her of an ill tempered child whose parents had neglected to feed or bathe.
“Hello?”
“Claire?” he paused sighing “Is that you?”
She knew who it was and held her breath, considering if she should hang up and pretend it got disconnected accidentally. Useless, she thought, he would probably call her right back.
“Who is this?”
“Hey, Claire! It’s me, Zach, Zach Wilder!”
“Oh… Hi Zach” she leaned on the kitchen counter
They had a brief conversation. Claire kept twitching her fingers and tapping her thighs nervously. He mentioned he was in town and that he really wanted to get together sometime soon. He said he was so glad to be back and delighted to finally hear her voice. She nodded, responding with countless “Mmhhmm” and “Ahas”. Finally she told him she was sort of busy now; writing down his number and promising to call as soon as her schedule cleared.
He paused “I’ve been the king of fools, Claire. I know that know”
She dismissed his comment “I really need to get going, talk to you soon. Take care, Zach.”
Another pause “Ok… I’ll be waiting”.
They lingered on the line for a while, waiting for the other one to hang up. Finally, Claire slid up her thumb (slightly scratching her cheek) and put an end to it.
She sat on the couch and stared blankly at the TV set.

“Today, my fellow Travelers of the Mind, we shall venture into the city of lights: Paris. A land of sparkling wines, bold perfumes and capricious women. Of gloriously stinking Brie and well aged Camembert. The paradise of croissants and crêpes, fondue and soufflé. A home to countless American exiles inspired by its elegance and exquisite beauty.
We begin our journey on Boulevard Saint Germain, an exclusive area located in the sixth district or arrondisement
With us today, one of its permanent inhabitants: the talented young artist Sophie D’Almond.
Having been born into a privileged family with a long and outstanding tradition in the arts. Granddaughter of Gerard D’Almond, the famous composer and niece to Guy D’Almond the rebelliously gifted sculptor. Her father, Horace, is an art dealer; having increased his family fortune by threefold, thanks to his exquisite taste and cunning business skills. Her mother, the world famous violinist Dominique De Belfort.
It is without surprise then, that Sophie, in her audacious young age, has conquered the Parisian art scene with her unique and bold paintings.
Let us ring on her door, she is expecting us.” (The camera follows this funny short man with a white goatee wearing an unflattering fedora, as he presses one of the buttons next to a heavy wooden door, guarding a majestic four storey building)
“J’ecoute”
“Hello? Mademoiselle D’Almond?
“Oui?”
“This is Albert Crawford, from Traveling with our Minds .Would you please come down?”
“Ok”

- Cut two a brief advertisement about American Airlines, traveling to Paris and hundreds of other destinations around the world. -

(A tall, thin woman steps out, closing the massive wooden door. Her hair is brown and straight, her eyes blue and her nose, slightly oversized in comparison to the rest of her delicate features. A Greek profile. She wears her lips in a kind of pout, as if disgusted by the idea of this whole interview. We later will find, this a common gesture in her, completely unrelated to her actual mood)
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle D’Almond”
“Bonjour, Call me Sophie, pleaze”
“All right, Sophie. Do you mind if we walk while I ask you some questions?”
“Not at all… Allons!”
“So, Sophie, is it true that Zachary Wilder, author of the recently published bestseller ‘A Modern Day Tragedy’, broke up with you almost a year ago?”
“Oui, I mean… yez. It iz the truth”
“Would you care to elaborate on that?”
“Elaborate?”
“Yes, illustrate us further…”
“Pfff… well, uh, Zach and me… and I?”
“Yes”
“And I, first got acquainted three yearz ago at a cocktail party in one of my father’z galleriez. I waz instantly attracted to him of courze, and even though he acted aloof and kind of distant, I knew he waz not indifferent to me”
“Go on, please”
“The evening went by uneventfully and az we parted I felt, how you say, desolee not having gotten to know him better. Still, I knew life waz going to give me a second shance”
“Ah... the female instinct!”
“Oui. Anyway, two dayz later we run into one another at Le Centre Pompidou and became inseparable ever since”
“Until last year…”
“Pfff… Oui”
“Tell me, Sophie. Did it come as a surprise to you? Was it something sudden or do you reckon he had been falling out of love for quite some time before he walked out on you?”
“It wasn’t sudden, nothing in a relationship iz. People who pretend to be surprised when they are left, had really not been paying attention”
“How true indeed, Sophie!... When do you think it started?”
“A few months before he moved out of my apartment and began to write hiz silly novel”
“Do you recall any particular event that might have triggered it?”
“Triggered?”
“Set it off”
“I do now, after reading hiz novel.”
“Please, do tell”
“It was Rothko. We were at a bookstore near Les Invalides, looking for a gift for my mother’z 50th. birthday (please cut thiz out… she will kill me if she finds out I told you her age) You see, my mother haz two passions other than music: la nouvelle cuisine and modern art. We decided to… handle… the task separately. I would look through the cooking books, and he would do the same in the Modern Art section. At one point, az I looked up, I noticed he stood paralyzed staring at an open book. He stayed like thiz for a while; then, set down the book exactly az he had held it and walked out of the store without saying a word. Of course, in my confusion, I walked over to look at the book he had been holding. It waz a Rothko painting, not hiz best work in my opinion, but still… quite breathtaking”
“I see… Well, Sophie. This is the end of our promenade. You have been a delightfully charming guest.” (He looks at the camera) “So, my fellow travelers, it is the end of the road for Sophie, but not for us. Meet me tomorrow for a close look at la Tour Eiffel and Le Musee D’Orsay”
(Now Albert approaches the camera almost falling off the screen and staring straight ahead) . “Claire, you might want to get dressed and go to the Park now. Otherwise, you’ll never make it to Equinox on time.”

Chapter 50

Claire looked both ways, as if trying to find someone else to vouch for what she had just witnessed. Rubbing her eyes vigorously she turned slowly to look back at the TV set. Nothing on the screen but her reflection; sitting on the couch wearing one of Ryan’s shirts.
“Huh!” she paused for a second, got up shaking her head and walked back into her bedroom.

For a while they sat in silence drinking their scotch and enjoying the music. Suddenly, Eva switched to face Colin: leg up, bare feet, head leaning on her elbow, as she pressed it on the back of the couch. Colin, still looking around, set his glass on the side table and rubbed his legs anxiously.
“It’s a really interesting bookstore”
“Ogham?” he turned to look at her
She nodded smiling
“Thanks, I think so too” he smiled, relaxing a bit “Was it your first time there? I find you somewhat familiar.” He pointed at her “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
“Not really, I’ve walked passed it a couple of times. But today was the first time I actually walked in”
“Oh… I see. Were you looking for something in particular?”
“No, just felt a bit curious” she got up to look for her purse.
“Hmm...ok”
She lit a cigarette and offered him one from across the room
Colin shook his head “No… I not that much of a smoker, I have to admit”
She smiled as she blew out smoke “Good for you. I haven’t been able to quit this filthy habit” she walked back to the couch
“Do you live alone?” he sat back and looked up at her
“Yep, I haven’t even got a cat”
“Huh!
She sat next to him nodding “Yeah, I guess raising a family just wasn’t in the cards for me.” She paused “I think I would’ve made a great mom, though”
He smiled, feeling slightly uncomfortable for having brought up the subject.
“There is someone, you know, I see every once in a while. But it’s not that kind of relationship. Never was” she tapped the tip of her cigarette on an ashtray
“I see” he nodded straining to think of something to say. He looked out the window behind them “It sure seems like there’s still a mighty storm out there”
“Hmm …” she gazed out the window “I love thunderstorms. Have you noticed how a few minutes before they start you can taste this weird smell in the air? It’s wonderful. Always gives me a feeling of anticipation”
“Right, ozone” he nodded
“Sorry?”
“The smell, it’s ozone. Thunderstorms produce it”
“Really?” she was impressed
“I read it in a science magazine once” he admitted bashfully
“Huh! Another reason to cherish them, I guess” she took a drag “So are you a science buff?”
“Me?” he laughed “No… not at all. I just read a lot; not just science, about everything really”
“So you’re curious by nature.” More tapping on the ashtray “What courses did you take in college?”
“Philosophy and English Lit.” he lifted his glass “What about you?”
“Communications and Psychology. I work for an advertising firm.” Another drag, “You said your last name was McNamara… Are you related to the founder of MC&M?”
He sighed nodding “Yeah, he’s my father”
She sensed a mixture of pride and subtle bitterness in his voice. Eva gazed at him silently.


“Why do you have to be so hard on him?” Eva walked across the room naked and put on her robe “He’s just a kid”
“A wasted talent, that’s what he is. He needs to work harder, he’ll never reach his full potential if he keeps on settling for second places” Seamus sat on the bed and stretched for a cigarette.
Eva walked back and sat on the bed next to him “It’s just a dumb high school writing competition, Seamus” she couldn’t understand why he was making such a big deal out of it.
Seamus lit his cigarette and shook his head “Nothing’s dumb about any competition, Eva. Competitions allow men to show what they’re really made of”
“C’mon Seamus… it’s ridiculous. You know he’s done really well. Ok, he didn’t get the first prize… but coming up second is pretty good. You should be proud of him”
He breathed out “I can’t… not when I know he can do much better than this”
She stared at him for a while. When had he become such a monster? She paused to consider – maybe he had been like this all along and she hadn’t realized before. Maybe achieving perfection was all he cared about, all he could accept. “You’re not so hard on Patrick. He never wins any prizes” she took the cigarette from him
“Patrick’s got no talent. He’ll probably be a mildly successful man, but he’ll never be great. It’s just not in him. I’m sorry to say this, but he hasn’t got what it takes”
“Well…” she breathed out and handed him the cigarette “Maybe Colin’s not interested in being great either”
The expression on his face changed abruptly. He looked at her concerned “That’s what I’m afraid of, Eva.”
She felt guilty about having said that. “Seamus, I’m sure he’ll come around. C’mon, he’s a true McNamara, right… and that means he’s a… ‘God of the sea’ was it?”
He smiled and rubbed her leg gently “Hero of the Sea”
“Right” she nodded bashfully “I keep forgetting”
He sighed “I really hope he does. I don’t think I’ll be able to see him as my son if he doesn’t” he put out his cigarette. “Now come back to bed; Patricia’s having the MacDougall’s for dinner this evening and I’m supposed to be there by nine”
She paused to look at him, feeling sorry for both of them: Seamus expected too much of Colin. She knew he loved him devotedly, but was this love going to save Colin or drive him away for ever? Did Seamus know how much to bend before he snapped?


She ran faster than she had ever run before. As if she were trying to get away from something, to lose someone who was chasing her. Heart pounding, thighs burning. The noises surrounding her, muffled by the sound of her intense breathing.
Zach’s words still ringing in her ears: “I’ve been the king of fools, Claire. I know that know”. Her vision overwhelmed by images of their life together. They had been so happy and it had all been so natural between them, so perfect. In a way, they were meant to be. He had always put her before everything else and though it had been quite flattering for Claire at the beginning, it slowly drove her to lose the unreserved respect she had for him. She began to take him for granted; he became ‘a sure thing’. Had she driven him away? Had Zach found in Sophie the admiration and devotion Claire had once felt for him and had now ceased to provide?
She speeded up.
Zach would have mentioned something (she was sure about that). She remembered how they hadn’t made love for almost a month when she had left him at JFK airport three years ago. She just hadn’t been in the mood, and he had respected that. Maybe he had left thinking she wanted to leave him. But they’re had been rough times before, not many, but enough for them to know they cared for each other in spite of everything. Why had this one been different? Of course there hadn’t been Sophies before. At least not that she knew about. Still, if he had really cared about her, he would have come back and tried to work things out. That was the grown up thing to do. That’s what she would have done. Or was it? It was hard to know.
She stopped suddenly, and bent to grab her knees trying to catch her breath. As she looked up she noticed a couple making out on a bench nearby. She smiled. Then, it hit her. She had to see Zach. She had to find out if she still had feelings for him. Second chances are rare, and she had to know why life was dealing her this hand once more. It was settled. She would call him and clear up this mess once and for all. After all, this did not mean she was cheating on Ryan… just holding back some information until she knew what to do.
She sighed, relaxed. No more torturing her mind with silly questions. No more guilt and confusion. No more wondering What if?

After taking a quick shower she rushed to Columbus Circle. Ryan stood waiting for her as he sipped on a Gatorade. She smiled as he waved at her, pausing for a moment, to take a mental picture of him as he walked towards her; shaking his head
“You’re late Brickwell.” He checked his watch and tapped on it “Very late”. He took her hand, looked around and pulled her towards him, kissing her.
Claire smiled as she broke away. Licking her upper lip she gazed at him. He then tightened his grip, and they began to walk southbound.

.