Elizabeth the First Wife (20 page)

I had two choices: I could wallow in the disappointment that I wouldn't be a co-creator of a groundbreaking production of
Midsummer
or I could suck it up and perpetuate the traditional Lancaster method of denial: just pretend it wasn't happening. After the third text from Bumble asking how we were doing and a call from my mother about my fictitious Redfield resume, I chose the Suck It Up and Deny method. If my family knew that my much-ballyhooed creative consultant role had been reduced to Professional Fake Girlfriend with Strong but Privately Held Opinions, I'd be humiliated. I needed to create a diversion and fortunately, I had two: my book and my new dog.

Please don't let Puck's owners turn up.

As far as my book went, the only drawback was the actual writing. I learned very quickly that a pithy one-page query letter is not nearly as difficult to write as a forty-page nonfiction-book proposal. Let's just say it didn't exactly expand itself. I was pretty much going to
have to research, outline, and write the whole book before I could reduce it to a sharp proposal. This is where my lack of any actual relationship expertise was really a drawback. Not to mention my lack of actual relationships.

FX had texted me that the first read-through was at two and he'd like me to “slip in the back.” (Always a good feeling to know you're wanted.) That meant I had the whole morning to kill working on my book. Fortunately, I had one tiny idea, and I hoped it would lead to something vaguely resembling
Bridget Jones
meets
Downton Abbey
. Otherwise I'd have a whole lot of Shakespeare and not much romance.

But first, I needed to convince Maddie that the book was my top priority. I didn't want her communicating to Bumble and the rest of Pasadena that I'd been banned from the
Midsummer
set. She needed to think that my book
All's Fair
was now, as they say in Hollywood, in “first position,” and
Midsummer
was so under control that it barely needed my attention. I was an awful aunt and mentor.

I called a staff meeting and Maddie and Puck attended. “As my new editorial assistant, I need you to go out and get every women's magazine on the stands. And any publication that features photos of couples, celebrity or not. I'm putting together an inspiration board for
All's Fair
. It's like Pinterest but with real paper. We need to put in a lot of time on the book.”

Maddie totally fell for it. “I have so many ideas on how I can help. I can do the real Pinterest board and Facebook, blog, Instagram, and Twitter. Plus, you know, research.”

“Good. I have the Shakespeare covered. I need a little help with pop culture.” My one tiny idea stemmed from the conversation at our going-away party. Comparing Bumble and Ted to the Macbeths had gotten me thinking. There was something in the idea that contemporary couples could be Shakespearean archetypes. I wasn't quite sure where that would go, but it was better than dwelling on sixteenth-century couples, so I filled Maddie in on the project
basics, adding, “Here's my big concept: I'm positioning myself as a relationship commentator, not a relationship expert. See the difference?”

“Sort of. Are you a commentator because you haven't really had any relationships in a while? Except that thing with FX? I mean, that's what Bumble says. That you're scared.” From the look of discomfort on her face, Maddie knew invoking the name Bumble was a miscalculation the second it came out of her lip-glossed mouth.

Breathe. It's not Maddie's fault.
Dear Bumble, thanks for confiding in your teen stepdaughter that I have relationship issues. It makes me feel so much closer to Maddie, knowing that we've both had the same number of boyfriends in the last year: zero. Plus we share the maturity level of a college freshman. Please let me take care of Maddie for you as you enjoy all that sex! Love, your sister, Elizabeth
. I wanted to be snarky, but I still had to win Maddie over completely, so I said, “Okay, that ‘thing with FX' was an actual marriage, so yes, it took me a while to get over. And I have had other relationships. I'm not scared. I just haven't been lucky enough to meet someone as great as, say, your dad.”

“I'm sorry, Elizabeth.”

“No need to apologize. I'm just trying to explain my point of view, not justify my relationship history. The good news is I won't be giving advice in the book.”

“That seems smart. That's what Bumble would say. And Nana Anne!” Maddie blurted out.

Oh good, my sister
and
my mother had been chatting openly about my love life. Unfortunately, they did have a point. But just because I hadn't really been with anyone since the law firm of Minot Stewart, it doesn't mean I'd forgotten what it was like to be in a relationship.
Count to ten, Elizabeth
. “Just get the magazines and we'll have some fun this morning working on my outline ideas. This afternoon, we have a read-through for
Midsummer
. It's a closed rehearsal, but I think I can sneak you in through the back door.”

I was shameless, using Maddie as both shield and sword. As penance for my deeds, I suggested she look for a good bakery nearby and buy us a treat.

I set to work creating an inspiration wall in the living room. I wrote the names of Shakespearean couples on colorful notecards and taped them to the wall, starting with the obvious, like Romeo and Juliet, and working my way down the list to such lesser-known figures as Troilus and Cressida. In between, I added such crowd faves as Katherine and Petruchio and Sebastian and Viola, and then a similar number of downer couples like Othello and Desdemona. They'd provide the framework for the romantic archetypes. I included quotes and key words.
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight? The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service. Love is a spirit all compact of fire
. I admit, some quotes made me hot. I slapped a photo of Bumble and Ted right next to the Macbeths and stood back to admire my handiwork.

I figured if I could move the cards around for several hours, then I could successfully claim to have “worked on my book all morning,” even if I did nothing else. That was only two more hours, if I knocked off for lunch at 11:30. I taped slowly.

Maddie burst through the front door, flush with the success of her first latte run of the summer. “Found a great coffee place right down the street on Fourth. They roast their own beans. You'll love it. And I bought us one cinnamon chocolate croissant to split at Deux Chats bakery. Your skinny latte, boss.”

A buttery pastry and a nonfat latte. Girl's gotta cut back somewhere.

Maddie studied the wall while I burned my mouth on the scalding latte. “Oh, Rosalind and Orlando. From
As You Like It
. I like them. They seem like a fun couple, like Posh and Becks.”

“Really? Rosalind and Orlando seem like David and Victoria Beckham. How?”

“Love at first sight. Rosalind is a noble, like Posh. And didn't she check out Orlando while he was wrestling? That's kind of like soccer. They just had a lot of chemistry right off the bat.”

“I don't think being a Spice Girl makes you a noble, but Rosalind did spend most of
As You Like It
in men's clothing, and Victoria Beckham is a little mannish, isn't she?” It wasn't epic, but it was a start. “Is there a picture of them in
US Weekly?”

Of course there was. Posh and Becks went up on the wall next to the names Rosalind and Orlando, and we were off.

I'd never really experienced a creative lightbulb moment before. I'd always been more of a plugger and a plodder. Whether it was a middle school paper or my doctoral thesis, I took a slow and steady approach, with my most insightful writing coming after weeks, if not months, of careful work. But at that moment, with my mouth burned to bits, I swear a lightbulb went off. My tiny idea was going to work. “Okay, Maddie, go through all those magazines and rip out the photos of any celebrity couples. Or any couples at all. Or anyone that anybody might know—politicians, writers, journalists, athletes. We're onto something.”

By lunchtime, the wall was filled with photos, quotes, and even more notecards. I was starting to see the book. The characters that I'd read about and lectured about for so long became contemporary role models for what to do and what not to do in a relationship. And almost every memorable Shakespearean character seemed to have a well-known pop doppelganger. I made lists of Guys Your Mother Will Love, Guys Your Father Will Love, and In-laws to Avoid at All Costs. (Hello, Lady Capulet.) I created a montage of Shakespearean Bad Girls, Good Girls, and Just Plain Nuts Girls and their modern counterparts. (Funny how there was a different phase of Lindsay Lohan to fit all three categories.) Finally, I made a list of Renaissance Relationship Red Flags, including: Talks to Ghosts; Always at Battle;
and Has Weird Thing for Sister. (I'm looking at you, Laertes.)

We were giddy with ideas. Even Puck could feel the excitement and raced around the living room chasing his tail. When I heard a knock on the door, I looked at my phone and was surprised to see it was past noon. Puck padded to the door with me.

It was FX, looking for a lunch date. He was in his trademark black T-shirt and jeans with a lightweight suede jacket thrown on. His skin was damp and flushed, and his hair was still wet, like he'd just jumped out of his own personal hot spring. He pulled a tube of lip balm out of his pocket and swiped it on his perfect lips. “Wanna go to lunch and then head over to the read-through? Together?”

I couldn't miss his meaning. He wasn't going to make me actually sneak in the back. I could walk through the front door with him. The star. “Sounds great.”

I introduced him to a suddenly self-conscious Maddie, who couldn't stop smiling while looking at her feet. FX welcomed her to “the team,” which only made her blush deeper. He bent down to pet Puck, and it occurred to me that the dog was the only one in the room who wasn't impressed by FX.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked after noticing our huge inspiration board. He almost seemed a tad jealous that he'd been left out.

“Brainstorming for my book,” I announced with a Vanna White hand gesture. “We are on fire. That William S is quite the relationship guru.”

FX took in the scene. He smiled as he put the photos and the concept together in his mind. Then he studied the notecards, reading one aloud: “Best Shakespearean pickup lines. Elizabethan version:
Come woo me, woo me. For I am in a holiday humor and likely to consent
. Today's version:
I'm totally drunk. Wanna hook up?”
He snorted with laughter. “This is great, Lizzie!”

A shot of pleasure went through me. It was only one line, but it represented the whole concept. “Thanks. Will you blurb it? My agent wants to know.”

“Of course. How about this? ‘The best book on modern relationships ever. I wish I'd read it before I married the author.'”

It was my turn to laugh, but it came out more of a wistful sigh. Our eyes met for a second or more. He smiled his weekend-boxoffice-winning smile, and I reciprocated the best I could. Then I remembered Maddie was in the room. Her eyes were wide with wonder, as if she was discovering a great truth for the first time. FX wasn't a movie star to me. He was the boy who broke my heart.Now it was my turn for self-consciousness. I lightened enough to say, “That's a perfect blurb. It's going right on the cover of my proposal. FX Fahey says. …”

“Pretty much guarantees a bestseller. I am publishing gold. Do I get any sort of writing credit for the blurb?”

“No. But I'll send you a free copy of the book.”

“Deal. Okay, let's go to lunch. I'm starving. I've been working out all morning. Angie found this beast of a trainer here who is, like, a smoke jumper in his spare time. He has me flipping tires and moving barrels and crap. Have you ever done that kind of workout?”

Of course I hadn't. “I'm an English professor. I garden and play tennis. I don't move truck tires.”

“But you could. One day, you're coming with me. Maddie, you in on the tires? Is that your thing?” FX pointed at the stunned seventeen-year-old. She couldn't believe FX had said her name out loud.

“I manage the table tennis team,” she responded.

“Now that's some heavy lifting,” he teased. “How much do those balls weigh? Half an ounce? Are you coming to lunch with us?”

Surely this was the best day of her young life thus far. She looked at me for guidance. “Umm. …”