On a Night Like This (11 page)

He started to move through the kitchen doors, heading toward the bar, where he liked to set up, even before the bartender arrived.

“Why don’t you believe in love?” Blair called after him.

“Waste of time,” he muttered.

Blair followed him into the dining room. She had too much to do, but she had never had this conversation with Daniel before. Love was the untouched territory, the forbidden land.

“Why? How could it be a waste of time?”

“What is it, girl?” Daniel said, turning toward her, his expression pure exasperation. “Did you fall for the movie man or something?”

“No,” Blair said sheepishly. “I’m thinking. You know. I’ve never been in love. And here you are. My best friend. And you’ve never been in love. What’s wrong with us?”

“We’re perfect,” Daniel said. “Except you missed a button, dear.”

Blair rebuttoned her jacket over her tank top.

“Answer me,” she said, her voice stronger.

She looked up and saw that Daniel was looking at her, his head cocked to one side, his expression pained.

“Don’t get weepy on me, Blair. I liked you much better when you weren’t sick.”

Blair rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

She marched back into the kitchen, where Philippe hovered over the chocolate sauce, his pinkie dipped into the brew.

“Get your hand out of there!” Blair exploded.

He pulled out the finger, plunged it into his mouth.

“Look out—she’s in a foul mood!” Daniel called from the dining room.

“Screw you, Daniel,” Blair blasted back.

“You guys are like an old married couple,” Philippe offered, grinning a chocolate smile at her. “And that sauce is awesome.”

“Does he have boyfriends? Does he even have sex?” Blair asked.

Daniel pushed the swinging doors open and stood there, glaring at them.

“It is none of your goddamn business,” he said.

“I don’t know anything about you,” Blair said.

“You know everything about me,” Daniel said. “Sex is nothing. Love is nothing.”

“You really believe that?” Blair asked.

“I live for sex,” Philippe tossed in. “Sex and chocolate.”

“Shut up,” both Blair and Daniel said at the same time.

“Phew. Whatever is going on between you two, just leave me right out of it.” Philippe sashayed past Daniel and into the dining room to start setting up the tables.

Blair and Daniel glared at each other.

“I do like the movie man,” Blair finally said. “Dumb, you know. I mean, what good is it?”

“No good,” Daniel said.

“Right,” Blair said, shrugging. “I knew that.”

“And I hate the idea of your getting hurt.”

She smiled at him, reached out a hand to touch his arm. “Is that why we don’t fall in love?” she asked.

Daniel pulled her close to him for a hug.
He never does this,
Blair thought. But he pulled away quickly, straightening his collar.

“You making that tuna tartare tonight?” he asked.

She looked at him, her eyes wide open. “Oh, my God. It’s wasted. All that sashimi-grade tuna.”

“I made it,” Daniel said. “Everyone loved it.” He turned, starting back toward the dining room. “Ordered another batch for you. It’s in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” Blair said, smiling.

She pulled open the refrigerator and found the ahi tuna, glad that she’d have another chance. Something to take her mind off everything.

Until Philippe banged back into the kitchen, looking for the napkins, and tossed off, “I hear you’ve got the hots for the movie man.”

“Fuck you, Daniel!” Blair yelled out toward the dining room.

“Can’t, darling,” Daniel called. “I’m gay.”

“I hate him,” Blair muttered.

“So, tell me about the movie man,” Philippe urged, napkins in hand, now perched on the pastry counter, beaming.

“You tell me,” Blair said. “What do you know about him?”

“Everything,” Philippe said eagerly. “
Premiere
did a small profile on him when
The Geography of Desire
came out a couple of months ago. He’s married to a beauty. Not that you aren’t a beauty. Well, you’re not exactly a beauty. But you’re interesting.”

“I wasn’t asking about me,” Blair said. She pulled out a bowl and started working on the tuna tartare.

“You want to know about the wife?”

“Ex-wife.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

She glanced at Philippe, who was delighting in this. “What does that mean?”

“She ditched him. He went into mourning. He can’t work without her.”

“How would you know this?”

“I have a friend who worked on
Pescadero.
”

“Right. So he loves his wife. What else can you tell me?”

“He was at a screening of
The Geography of Love.
His wife walked out in the middle. He chased after her. By the time he got to the street, she was gone, never to be found again. His life is better than a goddamn film.”

“Well, maybe he found her.”

“If he did, then ‘
Au revoir,
Blair.’”

“Not necessarily.”

“We’re talking love of his life. The man went to the woods for a year after she disappeared.”

“Three months.”

“Is he writing again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me. If he found the wife, he’ll start writing again.”

“Not necessarily.”

“You’re a dreamer, Blair. This is Hollywood. You’re the Haight. There are about a million miles between the two.”

“Philippe!” Daniel shouted from the dining room. “Are you gossiping all night or working?”

Philippe jumped down from the counter and pecked Blair’s cheek.

“Good luck,
chérie,
” he said. “You’ll need it.” He started toward the dining room.

“If you know everything,” Blair called after him, “tell me one thing.”

Philippe turned back to her.

“Why is Luke Bellingham so successful? What makes his movies so good?”

“Because he knows about love,” Philippe said, winking.

Blair was at the video store when it opened the next morning. She found
Pescadero
—his other two films were out.

“Great film!” the video clerk told her.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Blair muttered.

She paid, threw the video in her backpack and headed home.

Her bones were so tired, they ached.
Damn this disease,
she thought.

It was Sunday and foggy and she didn’t want to do anything but hole up in her cottage to watch the movie. Amanda was at the library, working on a history term paper, and Blair had the house to herself for a while. She bought a croissant at the bakery and thought about Luke in her bed:
I’ll have breakfast in bed with him one way or another.

At home she popped in the cassette, undressed, curled up under the covers, nibbled at her croissant and smiled at the opening credits. Written by Luke Bellingham.
My movie man?
she thought.
Ridiculous. High school Luke Bellingham with his sandy blond hair swept over one eye, his crooked smile, his long, lanky body, his gaggle of girlfriends? Or Luke Bellingham in my bed, his body now thickened, broader, his hair brushed back, his eyes staring so intensely into mine?

He had asked her to talk to him before watching
Pescadero.
Why?

The front door opened and closed—she could hear it click shut.

“Amanda?” she called.

Her bedroom door opened and Casey stood there, joint in hand.

“Goddamn you,” she said. “I told you not to let yourself in. You’re my landlord, not my boyfriend.”

“Ease up,” he said. “Take a hit.”

Blair pushed herself up in bed, clicked the video off with her remote control.

“No,” she insisted. “Get lost. Beat it. I am not available for you anytime day or night.”

“How ya feeling?” he asked, standing there, toking away.

“Are you listening to me?”

“You look better. You looked like shit when you got back from the hospital. You know they say pot is the best thing for chemo.”

“I’m not doing chemo!” Blair shouted. “Get out of here. You’re in my house!”

“It’s my house,” Casey said. “But you can live here as long as you want. What’s Amanda going to do when you die?”

Blair threw back the covers and stood up.

“You’re naked!” Casey exclaimed. “You were waiting for me!”

Naked, she started pushing him out, backward, toward the door.

“I will call the police. I will buy a gun. You may not come in here like this. I will never sleep with you again.”

At last he was at the front door. She gave a final push, closed the door and locked it. She leaned back, panting.

“Just one more roll in the hay for old times’ sake?” she heard him shout from the porch.

She slumped to the floor. So much for breakfast in bed with the movie by Luke Bellingham.

She threw on clothes, made herself a cup of coffee, finished her croissant, then decided to try again. She climbed into bed, clicked on the video.

The first scene showed a beach town at night, the color of everything a kind of blue-black, the sky charcoal. The camera panned a long stretch of white beach, the sand eerily fluorescent as it caught the light from the moon. The ocean was black, its roar thunderous. A young woman walked alone on the beach. She was unbelievably tall, pole thin, blondly beautiful.
His wife? No, Philippe would have said so. Maybe the man is just obsessed with the same woman, the same body type, the non-Blair of his dreams.

And the front door opened again.

“I am calling the police,” Blair yelled out. “I swear. You step one foot in this cottage and I’ll bust your sorry ass.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Amanda said, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Blair pushed herself up in bed. “What are you doing home?”

“I finished my work.”

“That’s impossible. You said it would take days.”

“I can do it at home.”

“We don’t have a computer. How are you going to do the research?”

“I’ll make up the research.”

Blair eyed her daughter, who stood in the doorway nonchalantly, swinging her backpack in front of her.

“You can’t spend every minute with me,” Blair said.

“You feeling OK?” Amanda asked.

“I’m fine. Really, Amanda. Go on back to the library.”

“I don’t want to. It’s Sunday. I want to hang out with you.”

“I could be sick for a long time,” Blair said. “You have to live your life, you know.”

“Or you could be sick for a short time. And then what do I do?”

Amanda started to turn away from her mother.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Blair patted the bed next to her.

Amanda crossed the room in a second and slid under the covers next to her mother.

“So what did your new boyfriend do to get you so angry?” she asked.

“My new boyfriend didn’t do anything. Casey was bugging me. And, for your information, I don’t have a new boyfriend.”

“What are you watching on TV?” Amanda asked.

A young man, bearded, long hair wrapped in a bandanna—Blair knew the actor was someone famous but couldn’t place him—ran from behind toward the beautiful blond woman. She turned when she heard him, her expression terrified. But in a moment they were kissing. The guy had his hands all over her.

“A movie,” Blair said. “I felt like being lazy this morning.”

“
Pescadero,
” Amanda said, watching the screen. “You’re watching
Pescadero.
”

“I don’t need shit from my sixteen-year-old daughter just because I’m watching a movie that someone from my high school wrote.”

“I don’t like him.”

“So you mentioned.”

“I like his movies and all—”

“But?”

“I don’t know. You want me to shut up so you can watch?”

“No. I can watch it later.”

“I’ll watch it with you,” Amanda said. “I want to see it again.”

“I’d like that,” Blair said, propping up the pillows so the two of them could lean back against the headboard and watch together.

They heard a bark and a knock and Blair leaped from the bed, rushing to turn off the VCR and the TV, to get to the door, while Amanda lay in bed, grumbling.

“Did he move in and you forgot to tell me?” she asked her mother.

“Don’t tell,” Blair whispered. “I mean, about the movie.”

“I hate him!” Amanda shouted, and slammed the door of her mother’s room as soon as Blair headed to the front door.

Blair opened the door and Sweetpea bounded in. Luke stood on the porch, smiling.

“Not a good time?” he asked.

Blair shook her head.

Luke shrugged, still smiling. “You got company?”

“My daughter,” Blair said. “Who needs some of me right now.”

Luke nodded. “She’s going to want a lot of you now.”

Blair turned toward her own closed door and then back toward Luke. “Listen,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow morning. I mean, if you want to. Breakfast in bed. That sort of thing.”

“I want to,” Luke said.

“Why?” Blair asked. “I mean, why me?”

“Everyone should get a second chance,” Luke said. “I missed you in high school. Took me all this time to find you again.”

Blair rolled her eyes.

“What time?”

“Eight. She leaves for school at seven-thirty.”

“You sure I can’t take you both out for lunch?”

“No. Go home. Go away. Go do something else.”

“I started to write again,” Luke said.

Blair looked at him, surprised. Her stomach churned. “Really?”

They heard the bedroom door open, and Luke leaned forward, giving Blair a quick kiss. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, and started down the stairs.

“Your dog!” Blair called after him.

“Keep her!” he yelled back.

Blair closed the door and turned around, but the dog had already disappeared down the hall. She headed back to her bedroom, where the door was now open.

Amanda and Sweetpea were curled around each other in Blair’s bed.

“There room for me in there?” Blair asked.

“Where is he?” Amanda asked sourly.

“I told him we were busy,” Blair said.

“Really?” Amanda asked.

“Really. Move over.”

Blair squeezed onto the bed with them. Sweetpea laid her head on Blair’s feet.