Goodnight Tweetheart (4 page)

Abby_Donovan: How long will you be there? In Paris Freaking France?

MarkBaynard: Only one more day. I’m leaving for the Loire Valley tomorrow.

Abby_Donovan: Moan…the Loire Valley? Where they keep the chauteaux and the wine?

MarkBaynard: I’ll be traveling through the Loire Valley for a week or two, then on to Tuscany and Florence.

Abbey: Florence, Italy?!

MarkBaynard: Florence, Alabama. But seriously (I said that so you’d know I was being serious), I’m spending time in Italy before heading for Ireland.

Abby_Donovan: Sob! I’m going to Starbucks tomorrow. Then on to the gym and the dry cleaner.

MarkBaynard: Will you send me a pic from there?

Abby_Donovan: Yes. I’ll be the blue woman with the plastic bag wrapped around her head.

MarkBaynard: Is this a bad time to ask you how the writing went today?

Abby_Donovan: Pretty much the same way it went yesterday. I’m still stuck on Chapter Five.

MarkBaynard: If you won’t let me read your first book, you can at least tell me about it.

Abby_Donovan: Not much to tell. It was called TIME OUT OF MIND. It’s a novel about a young girl growing up with a bipolar mother.

MarkBaynard: A comedy, eh?

Abby_Donovan: I like to think it made the readers laugh & cry.

MarkBaynard: Tell me the first sentence.

Abby_Donovan: You think I’m egotistical enough to have the first sentence of my first book memorized?

MarkBaynard: You’re a writer, aren’t you?

Abby_Donovan: “Even as a girl my mom had a crooked smile, as if she couldn’t quite decide whether she wanted to be manic or depressive.”

Abby_Donovan: Mark? Did you doze off?

MarkBaynard: I thought you said the book was a novel, not a memoir.

Abby_Donovan: How did you know I wrote that about my own mom?

MarkBaynard: Built-in bullshit detector. Only it works the opposite way. I can tell when someone is pretending to lie.

Abby_Donovan: Well, there are elements of truth in all great fiction, don’t you think?

MarkBaynard: And elements of fiction in all great truths. Is your mom still alive?

Abby_Donovan: Nursing home. Bipolar+Dementia=#Med icationFail. I moved her to a wonderful facility in the Bronx 2 years ago after we lost my dad.

MarkBaynard: So very sorry. Were you a daddy’s girl?

Abby_Donovan: He was always my rock. My security. Since he’s been gone, the world seems like a much bigger, much scarier place.

MarkBaynard: When you were a kid, did you ever worry that you would get sick like your mom?

Abby_Donovan: Daddy always told me not to worry about that. That I was cursed with his face but blessed with his brain…

Abby_Donovan: But I was still pretty relieved when I realized the voices I’d been hearing in my head belonged to my characters.

MarkBaynard: Does your mom still recognize you?

Abby_Donovan: Most of the time. On the days she doesn’t, I’m not sure I recognize myself either.

MarkBaynard: Believe me…there are days when I wish my mother didn’t recognize me. Hang on…oh crap!

Abby_Donovan: What is it?

MarkBaynard: One of the anorexic Frenchwomen was just blown away by a stray gust of wind. I’d better go see if I can catch her.

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Principal Snyder

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Darla

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Oz

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tara

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Xander

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Drucilla

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Spike

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Buffy

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Angel

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart…

Tuesday, May 3—2:39
P.M.
.

MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?

Abby_Donovan: Coffee-stained sweats and Hermione Granger’s Hogwarts scarf. You?

MarkBaynard: Samuel L. Jackson’s Jheri curls from PULP FICTION and Frank-N-Furter’s corset from ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW.

Abby_Donovan: Have you made it to the Loire Valley yet? You promised me a pic so I could live vicariously through you.

MarkBaynard: VIEW FROM MY iPHONE:
http://twit photo.com/MB7stb

Abby_Donovan: Sigh…it’s the Chateau de Villandry, isn’t it? Tell me EXACTLY what you’re doing at this very moment.

MarkBaynard: Sitting beneath a vine-covered pergola, nibbling on sun-warmed goat cheese & admiring a re-creation of a medieval herb garden.

Abby_Donovan: Did I tell you I had some Velveeta today? I took a pic of my view for you too…

Abby_Donovan: VIEW FROM MY LAPTOP:
http://tweetpic.com/282519064

MarkBaynard: Is that a Gollum doll climbing over the back of your computer? I’m guessing it hasn’t been a very productive writing day, my preciousssss.

Abby_Donovan: Let’s just put it this way—I know why Hemingway shot himself.

MarkBaynard: So do I. Because he couldn’t drink himself to death fast enough.

Abby_Donovan: Every day I tell myself that this is the day I’m going to finish
Chapter 5
and start
Chapter 6
.

MarkBaynard: Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself. It can’t be that bad. When is the book due?

Abby_Donovan: March of 2009.

MarkBaynard: But this is May of …oh …never mind …

Abby_Donovan: So far
Chapter 5
consists solely of “All work and no play makes Abby a dull girl” written 6000 times.

MarkBaynard: Please tell me you don’t own an ax.

Abby_Donovan: No, but I did see some spooky twins hanging around the elevator yesterday.

MarkBaynard: Maybe you’re just suffering from imposter syndrome.

Abby_Donovan: Shouldn’t that be your gig? Especially if you really are Ashton Kutcher. Or Batman.

MarkBaynard: I’ve read it happens to people who experience “overnight” success but secretly believe they don’t deserve it.

Abby_Donovan: Let me guess. You minored in psychology.

MarkBaynard: Actually it was a double major. I minored in pissing people off.

Abby_Donovan: I bet you graduated at the top of your class.

MarkBaynard: Summa Cum Laude all the way, babe.

Abby_Donovan: I haven’t really felt like an imposter since the book hit so big. More like a guest star in my own life.

MarkBaynard: The part of Abigail Donovan is now being played by Tina Fey.

Abby_Donovan: Only because that chick who played Nellie Olsen on LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE wasn’t available.

MarkBaynard: At least you’ve made it to
Chapter 5
of your second book. I haven’t even made it to
Chapter 1
of my first book yet.

Abby_Donovan: You should be grateful you’re not published yet. No deadlines. No expectations. No crippling fear you’ll disappoint everyone who matters.

MarkBaynard: No fortune. No fame. No adoring sycophants.

Abby_Donovan: Don’t make me Block you. I already had to Block several people today.

MarkBaynard: Why?

Abby_Donovan: I tweeted a joke about my “ginormous freak feet” and the panty hose fetishists started following me.

MarkBaynard: Friend with pet squirrel mentioned being a “squirrel lover” w/equally shocking results. There really IS something for everybody on Twitter.

Abby_Donovan: I’m thinking of starting a new hashtag. #How2LoseFollowers.

MarkBaynard: #How2LoseFollowers: Insult the president. Any president. Obama. Bush. Clinton. George Washington. It doesn’t matter.

Abby_Donovan: #How2LoseFollowers: Describe in graphic detail just how long it’s been since you last shaved yr legs.

MarkBaynard: #How2LoseFollowers: Tweet any recipe including cabbage and calf brains.

Abby_Donovan: #How2LoseFollowers: Make snarky comments about Sarah Palin’s hair and/or the president’s ears.

MarkBaynard: #How2LoseFollowers: Choose pic of Kim Jong-il as your avatar. Or Kathie Lee Gifford.

Abby_Donovan: #How2LoseFollowers: Tweet link to URL citing potential health hazards of binging on dark chocolate M&Ms.

MarkBaynard: #How2LoseFollowers: Tweet that you think COLD MOUNTAIN had the best ending EVER!

Abby_Donovan: #How2LoseFollowers: Tell me you bet I have really pretty toes and you’d like to hook up.

MarkBaynard: I bet you have really pretty toes. Wanna hook up?

Abby_Donovan: Hang on …let me wiggle into my panty hose and I’ll get back to you.

MarkBaynard: Fortunately, Twitter isn’t eHarmony. People may come here looking for feet, but they don’t come here looking for love.

Abby_Donovan: Don’t be silly. People never stop looking for love.

MarkBaynard: Yeah, some of them don’t even stop AFTER they’ve found it.

Abby_Donovan: A cynic, are we?

MarkBaynard: No, just a divorced realist.

Abby_Donovan: You give new meaning to the phrase “hopeless romantic,” don’t you?

MarkBaynard: My wife may not be Following me anymore but what about you? Is there anything I could do to make you Unfollow me?

Abby_Donovan: You could tell me who you voted for in the last election.

MarkBaynard: Who told you about that life-size cardboard cutout of Hillary Clinton I keep in the corner of my bedroom?

Abby_Donovan: My NRA poster of Dick Cheney is MUCH sexier. I never could resist a guy with a big gun.

MarkBaynard: You know we liberal guys are all secretly hot for Ann Coulter.

Abby_Donovan: Yeah, I bet you get hot just thinking about her bony little elbows digging into your groin.

MarkBaynard: Well, we’ve gotten the taboo topic of politics out of the way. What’s next? Religion?

Abby_Donovan: Why not? Do you believe in God?

MarkBaynard: Oddly enough, he may be the only thing I ever really did believe in.

Abby_Donovan: And you have the nerve to call yourself a cynic!

MarkBaynard: No, I said I was a realist. So if God is real …

Abby_Donovan: I wish I had your confidence.

MarkBaynard: So let me get this straight—I’m a God-fearing Liberal and you’re a Conservative Atheist?

Abby_Donovan: I never said I was an atheist. I prefer to think of myself as a devout Narcissist.

MarkBaynard: What does that mean?

Abby_Donovan: If the sun is shining, I thank God. If it rains, I blame him.

MarkBaynard: I think that just makes you a human being. Damn. There goes the Bat-Signal again. Must be another old lady’s cat stuck in a tree.

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Deputy Leo

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Lilly

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Wallace

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Mac

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Logan

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Kendall

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Keith

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Backup

Abby_Donovan: Will you marry me?

MarkBaynard: Why?

Abby_Donovan: Because I made a vow that I’d marry the first man who knew the name of Veronica Mars’s dog.

MarkBaynard: Tell you what—if neither one of us has found anyone to marry by the time I turn 15, it’s a deal.

Abby_Donovan: I just hope you like older women.

MarkBaynard: Oh, I do. Goodnight Tweetheart …

Chapter Four

Monday, May 9—1:42
P.M.
.

MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?

Abby_Donovan: Coffee-stained sweats and Madeline Kahn’s hairdo after the monster made love to her in YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN. You?

MarkBaynard: Keanu Reeves’s long black duster from THE MATRIX and Harry Shearer’s leather pants from THIS IS SPINAL TAP.

Abby_Donovan: The ones with the foil-wrapped cucumber in them?

MarkBaynard: I’ll never tell. Let’s just say it was hell getting through airport security this morning.

Abby_Donovan: Ah …another airport, another glamorous city! So where in the world is Mark Baynard today?

MarkBaynard: VIEW FROM MY iPHONE:
http://twitphoto.com/MB7stc

Abby_Donovan: Wistful sigh …Ah, Tuscany! ’Fess up. Tell me what you’re doing at this very minute.

MarkBaynard: Sipping a lush Merlot on the balcony of a villa overlooking the vineyards. You?

Abby_Donovan: VIEW FROM MY LAPTOP:
http://tweetpic.com/282519066

MarkBaynard: Is that Captain Jack Sparrow hisself peeking over the back of your computer? Avast ye matey! Have I missed Talk Like a Pirate Day?

Abby_Donovan: When I get discouraged my Captain Jack doll swaggers onto my desk and mumbles sweet nothings in my ear to inspire me.

MarkBaynard: I thought that was my job. So what have you written today?

Abby_Donovan: 2 blogs, 7 Facebook updates & 18 tweets. Oh, & a check to the cable company. You would have been stunned by my eloquence on the MEMO line.

MarkBaynard: If all else fails, maybe we can publish our tweets and pass them off as a collaboration.

Abby_Donovan: Only if the police don’t seize them as evidence after they search your refrigerator.

MarkBaynard: I’ll print them out and hide them behind the bottle of Chianti. Next to the fava beans.

Abby_Donovan: They might need a mug shot for AMERICA’S MOST WANTED too. Why don’t you send me a pic with you actually IN it?

MarkBaynard: You HAVE sent me naked pictures of your cats. Maybe it is time we exchanged pics. Clothing optional, of course. At least for you.

Abby_Donovan: I guess that means the Catholic schoolgirl uniform is a no-go.

MarkBaynard: Whoa! Let’s not be too hasty.

Abby_Donovan: Meet me back here in 15 minutes. We’ll synchronize our watches, count down from 10, and push the UPLOAD button at the exact same nanosecond.

MarkBaynard: It’s a date.

Monday, May 9—2:10
P.M.

MarkBaynard: Are you sure you’re ready for this?

Abby_Donovan: I was born ready, baby. Deep breath. Ten …

MarkBaynard: Nine …

Abby_Donovan: Eight …

MarkBaynard: Seven …

Abby_Donovan: Six …

MarkBaynard: Five …

Abby_Donovan: Four …

MarkBaynard: Three …

Abby_Donovan: Two …

MarkBaynard: NOW!!!

MarkBaynard:
http://twitphoto.com/MB7ste

Abby_Donovan:
http://tweetpic.com/282519068

MarkBaynard: That’s odd. You’re a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie in that pic. You even have the same tattoos.

Abby_Donovan: And you are the spitting image of Brad Pitt. When did you get your pic snapped on the red carpet at the Oscars?

MarkBaynard: If you want to know the truth, I’m crushed. I was hoping you looked a lot more like Jennifer Aniston.

Abby_Donovan: And I was hoping you looked a lot more like David Schwimmer.

MarkBaynard: So … now that we’ve exchanged fake pics, it’s confirmed that we’re both in the Witness Protection Program.

Abby_Donovan: Or we’re both craven cowards with intimacy issues.

MarkBaynard: Don’t be ridiculous. I can be very intimate. Sometimes I even call my students by their first names.

Abby_Donovan: Everybody is so transparent these days but always in a very superficial way. Is it so wrong to want to preserve a little mystery in life?

MarkBaynard: Not if you’re in the Witness Protection Program.

Abby_Donovan: Besides, I sort of like it this way. I can change your appearance based on my mood. Monday you might be Gerard Butler. Tuesday, Clive Owen …

MarkBaynard: And I can change your outfit according to mine. Monday you could be a Catholic schoolgirl. Tuesday a naughty nurse …

Abby_Donovan: What? No leather-clad, whip-toting dominatrix?

MarkBaynard: I’m saving her for Saturday night. Especially if I’ve been a very naughty boy that week.

Abby_Donovan: Shall we make a pact then? I won’t go looking for your pic online if you won’t go looking for mine.

MarkBaynard: You’re on. You shall remain a woman of mystery in a French maid costume and stiletto heels.

Abby_Donovan: And you shall remain Hugh Jackman, Jude Law, Matthew McConaughey, Viggo Mortensen, Sawyer from LOST and/or Sean Astin.

MarkBaynard: Sean Astin? Samwise Gamgee???

Abby_Donovan: Don’t you be dissin’ my plump little hobbit love muffin!

MarkBaynard: I had you pegged as more of a Frodo woman.

Abby_Donovan: Ha! Frodo was adorable but he couldn’t have found his ass with both hands without his loyal Samwise to help him.

MarkBaynard: Even I have to admit it was a classic bromance.

Abby_Donovan: I love that moment toward the end of the movie when Frodo wakes up & realizes he’s alive & Sam appears in the doorway & looks at him …

Abby_Donovan: … as if to say, “I will always be your friend. I will always love you no matter what you’ve done & no matter what you’ll ever do.”

MarkBaynard: “Even if that includes trying to hog up the ring of power for yourself and almost destroying the world, you greedy little bugger.”

Abby_Donovan: I’ve always thought it would be lovely to have someone look at me that way. Besides Willow Tum-Tum, of course.

MarkBaynard: What about Buffy the Mouse Slayer? Doesn’t she look at you that way too?

Abby_Donovan: No, she looks at me as if to say, “If you were smaller, I know I could find a way to eat you.”

MarkBaynard: Now that we’ve determined which hobbit you’d most like to perv on, it might be time to take the next step in our relationship.

Abby_Donovan: Do I have to meet your parents?

MarkBaynard: I don’t even want to meet my parents. Not for lunch. Not for coffee. Not for Thanksgiving.

Abby_Donovan: They sound like charming people.

MarkBaynard: Oh, they are. Sort of a cross between the Clampetts and the Borgias.

Abby_Donovan: Do you have any brothers and sisters?

MarkBaynard: I have a little sister who adores me and an older brother who doesn’t.

Abby_Donovan: Why? Did Mommy always love you best?

MarkBaynard: No, she loved me least. Except when she was drinking. Then she loved everybody. Especially the mailman, to whom I bear a marked resemblance.

Abby_Donovan: As an only child whose siblings were strictly imaginary, I’m always fascinated by family dynamics.

MarkBaynard: Trust me—sometimes imaginary is better. Of course sometimes inflatable is better too.

Abby_Donovan: There you go again. Using humor as a defense mechanism.

MarkBaynard: I figured out in the first grade that it was better to crack a joke than somebody’s skull.

Abby_Donovan: It might just be your way of keeping people at arm’s length.

MarkBaynard: Did I tell you the one about the daughter of the bipolar and the son of the drunk who walk into a bar together?

Abby_Donovan: No, but I’m guessing one of them has a talking dog.

MarkBaynard: And a mute, one-legged parrot.

Abby_Donovan: So if I don’t get to meet your parents (or your parrot), then what IS the next step in our relationship?

MarkBaynard: I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy so I thought I’d ask you out on a date before begging you to tweet me a topless photo.

Abby_Donovan: A date? Won’t that be a challenge since we’re on different … you know … continents?

MarkBaynard: No challenge is too great for Twitter. Just be in front of your computer on Friday night at 7 PM and I’ll pick you up.

Abby_Donovan: You’re assuming I don’t have anything better to do on Friday night at 7 PM than have an imaginary date with a man I’ve never even met.

MarkBaynard: Do you?

Abby_Donovan: No.

MarkBaynard: Good.

Abby_Donovan: We’re in different time zones. Won’t that be after midnight for you?

MarkBaynard: I don’t mind. I’m a notoriously lousy sleeper.

Abby_Donovan: 7 PM it is, then. I’ll be waiting for you. Um … what should I wear? Casual or formal?

MarkBaynard: Surprise me. (Although I’m hoping you haven’t completely ruled out the Catholic schoolgirl outfit.)

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Lorelei

Abby_Donovan: Mark? Are you still there?

Abby_Donovan: Did I do it? DID I DO IT???!!! Did I stump you?!

MarkBaynard: I’m just afraid if I admit I watched GILMORE GIRLS you’ll think I’m gay instead of just an insomniac who watches too much TV.

Abby_Donovan: Since we’ve been talking Witness Protection, how about Goodnight Uncle Junior?

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Carmela

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Tony

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Meadow

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Silvio

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Adriana

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Big … um … Goodnight Salvatore

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …

“Goodnight, Tweetheart,” Abby whispered, putting her Mac-Book to sleep with a stroke of her fingertip.

Her hands lingered over the keyboard. Despite the smoky warmth of Steve Tyrell’s voice crooning “For All We Know” from her iPod dock speakers, she suddenly felt very alone. How could Mark be halfway across the world when she would have sworn he’d been in this room with her only seconds ago?

She dragged her gaze away from the computer screen to gaze out the window. While she had been tweeting, the clouds that had been hanging over the city since early that morning had finally decided to deliver on their promise of rain. On Fifth Avenue far below, brightly colored umbrellas were springing open like something out of a child’s pop-up book. Twilight was still hours away, but the cabbies had flicked on their headlights, bathing the slick streets converging on Grand Army Plaza in a shimmering wash of silver. On the far side of the plaza, the wind tossed the tender green leaves crowning the park’s ancient oaks.

In spite of the melancholy gloom of the afternoon, Abby could almost feel the seductive warmth of the sun against her face. Could almost see herself standing on a stone terrace with vineyards stretched out below her as far as the eye could see. Could almost smell the ripening grapes hanging lush and heavy on the vines.

She turned, her floral sundress rippling around her ankles, only to find a man standing at the edge of the terrace. Though his face was in shadow, she somehow knew he was smiling and that his smile held the unspoken promise that she would never again be as lonely as she had been before she turned to find him standing there.

Willow Tum-Tum bounded into her lap, jerking Abby out of her ridiculous daydream. Sighing, she stroked her fingers through Willow’s thick, soft ruff, coaxing an adoring purr from the cat’s throat. If she didn’t rein in her imagination soon, she was going to have to turn her hand to writing the romance novels she secretly loved to read in the bathtub.

She should have never let herself be drawn into this situation. Wasn’t social media notorious for establishing a sense of false intimacy? How else to explain the way she’d been blurting out intimate details about her life, her career, and her past to a man she’d never met, a man she probably never
would
meet?

She wouldn’t have dared tell her editor about the fear that paralyzed her every time she sat down at her computer to finish Chapter Five of her new book. And no one, not even her best friend, knew how adrift she’d felt since her father died.

Her dad had always been her biggest cheerleader. He might have played the role of big, tough army guy for his troops, but he never missed a chance to help her with her homework or braid her hair before bedtime. If she was in a school play, he was always front and center in the first row of the auditorium, beaming with pride as she lisped out her lines or pirouetted across the stage dressed as Pocahontas or a Thanksgiving pumpkin.

She still remembered calling him late one night when she was writing her book and tearfully telling him she was having trouble with a scene because the heroine’s dad in the book was dying and she couldn’t bear to write a dead dad scene.

He had thought about it for a minute, then said, “That’s okay, honey. Go ahead and finish me off. Everybody’s gotta go sometime.”

After
Time Out of Mind
had been published, he had loaded down his car trunk with boxes of books and tried to sell a copy to everybody he met. His easygoing charm and pride in his only daughter’s accomplishments were so irresistible that he usually ended up selling two.

She picked up the framed photo sitting on the corner of her desk. It was a grainy Polaroid she had taken of her parents in happier times when they probably weren’t much older than she was now. They were standing on Carolina Beach against a backdrop of sand and sea. Her dad had one burly arm draped over her mother’s shoulders. He was grinning at the camera like a mischievous nine-year-old while her mother laughed up at him, her eyes hidden by a pair of oversize sunglasses and her long brown hair dancing in the wind. The hint of sadness that usually haunted her smile had vanished, if only for the instant it had taken for Abby to freeze that moment in time.

Abby hadn’t realized until after her dad’s death that there were hardly any pictures of the three of them together. One of them had always been holding the camera. She gently returned the photo to its place, her smile a wistful echo of her mother’s.

She supposed this was what came of pouring your heart out to a total stranger. Mooning over old photos while listening to the lonely wail of a saxophone, two cats your only company.