The Idea of Love (25 page)

The purse was full again, and Sims was at the table with his head in his hands. Mimi sat quietly with a closed-mouth smile. Ella looked around at the havoc and said, “You ruined my spaghetti sauce.”

“Sorry,” Betsy said, “you ruined my life.”

And she was gone. The front door slammed so hard that they all jumped even as they knew it was coming. Ella Fitzgerald sang, and Mimi said, “That was the most fun I've had in a long time.”

“Who
are
you?” Sims asked.

Mimi looked up at Ella and then the laughter came. It was tear-producing, hiccupping laughter that neither of them could stop. When they finally took a breath, Sims was staring at them as if they were mad.

“I'm sorry, Ella,” Sims said. “I brought Betsy here tonight to break it off. I was going to tell her that we … me and you … were trying to mend our marriage.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, that's odd because that's what I came here to tell you—to break it off.”

“No you didn't, sweetie. Don't do that.”

Ella picked up the spoon and fished out the two pieces of John Smotlz. She carried them over to Sims and dropped them in his lap.

“Hell, Ella.” He jumped up, sauce spattering on his pressed khakis, the baseball card disintegrating slowly.

“It's probably best if you leave now,” she said.

“No. It's my house. I'm staying. We are going to fix this. I promise. We will fix it.”

Ella looked to Mimi, who still sat quietly with a grin on her face as if she was watching a movie or a show. “You ready to go?” Ella asked.

“Sure thing,” Mimi said, and stood.

They walked toward the door. Sims didn't say a thing. Mimi, however, had the last word. “You should try a little grated Parmesan with that sauce.”

*   *   *

Ella took Mimi home and flopped onto the chair. Mimi clicked on the TV.
E! News
flickered across the screen, silent and full of color.

“My nightly empty calories,” Mimi said as she walked to the kitchen. “So let's find ourselves something to eat here since your spaghetti was fully ruined.”

“More than ruined,” Ella said. “What was that? Insanity?”

“Love makes us all do crazy things,” Mimi said. “I mean, look at Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde. The Greek gods, all of them went crazy for love. It's just the thing to do.”

Ella laughed, but the pit in her stomach didn't feel the humor. She punched at the volume button for the TV and the anchor, a blonde so skinny it didn't look like her body should be able to hold up her boobs and head combined, chatted in a high-pitched voice.

“I've got some frozen pizza,” Mimi said from the kitchen. “How does that sound?”

“I'm not that hungry. Besides, I should be getting home,” Ella said. “Wherever that is.”

“No, stay here. Let's eat pizza, and watch mindless TV. It heals. Ancient healing ritual no one has told you about.”

Ella smiled and it felt very real. “Good idea.” She settled back and stared at the TV. It seemed that Angelina and Brad were having another child, although that didn't seem possible. Action movies topped the list of hits that season. When didn't they? Taylor Swift broke up with yet another boyfriend and wrote yet another song about it. Someone had plastic surgery and someone else was pregnant. The dull details in a regular life, but newsworthy in the famous.

Mimi handed Ella a glass of bourbon and Ella took a long swig, but drinking on an empty stomach was not a good idea because there, on the screen, was a man who looked like Hunter. Yes, Ella thought about him all the time, but this was ridiculous, like seeing Mother Mary in an oil stain on the pavement. She leaned closer, and if she had glasses (which she didn't), she would have put them on. His picture, this man, was in a square on the upper right side of the TV, and the blond anchor was talking about him with the co-anchor who had joined her, a dark-haired man Ella couldn't see because she was too preoccupied looking at the photo with the words “Blake Hunter” written underneath.

Then she tuned into the words they spoke, blurry, fuzzy, she didn't understand until she did.

“Yes,” the blonde said. “We've all been waiting for this. After two flops—and let's be honest they were flops no matter how many people went to see them—we've all been holding our breath for the next Blake Hunter film.”

The man spoke. “And to have Witherspoon agree so quickly after the last movie, it must be a spectacular script.”

“I for one can't wait to hear about it. Adam, do you know anything about it?”

“Only what has been officially released today, which is that the movie is called
The Only One,
is set in the South, and Reese Witherspoon has agreed to play the lead.”

“Thanks for the information. We'll wait and see what else we can learn and get back to you soon.” Ella looked at her glass and it was empty. It had to be the bourbon. Must be.

The Only One?
Isn't that what she'd called Sims when she'd described him to Hunter? Southern setting? The photo?

The photo. It was of a man who looked just like Hunter, but more … handsome. His hair was longer, almost shoulder length and wavy. He had a goatee and wore a button-down, something she'd never seen Hunter wear. A brother? A cousin? What the hell?
The Only One?

Her mind spun around like those damn teacups at Disney World.

“Mimi,” she hollered too loudly for the small space.

“What, dear?”

“Look. Hurry, look at the TV.”

Mimi came to Ella's side and a smile spread across her face, a recognition. “Well, well,” Mimi said. “Isn't life so much fun?”

“Fun?” Ella stood up and started pacing the room. “Oh, my God, it all makes sense now. Like anything does in hindsight. Like Sims cheating. Like this…”

“How?” Mimi asked.

“There was something wrong about it all. Like the way he couldn't sit through the movie. His eyeglasses that didn't work. He always stumbled over names. He never told me the names of any of his books. He—” Ella looked at Mimi. “He lied to me the entire time. God, Mimi.” Ella poured some more bourbon. “I was so busy weaving my own lies, so engrossed in my story that I didn't even see Hunter's … well, Blake's lies. His made-up life. What kind of idiot am I?”

How could she be mad at him? But she was. She was furious. Mad as hell. Throw-the-bourbon-across-the-room mad. Watch it shatter, splinter, make-a-noise that-would-wake-the-building mad.

“Hunter lied to me,” Ella said as if speaking it out loud would convince her heart of the truth.

“Now there's a twist.” Mimi smiled.

“Here I was feeling all guilty and thinking I should tell him the truth, call him up and come clean, and all this time he was telling me some crazy story also. He was using me; stealing my love story.”

“Your fake love story. Listen, Ella, not everyone is who they say they are. The world just isn't so clear. We all have our secrets and pasts, and so he told you he was a history writer and he was really a movie maker?” She shrugged. “I don't know that it matters so much.”

“He was using me.”

“Really?”

“He stole from me.”

“He did?”

“You are infuriating,” Ella said with a loud exhale. “Yes, he used me to get to a story and he stole the story to use to make money … to … I don't know.”

“Are you sure it's Hunter you're mad at?”

“No. I'm not sure at all. And he goes by Blake.” Ella pointed at the screen, which had already switched to another story. “So you see, everyone, I mean everyone, is taking advantage of me.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Mimi asked.

“Eat our pizza and then some pound cake?” Ella asked with a smile.

“That's a good start but there has to be something after that.”

Mimi rose to go to the kitchen. Ella didn't interfere, and she didn't let Mimi know that she was aware about the Sara Lee masquerade. At least someone got to keep their secret.

“I don't know what's next, but—”

Impetuous, she lifted her phone and typed.

Oh, hey there, Blake. Congratulations on your movie deal.

*   *   *

Ashlee wasn't home that night, and he was glad. She'd left a note that said, “
Guess you forgot about the party tonight. Meet me there if you want.
”

He wasn't meeting her anywhere. He was taking off his shoes, pouring a drink—just one—and watching
Entertainment News
for any mention of the press release.

His house finally felt a little bit like home. Slowly, his decorator had framed and hung some pictures. Rugs were scattered in random patterns, which he liked. Soft, plush pillows were everywhere and she'd done exactly as he asked—made sure it didn't look anything like his old house. The view was incredible. Even now he looked out over the water instead of at the TV, until he heard his name and turned to watch the hostess announce the movie, talk about the expectations.

There were so few moments of celebration in the entertainment world. That's what no one really knew. All the work, all the loneliness for just this thirty-second mention on TV. Then more work. Then the release and the holding of the breath for reviews and opening week financial statistics. The world saw the moments of celebration (and defeat) and so they believed that was all there was to it. The viewers didn't think of any of them as real people, humans with heartbreak and friends and lovers and children. They were tabloid fodder, outfits and hairdos, success and failure. And he knew this, because if viewers (and reviewers, which anyone could be on the Internet these days) saw them as real people in a broken world, they would never write the way they did.

Viewers never saw the tossed ideas, the dark nights, the fear of never creating again. But in this moment, Blake absorbed the goodness of it all and in a motion he gave very little thought to, he reached for his phone. He wanted to tell Ella. That's the one person he wanted to share all of this with.

He lifted the phone and saw text messages rolling in from everywhere: friends, enemies, all wanting to say “Oh, congrats, man, just saw the news.”

But he grabbed the second phone and saw Ella's text:

Oh, hey there, Blake. Congratulations on your movie deal.

Right there, without Ashlee in the house, with his name and news still echoing in the well-decorated but empty room, he understood that he was falling in love with Ella Flynn and that Ella Flynn would hate him for the rest of her life, just like everyone else he'd messed over.

Why had he lied to her? For what? Kept the lie going? For this moment alone in an empty house to hear his name on TV? What a fool. He stared at his empty glass and felt the emptiness inside. What had Ella called it? A gap. A crack, he'd said, quoting Leonard Cohen, trying to sound smart and sophisticated. What an ass he was.

*   *   *

Ella woke on Mimi's couch, blurry-eyed with a dull bourbon headache. She sat up and slowly remembered everything.

She'd been had. Again.

But so had Hunter. This guy, whoever he was—Blake or Hunter—the man she thought was a friend, had stolen her fake love story for a film. And yet it wasn't her love story at all. He'd stolen some alternate life she'd imagined. How could you steal something that wasn't real to begin with? Like stealing air or dreams. What he'd taken didn't belong to anyone.

She couldn't make much sense of any of it. Margo took her design. Sims took her heart. And Hunter took her story and made it into a movie. A movie! He didn't even try to hide it.
The Only One
. Not only a thief, but also a brazen one. She had to give him credit—he had nerve for sure.

But what about their friendship?

What about the connection she'd felt?

God, what a fool she'd been.

The worst part was that the first person she wanted to talk to about the mess was Hunter, and there was no such thing as Hunter.

Her eyes were still dusky with sleep, but she could see that there weren't any messages on her phone. She deleted Hunter's name and number as if he'd never existed. As if a swipe of her finger on a delete button could erase him and all he'd become to her.

She gave too much of herself away. She did it too easily and too often. It would stop now. Ella snuck quietly out of Mimi's apartment. The stairwell was still dark. Of course it was. Why would the landlord do anything she asked? A single lightbulb dropped a circle of light onto the floor. Ella stepped over it like it was a puddle.

*   *   *

Fog spread across the landscape and softened the edges of her house. The wisteria was in full bloom now. Ella closed her eyes and smiled, inhaling the scent. Hunter was right. It was exactly between gardenia and rose, the idea of the smell, not too much and not so little that you had to get right into the bloom. Along the top of the brick wall, two cardinals—a male and a female—sat looking down at her, quiet and still. She glanced at the birdfeeder: empty. Ella opened the container at the end of the bench and filled the feeder. “Sorry,” she said. “It won't happen again. I'm home now.”

She entered the house with a few careful steps. Inside, a single light cast a warm glow over the living room where Sims lay asleep on the chaise, an empty glass beside him on a table. Ella didn't wake him. She walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She turned on some music—Elvis Costello just for fun—and scanned the refrigerator for food. Sims's bachelor fridge contained three eggs, a half-carton of milk, half a stick of butter, some wilted lettuce, and foil-covered leftovers that Ella couldn't identify. Condiments lined the door, along with expired salad dressings, sauces, and Coke bottles. She grabbed the eggs and placed them on a towel on the counter. After finding a loaf of bread in the pantry, she toasted two slices while she scrambled the eggs with butter. She snapped a sprig from a fragile rosemary plant growing on the windowsill, and chopped it up before tossing it on top of the eggs. A simple meal had never tasted so good.