“I guess it’s a good thing I got more wine.”
I opened my eyes and lifted my head painfully. I tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. And where I was. Slowly I focused in on her and the room surrounding her, and it all came back to me. I was on the couch. In Nicole’s living room. At her house in San Diego. With an almost empty wine bottle on the coffee table next to me. I rolled away from her, trying not to cause my head anymore trauma. I was using her dog as a pillow and he shifted his large, comforting chest beneath me. I snuggled into him.
I could hear Nicole move to the kitchen. She was home from work, so it must be around 6pm. I wished I hadn’t woken up. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I said. I closed my eyes again.
Running the span of Manhattan, East to West, is 57th Street. You can literally take a bus on 57th from the East River all the way to the Hudson. Not that John and I ever took the bus. We took cabs, like civilized people.
It had been a little less than a year since we’d met on that sound-stage. And as promised, we’d both traveled back and forth to see each other until, eight months into the relationship, I’d sold my car, gotten rid of my apartment, said goodbye to my agents and moved to John’s townhouse in Michigan.
A few months later, he was transferred to the NYC office of his agency, which had been all part of the plan. Once we arrived in New York and were set up in the company-paid-for luxury 57th Street apartment with multiple doormen, rows of elevators and a huge, marble lobby, I was to revive my acting career and spend the rest of my time working on the sorority book. John didn’t want me to get a day job – he said I didn’t need to since he made enough money to support both of us. This was a good thing as, although I’d made a very lucrative living as a commercial actress, my union had been on strike for awhile and work had been lean before I’d left LA. I was running out of money quickly. I was really happy at that time. I was engaged to the man I loved, had my days free to myself and man, oh man, did I ever love New York.
So you see, Shannon? Things really were awesome. Just like I said they would be.
Continue reading Beware of the Wordsmith. Part Two. →