Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 02 - Spring Moon (14 page)

I thought about the airliner when the tail fell off. One bad screw and everyone died. The skin peeled off a plane on a local flight. A flight attendant had gone out. I imagined her in a slim skirt and low pumps; arms reached back, eyes locked on the safe place where she’d just been serving coffee. She must have known it was over, that she was being left behind as everyone in the plane flew on in their lives.

Did she try to hold on to the gash in the metal skin as the sky tugged at her? Did she scream over the noise? I hoped she’d spent her last night giving her love to someone who loved her back, not just some pilot screwing his way around the planet. I hoped she’d hugged her children good-bye. Did they find her?

They found my father. That had helped. I didn’t know what he’d been thinking at the end, or even if he was conscious. If he’d seen his lover the night before. Maybe he cried, or swore. Or maybe he just watched the afterglow on the snow that was all around him.

Did he feel left behind on the mountain knowing his family was at home? We had all felt left behind by him. It’s an odd thing. Death. It feels like the great divide, but both sides feel left behind. And still together. Life slides both directions. Memories live until the last man standing. Margaret was peaceful about dying, unlike my aunt who was furious. She resented her family for going on without her. She hated cancer. She said it would be better not to know, to die quickly in a plane crash like her brother. We didn’t know if he had died quickly. All we knew was that it was cold. It could have felt like an eternity to him. I wanted death to surprise me, not whisper over my bed like it did my grandmother. Not time to think like going down in a plane.

Planes crash to earth. They slam into mountains. They drop in the water and sink to places so deep they might as well be in outer space. Sometimes they don’t find the black box. What difference did it make? It was just another story that found its way into books for pilots to read. Like ghost stories. My father read them to us on camping trips. While he analyzed pilot decisions, I thought about the terrified people in the back who had time to review their life decisions because they weren’t consumed with the now of keeping air under the wings. I thought about their families huddled in airport chapels, faces stretched in silent screams of grief, while insurance men in suits spoke a risk management language they couldn’t comprehend.

Now that I had children, I could see that my father’s parenting could have used some work, but he was a pilot. They’re people who plan with a compass and a chart. They read the stories with whoa bravado because it would never happen to them. Or, they read them to slap away any small snakes of fear that may be slithering in the back of their brains. Back where they know we have no business being up there, we don’t have wings.

Unless a Saber Tooth Tiger is chasing us, fear doesn’t help, it just attracts confusion and mishap. You can write the rules in blood, but something you never imagined comes while you’re worrying about what’s never going to come. We’re all pilots who make mistakes. Brief but fatal switches to a new concept of reality. They call it human error. We can’t begin to make rules for how many ways a human mind can err. Where was Jon?

I sneaked out from under Chance and tiptoed into the bedroom. Oscar was flat on his back, sound asleep, being choked by Meggie. He’d slid his fingers under hers to give his windpipe room to move. Her small white fingers were wrapped around his dark skin. He was so patient. I was glad he was getting rest. He was supposed to get dragged under a bus in the morning, but the Director could decide to have him jump off a motorcycle then get dragged. Or, maybe get dragged motorcycle and all. Timing, and nerves in harness, are what kept him safe and working.

I grabbed my phone. Mr. Fretful was still asleep on the couch, his breathing stuttered. The screen light was blinding when I turned it on and made him squint. I called Jon. It rang once.

“Yes,” he said.

I knew that voice. He was ready to move like a caveman sensing a threat. I started sobbing. I cried and cried. And cried.

“Is this hi Jon, it’s Hannah?” he asked.

I could hear his smile.

“I thought your plane had crashed. Chance wouldn’t stop crying. He was inconsolable. I thought he knew.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s asleep next to me. I don’t know what it was, probably rhubarb. Oscar is sleeping with Meggie. You didn’t say good-bye. You need to say good-bye.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t sign off. I lost my voice.”

“The vog get you?”

“You said you were bringing Chance home to swim.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I’m not going to say good-bye. I told you that in the beginning. You should sleep while you can. Give Marty my best.”

“You’re stubborn, Jon.”

“If you say so.”

We hung up. He had cried when I said we were coming home.

The next morning everyone headed off to work and school. Amy came over an hour early to give me time to get dressed like a grown up. I doubled up on nursing pads and draped a scarf artfully across my silk tank top à la India. Meggie watched me get dressed. I felt almost like a princess. I put on make-up, and dried my hair like I meant it.

“You look great,” said Amy.

“Thanks. This is the first time I’ve put it all together since Chance was born.”

She dropped me off at the restaurant. Marty stood and waved me over to the table. He looked classic Hollywood agent in huge square black-framed glasses. Ever the gentleman, he kissed both cheeks and stood until I was seated.

“You look marvelous,” he said.

“Thank you. Love those glasses. Very Lew Wasserman,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word marvelous.”

“I’m rebooting. How about you? Ready to work?”

“I’m thinking about it. Thought I’d see you while I’m here, get news. Ideally something starting in a few months.”

“How few months?”

“Six, something like that.”

“I have something coming. Means location though, six to eight months with the piranhas. Then back here for another six or so. They’re just firming up the schedule. I know your husband. I don’t want to die. I just sunk six hundred bucks into these glasses.”

“He’s not going to hurt you. He’s changing light bulbs to save money.”

We ordered lunch.

“Can he handle taking care of the kids while you’re gone?” he asked.

“I plan to take them with me.”

“How old is that baby? I could swear I just sent a gift.”

“You didn’t send a gift, your assistant did, and it was lovely. We sent a thank you note. Seven weeks.”

“Too young for this shoot. It’s some African Queen thing except on the Amazon with an environmentalist chick going to bat for the natives. Or rainforest. Or both.”

“I thought you were calling the Director a piranha. Who’s starring?”

“One of the blonde boys, not one of mine. The actress just dropped out. They’re looking for someone who looks haughty but is still hot, and who’s willing to get malaria.”

“She could wear your glasses,” I said.

He looked thoughtful.

“Not me,” I said.

“No, you’re too old and you can’t act. I’m sending one of my girls in for it. I’m going to get her some glasses. Good idea.”

“Thanks, Marty. You still call them girls? You still refer to us as your stable?”

“No. I dropped stable. Girls is retro. I can only change so much.”

“You watch too much
Mad Men
. Is there anything else coming that looks good?”

“There’s buzz around Hawaii right now. Pirates, dinosaurs, big tits in bikinis. Everyone wants the Hawaii second home write off. Hawaii is pitching hard. Tax breaks, grow coffee white man. Even I’m getting brochures. Nothing firm yet.”

“Hawaii would be perfect. Did Jon tell you to push Hawaii?”

“He doesn’t need to,” he said. “He looked at me once.”

“You’re such a wimp, Marty. He’s 5’6”.”

“Yeah. So. The short guys scare me. They’re like Jack Russells. Go for the Achilles.”

“I know you love me, Marty. Only want the best. But your Achilles is money and you’re good at protecting it.”

“True. Why the rush to work?”

“Jon plans to hire his ex-wife to run one of his biggest restaurants. I need my own money.”

“Ah. Can you hold on a few months?”

“Any television work? I could take some short projects in the meantime. I’ll even do more commercials.”

“A movie would be a better move. People still talk about your pyro-girl thing. That’s some serious legs. If you keep stepping down, it’s going to be hard to step up.”

“I know. Margaret wouldn’t like it. She said movies or nothing, but there’s some great television now. I’m sure she’s happy about Ed though; he has someone new.”

“We had dinner with them a few weeks ago. Nancy Campbell. Nice lady. Not Margaret.”

“They’re coming for a visit next month. Play some golf.”

“I know it’s going to be tough. It was strange for us to see him with someone else, and we see a lot of new partners coming through. Ed seemed to like her. How about you? You happy?”

“I was until this ex-wife thing came along.”

A few producers, aka The Suits, stopped by. Introductions were made all around. One seemed especially engaged. It felt good after Marty’s too old comment. Maybe my career was still alive. They drifted to their table.

“You going to try out for a wet tee shirt contest?” asked Marty.

“Is that the new way to save a marriage? I never got around to pole dancing.”

“I’m looking at your tits.”

I looked down. I’d had a double nursing pad fail. My artfully draped scarf looked like I’d intentionally wrapped my breasts in wet tissue paper. It was pretty, but definitely not the look I was going for. I peeled the scarf free and leaned forward a little so it didn’t replaster.

“Fuck,” I said.

People glanced our way to see me leaning toward Marty and offering dessert. He called for the check while I did a mental face plant over the realization that the producer hadn’t been interested in my alluring face and sparkling wit.

“Always have enjoyed your language,” said Marty. “You want my jacket?”

“No, I don’t want your jacket. It’s a hundred and ten outside. I’d look like I’m on my way to rehab. This just looks like I’m trying too hard. I can hold my head up until I get out the door. I’ll call Amy, she can meet me in front.”

“Maybe you should go for some extras work. Tits in the jungle.”

“I doubt Lew ever called them tits to anyone’s face, Marty. Anyway, they’re not tits, they’re jugs.”

“Jon?”

“Yeah.”

“And he still has a heart beat? Guy has some huevos.”

“He also has an ex-wife with a sexy name. Celeste.”

“Ouch. Okay. We’ll figure something out.”

Amy pulled up in front. I could hear Chance squawking even with the windows up. Marty kept his distance from a dry cleaning bill as we hugged good-bye. He said hello to Amy and the kids as I slid in the front seat.           

“So how’d it go?” asked Amy.

“It didn’t yet. They’re gearing up for an Amazon shoot.”

“Women or river?”

“River. Be a great adventure if you don’t mind catching malaria.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I’ll put in a word,” I said.

“I’ll call Claire.”

The rest of the week was spent being social, eating all over town, and wishing I were home. On Saturday, Karin and I went to Venice Beach for my tattoo. There are great sun designs, but no decent full moons. Ironically, the artist pulled it off by laying down clouds behind a moon. She drew it on my ass hip and put a flourishy M in the middle. I missed Jon, but the mood I was in, it would probably be gone before he ever saw it. If not, I’d tell him it was for Mike. Meggie wanted one too. She got a cheerful crescent moon on her ankle. She was very careful with it. I stripped off Chance’s diaper and the artist planted a tiny crescent on his pristine little ass. The maiden voyage of our clan brand.

We stayed at the beach and ate junk food so I could roll my shorts down while it dried. Chance enjoyed riding ass out to the world. He peed on me, but at least it was in front and didn’t wash off the henna. Having children who pee and spill milk on you drives the gratitude baseline lower each day. I called Chana.

“Hi. I’m on the boardwalk with my pants rolled down so my tattoo can dry.”

“Sweet. What’d you get?”

“Moon with M for Mike. Meggie and Chance got crescent moons. Wish you could do it. Chance is bare ass. Do not tell your father.”

“I won’t. How’s everybody?”

“Fine. We’re having a great time. We’re going home tomorrow. You back home?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I just thought you’d get a kick out of it,” I said.

“It’s great. Can’t wait to hear Dad’s reaction. Can I talk to Magsie?”

We sat on the seawall and watched body builders while Meggie chatted up her sister.            

“She say how it went with Celeste?” asked Karin.

“No, and I didn’t ask,” I said. “She might feel squeezed. She overheard me talking to Eric and Anna the other day.”

“Can I call her?” asked Karin.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said.

She cracked up. I’d wanted to be home for the last four days because it was comfortable. Talking to Chana hadn’t been comfortable. Home didn’t sound comfortable either. Things were shifting around.

After getting all the gear, extra boxes of clothes and dinosaurs on the plane, with two kids in tow, the flight home was like a mini vacation. Meggie spilled only one apple juice before she fell asleep curled up in the seat next to me. Chance nursed and amused himself with my nipples before he fell asleep smiling. I was trapped to stare out the window at water and wonder how things would end.

Jon knew me. I do tend to skate off to a parallel reality under pressure. My first husband said I had a split personality. I thought that was harsh. It was more creative problem solving without the usual constraints. The problem was the two beings who had me pinned to seat 11A. One spent a good part of his day attached to me like a
Juggs
loving leech, while the other hopped next to me and left her footprints. No way to unconstrain them.