want it to be hard. I want it to be hard on you. ”
“This is not helping.”
“I don’t want to help, either.”
“I was afraid you’d do this.”
I started to feel prickly heat on my neck, like a noose made of coarse rope had been thrown around it. Paula reached for her purse, which was hanging on the back of her chair.
“You’re leaving?” I said.
“I have a lawyer,” she said. “He told me not to talk to you, but I thought we could be nice about it.”
She stood up and, with a certain flair, dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table. It was crisp and new, just like Paula. And it sent me over the edge.
“Sit down!” I pounded my fists on the table.
Goldie Hawn looked at me, as did everyone else in the place.
”Don’t yell at me.” Paula slung the purse over her shoulder. “Don’t ever yell at me. I’ll be coming over to pick up Maddie tonight.”
She turned her back and walked out. I was so blinded by rage I couldn’t formulate any words. Picking up Maddie?
The San Pellegrino bottle sat openmouthed on the table. My hand grabbed it, lifted, and threw it down on the sidewalk where Paula was now walking. It shattered. Paula screamed.
In acting class, they teach you to go for the emotional moment. It’s safe to do in class, because there are no wrong answers. You go for it.
Sometimes actors forget they live in the real world and end up doing stupid things. Like I just did.
Paula’s look said to me that any hopes I had of stopping her from divorce were now shattered, just like the bottle on the sidewalk.
2
I found it hard to breathe on the way back to the Valley. It was like the car was one of those crushing chambers in the old horror movies, the walls slowly closing in. My chest felt knotted and hot.
When I got home and rounded up Maddie from Mrs. Williams, I knew I wasn’t going to let Paula waltz in and snatch Maddie away from me.
“How would you like to go to the beach for a few days?” I asked
Maddie.
“Oh yeah! Can I wear my new swimsuit?”
Paula had bought Maddie this nice little blue-and-red suit right
before she’d left for Europe.
“Yeah,” I said. “New swimsuit and everything.”
“Is Mommy coming?”
Maddie knew Paula was supposed to be home soon. She’d been
pestering me about it for days. But I had mastered the art of being vague.
“Mommy won’t be coming just yet.”
“When will she?” Her little voice was pleading.
“Let’s pack,” I said.
Roland’s folks had a beach house in Ventura, about a forty-five minute drive north of LA. They used it as a vacation place. Roland liked to go up and pound the keys on the weekends.
I called and begged him to let me use it for a couple of days. I told him I’d explain when I got back. Roland, my buddy and pal, said okay. The only other thing I had to do was sweet-talk Shelly, the manager at Josephina’s, to give me the weekend off. Fortunately, one of the newer waiters wanted in for the weekend, and that was that.
We got up there by four o’clock, before sunset, in time to play a little on the beach.
Maddie shrieked with delight as she ran down toward the ocean. She loved the ocean. Loved to stand with her feet in the wet sand as the waves came up around her ankles then ebbed, sucking some of the sand with it. It tickled her feet. She would always laugh.
We played in the water. At one point I picked her up and waded out to chest level. Maddie held on to my neck tightly. She laughed every time a swell swept past us. When a wave came I’d jump up as it broke. It would splash us, and Maddie would laugh some more.
We built a sand castle. Maddie got sticks and beached kelp and did all the design work. I was the brawn, scooping up piles of wet sand and forming it into walls and turrets.
Must have been an hour that we worked on it. Maddie carefully placed her sticks in the mounds, making sure they were evenly spaced.
When it was all done both of us stood back and looked at it. Maddie took my hand.
“That’s the best castle ever,”
“This is not helping.”
“I don’t want to help, either.”
“I was afraid you’d do this.”
I started to feel prickly heat on my neck, like a noose made of coarse rope had been thrown around it. Paula reached for her purse, which was hanging on the back of her chair.
“You’re leaving?” I said.
“I have a lawyer,” she said. “He told me not to talk to you, but I thought we could be nice about it.”
She stood up and, with a certain flair, dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table. It was crisp and new, just like Paula. And it sent me over the edge.
“Sit down!” I pounded my fists on the table.
Goldie Hawn looked at me, as did everyone else in the place.
”Don’t yell at me.” Paula slung the purse over her shoulder. “Don’t ever yell at me. I’ll be coming over to pick up Maddie tonight.”
She turned her back and walked out. I was so blinded by rage I couldn’t formulate any words. Picking up Maddie?
The San Pellegrino bottle sat openmouthed on the table. My hand grabbed it, lifted, and threw it down on the sidewalk where Paula was now walking. It shattered. Paula screamed.
In acting class, they teach you to go for the emotional moment. It’s safe to do in class, because there are no wrong answers. You go for it.
Sometimes actors forget they live in the real world and end up doing stupid things. Like I just did.
Paula’s look said to me that any hopes I had of stopping her from divorce were now shattered, just like the bottle on the sidewalk.
2
I found it hard to breathe on the way back to the Valley. It was like the car was one of those crushing chambers in the old horror movies, the walls slowly closing in. My chest felt knotted and hot.
When I got home and rounded up Maddie from Mrs. Williams, I knew I wasn’t going to let Paula waltz in and snatch Maddie away from me.
“How would you like to go to the beach for a few days?” I asked
Maddie.
“Oh yeah! Can I wear my new swimsuit?”
Paula had bought Maddie this nice little blue-and-red suit right
before she’d left for Europe.
“Yeah,” I said. “New swimsuit and everything.”
“Is Mommy coming?”
Maddie knew Paula was supposed to be home soon. She’d been
pestering me about it for days. But I had mastered the art of being vague.
“Mommy won’t be coming just yet.”
“When will she?” Her little voice was pleading.
“Let’s pack,” I said.
Roland’s folks had a beach house in Ventura, about a forty-five minute drive north of LA. They used it as a vacation place. Roland liked to go up and pound the keys on the weekends.
I called and begged him to let me use it for a couple of days. I told him I’d explain when I got back. Roland, my buddy and pal, said okay. The only other thing I had to do was sweet-talk Shelly, the manager at Josephina’s, to give me the weekend off. Fortunately, one of the newer waiters wanted in for the weekend, and that was that.
We got up there by four o’clock, before sunset, in time to play a little on the beach.
Maddie shrieked with delight as she ran down toward the ocean. She loved the ocean. Loved to stand with her feet in the wet sand as the waves came up around her ankles then ebbed, sucking some of the sand with it. It tickled her feet. She would always laugh.
We played in the water. At one point I picked her up and waded out to chest level. Maddie held on to my neck tightly. She laughed every time a swell swept past us. When a wave came I’d jump up as it broke. It would splash us, and Maddie would laugh some more.
We built a sand castle. Maddie got sticks and beached kelp and did all the design work. I was the brawn, scooping up piles of wet sand and forming it into walls and turrets.
Must have been an hour that we worked on it. Maddie carefully placed her sticks in the mounds, making sure they were evenly spaced.
When it was all done both of us stood back and looked at it. Maddie took my hand.
“That’s the best castle ever,”
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