Lost in Carmel Read online

  “I missed Tess's recital for this?” she seethed under her breath. “Late night after late night. Humiliation piled upon humiliation. What am I doing?”

  Where was Stan?

  Hushed whispers circulated as the crew milled about, unsure if it was a wrap for the day or if the little despot would be back to have another go at it.

  A sliver of light beckoned from under the producers’ office door and Natalie squared her shoulders before heading to the far end of the soundstage.

  She wasn't sure which came first when she replayed the scene over and over in her mind: the startled scream as Monica's hand flew to her mouth, or the look of pure annoyance on Stan's face as he looked back over his shoulder, his hand in the cookie jar.

  9 The Show Must Go On

  “I felt something snap,” Natalie said. “I remember, I literally felt it. I felt something break.” She looked over at Anne, a safety net on the opposite riverbank. The breaths were coming faster now, shorter, shallower. There wasn't enough air to fill her lungs.

  “The physical symptoms of anxiety are your body's way of protecting you,” Anne interrupted the storytelling.

  “From what?”

  “The feelings buried underneath. Feelings you don't want to deal with.”

  Natalie dropped her head into her hands, elbows on knees. “I'm feeling sick.”

  “Let's slow down for a moment.” Anne's voice was a calming force. “You're safe here. If you're not ready to talk about it, we'll move on. You're in charge. Trust the fact that you know how to keep yourself safe.”

  “Just give me a minute,” Natalie said, taking a moment to assess her physical reaction to the re-telling of her undoing. The familiar fingers squeezing on her chest had lost much of their grip over the last weeks. Now it felt like a set-back to have it come charging in on a dark horse.

  “Remember what I told you about the pendulum swinging,” Anne was saying, as if reading Natalie's thoughts.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Just because your anxiety level kicks up again, doesn't mean you're going backwards. It's a perfectly normal reaction to a traumatic event. Let it settle.”

  Natalie forced the air in through her nose and out through her lips as Anne spoke in soft modulated tones. The quiet of the room wrapped around her while she allowed herself several minutes to find her place again, to let her heartbeat slow and her breathing find its rhythm.

  “You're doing really well,” Anne said after several minutes of quiet. “Do you feel like going on?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “So, you left the scene of the crime so to speak. And?”

  “Yeah.” Natalie looked down at the fringe on the pillow in her lap, which she'd twisted into a knot. “I tore out of there in a rage. More fuel added to the gossip fires. I was in a hurry to get out before Stan could catch me. Of course, I had a few steps on him as he still had to pull up his pants.”

  Anne bit her lip.

  “My driver was already waiting for me, since the shoot had run late. I jumped in the back seat and told him to get me the hell out of there. By the time we pulled into my driveway, I'd already decided I wasn't going to go home, so we turned around and headed to The Beverly Hills Hotel.”

  They drove down the palm-treed boulevard, passing the homes of Hollywood royalty like Warren Beatty and R.J. Wagner, before speeding by Kirk Douglas's home on the corner.

  “I couldn't stop shaking,” Natalie said, the moment rushing back to her. “Once I got to my hotel room, I just kept pacing and crying like a wounded animal. It felt like a dam had burst.”

  “In a way, it had.” Anne nodded. “You said earlier that you and Stan were living on the San Andreas Fault. This was the earthquake.”

  Tectonic plates collided and the California ground opened and swallowed a marriage. Weeks later and half a world away, Natalie was still dealing with the aftershocks. Smaller tremors like fingers through the soil left her unsteady on her feet. Doubting everything she knew.

  “I called home and talked to my mother. Nora lives in the guest house on our property, so it was no problem to have her watch Tess. I said I needed a day or two to think things through and begged her to tell Tess I was sorry. Then I told her not to tell Stan where I was. Let him wonder. Screw him.”

  On the second day when she called home to talk to Tess, Stan answered the phone and things quickly escalated.

  “How dare you say, ‘it’s not what you think’. How do you know what I think?” Natalie shouted into the phone. “Are you going to tell me that Monica’s skirt pulled up to her hips was not what it appeared to be?”

  “No, I’m not going to say anything of the sort.” On the other end of the line his voice sounded tired and she could see him running his hand over his head like he always did when he was at a loss. “I’m here to say I got caught up in the adulation of a young girl and I lost sight of everything. I was a fool.”

  “No, Stanley, I’m the fool. You know, I could almost forgive you for the affair, but I don’t think I can forgive you for being such a cliché.”

  There was a long beat of silence before Stan spoke again. “Please come home, Nat. Let’s talk about it.”

  “I’m not ready to come home. I have a lot to think about.”

  “What about the shoot? You can’t just leave things hanging like this. You know what kind of money we're talking about.”

  “I’ve been told my entire life that the show must go on and I always wondered, why must it go on? It’s just a show.” She slammed the phone down.

  Natalie looked over at Anne. “It’s all a show. I was born and raised in a town where nothing is real. Not even me.”

  “How are you not real?”

  “Are you kidding?” Natalie shook her head, her eyes wide. “Everything is manufactured.”

  “You’re referring to your public image, I’m asking about you. Was your marriage to Stan manufactured?”

  “No. I loved him. In the beginning.” Over Anne's shoulder she caught a glimpse of Stan from eleven years ago. Rock solid and funny. Remembering how he'd grabbed her hand like a high-school boy, as they ran off to Reno to tie the knot. Co-conspirators laughing over the notion of hoodwinking the press.

  “But it slipped away,” Natalie said, acknowledging the decade in between. “Slowly, until one day I looked across the table and didn’t recognize him anymore. And I didn’t recognize myself either.”

  “So, you’re at the Beverly Hills Hotel…” Anne picked up the thread of the story.

  Natalie nodded. “The couple of days I demanded turned into four. And four days turned into four nights without sleep. Pacing, cursing, tossing and turning. I kept coming back to that look of annoyance on Stan's face when I walked in on him. Replaying in a slow-motion loop. That look told me everything I needed to know. There was nothing left to save. The love had seeped out of our marriage like the air leaving a balloon. But in the back of my mind I couldn’t help thinking if I held on tight enough, long enough, we might be able to salvage this thing.

  “I'd been a fool. And not just a fool, but a publicly, humiliated fool. Believe me, the irony that my husband was skirting around with a younger version of me, wasn't lost on me. It was cruel. If you want to leave, then leave. But who he chose to have an affair with and how he did it...just felt so...deliberate. As if he set out to do the thing that would cause the most harm.” The mortification burned fresh on the weeks old wound.

  “Let's unpack that thought,” Anne spoke up. “I hear a lot about humiliation, but what else was going on?”

  “I was all over the place. Angry. Hurt one minute, almost relieved that it was finally over, in the next—”

  “Stop right there,” Anne interrupted. “Talk to me about feeling relieved.”

  Natalie sat back taking stock of the sentence that had crept out when she wasn't looking.

  “Relieved.” She turned the word over on her tongue like a hard piece of candy. “Yes, part of me was relieved that Stan was the one who pulled the
trigger.”

  “You said earlier, that you were thinking about divorce.”

  “I thought about it. Sure. Of course, I wanted out on my terms.”

  “Of course.” Anne smiled.

  “I guess it was only a matter of time, and Stan got there first. Maybe I was simply jealous that he was the one with an escape plan. Maybe he wanted to be caught. “She stared past Anne, as the memory of the recent restless nights stepped forward. “But then the avalanche of what happens now and what about Tess started to rain down on me. I knew pulling that one thread labeled divorce, would unravel so much more. I just kept spinning and spinning until I spun out of control.”

  “It says here you were suffering from severe dehydration as well as mental exhaustion.” Anne consulted the file in her lap before looking back at Natalie. “When we don't get enough sleep, our rational mind, the executive center that keeps us on an even keel, gets overwhelmed by our feelings. Long term insomnia coupled with stress can often result in paranoia and hallucinations.”

  “So, I found out.” Natalie swallowed hard as the words paranoia and hallucinations crouched in shame. “All I remember is how frightened I was. I swore there were people everywhere. Watching me. Hiding outside my hotel window. I could hear them whispering about me. I’d never been so scared in my life. Part of me knew it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t be sure, anymore. I couldn’t trust myself. I was both inside and outside the moment. Both a victim and a bystander. I was on a ride and I couldn’t get off.”

  Anxiety had always stalked her like a wolf. Now, it’d finally taken her down. Trapped between large paws, gnawing on bare bone, ripping at flesh, until she cried out.

  “And that’s when you called Monty?”

  “Yes.” Somewhere deep in her memory was a phone number filed away under, safe places. She reached out and Monty came running. Running to her as if the years in between them never existed.

  He found her curled up in a ball in the corner, drenched in sweat, and talking out of her mind. She remembered strong arms scooping her up, and when he whispered in her ear that everything was going to be alright, she knew it would be.

  “From what I know, Monty called a doctor from the studio. They know how to keep things like this quiet, and although I'm sure it was nothing like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, I was sequestered from the rest of the loons in the loony bin. All things considered, I’m sure I would have fit in nicely.”

  Natalie noticed Anne wince at the term.

  “I was beyond exhaustion at that point, operating on another plane. Fueled by pure adrenaline and psychosis. I remember I was sitting there quietly, until Monty started to leave, then I lost the tenuous grip I had on reality. I even started to convince myself that Monty had abandoned me there as payback. I remember kicking and screaming as they escorted me to my room. I was desperate to leave, but it was too late.”

  Natalie sat with the image her words had painted. A lunatic with matted hair, shrieking at nurses until a calming elixir was administered in her veins. Elusive sleep came to rescue her from herself, though she fought against it like a wild beast unable to recognize help that came disguised in white coats.

  “And then I landed in Rome.” Natalie finished with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “Yes, you landed in Rome,” Anne said quietly. “And you’ve been doing a lot of hard work. We've covered quite a bit of ground today. How do you feel?”

  “Exhausted.”

  Anne smiled. “I'm so proud of you. You're so much stronger than you know.”

  Reliving the scenes with Stanley and the unfolding events wasn't as painful as she'd imagined. For one moment, anxiety had her doubled over. Then she caught her breath, clinging to the notion that she was in charge. All those days of tiptoeing around the crater, kept her from falling in once Anne let go of her hand. She was sure-footed now, stepping on the loose gravel without losing her balance. Still, the idea of a good long nap danced in front of her and she had no intention of fighting it.

  “What do you say about actually getting outside the walls of the convent?” Anne was saying.

  “How far outside?” Natalie swallowed around the lump in her throat at the thought of stepping away from the safety net.

  “Not far.” Anne cocked her head to the side. “The convent sits at the end of Monserrato, from there it opens up onto Piazza Farnese. It's a quiet, little square. I'd like you to get out there today and explore.”

  “Am I expected to report back to you tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely, there'll be a test.” Anne played along.

  “I don't know...” Natalie hugged her arms to her chest. The closed in walls of the garden had been enough for her. She could have sunshine on her face and still be tucked away from prying eyes.

  Anne responded to Natalie’s body language. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Of being recognized.”

  “I know that's a legitimate concern, but if you wear your scarf and sunglasses, I'm sure you'll be fine.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You can do this. It’ll be good for you. Besides, it’s doctor’s orders.”

  Anne closed the notebook in her lap, effectively closing the subject. “Are you in a good enough place to stop for the day?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay then, let's bring it down. And we'll pick it up again tomorrow.

  Glad for the reprieve, Natalie closed her eyes while taking several deep breaths. Focusing on the air expanding then leaving her lungs. Each breath pushing Stan and the anxiety surrounding his name further in the background.

  Even if she wasn’t in complete control, at least she was no longer falling off the edge. She was strong enough to catch herself. Maybe Anne was right. Maybe she was ready to step out into the world. Even if it was only a cozy piazza at the end of an Italian street.

  10 Secret Agent

  Natalie found a little table tucked off to the side of the busy café that still managed to provide an unobstructed view of the piazza in front of her. On the table lay the journal Anne had given her on their first meeting.

  “A place to keep track of your thoughts during this process,” she’d said.

  Natalie had run her hand over the smooth cover, lifting it to her face and breathing deeply of leather and paper and glue. She'd always loved the smell and the promise of a book. She looked at the small tome in her hands wondering what secrets she would ink onto its blank pages.

  Now she leafed back through the first sheets and read the dark words she’d left there, after cutting her hair. The first entry was brief.

  May 06, 1977

  Dear Journal;

  Fuck off!

  But only a couple of days later, she was ready to start peeling back the layers in the search for truth.

  May 8, 1977

  Shedding my skin.

  Crawling out from behind the image. Cutting it away.

  Anne said I was trying to tell the truth.

  What is truth?

  Didn’t someone famous ask that question? Oh yeah, Pontius Pilate.

  Will I be like him and not recognize it when I see it?

  Between its leather bindings were tucked Natalie's questions and doubts and some of her darkest fears. Like what if there were other break-downs? What if she fell apart and they couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again? Some of these she shared with Anne, some were for her alone. She flipped forward to a clean, crisp page, smoothing her hand over the seam and looked around the piazza, with a deep sigh. Her own little piazza. Anne was right, it was cozy. Intimate. Perfect for her first foray outside the convent.

  Chloe was in northern Italy visiting an old college friend, so wrapped in a silk scarf and over-sized sunglasses, the first baby steps were all her own. Which was only fitting. She inched her way from the end of the building and though the piazza was small, she was Columbus discovering a new world.

  She stood in one place and took in her surroundings. From the cobblestones beneath her feet to the little shops an
d cafés ringing the perimeter, it was all so charming. For a moment she thought she was on a studio back-lot and all the facades might be cardboard cutouts.

  Though charming in appearance, she was still thousands of miles from home in a country where she didn’t speak the language. The thought of conquering this little piazza had seemed insurmountable only days ago. But today, under doctor’s orders, she would take her first steps toward independence.

  Truth be told she was happy she was on her own with no need to make conversation. She was free to sit and observe. People watching was an extension of working on her craft. The never-ending study of how people interacted with one another. How the toss of a head or a hand gesture could speak volumes. Tucking away the lessons, knowing they might find their way onto the screen someday.

  She let her finger follow the line of condensation down the side of her glass of Coke before writing in her journal.

  May 30, 1977

  Piazza Farnese

  Taking my first steps outside the convent walls today, I’m a contradiction of emotions.

  Elation over what this symbolizes. Progress. Yet layers deep is the familiar fear that haunts me. What am I afraid of, you ask?

  Myself.

  Afraid of being so fragile. Afraid that the next ill wind will blow me down for good. Afraid of the legacy I will leave for my daughter.

  So tired of being afraid.

  Her head jilted up at the sound of raised voices. There were two matching structures at either end of the piazza that Natalie thought looked like bathtubs for the Jolly Green Giant but were twin fountains. Observing the piazza from the rooftop terrace above the Convent, Chloe had read to her from a guidebook that the basins of the fountain were believed to come from the Baths of Caracalla from the year 217 A.D.

  The young couple that drew her attention couldn't have cared less about the impressive history of the stone fountain they were leaning against. They were quarreling. Well, maybe not. It was so hard to tell with Italians. Everything was so big. Words, gestures, smiles, hugs. She’d been watching it all from her window for days now and still couldn’t be sure.