Page 7 of It's a Love Story

He picks up, groggy. It’s nine thirty. “Hi, Dan? This is Jane Jackson.”

“Why?” It’s definitely the first word he’s said today. An image flashes of all that black hair splayed out on a white pillowcase, the back of his hand shielding his eyes.

It’s actually a great question. “I’m just thinking about the movie. If the whole soundtrack thing doesn’t work out, I was wondering if you had any other ideas. Like to make it commercial.”

“Mm, huh.” Now I am picturing him sleeping in long johns and a nightcap, to be ironic while he sleeps.

“You liked it, right? I mean, you said it wouldn’t be commercial and then a bunch of other stupid stuff. But you like the script?”

“I love the script.” I can hear him moving around. He’s awake now.

“I do too. So do you have any other ideas, like if it doesn’t work out with the song? A way to make it glitzy. A tiger?” I cover my eyes, bracing myself for what comes next. The mocking. The catchphrase. Instead I hear a long stream of pee hitting the toilet. “Could you mute that?” I ask.

“Listen, I didn’t ask you to call me first thing in the morning.”

“It’s nine thirty. It’s like tenth thing in the morning.”

“Not if you’re between jobs,” he says. “Oh, shit, is it Saturday?”

“What grown-up doesn’t know it’s Saturday when it’s Saturday, Dan?” I’m not sure what it is about my exasperation with Dan that feels like a break. I lean into it like it’s a safe space where I can stop berating myself.

“Me,” he says. Something metal drops on the floor. “Look, I’ve gotta go. If you want to talk about this, call me later. I’m working by the pier all day.”

“Like you sell cotton candy?”

“Yes, that’s right, Jane. On Saturdays I put on a pinstriped suit and carry a snack box around selling cotton candy to tourists.”

“I’m really surprised you don’t have a goatee.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, I’m working on it. Listen, I’ve gotta go, but I’m off at five if you want to meet me down there.”

“What?” I don’t know what just happened, but it sounded like Dan asked me out. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Jane. You called me.” He puts his phone on speaker and turns his shower on. “To talk about the movie?”

“Oh, okay. Maybe,” I say.

“See you maybe,” he says and hangs up.

I reach for my Nike shoe box, orange with the white swoosh, and open it to find that Clem has refilled my candy supply. I grab a Snickers bar and tear it open. Dan is the only other person who seems to care if this movie gets made, but he is the least showbizzy person I’ve ever met in Hollywood. He’s the guy who would turn this into a puppet show to make a point. But right now he’s all I’ve got.

CHAPTER 6

CLEM’S LEFT FOR WORK, SO I MAKE HER BED THE WAYshe likes it and clean the spaghetti pot from her dinner last night. To keep my brain from spiraling, I run to the beach and walk home. I manically clean the house, except my closet. It’s still only two p.m., and the perfectly white grout between my kitchen tiles is offering me no solutions. I wash my hair and blow it stick straight.

When I have completely run out of things to do and ways to put it off, I decide to go to the Santa Monica Pier and talk it out with Dan.

I arrive a little before five o’clock. It’s still hot out. I’m on the pier looking down onto the beach, and I’m not sure what I’m looking at. Dan is surrounded by women. He’s in a red bathing suit and a white T-shirt like he’s fresh off the set ofBaywatch.The women are leaning in toward him, and there’s something, even from this far away, that tells me he doesn’t like it. It’s the way he is taking tiny steps backward and smiling with his mouth closed. When the crowd breaks open, I see little kids too, grabbing small canvases and backpacks and leaving with their moms. After everyone else has left, I watch as the last little boy, maybe six, reaches into his backpack and gives Dan something. Dan plops onto the sand to examine it, so the boy does too. I’m not sure when I’ve ever been so focused on something in my life. I don’t know what I’m watching, but it’s possible that Dan has a child. The boy says something to make Dan laugh, really laugh, and I want to know what it was.

I text Clem: Breaking—man bun might have a kid

Dan looks up and sees me standing at the railing and points me out to the little boy. Dan says something and the little boy nods. The possibilities swirl around my mind—I decide to grab hold ofSee that woman? She’s about to make it in Hollywood.I wave at them, and Dan pulls out his phone and texts me: The least you can do is give me a hand?

I make my way onto the beach as he’s collecting towels and watercolor kits. “Grab those,” he says by way of greeting. “This is Louis.”

“Hi, Louis,” I say and feel like I should say another thing. Not having siblings or cousins or friends with kids, I don’t actually have a little-kid repertoire. “What’s all this?”

“Art camp,” Louis says and hands me his backpack. “My dad’s always late.”

---