I went. And now, as I stand here waiting for my next cue, there is no director.
But I can’t spend my entire life looking for someone to direct me—I have to make a choice. It’s just at the moment I have no idea what.
As I reach the stairwell, I stop to ponder where exactly I’m going and I hear someone breathing. A dark shadow envelops the wall and crawls up it like an ever-expanding black widow and I jump back, pasting myself against the wall in stark terror as the labored breathing gets louder and closer. The shadow grows, darkening the wall, and leaves me nowhere to run. But just as I’m about to turn back towards Lilly’s apartment, Max Schwartz skips up the last step, letting out a deep exhale. I whimper as he gives me a tender smile.
“Morgan, what are you doing out here?”
Just then, Lilly opens her door and calls out my name. I turn back to look at her, and then to Max again, but I can’t speak. I’m still catching my breath. I grab his hand to let him know I’m acknowledging his presence, and then I rush down the stairs, unsure of my destination, but feeling the desperate need to run. What I wouldn’t give for an Internet-ready treadmill at my gym.
When I get downstairs, there is no car waiting for me. There is no doorman to bring my convertible around. There is only the orange-streetlight glow and the steady rush of traffic noise and rhythm of honking horns.
“Morgan?”
“Ah!” I grab my heart as it pumps furiously.
“It’s me—Nate. Do you need something? A cab, maybe?”
I feel my head bob up and down as an aura of peace floods my senses. Someone to take charge.
Nate pulls out a cell phone and dials for a car. Then he sits down on the stoop with his bag of groceries and telltale San Francisco sourdough baguette protruding from the contents. I sit down beside him, thankful for his small show of chivalry even if I can’t quite place his motive for playing Superman.
“You don’t have your purse. Do you need some money?” he asks and I relish the thought that someone notices me. Anything about me, even if it’s a complete lack of organizational skills. At least it’s not the scarlet letter.
I find my voice. “No, I’m going home. The doorman will pay the driver, and then Daddy can pay it back.”
“You’re going home already?”
“I didn’t have much luck finding a job today.”
“It’s been one day.”
“One day too many for me, I’m afraid.”
Nate puts the grocery bag aside and settles back into the stair, his elbows resting on the landing. You would think it’s a bright, sunny afternoon on the San Francisco doorstep, not a chilly, foggy night, as easy as he makes this motion. “You know what I love about you, Morgan?”
This I gotta hear.
“You just have elegance, like Grace Kelly. You make your environment look better.” He shrugs in his carefree manner. “There’s a poised way about you, like a human gazelle, and people are just attracted to your presence, just to possibly have a smidgen of your glamour. You’re just like your mother that way.”
“Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. Maybe I can take my glamour to the unemployment office.
“You’re not understanding what I’m saying. It’s an extreme compliment, and I don’t give them out easily or undeservedly.”
Nate is quite savvy, and I imagine he does have some good advice for me, but with the harem that generally surrounds him, I’m more than a little leery. Especially with my own history of a supporting role in a modern-day harem.
“You’re right. I’m not understanding, Nate. Do you want to elaborate?”
“Well, for instance, you could tell someone their entire stock portfolio was worth nothing, nada, zilch, and they’d be happy to hear it from you. Or that their dog needed to be put to sleep, and would they like a shot or a pill for that?”
I laugh out loud. “This is a gift?”
He laughs, too, and his eyes crinkle at the edges in their very charming manner. Nate has this
But I can’t spend my entire life looking for someone to direct me—I have to make a choice. It’s just at the moment I have no idea what.
As I reach the stairwell, I stop to ponder where exactly I’m going and I hear someone breathing. A dark shadow envelops the wall and crawls up it like an ever-expanding black widow and I jump back, pasting myself against the wall in stark terror as the labored breathing gets louder and closer. The shadow grows, darkening the wall, and leaves me nowhere to run. But just as I’m about to turn back towards Lilly’s apartment, Max Schwartz skips up the last step, letting out a deep exhale. I whimper as he gives me a tender smile.
“Morgan, what are you doing out here?”
Just then, Lilly opens her door and calls out my name. I turn back to look at her, and then to Max again, but I can’t speak. I’m still catching my breath. I grab his hand to let him know I’m acknowledging his presence, and then I rush down the stairs, unsure of my destination, but feeling the desperate need to run. What I wouldn’t give for an Internet-ready treadmill at my gym.
When I get downstairs, there is no car waiting for me. There is no doorman to bring my convertible around. There is only the orange-streetlight glow and the steady rush of traffic noise and rhythm of honking horns.
“Morgan?”
“Ah!” I grab my heart as it pumps furiously.
“It’s me—Nate. Do you need something? A cab, maybe?”
I feel my head bob up and down as an aura of peace floods my senses. Someone to take charge.
Nate pulls out a cell phone and dials for a car. Then he sits down on the stoop with his bag of groceries and telltale San Francisco sourdough baguette protruding from the contents. I sit down beside him, thankful for his small show of chivalry even if I can’t quite place his motive for playing Superman.
“You don’t have your purse. Do you need some money?” he asks and I relish the thought that someone notices me. Anything about me, even if it’s a complete lack of organizational skills. At least it’s not the scarlet letter.
I find my voice. “No, I’m going home. The doorman will pay the driver, and then Daddy can pay it back.”
“You’re going home already?”
“I didn’t have much luck finding a job today.”
“It’s been one day.”
“One day too many for me, I’m afraid.”
Nate puts the grocery bag aside and settles back into the stair, his elbows resting on the landing. You would think it’s a bright, sunny afternoon on the San Francisco doorstep, not a chilly, foggy night, as easy as he makes this motion. “You know what I love about you, Morgan?”
This I gotta hear.
“You just have elegance, like Grace Kelly. You make your environment look better.” He shrugs in his carefree manner. “There’s a poised way about you, like a human gazelle, and people are just attracted to your presence, just to possibly have a smidgen of your glamour. You’re just like your mother that way.”
“Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. Maybe I can take my glamour to the unemployment office.
“You’re not understanding what I’m saying. It’s an extreme compliment, and I don’t give them out easily or undeservedly.”
Nate is quite savvy, and I imagine he does have some good advice for me, but with the harem that generally surrounds him, I’m more than a little leery. Especially with my own history of a supporting role in a modern-day harem.
“You’re right. I’m not understanding, Nate. Do you want to elaborate?”
“Well, for instance, you could tell someone their entire stock portfolio was worth nothing, nada, zilch, and they’d be happy to hear it from you. Or that their dog needed to be put to sleep, and would they like a shot or a pill for that?”
I laugh out loud. “This is a gift?”
He laughs, too, and his eyes crinkle at the edges in their very charming manner. Nate has this
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