The second he had spoken the words, Rick realized the double meaning. Louise snorted and laughed out loud, and Rick’s ears turned red.
“You’ve never been here?” she asked after they clinked their opened beverage cans.
“Nope. We go to the Oxnard beaches, and if we are into celebrity spotting, sometimes Malibu. Never so close to Santa Monica.”
“So no sad memories?”
Rick smiled a little bit. “Sad memories always, but not related to this spot.”
Louise smiled that brilliant wide smile of hers. “Very good. The spot thing, that is. Not the sad memories.”
“Have you ever lost someone very close to you?”
“My mother and sister are still around. Major issues, but alive. My father left early, and I have no memory of him, nor do I know where he is nowadays. So, did I ever lose someone close? No. Well, maybe my first dog. Got run over by a truck when I was about twelve.”
Rick had to laugh. “You are playing your dead dog against my late wife?”
“It was a very nice dog!” Louise laughed.
“I had a very nice wife, too.”
“All right, you win.”
“Can we make a deal for this night not to talk about partners, or kids, or work?” Rick pledged.
“Deal.”
The agreement resulted in a minute of silence.
“Read a good book lately?” Rick finally asked and both broke into laughter so hard, tears rolled down their faces.
“All right, I know a topic. No partners, work, or kids: failed dates!” Rick proposed.
“All right, but you start. Best start, worst ending . . .”
After half an hour, the cook came over to collect their seats, so both of them bought a final round of soft drinks, and went down to the beach. They sat down, leaning their backs against the lifeguard tower. Louise shed her wig and glasses and cleaned her mouth. Then they watched the dark world and the stars for a while.
“Why are we having this date?” Rick broke the silence.
“I like you, and I am lonely,” she said. “And you?”
“My kids would have killed me if I had said no,” Rick said.
“No, honestly.”
“I couldn’t say no to Louise Waters.”
“You don’t like me and you are not lonely?”
“Louise, I don’t know you. You are a person I have seen a million times on TV and in films. This is completely strange to sit beside a woman that probably every straight male on this planet knows and finds sexy.”
“Tell me about it. But that is the issue. I am lonely. The whole industry, my public self, what you see in the media and in my work—that is the professional me. But when I get home and close the door behind me, I am alone. Never really out of sight of the others, namely Floris or the maid or the gardener. But I have no partner with me.”
“And that worries you? The diva alone in her palace, steps echoing in the big hall . . .”
“I admit, I like solitude; it’s part of my nature. I’ve had to rely on myself since I was sixteen. And most of the time I don’t feel lonely. I’m perfectly content reading a book for pleasure. I go to the movies on my own, in disguise, discovering strange works from Korean, French, or German directors.”
“That wouldn’t work for me. I love having my kids around me, I love hanging out with Hal and the rest of the team. Even with Styler, who is so far outside of my social circle. When the three younger ones are in bed and I watch late-night TV, I am always glad when Agnes comes into the living room for a final chat.” As an afterthought Rick added, “And I would feel silly alone in a movie theater or in a restaurant.”
They nursed their sodas for a few minutes and listened to the surf crashing softly onto the sand. Car sounds drifted over from the Pacific Coast Highway, and there was music somewhere in the distance.
“So, Louise Waters, what is your problem?” Rick asked.
“If I could tell you! I am tired of it all.”
“Burn out or midlife crisis?”
“Along those lines, maybe. But it is more around achievements, sharing,
“You’ve never been here?” she asked after they clinked their opened beverage cans.
“Nope. We go to the Oxnard beaches, and if we are into celebrity spotting, sometimes Malibu. Never so close to Santa Monica.”
“So no sad memories?”
Rick smiled a little bit. “Sad memories always, but not related to this spot.”
Louise smiled that brilliant wide smile of hers. “Very good. The spot thing, that is. Not the sad memories.”
“Have you ever lost someone very close to you?”
“My mother and sister are still around. Major issues, but alive. My father left early, and I have no memory of him, nor do I know where he is nowadays. So, did I ever lose someone close? No. Well, maybe my first dog. Got run over by a truck when I was about twelve.”
Rick had to laugh. “You are playing your dead dog against my late wife?”
“It was a very nice dog!” Louise laughed.
“I had a very nice wife, too.”
“All right, you win.”
“Can we make a deal for this night not to talk about partners, or kids, or work?” Rick pledged.
“Deal.”
The agreement resulted in a minute of silence.
“Read a good book lately?” Rick finally asked and both broke into laughter so hard, tears rolled down their faces.
“All right, I know a topic. No partners, work, or kids: failed dates!” Rick proposed.
“All right, but you start. Best start, worst ending . . .”
After half an hour, the cook came over to collect their seats, so both of them bought a final round of soft drinks, and went down to the beach. They sat down, leaning their backs against the lifeguard tower. Louise shed her wig and glasses and cleaned her mouth. Then they watched the dark world and the stars for a while.
“Why are we having this date?” Rick broke the silence.
“I like you, and I am lonely,” she said. “And you?”
“My kids would have killed me if I had said no,” Rick said.
“No, honestly.”
“I couldn’t say no to Louise Waters.”
“You don’t like me and you are not lonely?”
“Louise, I don’t know you. You are a person I have seen a million times on TV and in films. This is completely strange to sit beside a woman that probably every straight male on this planet knows and finds sexy.”
“Tell me about it. But that is the issue. I am lonely. The whole industry, my public self, what you see in the media and in my work—that is the professional me. But when I get home and close the door behind me, I am alone. Never really out of sight of the others, namely Floris or the maid or the gardener. But I have no partner with me.”
“And that worries you? The diva alone in her palace, steps echoing in the big hall . . .”
“I admit, I like solitude; it’s part of my nature. I’ve had to rely on myself since I was sixteen. And most of the time I don’t feel lonely. I’m perfectly content reading a book for pleasure. I go to the movies on my own, in disguise, discovering strange works from Korean, French, or German directors.”
“That wouldn’t work for me. I love having my kids around me, I love hanging out with Hal and the rest of the team. Even with Styler, who is so far outside of my social circle. When the three younger ones are in bed and I watch late-night TV, I am always glad when Agnes comes into the living room for a final chat.” As an afterthought Rick added, “And I would feel silly alone in a movie theater or in a restaurant.”
They nursed their sodas for a few minutes and listened to the surf crashing softly onto the sand. Car sounds drifted over from the Pacific Coast Highway, and there was music somewhere in the distance.
“So, Louise Waters, what is your problem?” Rick asked.
“If I could tell you! I am tired of it all.”
“Burn out or midlife crisis?”
“Along those lines, maybe. But it is more around achievements, sharing,
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