Bruce Wagner - I Met Someone

“In your dream, you’re ‘on set’—you already have a purpose. The others have a purpose too, but they’re ‘blind.’ Your purpose is real . Your eyes are open but you just can’t see what that purpose is.”

“Uh huh,” she said, grasping at revelation.

“You’re so close , Dusty.”

“I guess losing the baby brought up a lot of old shit.”

“Maybe some new shit too.”

“Old wounds.”

“Mother wounds.”

“Do you know I haven’t seen Reina in six months?” They sat awhile in silence while Dusty head-tripped. “It just feels so… karmically fucked . I was ready for this little girl, Ginevra! All the work I’ve been doing, with you , for years now, fucking years! I mean, an argument could be made that I gave Aurora away , but this — this one was fucking taken from me and I’m fucking livid , Ginevra!” She grabbed some Kleenex and blew her nose. “I can’t start crying, we’re about to shoot…”

“Talk about that — this place you go. That you ‘gave Aurora away.’ This so-called argument. Because it just doesn’t sync with the reality of what happened.”

“But I didn’t try to find her, Ginevra! I abandoned her!”

“Who was abandoned, Dusty? Who? It was you who were abandoned.”

“Oh, what difference does it make!” she said, disgusted. “It’s — it’s like that workshop I took on the Hindu gods. Kali… the Great Mother, Great Destroyer . Is that what I am, Ginevra? A great destroyer?”

“Not ‘destroyer,’ no. Great Mother , yes—”

“Bullshit! God! How can you even say that?”

“ All women are. Honor that, Dusty! But you need to be that Great Destroyer too — to destroy all these terribly damaging ideas you have about what you did and who you are and how you’re to blame . Those ideas will take you down if you let them. You’re on a journey, Dusty, a hero’s journey. And your mother —Reina— your daughter —Aurora— and the baby Allegra lost — that both of you lost — they’re all teachers .”

“O God , Ginevra, I am so fucking sick of teachers and fucking journeys! I just want to graduate already and get wherever the fuck it is I’m going! And be whoever I’m supposed to be… I am so tired of playing a role . Playing roles … I’ve been playing Mother all my life with everyone I love, even the people I don’t! Protecting and nurturing and taking care of—”

“ —of everyone but you . That’s what your dream was saying, can you see? The ‘real’ you is about to arrive on set: ‘First Team.’ Isn’t that the term? The phrase they use? Well, maybe it’s time to go home. Yes , we’ve done a lot of work. You have — brave, hard work. Maybe now it’s time to go home.”

There was a rap at the door. They needed her on set.

“I don’t even know what that means, Ginevra.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what home is.”

“I think you know exactly . Because you’re already there. Open your eyes and you’ll see that you’re home.”

—

On Wednesday, they began night shoots.

She had a few errands to run. On the way out she found Allegra on a chaise by the pool, reading her script.

“Hey there,” said Dusty.

“Hey now.” She barely looked up.

“How’s it goin’?”

“Okey-dokey.”

“Wanna do yoga with me later?”

“When,” said Allegra flatly.

“After lunch.”

“I think I should probably wait.”

“I thought the doctor said it was fine.”

“He did but I think I should wait.”

“Okey-dokey.”

Allegra grinned and went back to her reading. The actress loitered, then said, “You know that perfume dealio? The Swiss thing? They agreed to meet on Sunday. Wanna come?”

“This Sunday?”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe. Where are they again?”

“Beverly Hills.”

“Can I see how I feel?”

“Sure! I think we could both learn a lot. Be fun.” Dusty nudged off a clog and dipped her foot in the water. “Positano when I wrap? Il San Pietro? Or maybe get a house for a few weeks?”

“ May- be,” said Allegra, playfully drawing out the word. She tried to make it sound like a yes, to take the pressure off.

“Or La Colombe…”

“Oh! I fuckin’ love that hotel.”

“ Or —we could just hop in the car and head up the coast.”

“Hippetty-hop on Highway 1.”

“We’ve never stayed in one of those houses at Esalen. They’re right on the cliff — oh! Know what I was thinking we should do? Get a place in the Lake District, for Bloodthrone .”

“That would be awesome.”

“Remember when we went to Wordsworth’s cottage?” said Dusty, cracking herself up at the memory. Her effort was a tiny bit forced — she was trying to build some bridges. “That whole thing about Coleridge having a crush on Wordsworth’s sister? With the wooden teeth?”

“ So much fun,” said Allegra. “Oh my God.”

It wasn’t going so bad now. It was pretty much the most they’d spoken since the miscarriage, and Dusty was relieved.

“Or did Wordsworth want to sleep with his own sister? Was that it?”

“I think that was it,” said Allegra. This time her smile was genuine.

Adrenalized by the rapprochement, Dusty stage-peeked at her wife’s pages. “Workin’ on your script?”

“Kind of.”

“I’d love to read it, when you’re ready.”

She’d overplayed her hand and Allegra got moody. Vibing that, Dusty said a hasty “Okay — love you!” then kissed her cheek and left. She refused to beat herself up for her hopeful exuberance, her mothering . That was the gift therapy had given her.

Allegra watched her go. She hated being a bitch but couldn’t help it. She grimaced and said fuck , covering her eyes to suppress the tears.

They still came.

—

It was her habit to arrive late — to escape, or at least divert, attention. (That’s how she went to the movies, taking her seat during trailers.) Across the room, Larissa threw Dusty a so-glad-you-came wink, fetching and funkily assured.

Dusty set her mat down in the space closest to the entrance. Larissa wove among the sweaty, focused women, making small adjustments to poses while offering whispery encouragement. A few of them spotted the celeb but were quick to look away; this was Larchmont and it was no big deal unless you made it one. Larissa played it cool, in no hurry to approach. When she did, making a correction to the special visitor’s Uttanasana , Dusty felt the same frisson she had on set, when Larissa touched her shoulder. The instructor moved on, careful not to overstay the moment.

After class, Dusty said, “Shall we share a cuppa?”

—

They sat in the shady backyard of The Elixir Traveling Tea Company.

The actress was a passionate studier of people. When she became intrigued by someone new, say, a civilian or below-the-liner, she was greedy to learn everything about them. Being famous, others already knew so much about her — not just from the Internet but through years of fishbowl living — and she thought it poor form if she didn’t at least try to congenially rectify the imbalance. The flattered interviewees tended to be shockingly candid; conversations quickly became confessionals. For Dusty, the intimacy was erotic.