"I cook," he says, "and I read — a book a day. Right now I'm reading a history of the West."
"I'm reading the new Regina Ditmont in my book club."
"I didn't know you were in a book club," Richard says.
"Well, it's not like you have to apply to be in a book club. Anyone can be in a book club — all you have to do is read the book."
"It's good," Richard says. "It gets you out and talking to people."
"Don't overestimate this group — they picked this book because they thought it was about two girlfriends, they didn't realize it was the Queen of England and her sister."
"How did you two meet?" the movie star asks.
"We're just friends," Richard says.
"In the produce section at Ralph's," Cynthia says. "I was crying because my life sucks, and he'd just been hit by a car and had a big bag of ice on his leg. I made him buy a Carvel cake."
"I love Carvel cake," Tad says.
"It's not exactly gourmet," Richard says.
"We always had it for our birthdays," Savannah adds.
The movie star goes into the house and comes back with a plate of cookies and big pot of tea. "I made these for you — lime cookies and chocolate-meringue drops."
"Sublime," Richard says as the cookie dissolves on his tongue.
There is a warmth, a notable lack of pretense to the afternoon. Richard is not sure how it's possible — he's never met a
movie star who didn't need constant attention.
They sit on the patio for a very long time, and finally Cynthia checks her watch and says, "I really should be going."
The movie star hugs and kisses them good-bye, and they walk back down the hill, towards Richard's house.
"I can't believe that Tad Ford cooked lunch for me. Did that really happen? Did I win the lottery?"
He nods.
"Did you have a good time?" she asks.
"As good a time as I could — everything feels a little strange, I don't know if I'm coming or going, my gyroscope is off."
Back at the house, he sits down on the front steps again. "I'm still not ready to go in."
"Can I borrow your bathroom?"
"Yeah, but bring it back," he jokes, letting her into the house.
A large minivan pulls up. "She'll be right out," Richard calls from the front step.
"Is this where the spaceship left you?" the husband says when Cynthia comes out.
"You don't have to go back," Richard says softly. He's standing next to her on the step, and they're both looking at the minivan.
"Is that really an option?"
"Why not?"
"I have nowhere to live, no job, no ability to take care of myself."
"That should be the least of it."
The husband beeps. "Come on already."
"I'm not sure I can," she shouts, keeping her distance.
"Get in the car," the husband snaps.
She shakes her head. "I thought I was going back, but I'm not. Thanks for coming."
"Come on, Cyn, just get in the car and we'll talk. The kids want to say hi."
The children sit seat-belted into the backseat, looking perplexed. They are at a peculiar age — too big to be little children, and too little to be teenagers.
She moves close to the car.
"Why did you bring the kids?"
"I can't leave them home with no sitter."
"They don't have a sitter anymore; they look after each other."
"Get in the car, Cyn," he says. "If I have to get out it's not going to be pretty."
"Be nice," Richard says.
"What does that mean, be nice? Like I'm mean, like I hit her or something? Who the fuck are you anyway?" he says, getting out of the car, grabbing his wife's wrist.
Cynthia screams.
"Let go," Richard says, coming closer.
"Don't tell me what to do," he says, twisting his wife's arm.
"Let go," she says.
"Get in the car," the husband says.
"I'm not getting in the car. I'm never getting in the car, so you can either let go and drive away peacefully, or cause a scene in front of your children."
He drops her wrist and steps back. "What are you doing? We came to pick you up. We thought we were being nice. I was going to take everyone out for dinner. Why don't we all go out for dinner and we can talk? Then, if you don't want to come back, I won't make you."
"You can't make me."
"Fine."
"He comes too," she says, grabbing Richard's sleeve.
It is the last thing Richard wants; what he wants is to be alone, to think about everything, to make note and order of it all.
They drive in squished silence to a famous steak joint downtown and cram into a booth.
It is a whole other world; he is abruptly and intimately inserted into Cynthia's life.
"Drinks?" the waiter asks.
"Cokes all around," the husband says.
"Just water," Cynthia says.
"Do you have any juices?" Richard asks.
"We have cranberry, orange, and grapefruit. None are fresh-squeezed, so you don't have to bother to ask."
"I think I'd like the chopped salad," Cynthia says.
"Get the steak," the husband says.
"I'm not that hungry."
"For God's sake, we're at a steak place. She'll have steak, medium, with baked potato and broccoli."
"Can I have French fries and a baked potato?" the boy asks.
"No," the husband says.
"I want a hamburger but no bun," the girl says.
"Change your order," Richard whispers in her ear.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"And you, sir?"
"Nothing for me; still full from lunch."
"For Christsakes, eat something."
"Vegetables," Richard says. "Any steamed vegetables?"
"It's a steak house, not a Chinese restaurant. I'll see what they can do." The waiter walks away.
They sit playing with the rolls and butter.
"Clifford's dad had an affair with Clifford's mom's best friend, then Clifford's mom got a boob job…," Cynthia's son says.
"We're just friends," Cynthia says, interrupting him.
Richard elbows her. "Change your order."
"Be right back," she says, getting up from the table.
Richard smiles at the boy. There is something about him that Richard doesn't like — he's fluffy, like a marshmallow, and talks in a constant whine.
"Where did you meet my mom?" the little girl asks.
"In the produce section," Richard says. "She was crying because you don't like her cooking."
They are silent.
Later, when Cynthia's chopped salad arrives, the husband is baffled.
"But I was going to have some of your steak."
"You're welcome to some salad."
"If I'd known you weren't having steak, I would have ordered something else."
"I said I wanted salad."
When they are done, they all pile back into the car and head up the hill. "We'll drop you off," Andy, the husband, says to Richard.
"Nice meeting you," Richard says as they pull up in front of his house. "Good luck."
"Nice seeing you," Cynthia says, unbuckling her seat belt as the car comes to a stop.
"Don't start this again," the husband says. "We had a nice dinner; didn't you think it was nice?"
Without warning, Cynthia throws the door open, jumps out, and runs across the yard. The husband takes off after her, leaving the car door open. The interior light illuminates the children's faces as they watch their parents chase each other around the front yard.
Richard hurries out after them.
"Open the front door," Cynthia shouts, and Richard runs up the stone walk, unlocks the front door, and pushes it open. She dodges the husband, who hurls himself across the lawn in the flying leap of an attempted tackle. The front door slams with a loud percussive pop, followed by the sound of breaking glass as the large windows crumble.
She opens the door. "Sorry," she says, and then closes it again, more carefully.
"It's enough for one night," Richard says to the husband.