Wildest Dreams

10. Pierre

PIERRE

I decide to leave Kendall alone the day after our date. She didn’t say anything after I texted her to have a good night, so I assume she needs time to process.

I hope that’s all it is, anyway.

Ever since that night, I can’t help but feel like I’m living in the ruins of her past life. Despite the gorgeous photography and artful touches here and there, I also note a few empty nails and blank surfaces where I imagine wedding and vacation photos were once displayed. It suddenly feels sterile and cold.

Standing in the kitchen, I envision Kendall beside me cooking or walking down the hall in a bathrobe and slippers. I picture her on the back porch with me or watching a movie together in the living room. I think of all these little scenarios and the house feels warm again, especially when I imagine her lying beside me in bed.

The bed she once shared with someone else.

It’s a strange feeling to occupy the broken dreams of the girl you like. I’m not sure how to feel about it.

I spend the day trying not to think about Kendall and going over the script again. I even have a video chat with my dialect coach in LA. Later, I have another glass of wine on the back deck of the house, and this time I’m prepared when Bertha comes crawling into the yard for her evening snack. Watching her waddle back to the river with a rotisserie chicken in her mouth, I shake my head in disbelief. This is my life for the next several weeks.

My phone has been buzzing since midday with calls from Marina, which I ignore. She must’ve arrived in Magnolia Row. After five ignored calls and three unanswered texts, I ring Harriett to tell her about my date with Kendall.

“Sounds like she has issues,” Harriett says bluntly.

“I don’t think she’s dated since her divorce.”

“Yeah, and it sounds like she’s not crazy about the attention you bring either.”

“No, she’s not.” She has a point.

“Which is part of the appeal for you, I’m sure.” Another good point.

“You’re right. I can’t tell you the last time I had a date with a regular person. It’s refreshing.”

“I take it you are not going to cave in to the studio and let those Marina dating rumors fly?”

“Nope. I refuse to participate in that whole charade. It encapsulates everything I hate about Hollywood. It’s asinine. I shouldn’t have to do that to make art.”

“Good luck telling that to the rest of the industry. Let me know how everything turns out with Kendall. I have to run. There’s a party in Topanga Canyon tonight.”

“I will. Have fun.”

I hang up the phone, refreshed and a little buzzed from the wine. The wind picks up and rustles through the trees. I find myself wishing I had a hammock so I could stay out here all night. Instead, I go back inside and crawl into bed in my boxers. The sheets are soft against my skin and I imagine what it would be like for Kendall to be lying beside me. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

* * *

T he next day, I wake up in a great mood. Since I’ve been in Magnolia Row, I don’t dread getting up every day. I shower, eat a snack for breakfast, check my email and go over the shooting schedule, then drive into town to see if I can pry Kendall away from her office for lunch.

Once I get to Main Street, parking is somewhat of an issue. The film crew is already setting up and a lot of the street parking is blocked off. Locals have gathered on the sidewalk to watch, and I recognize the two girls from Cattywampus standing in front of Kendall’s office. I roll my eyes. They’re probably staking out the place, looking for me.

Unable to find parking, I turn off into a relatively empty church parking lot. I get out, pull my hat low, and look down as I walk so hopefully no one will recognize me. I make it to Kendall’s office door when I hear the girls from the bar call my name. I give them a short wave, then duck into the office as quickly as I can.

The space is a decent size and nicely decorated. The walls are white and there are historic photos from the town blown up and displayed in heavy frames. I assume these were also taken by Kendall, as they have the same aesthetic and deep angles. There’s one desk in the front with a door behind it, which I assume leads back to Kendall’s office.

A short blonde pokes her head out of the back office. Her face lights up when she sees me.

“Oh my God! You’re Pierre Chatham!” She turns around. “Kendall, it’s Pierre!”

“Hi,” I say as the girl runs to me and gives me a big hug, as if I am an old friend she hasn’t seen in ages.

“I’m Patsy,” she says.

“Like Patsy Cline,” I say, as if I hadn’t known who she was before she said her name.

She laughs, almost maniacally. “Yep! My mama named me after her. Imagine her disappointment when I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” She’s charming, if a little nuts.

“Is Kendall?—”

“She’s back here.” Patsy grabs my arm and drags me to the office, where Kendall is staring into a compact and frantically wiping her mouth with a napkin. She’s wearing a simple button-down shirt with khakis, her hair in a ponytail. On her desk are two full sandwiches.

“Pierre! I had no idea you were coming today.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfectly fine!” replies Patsy.

Kendall gives her a piercing look, which Patsy completely ignores.

“I was going to ask you to lunch, but it looks like you’re already eating.”

“No, we’ve barely had a bite! She can go to lunch with you.” Patsy grabs Kendall’s sandwich and throws it in a small trash can. Kendall cuts her a sharp look.

“Is that okay?” I ask Kendall.

“Sure,” she says. “Let me grab my purse.”

Patsy, grinning and biting her bottom lip, steps aside so Kendall and I can get out of the office.

“Have fun, you two!” she calls.

Kendall shakes her head, and together we walk out into the bright Alabama sun.