Elise tried to brush away the question. “You know how it is as a writer. Every time you’re writing something new, you think it’s the best thing you’ve ever done. You have to. It’s like you’re pregnant with it, and you have to keep it safe inside of you until it’s out in the world. It’s only when it’s out in the world that you realize...”
Matt chuckled. “That it’s flawed somehow?”
“Something like that,” Elise said, grateful to find a reason to laugh.
“I guess I understand that. But I also know your work is better than anyone on this island. I would be able to... contextualize it, coax it along, and help you to your finish line if you’ll allow me.”
I’m already going to be done by mid-October. I don’t need you or anybody’s help.
“That’s really nice of you, Matt.”
“I just know what it’s like to be alone in the world,” Matt said, his voice taking on a brand-new tone. “And I don’t want you to have to go through anything like that.”
What kind of arrogance does he have, thinking that I’m all alone out here?
Elise managed to shift the conversation to other things. They talked about Matt’s new gym membership (snore), his new apartment in Santa Monica, and the new writer’s room, which he again pitched to her, this time with more pep to his voice. “We really need you in there. You’ll complete the puzzle.”
When they finished dinner, Elise asked Matt which direction his bed and breakfast was. He looked depleted, his eyes heavy with sadness, as he asked, “Why don’t we grab a nightcap? I mean, I did come all this way...”
Nobody asked you to do that!
“Okay. I know a place.”
Elise led him toward the Pink Pony. With every step, she remembered that first, glittering, beautiful night with Wayne, when she had had only one name—Dean Swartz and hadn’t known anything else. All she had known was that an attractive stranger sat across from her at a bar-top table, and the world was her oyster.
“This is a quaint little place,” Matt said as they ducked into the bar.
A handful of folks sat inside, watching the flat screens and sipping whiskeys and beers. Marcy hustled up to greet Elise with a big hug. Her eyes scanned Matt up and down as a smile played out across her lips.
“And who might this be?” she asked, hands-on-hips.
“Oh, this is a friend from California,” Elise replied.
“I’m Matt.” He stuck his hand out to shake Marcy’s, something that looked strange in such a little, cozy bar.
“How formal of you, Matt,” Marcy said with a hearty laugh. “But I guess, politeness is meant to take you far. Why don’t you two sit in that table near the window? I can grab you...”
“Two glasses of wine,” Matt finished her sentence, ordering for Elise.
Again, this made her brain burn with anger.
What kind of guy orders for me? Even when I was married, Sean “let” me order for myself.
“Actually, I’ll take a Rum Runner,” Elise said, grinning wider. She was trying to prove something to Matt—trying to show him just how “Mackinac” she had become.
“Coming right up, sweetie,” Marcy said.
“What the heck is that?” Matt asked with a funny laugh. “Is it made of sugar and spice and everything nice?”
“Something like that,” Elise said. The edges of her smile fell.
That moment, the door jangled. Since she didn’t want to spend the whole night gazing into Matt’s eyes, or whatever, she turned her eyes toward the door to find a horrible sight.
Wayne followed closely by Michael, entered the Pink Pony. Their eyes found hers immediately and they did not smile.