A Different Kind of Forever(54)
She wondered if she was just another sexually frustrated middle-aged woman responding to the attention of a younger man, but she dismissed the idea, because she realized that the spark that had been there from the very beginning, the thing that had drawn her to him from the very first day, was still going strong. He made her happy. From the moment she met him, it was not just passion he stirred in her. It was more. It was joy. And she had no idea what to do next.
If she was away more than a day, Michael would drive over to her house, unannounced. She was always there, waiting for him. Sometimes, he would come around the back of her house, and see her in the yard, tending her roses. He would wait outside the gate, not wanting the brass bell to give him away, and watch her as she weeded or raked. Her movements were quick and graceful, her concentration complete. She did not realize he was there, watching her, until he would call to her, or push open the gate. Sometimes he would walk into the house, and she would be in the kitchen, music blaring, dancing alone in front of the stove, and again he would watch her until he could resist no longer, and he would join her, and they would dance together in her tiny kitchen.
He hated them being apart. Gordon Prescott was bearing down on him, a huge, suffocating cloud that blotted out everything else. Michael spoke to him sometimes four or five times a day. FedEx delivered revised tapes several times a week. Prescott wanted him in Toronto. He wanted to know at every moment what Michael was doing, and Michael, used to the freedom of writing alone, under no restraints, was in agony. Diane was the one cool, soothing presence in his life. The nights she was not with him he spent awake, on his studio, with David Go, or Seth. Without her there, the movie pressed down upon him relentlessly. Her presence forced him to live a normal life.
They went into Manhattan together. Diane went to see Shakespeare in the Park. Michael followed gamely. He was not passionate about theater the way she was, and he did not like New York, but her excitement was contagious. They had dinner with Rachel. Rachel’s boyfriend, Gary, was a third year law student, clerking at a large firm on Madison Avenue. He was also a huge music fan, and he and Michael would get into long, rambling discussions of obscure bands, European bands, and techno-music. Gary was twenty-five. Rachel and Diane slipped back into their old relationship, much to Diane’s relief.
By the first week of August, Michael and David Go began to try to figure out what Toronto would be like for them. David thought they would need six weeks to record the score, at least. The tracks for NinetySeven were almost complete. Joey and Seth would produce the rest of the soundtrack, so Michael would not be needed for any further recording. Gordon Prescott did not believe in time off. Michael knew it would be a grueling time, not only physically, but he would be away from Diane. Thank God it’s only Toronto, he thought. He could fly back easily enough, for a day at a time. And she could fly up to see him on the weekends.
“What are you doing?”
Diane was in his bedroom, on her mat. “It’s called the Gate Pose.”
“Yoga? I didn’t know you did yoga.”
“Hey, a girl is entitled to a few secrets, you know?”
“Sure. Okay, what’s that one?”
“Downward Facing Dog.”
“Really? It looks like Take Me From Behind.”
She collapsed on the mat in a fit of giggles. “Michael, I was trying to focus.”
“Me too. I gotta tell you, that is a very good look for you.”
She wiped her neck and chest with a towel that she threw into the colorful tote bag she carried back and forth to his house.
“You’re taking home your towel? Why?”
She threw him a look. “I don’t want one of your minions doing my laundry.”
“Minions? I don’t have minions.”
“Of course you do. You have a person for everything around here.”
“No.”
“No? Then who does your laundry?”
He grinned. “I take it downstairs, knock on the secret panel, give the password, a blind, one-eyed gypsy takes it, and the next day, it reappears in the closet. Isn’t that how everybody does it?”
She had rolled up her mat, and now swatted him playfully with it. “You are impossible.”
He grabbed her. “Maybe. But since you’re all hot and sweaty anyway, want to try that Downward Dog thing again?”
“Tomorrow night I’ll be staying at my place,” she told him, stretching her legs out in front of her. They were out on the terrace of Michael’s house, sipping wine, watching the sun set over the lake. Diane had cooked dinner for them. “Sharon’s got the girls together. We’re all hitting the town.”