Chapter 68 Ryan

CHAPTER 68 RYAN

April 2013

Los Angeles to Bolton Landing

I went home for a quick shower and a costume change, then Janie brought me back to the airport. I layered up on disguises: big glasses, Jayhawks hat, hooded sweatshirt. To my fellow travelers I would be someone to avoid. A cranky and hungover woman, coming home from some bachelorette party, maybe. This felt like maturity to me: caring less what people thought.

Except Cass. I spent the flight reading the latest New Yorker in hopes of impressing her with my intellect and worldliness. I needed a crash course. I’d spent the last seven years on a conveyer belt: one movie after another. Chunks of my life in trailers. Entire months lost inside production bubbles. The biggest change I’d made was coming out. Which I had hoped would reconnect me to the world. (Okay, yes, and maybe also to Cass.) An insane thought, in retrospect, that a Vanity Fair cover would make me relatable. What it did was tilt my career on its axis, spin it off in a different direction—edgier parts, a new legion of rabid fans. I hadn’t become any more real to people, just a different kind of icon.

As the pilot announced our descent into Albany, I thought about all my actor friends who dated other actors. Their explanation was always the same: We understand each other. That rare work-life compatibility. I did believe that if two good people found each other, they could cling to one another and stay afloat. But all I’d experienced was people grabbing my hand and plunging us deeper into the abyss.

I just—I hoped I was still normal. Was it possible for me to still be normal?

Landing in tiny Albany International was about as far away from LA as I could get while remaining in the country. Years had passed since the last time I’d done things like stand in line for a rental car, which I did, behind a businessman in khakis who kept stealing glances at me. For a little while, I reveled in my independence, this exotic experience. But, wow, rental car lines are slow-moving. After about half an hour, I texted Janie, “Being a real person is both exhilarating and time-consuming.” She responded with, “You are a real person.”

My destination was a hotel called the Chateau. Janie had repeatedly asked if she could organize a meetup, but I said no. That I needed it to be a surprise. That I needed to find Cass on my own. I didn’t want a coordinated reunion; I wanted to know if she still loved me. I needed to see her eyes the moment she saw me: they would hold the truth.

The Chateau’s lobby was dated opulence. Flower-printed couches, lace doilies, oak credenzas. But the view of the lake and mountains beyond was timeless. Now that I was in the same small town as Cass, I felt my whole body flood with awareness. The feeling was familiar to me. It happened occasionally when shooting deeply emotional scenes. Or before a speech or public appearance when I had no character to wear. Anytime I felt exposed, really. I’d feel cold, start shivering.

Janie had always tried to fix this response in me, pitching me on benzos. But I didn’t want that. Even though it was uncomfortable, my body was cueing me: pay attention, something important is happening. Next to the front desk was a silver urn, and I fixed myself a tea. Hot water was the only natural remedy I’d found. I held the paper cup in both hands, brought the steam to my face. I took a small sip, then walked to the front desk.

“Hi, there,” I said.

“How may I help you?” said the young woman. Stylish black glasses, admirable posture.

Janie had given me a name, and I gave it to this woman, added, “Could you try her room?”

My teeth started to chatter, and I leaned into the shiver, brought the tea to my lips. The woman smiled as she lifted the phone. We each stared off in separate directions for a few seconds.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said, placing the receiver down. “Try back again later?”

As I was walking toward the elevators, resigned to go to my room for now, I heard someone say “Excuse me” and gently touch my shoulder. I flinched—habit. A bellboy was leaning toward me, and obviously he had recognized me. His eyes were wide, and he seemed nervous. He whispered, “She went for a walk a little while ago, the woman you’re looking for? I saw her heading toward town, not sure where, of course, but maybe that helps? Also, I love your work.”

Interactions like this were usually loathsome to me. I wanted to match the person’s excitement and openness, but any response— thank you, that’s so kind of you to say, I appreciate that so much —felt practiced, tired. No matter what I said, I walked away feeling like I lived inside a glass case.

But this was different. He had a gleam in his eye. I gave him a fist bump, which seemed to thrill him.

I had been looking forward to a hot bath, but instead I asked the valet for my car. A minute later, I was behind the wheel of my Nissan Altima rental and driving into town.

I drove as slowly as possible through downtown Bolton Landing. I was sizing up everybody I saw on the sidewalks. Glancing through the windows of stores. The whole thing started to feel like a fool’s errand. What I needed to do was get Cass’s number from Janie, give up this fantasy of surprising her. And yet, and yet, and yet … maybe just one more spin around town?

Thankfully, my nervous system had calibrated itself somewhere near normal. Perhaps I simply didn’t believe I’d find her. I was taking easy, full breaths, enjoying the feeling of calm. I was just coming up to the edge of town when I looked to my right at an apartment complex. The building was brown with faded yellow doors. I spotted a figure sitting outside in a green Adirondack chair. A pang of recognition. The woman was in the shape of Cass. Her legs pulled into her, facing across toward the lake.

I slowed down, tried to whip the car around, but the Altima’s steering radius had other plans. A three-point turn was not as suave as I wanted, and the car behind me tapped their horn. My reaction was Shhh, don’t blow the surprise . But Cass was not on the lookout for a Nissan Altima with me inside.

I can report that the sun was setting as I pulled the car off the road and got out. That was one thing in my favor. Plus, the sounds of the lake—the frogs and crickets—was another. I looked in both directions, then jogged across the street, very much aware that after all these years there was suddenly absolutely nothing standing between us.