Behind the Scenes(16)

Up at seven, I’ve been writing for the last three hours.

If you can call completing one page and sporadically watching YouTube videos writing.

Yet it’s more than I’ve accomplished in days. The screenplay I’ve been crafting for the last few months is at least edging along. My heroine has just arrived at her aunt’s farm in Tennessee, fresh from her parents’ funeral in New York. She’s in the barn feeding the chickens when she has her first brush with the supernatural powers she’ll soon learn she full out possesses.

I roll my head and stare at the cold, half-empty mug of coffee on the table in front of the couch. Two and a half cups down and my toenails themselves are buzzing. I’ve gone way beyond that perfect level of caffeination that leads to a well of ideas and instead I’m now just antsy. My legs vibrate, eager to get moving, and my stomach does little flips.

Setting my laptop down on the table, I head for the shoe pile and pull on my ratty white sneakers. My “don’t fuck me” shoes, Eryk calls them.

The courtyard is just as quiet as my apartment. The streets, of course, are a different story. I make my way to Runyon Canyon, the way already familiar. After driving around a few blocks, I find parking on the street.

I leave my backpack in the car and shove my keys and phone into my shorts’ pockets. One last grab in the glove compartment for some sunglasses and I’m ready to go.

Four years in the city and I’m still not tired of the weather. I hear people complain all the time about how it gets boring when the days are always the same — specifically, sunny and warm. The comments always make me laugh. They should try having to evacuate their town yearly thanks to hurricanes. I’ll take sunny and expected any day over the North Carolina coast’s tumultuous climate.

The wide trail up the hill stretches ahead, full of joggers, dogs, and women chatting while power walking. I skirt to the side, passing a man walking four dogs.

Higher up the trail, a yoga group stretches into cobra pose on the grass. The mob of people and animals is almost too much to handle, but no one pays me any mind. I’m just another person in a mass of many — something I’m perfectly fine with.

Hiking up the steep, dusty hill that leads to a great view of the city benefits me in more than one way. Not only does it clear my head — which is great for when I need a break from writing — it also is great fodder for stories. I’ve heard all sorts of conversation snippets while on this trail. One time, I heard a woman talking about how she suspected her sister’s husband had been murdered. Honest to God. I turned around and followed her, and before she and her friend veered off to the street, was able to gather it had been an “accidental” drowning in the pool. Another time, I met a man walking a wolf. We stopped to talk and he told me he trains the animals for films.

My thighs ache when I take the second turn. The incline isn’t even that steep yet, but I’m slightly out of shape. It’s been days since I’ve gotten any kind of real exercise, and I’m feeling it in each leg muscle.

I think back to the night before, remembering how little Mr. Mulroney’s face gave away when I turned down his offer for a drink. I laugh out loud and shake my head.

Last night’s dreams were Simon Mulroney free. It’s a good sign, I’m sure. I’m moving past any sort of preoccupation with the man and clearing him from my consciousness.

I work on focusing on my feet while I walk and ignore any more thoughts that come up. The heat rises from the ground in steaming tendrils, swirling around me. The sun feels delicious on my arms, and I’m glad I got out so early. Being under the blaring sun at noon would be nearly unbearable.

By the time I get to Inspiration Point, I’m huffing. Several women in bikini tops and short shorts jog by me, flashing their abs of steel. I grin and bear it, holding back the exhaustion for another minute.

The bench is free, so I plop down onto it. Below the overlook, the city stretches out, buildings pushing all the way to the horizon. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Everything about this morning feels lighter and freer than the entire last five days.

I can only hope the feeling lasts when I get to work on Monday.

Against my thigh, my phone buzzes. I wrestle it out of my pocket and take a look. Laughing, I swipe the answer button.

“Well, hello,” I coo.

“Hello yourself,” Lee responds, her voice comically low.

“What’s that? Are you supposed to be a man?”

She laughs and I feel a wave of homesickness. “I’m not really sure, actually.”

“I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”