Maybe the Moon

as I always do.
    “What do you mean?”
    I shrugged. “Mr. Woods is just what you see on the screen and nothing else. The movie is it. That’s why the elf never makes public appearances, not even at the Oscars. Philip doesn’t like to talk about how it was done and doesn’t want anyone else to, either. It just reminds people that Mr. Woods isn’t real. He hates that.”
    “But it’s fascinating, I think. Especially now.”
    “Philip thinks it would ruin the movie, destroy the wonder, blah, blah, blah. At least he used to. I doubt if he’s changed his mind since then.”
    “Were you credited, then?” Neil looked gratifyingly concerned on my behalf.
    I told him there were a dozen “operators” for the elf listed on the crawl and that I had simply been one of them. For all the audience knew, I’d been a technician or a robotic engineer, not an actress turning in a performance. I was interviewed once about the role, I explained, by a reporter from Drama-Logue , and as soon as the piece appeared, Philip blew up and accused me of destroying the magic of the film. I almost lost my job over it, I told Neil, and Philip was chilly to me right up to the day we wrapped.
    Neil frowned. “He’s OK about it now, though?”
    “Who knows? I haven’t seen him for years.”
    He shook his head for a while, taking it all in. “What a story.”
    I just shrugged.
    “Thanks for telling it. I’ll think of you in there next time I see the movie.” He turned and gave me the nicest smile. “It won’t spoil the magic for me.”

    When we pulled up in front of the house, Renee came bounding out the door, barefoot and in jeans and wearing the embroidered yellow sweater she saves for special occasions. How long she’d been waiting there like that was anyone’s guess.
    “How did it go?” she asked, leaning against the van.
    I told her fine.
    “Did the kids have a good time?”
    I told her yes, they had a fabulous time.
    “Need a hand?” Neil asked this, turning to me. His face was outlined against Renee’s, granite against fog. Did I need a hand? I needed two of them, thank you, big as rump roasts, one under each arm. And maybe some warm breath against my cheek, a nice gust of Juicy Fruit.
    “I can do it,” chirped Renee.
    I shot the woman a few dozen daggers, but she missed all of them, as usual, as she galloped to my assistance, goofy with goodwill. As soon as she opened the door to the van, I slid off the seat and began the descent on my own.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Positive.” I mugged at Neil over the edge of the seat before dropping out of sight onto the pavement.
    When I straightened up, Renee was offering Neil a cup of coffee for the road.
    “Thanks,” he said, declining. “I’ve got…you know, miles to go before I sleep.”
    Renee took the Frost reference literally. “I thought you lived nearby.”
    Neil smiled pleasantly. “Not that far, I guess. There’s just some stuff I have to do.”
    Renee nodded.
    “It’s been fun,” he said, addressing me.
    “Sure has.”
    We locked eyes for a moment or two, and then he pulled away from the curb. A few seconds later he hollered back at me: “I’ll call you tomorrow about the next job. I’ve got some ideas for new songs.”
    “Great,” I yelled.
    When the van had turned out of sight, Renee walked to the door with me. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Cute, too.”
    “He’s OK,” I said.

    It’s almost midnight now, and I’ve finally had my bath. I worked on this entry for three hours, much longer than I had expected. Renee popped in several times with refills on the cocoa. I could tell she was dying to ask me about my new boss, but she resisted the urge, apparently out of respect for this strange burst of journalkeeping. It’s just as well, since I can’t put a name to my feelings. I would have called them carnal and left it at that, if you’d asked me earlier in the day, before the rest began. Before he sang with me and drove me home and said that sweet thing about the magic.

4
    F IVE DAYS LATER . B ACK ON MY AIR MATTRESS .
    I should tell you a little about Jeff Kassabian, my friend of almost a decade, since we had brunch together on Sunday and he spun me the most preposterous yarn ever. This is part of what makes Jeff lovable, I suppose, but there was also something a little sad about it, given his current state of mind. It’s only natural for him to be lonely sometimes, but I wish he wouldn’t cope with it by weaving