“All right, Seashell,” Rune says after we sign off with Naomi, getting up off the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face, “Let’s pick out what you’re going to wear tonight. I want you to get ready while I finish something in the barn that I’ll show you in a bit.”
We left it that Naomi is going to help us just for a short amount of time, to help us get through the next couple of weeks. The first thing she’s going to do is draft up a press release that will be sent out tomorrow morning after it’s run by Raymond Santiago and his podcast team.
I can tell by the set of Rune’s shoulders as I follow him into the spacious walk-in closet that he feels better after speaking with Naomi. I do too. It’s always good to have a plan. And Naomi loves that we’re going to be releasing a lot of lifestyle images and video through our Instagram accounts to show what we’re really up to. Take that Jenna.
“You’re going to need some new clothes if we’re going to be talking to the press a lot,” Rune says, eyeing the side of the walk-in closet with my paltry collection of clothes. His side is now over half full, even though he still has a storage unit near his Uncle Hank’s house back in the San Fernando Valley.
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll agree if they can mostly be resale instead of new.”
“Yes, Ms. Conservationist, we’ll make you a darling of the green media,” Runes says starting to flip through his long sleeve dress shirts, all organized by color, “but tonight we’ll have to improvise.”
I’m impressed. All of his clothes are meticulously organized by type and color. He holds up a white shirt with blue pinstripes to me, and then one with green. The party’s colors are blue and green because Rune found several dramatic blue and green tablecloths and matching napkins in Uncle Rueben’s linens that he likes. If she wasn’t mad at us my mother would be impressed by all of this color coordination going on.
“Those aren’t going to fit me,” I say, confused, “unless we’re going for a 90s wear-your-boyfriends-clothes look.”
“Precisely,” Rune gives me a wink, "we want it obvious you’re wearing something of mine; put on your white tank top, and let’s see which color is best.
I follow orders and soon Rune has me trying on one of his beautifully tailored expensive dress shirts after another. After careful deliberation, he decides on a periwinkle one almost the exact color of some of Uncle Reuben’s hydrangeas. The color is soft but vibrant.
“I bought this in Italy when I went to Milan for the shows,” he tells me, carefully rolling up the sleeves and then tying it at my waist, “It would look best with a pair of white jeans,” he laments as he turns me around to face the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. He certainly has an eye. The color looks great on me, even in my bedraggled state.
“I’ll check if Syd brought any,” I tell him.
“Excellent,” he turns me back to kiss my forehead, and traces his elegant fingertips along my jaw sending shivers down my spine, “and then put on some of that sexy sophisticated eyeliner you wore for the fundraising party and meet me in the barn in about an hour.”
**
Almost exactly hour later, after my second shower of the day and a quick consultation with Sydney, I make my way down to the kitchen. I’m wearing my sister’s white jeans, Rune’s designer shirt tied just right by Syd, my vintage olive oxfords, a dramatic but not quite Cleopatra eye, and a bronzy orange summertime lipstick to complete my party ensemble.
Syd and Kim have their heads bent together over a bowl of bright orange nasturtium flowers in a blue ceramic dish that Kim is photographing very close up.
“Wow, you clean up well,” Kim says happily, “come pose by some of your garden bounty. I can’t believe these flowers are edible and they taste like cinnamon.”
“I love them,” I agree, taking one of the bright flowers and popping it into my mouth, “Will the kids be ready to finally help me decorate the cake when I’m done in the barn?”
“Yes, here, put on one of these aprons to stay clean,” Syd instructs, handing me one of Rueben’s tasteful dark green ones. It wraps almost all the way around me and goes well past my knees.
I pose with the flowers, putting one of the bright flowers behind my ear, feeling very Martha Stewart.
“Make sure I’m here to take photos when you’re working on the cake,” Kim advises. “We’re getting such amazing shots and video of the party coming together, Shelby. Is there a place we can post them besides just Instagram?”
“I think we should put them on your website,” Syd says, “I’m sure there’s a huge bump in traffic because of all of the controversy. Let’s give them an eyeful happiness, especially Jenna. I want her to choke on it.”
“Okay,” I agree with sigh, knowing she’s right, “I’ve been avoiding looking at it.”
“If you sign me into your website, I’ll work on it after I get the cake shots,” Kim volunteers.
It’s four-thirty now. Marguerite and Luna’s family will be here in about two hours. My stomach is starting to get wound up both with excitement and dread. Excitement we’ll be celebrating Rune with family and friends. Dread over how this might be received with the broader world we’ll be sharing with.
**
I’m not sure what I expected when Rune opens the storeroom door, but it’s not the controlled chaos that greets me.
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“I’m not neat like you are in my creative space,” he says, looking nervous as he turns down the volume on a turn table. It’s set up in the living room section of this new arrangement, playing cheery classic piano jazz with a female singer who sounds familiar, but I can’t name her.
“That’s fine,” I tell him, just happy to finally be let into his secret clubhouse, “It’s your space. Not everyone’s the neurotic neat freak I am.”
“You look amazing, by the way,” he brushes his lips lightly over my cheek.
“Thank you,” I smile at him and run my hands through his hair, trying to smooth it a little. He’s due for a haircut, so we should set something up with Leslie when she comes tonight. It’s also apparent he’s been tugging on it with nerves; it’s just as disheveled as when I’ve been pulling on it in passion, “Give me the tour.”
This room is a mess, but it’s an interesting, creative one. I like the vibe. There are stacks of books and magazines everywhere. It feels like a place of possibilities.
“These weren’t all in the back of your SUV, were they?” I motion to the stacks.
“Not all of them,” he admits, “Some I had shipped from my storage unit.”
This makes me smile at him again, and take his hand. Why would he set all of this up and bring things in from L.A. if he wasn’t planning on staying? Fuck you Franklin Haus, I think, boldly.
Why would he indeed? I hear Theo laugh delightedly, but far away.
On the left wall, a long, continuous desk made of two old wooden doors and metal sawhorses runs under the only windows. It holds Rune’s laptop, a large fancy desktop monitor, and a printer. Gunner must have had these in their barn.
Beside the desk is a floor to ceiling idea board made of cork squares. This is very intriguing. To get to that I need to weave through the living room section of Theo’s leftover mid-century modern furniture.
The centerpiece of the living room is a large wood coffee table almost completely covered in Astrid’s photos of the four of us. It’s joined by a small dark orange sofa and two mismatched armchairs with fantastic but threadbare cushions that I could never decide whether to try and sell as is or have repaired. The stereo’s playing from a lovely wooden cabinet, but it’s missing a leg, so Rune’s propped it level with a brick. Smart.
My stomach does an excited little dance as I move toward the corkboard. The first thing I take in is a poster of Lord Ganesha at eye level on the left hand side of this inspiration board. It’s an elegant carving in some kind of terra cotta colored stone. The elephant god is seated, cross legged, showing his four arms.
I’ve looked him up and now know that each hand holds a symbol of his wisdom and power, a lotus for enlightenment, a hatchet to cut away all of your old good and bad deeds when enlightenment comes, sweetmeats that are the rewards for a wise person, and finally one palm is held up facing forward with the blessing, because a wise person wishes the best for everyone.
As I take in the poster’s ancient gaze, one eye winks and the gong reverberates in my mind. A sense of peace eases through my body. I take a deep breath and start looking over the rest of the board. Just as large as the poster of Lord Ganesha is the cover for Horse Girl Heroes and my fanart for Howl’s Moving Castle. I remember now that he asked me for the print quality art files. He’s had them blown up.
With all that’s been going on, I haven’t looked at my Howl’s coloring page illustration for a while. I walk up to it and scan it critically. It holds up well. I like it, no matter what Jenna thinks of our self-aggrandizing egos.
To the upper right of this poster, there’s a photo of a much younger Rune with the famous elderly character actress Imogen Katz tacked up. On the corner of that is a bright pink stickie note in Rune’s printing that says simply, “Text her soon!”
A wild idea occurs to me. No. It can’t be.
I turn back to Rune, who has his hands jammed in his pockets, a look of excited anticipation on his handsome face. What’s he up to? I gaze at the corkboard again. Slowly, I run my eyes over what else he’s tacked up around my Howl’s illustration. Things are grouped in order of various subjects that all have to do with different ways you can tell stories online. There are notes like “animation,” and “interactive,” and “inspiring podcasters.”
This section has a photo of Raymond Santiago, of course, but also of Malcolm Gladwell, The Moth, and other famous non-fiction storytellers, as well as platforms with arrows pointing to Horse Girl Heroes. There are also images from the Welcome to Nightvale podcast and others that must be fiction, with arrows pointing toward the Howl’s poster.
“Did you finally hear back about buying the rights to Howl’s?” I ask in no more than a whisper because the idea is too big and scary.
“Yes,” he smiles in a sly Asher-Dillion-being-Wizard-Howl way as he ambles close to me.
“And it’s good news?” He nods, “Seriously?” I ask, thinking I must be dreaming, but a happy dream this time, not a nightmare.
“Seriously,” he tells me, “I got confirmation they accepted my offer while we were on the phone with Naomi. I guess it’s our time to get some good news again.”
“Oh my God,” I put my hands over my mouth because I’m afraid I’m going to scream, “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t you mean ‘we’?” He asks, his eyes intent on mine as he squeezes my shoulders. He turns me back around to face the corkboard again, wrapping his arms around me from behind, “I’m open to directing a live-action someday, but first, I want to create something that we have total artistic and distribution control over.”
“A podcast?” I ask, loving the feel of his warmth behind me as I continue to make sense of more of the things he’s pinned up.
“A multimedia story with an audio play of the book at the heart of it,” he tells me.
“This is so cool,” I say, thinking I might cry, and then turn and put my arms around his neck, “why didn’t you tell me you were dreaming up all this?”
“Because I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it was unavailable or out of my price range.”
I take his face in my hands, the way he does so often to me, and kiss him very thoroughly, not caring about my lipstick. I can fix it later.
“I’m happy to make coloring pages for you, but I don’t know anything about creating any of this,” I motion with my head back to his idea board.
“You know more than you think,” he encourages, “but you will have to learn about doing dramatic reading.”
“What?” I ask, startled out of my cozy bliss, “Why?”
“You’re going to play young Sophie,” he tells me, leading me over to the surprisingly comfortable couch, where we have an excellent view of the corkboard.
“I don’t know anything about acting!” I exclaim, “You should have someone famous play young Sophie.”
“You have a great voice, Seashell,” he tells me, “Didn’t you do voiceovers for Pamela so she wouldn’t have to pay scale?”
“Well, yes, Viv and I both did,”
“Perfect, so let’s save the budget for a great female narrator and old Sophie.”
In the past I would have argued for my limitations, afraid I would somehow ruin this marvelously exciting dream project with my ineptness. In this, I was just like Sophie. But she’s proved wrong over the story. Sophie saves the day just as much as Howl does. Maybe I can too.
“Does that mean you want Vivienne to play Madam Suliman?” I ask.
“I like how you’re thinking,” Rune says, “what else?”
“Are you going to get Imogen Katz to play Old Sophie?”
“If you like the idea, I’ll do my best,” he tells me, squeezing my hand gently, and then kissing the back of it.
“Do it,” I encourage him, and then reluctantly start getting up, “I’d love to stay here and daydream, but I have your birthday cake to put together with the kids.”
“Okay, but first, you need to see something on my computer and tell me whether or not you approve of my sending it out.”