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“Glad you're keeping your priorities straight. When do you get to work in earnest on this?” Will asks.
“Tomorrow.” This week won’t be horrible, but it will be busy and the hours will only get longer from here. I know how this works.
“I guess I better let you get to work, then. My advice, call someone with better taste in furniture than you and get them to decorate it for you.” I don’t have to see him to know he’s amused by my predicament.
“It won’t be so bad. A futon, a desk. I’m a man of simple tastes.” I should be able to find that at any big box store in town.
“You’re forgetting that you’re a director in a new town. There’s a pretty good chance you’ll have to host some dinners and meetings at your place, possibly have someone stay with you until they can find a place to stay. You know how it goes. Find someone to help you make your place look decent.”
“I don’t know a lot of people out here,” I say. Sure, I could call my mom. But somehow, I don’t think country kitsch is the look Will has in mind.
“You work with Fiona Anderson, don’t you?” Will asks.
“I do.” He hasn't made a connection with the woman from my hometown. I told him about her over one too many beers. The one that got away.
“Why don’t you ask her for help? If I remember correctly, she used to work for Leo, and he was impressed by her organizational talent. I’m pretty sure she arranged for more than one rental for him back before he turned into a screenwriter or novelist, or whatever it is he does in that small town he moved to. Back then he flew back and forth from coast to coast on a regular basis and Fiona kept him on track.”
“That’s back when she was an office manager. I doubt she’d have time for anything like that.” And the way we left things, I’m not comfortable asking her for a favor, especially one that involves letting her know that I rented the place two doors down from hers. That’s not exactly giving her the space she’s asked for.
“Well, you better do something before you have to host your team or your actors. Speaking of which ... Do you mind if I send a few names your way? I have a couple of young actresses that look promising.”
“Let me guess? You promised to help them land some auditions.” I shake my head. It wasn’t the first time I was helping Will keep promises made on a wild night out on the town.
“I owe you one,” he says before hanging up so I can channel my inner Martha Stewart.
I stare at my phone, trying to decide if it’s worth calling Fiona. One look around my empty place convinces me it’s worth a try.
“You’ve reached Fiona Anderson. I’m unable to answer the phone right now. Please leave a message.”
I press the end button and hesitate for a moment before calling her parents’ house.
“I’m sorry, Joe, she’s not here right now. She’s at her sister’s place. Something about working on wedding invitations. I can call her—”
“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with Fiona on Monday. Let her enjoy her time with her sister.”
“Alright. And Joe, I’m glad you’re back. I hope you and Fiona get a chance to work things out. She missed you.” Mrs. Anderson sounds sincere, and I’m not sure I know what to do with that bit of information.
“I missed her too. I’m sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be.” It’s not a complete lie. I do need furniture.
“I’ve got this.” How hard can it be to furnish a couple of rooms? I turn and head to the closest big box store, regretting my momentary bout of confidence the moment I look at the futons and desk sets that look more appropriate for a college dorm room than the swanky bachelor pad of an up-and-coming director.
“Joe, what are you doing here?” Cara walks up to me, pushing a shopping cart that holds nothing but a bottle of laundry detergent.
“Furniture shopping. I got the keys to my new place.”
“I didn’t realize you were back. I didn’t expect to hear from Fiona until tomorrow morning.” She leans against the handle of the cart.
“She’s still in Rockville. I wanted to get a head start on moving in.” I stare at the meager offerings and realize that this won’t cut it.
“What do you need?” Cara asks.
“Everything.” Including towels, linens, and dishes, and I’m pretty sure the fridge is empty. The enormity of getting it all done in a single day hits me.
“Alright. Let’s start with kitchen and bathroom essentials. And don’t even think about buying furniture here. I can think of a dozen better places. What’s your style?”
I shrug. “Keep it simple? I don’t know how long I’ll end up staying.”
“Clean and minimalist. Got it. I can work with that. Color preferences?” She walks off toward the houseware section.
