It Happened One Night(4)
Author: Melinda Curtis

Nora answered in the affirmative anyway, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, having answered her cell phone half-asleep.

 

The red numbers on the bedside clock said it was ten-thirty at night. But she’d crashed at nine, having taught an online yoga class at five a.m. that morning.

 

“I’m Dotty Summer. My grandson and I need your services. That boy doesn’t eat. The doctor is releasing him, and we want you to start right away.”

 

A paying client.

 

Nora’s eyes were wide open now. “Are you familiar with my services?”

 

“Yes, Coach Nora. I received a lovely referral from someone in the hospital waiting room.” There was the sound of something passing over the phone’s microphone. Dotty’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Can you also help a finely-aged woman like me keep hold of her marbles?”

 

“Yes. An improved diet and exercise can make a difference in physical and mental health.” But Dotty’s case seemed less urgent. “Can you tell me more about your grandson?”

 

“I did.” Dotty’s voice resumed what Nora assumed was its usual volume. “That boy hasn’t been eating. And I don’t think he’s been sleeping either.”

 

Poor thing.

 

“Can you help us? We’ll need the works – food, exercise, and rest.”

 

“Yes!” Nora blurted.

 

“Good. We’ll see you first thing in the morning. I tell you, Nora, there’s no time to waste. That boy tries too hard to please his father.”

 

“Tomorrow? You mean Monday?” Nora wasn’t ready. She’d need to shop and create a daily structure for her client.

 

“Yes. A week should set us right. Monday through Friday. We’ll need breakfast and exercise and curfews. I’ll pay for the five days up front. Name your price.”

 

Nora quelled her nerves and performed a quick calculation before naming a sum.

 

“Done.” Dotty rattled off an address. Or rather a building name – The Ercoli – which said a lot about Dotty’s ability to pay since buildings in New York City that had names rather than addresses were occupied by the wealthy. “Thank you, Nora. What time tomorrow?”

 

“Seven.” And before Nora could ask how old her grandson was, Dotty had hung up.

 

Nora set her cell phone on the bedside table and jumped out of bed, doing a little victory dance. “Yes! My first real client!” One who hadn’t hired her because she was a friend of a friend.

 

Nora had been a hospital dietician for years, supplementing her income by teaching fitness. And then one day last winter, she’d burned out at the hospital. She had a limited and always decreasing budget there. Patients were never happy. Or worse, they appreciated her but ended up dying. Nora couldn’t take it anymore. And then she’d realized she could combine her two careers into that of an independent, holistic health coach. She’d handed in her resignation and printed up business cards. Work had been slow, and her savings were depleting at an alarming rate. This job couldn’t have come at a better time.

 

Someone knocked on her apartment door, which was unusual given the late hour.

 

Nora put on a robe and glanced through the peep hole before opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

 

“We flew in from Los Angeles.” Her mother elbowed her way inside, carrying three-year-old Sonny, who was asleep in her arms. She left their luggage in the hallway. “We were supposed to be here by mid-afternoon. But our flight was delayed, and we missed our connection in Denver. Then our rebooked flight was delayed.”

 

Nora wheeled her mother’s large suitcase and the two bags sitting atop it into the foyer. “You could have called.” She should have called. But this was par for the course. Her mother was impulsive and often needed the emotional security blanket of family.

 

“I couldn’t call.” Mom disappeared into the spare bedroom, which admittedly was more like a large closet. “Sonny was playing on my phone during the flight, and it died. I didn’t have a charger with me. Where’s the bed?” She came back out, still carrying Sonny.

 

“Gone. I teach online yoga in there now.” Not as often as she’d like. “The bed had to go.”

 

Her mother pivoted and went into the master bedroom, laying Sonny on Nora’s bed. “We’ll sleep in here. You still have the air mattress, don’t you?”

 

She did. “But Mom – ”

 

“Shhh.” Her mother closed the bedroom door and joined Nora in the living room, sitting on the antique love seat with its faded brocade print and pulling Nora down next to her. “Sonny has had a rough day. We both have. I was supposed to audition for a part this afternoon, but obviously that didn’t happen.”

 

Nora pressed her lips together, trying not to say anything. Her mother had made a career for herself as a bit-part actress, with a recurring role in a slasher movie franchise. But that career occupied a big space when it came to her mother’s self-identity.

 

“Your apartment looks like the dark corner of a thrift store. Why do you still have my mother’s love seat?” Mom shifted around to look at the wood-carved trim. “I thought you got rid of it.”

 

“No. Nana loved this.” Nora’s grandmother had been widowed early and made her way through life alone, the way Nora was doing.

 

Mom shifted back around and put her arm over Nora’s shoulders. “Just because Nana loved it, doesn’t mean you have to keep it, especially if you don’t love it. Or that.” She pointed toward the small kitchen table which barely had enough room to seat three people. “Or that.” She pointed at the coffee table, and its ring-stained top. “Or – ”

 

“I get the idea.” But three generations of Flores women had lived here with this furniture. It was where Nora had grown up. And although Nana had died four years ago, it didn’t seem right to change a thing. “I don’t hate anything in here. And I’m not going to put stuff in the landfill.” Or haul it to a flea market. It was easier to keep it and remember her grandmother fondly.

 

“Well. I suppose my mother would appreciate that backhanded compliment.” Mom hugged Nora and then sank back on the love seat, hitting her head on the wood trim. “Ow. Now I remember why I don’t like this.” She rubbed at her mane of unnaturally blond hair.

 

“Mom, why are you here? Why didn’t you go to your apartment on the upper east side? You know, the big one you share with Armand?” Sonny’s father, who was a successful T.V. movie producer. “Did you guys fight about the acting thing again?” Armand wanted his wife to stay at home and raise Sonny.