{"id":5802,"date":"2014-05-01T10:00:54","date_gmt":"2014-05-01T10:00:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/?p=5802"},"modified":"2014-12-20T04:46:16","modified_gmt":"2014-12-20T04:46:16","slug":"thank-you-anne-bernay-wherever-you-are-a-writing-romance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/thank-you-anne-bernay-wherever-you-are-a-writing-romance\/","title":{"rendered":"Thank You, Anne Bernay, Wherever You Are\u2014A Writing Romance"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cChris, what\u00adev\u00ader you do, just keep writ\u00ading.\u201d<\/strong><\/em>
\n \u2014Anne Bernay, 5\/1994<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n


\n<\/strong>Twen\u00adty years ago <\/strong>this month, I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I knew I want\u00aded to write, and that\u2019s it. That\u2019s all I knew.<\/p>\n

Since grad\u00adu\u00adat\u00ading from col\u00adlege in Boston two years ear\u00adli\u00ader, I had been work\u00ading as a reporter for a week\u00adly news\u00adpa\u00adper. Then\u2014very briefly, while between report\u00ading jobs\u2014a wait\u00ader, a sub\u00adsti\u00adtute teacher, and a Radio Shack sales\u00adman. Then a reporter for a dai\u00adly paper.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The Boston sky\u00adline.<\/p><\/div>\n

It was in February\u2013March of 1994 that my musi\u00adcian friend Tony Scot\u00adto and I got the idea of mov\u00ading to Boston. It would be his first time there, and I was return\u00ading. Our bril\u00adliant\u00adly con\u00adceived plan amount\u00aded to this: he would get a day job that enabled him to gig at night, and I would wait tables and write while look\u00ading for a report\u00ading job.<\/p>\n

Like many plans\u2014especially the quar\u00adter-baked ones of two 24-year-olds\u2014they dis\u00adin\u00adte\u00adgrat\u00aded soon after we set\u00adtled in. Tony and I had a tem\u00adpo\u00adrary falling-out, and I was forced to find anoth\u00ader place to live. Luck\u00adi\u00adly, my longest friend (now about 35 years!), Jason Scott<\/a>, came to my res\u00adcue by invit\u00ading me to share his one-room stu\u00addio apart\u00adment across the riv\u00ader in Cam\u00adbridge for a while. So I did.<\/p>\n

Jason had nev\u00ader been par\u00adtic\u00adu\u00adlar\u00adly \u201cdomes\u00adtic\u201d (major under\u00adstate\u00adment), so when I showed up and saw the filthy kitchen, the moun\u00adtains of laun\u00addry, and the gen\u00ader\u00adal state of dis\u00ador\u00adder in the place, I wasn\u2019t at all sur\u00adprised, and I set out to fix it. I had that day off from the restau\u00adrant where I was work\u00ading (Atlantic Fish Com\u00adpa\u00adny on Boyl\u00adston Street), so I spent the entire day clean\u00ading the apart\u00adment and prepar\u00ading a nice meal for my friend. And we ate it together\u2014he on his futon bed, I on my deluxe cot (which cot, by the way, Jason and his girl\u00adfriend at the time soon broke\u2014don\u2019t ask).<\/p>\n

\"Au<\/a>

Au Bon Pain, Har\u00advard Square.<\/p><\/div>\n

Besides wait\u00ading tables 4\u20135 days and\/or nights a week, I was writ\u00ading my fiction\u2014every day. Since the apart\u00adment (366 Har\u00advard St.) was so tiny, and since Jason\u2019s snor\u00ading rivaled the sawmill that Hem\u00ading\u00adway lived above in Paris for a while, each morn\u00ading I walked down to Har\u00advard Square and set up among the chess play\u00aders, the stu\u00addents, and the home\u00adless news\u00adpa\u00adper hawk\u00aders. And there I wrote.<\/p>\n

(Right about now, you\u2019re ask\u00ading your\u00adself, \u201cWhat does all of this have to do with Anne Bernay? Who is she? What are you thank\u00ading her for?\u201d Well, as Polo\u00adnius says to Queen Gertrude in my favorite play, Ham\u00adlet<\/em>, \u201cStay awhile\u2026I will be faith\u00adful.\u201d)<\/p>\n

I wrote every morn\u00ading inside the snug Au Bon Pain caf\u00e9 (or out\u00adside, if the weath\u00ader was nice) from 7:00 until 11:00, and then I was free to walk any\u00adwhere in Boston. I went to the Boston Pub\u00adlic Library and checked out books. I went to lunch with for\u00admer pro\u00adfes\u00adsors. And a cou\u00adple of times, I dressed up and sat in the lob\u00adby of the Cop\u00adley Plaza Hotel eye-flirt\u00ading with the beau\u00adti\u00adful rich women. I was free, that is, unless I had to wait tables that after\u00adnoon or evening.<\/p>\n

I was not<\/em> a good wait\u00ader. I tried, believe me, but it required skills I sim\u00adply don\u2019t have. Like mul\u00adti\u00adtask\u00ading. When giv\u00aden more than three tables, I would start to pan\u00adic. Thank\u00adful\u00adly, the female wait\u00adstaff all liked or pitied me, and they fre\u00adquent\u00adly helped me out. One of them, Helen\u2014a love\u00adly girl from Ireland\u2014said to me, \u201cChris, you can nev\u00ader work in ser\u00advice. You\u2019re always think\u00ading about some\u00adthing else.\u201d And she was right. Often dur\u00ading a shift, I would duck into the walk-in refrig\u00ader\u00ada\u00adtor and write some\u00adthing in my pock\u00adet note\u00adbook.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The Atlantic Fish Com\u00adpa\u00adny in Boston.<\/p><\/div>\n

Still, even with the help of oth\u00ader wait\u00adstaff, the pres\u00adsure got to me, and it came to a head the day after the Boston Marathon. I had been work\u00ading dou\u00adble-shifts for 10 days straight, I hadn\u2019t been able to write very much, and I was sched\u00aduled for anoth\u00ader dou\u00adble that day. I snapped. I told the assis\u00adtant man\u00adag\u00ader that I need\u00aded a break.<\/p>\n

She refused. We argued. And I quit.<\/p>\n

I remem\u00adber that as soon as I walked out of there with my mea\u00adger tips for the day, I took a home\u00adless man to din\u00adner.<\/p>\n

With my after\u00adnoons and evenings now free as well, after my morn\u00ading writ\u00ading ses\u00adsions at the Au Bon Pain, I began tak\u00ading longer and longer excur\u00adsions into Boston, often end\u00ading up at a bar, drink\u00ading a beer and mak\u00ading notes about my adven\u00adtures that day. And it was at one of those bars, at the end of the work day on May 10, 1994, that I met Anne Bernay.<\/p>\n

At rush hour that evening I saw a cov\u00adey of attrac\u00adtive, laugh\u00ading young women flock into Bertucci\u2019s, a brick oven pizze\u00adria near Faneuil Hall. The wom\u00adens\u2019 shoes echoed on the cob\u00adble\u00adstones, and when I got a whiff of their per\u00adfume in the salty sea air, I decid\u00aded to fol\u00adlow them in.<\/p>\n

I was at the bar, jot\u00adting down my day\u2019s obser\u00adva\u00adtions in my pock\u00adet note\u00adbook. Since quit\u00adting the restau\u00adrant, at the end of every day of explor\u00ading I would stop into a dif\u00adfer\u00adent bar around the city and write down any\u00adthing unusu\u00adal that had hap\u00adpened or that I\u2019d seen, heard or smelled. It was prac\u00adtice in the art of obser\u00adva\u00adtion. I sat at one cor\u00adner of the bar drink\u00ading 20-ounce drafts of Sam Adams Boston Ale and try\u00ading to recap\u00adture these moments that had struck me in some way. One was from a few nights ear\u00adli\u00ader, when I\u2019d been walk\u00ading back to Cam\u00adbridge:<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The MIT\/Mass Ave Bridge at night.<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cSaw a cou\u00adple eat\u00ading din\u00adner on the MIT bridge tonight. He wore a tux and she an evening gown, and they had a com\u00adplete table set up on the side\u00adwalk with a light blue table\u00adcloth, sil\u00adver\u00adware, can\u00addle in a hur\u00adri\u00adcane lamp, and cobalt blue place set\u00adtings.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

When I fin\u00adished with my obser\u00adva\u00adtions exer\u00adcise, I ordered anoth\u00ader beer. Down the bar, a trio of women about my age were smok\u00ading, and a mias\u00adma of cig\u00ada\u00adrette smoke hung in the air around them. For some rea\u00adson, the smoke cloud trig\u00adgered a mem\u00ado\u00adry of my first job, at 14, as a bus\u00adboy and dish\u00adwash\u00ader in an Ital\u00adian restau\u00adrant.<\/p>\n

Turn\u00ading back to my note\u00adbook, I drift\u00aded into the mem\u00ado\u00adry, smil\u00ading at sur\u00adpris\u00ading details like how every Thurs\u00adday after\u00adnoon Son\u00adny would clean out the cash reg\u00adis\u00adter, bun\u00addle up the cash in a paper bag and host a dozen dark-suit\u00aded men in a closed din\u00ading room that evening. The restau\u00adrant was right off the Tacon\u00adic Park\u00adway, about 80 miles north of New York City, so even at age four\u00adteen I had imag\u00adi\u00adna\u00adtion enough to know they were mob\u00adsters pay\u00ading a \u201cvis\u00adit.\u201d Three pages in, I ordered anoth\u00ader beer and looked around. The smok\u00aders were gone.<\/p>\n

\"417EFm69gyL._SY445_\"

Enter red\u00adhead Anne Bernay, in an emer\u00adald rain slick\u00ader.<\/p><\/div>\n

How\u00adev\u00ader, in their place, a few stools away from me was a woman with fair skin and pale blue eyes. She wore an emer\u00adald rain slick\u00ader, which I only men\u00adtion because it per\u00adfect\u00adly com\u00adple\u00adment\u00aded her hair: full, thick, and with loose curls<\/a> that just touched her shoul\u00adders, form\u00ading lit\u00adtle cur\u00adsive J\u2019s, O\u2019s and S\u2019s, it was a col\u00ador I\u2019d seen described as \u201cLight Red Cop\u00adper<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n

A pi\u00f1a cola\u00adda sat on a nap\u00adkin in front of her, and she was twirling the glass around and around in her fin\u00adger\u00adtips while star\u00ading at it. I went back to writ\u00ading and put down two more sen\u00adtences and half of anoth\u00ader when I noticed her watch\u00ading me. She must have known that I was on to her because she quick\u00adly turned her head back to her drink, mak\u00ading her curls jig\u00adgle. She took a sip of the pi\u00f1a cola\u00adda, swal\u00adlowed and said, \u201cSo, what are you writ\u00ading?\u201d<\/p>\n

I closed my note\u00adbook, stop\u00adping in mid-sen\u00adtence (I know this because that entry\u2014May 10, 1994\u2014remains unfin\u00adished to this day).<\/p>\n

\u201cI was remem\u00adber\u00ading my first job\u2014as a dish\u00adwash\u00ader in a mob restau\u00adrant.\u201d<\/p>\n

She gig\u00adgled. \u201cWell, that explains it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExplains what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy you were so intense about it. What else do you write?\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Not<\/a>

Not what Anne\u2019s red hair looked like, but it was too deli\u00adcious not to include here.<\/p><\/div>\n

I gave her my spiel, and in ret\u00adro\u00adspect I prob\u00ada\u00adbly laid it on a bit thick. I talked about being a \u201cfor\u00admer\u201d news\u00adpa\u00adper reporter (I\u2019d left the paper only two months ear\u00adli\u00ader), and that I had a mag\u00ada\u00adzine piece com\u00ading out soon about a cham\u00adpi\u00adon ten\u00adnis player\u2019s expe\u00adri\u00adences at Wim\u00adble\u00addon (neglect\u00ading to men\u00adtion that the piece was about my own ten\u00adnis coach, Gau\u00adrav Mis\u00adra, and that it was going to appear in a local mag\u00ada\u00adzine, not Sports Illus\u00adtrat\u00aded<\/em>). All the while, she looked unblink\u00ading\u00adly at me with those pale blue eyes and shook her head as though in a daze.<\/p>\n

\u201cWow,\u201d she said when I fin\u00adished, \u201cyou\u2019ve got a lot of guts. Do you do oth\u00ader work to earn a liv\u00ading?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike a day job?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do, but I quit it a few days ago. Long sto\u00adry.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked into her drink. \u201cI wish I were a writer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, you wish you were<\/em>,\u201d I said. \u201cThe sub\u00adjunc\u00adtive mood. Nice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI majored in Eng\u00adlish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

She told me. \u201cI wrote some stuff for the mag\u00ada\u00adzine, too, but I haven\u2019t done any\u00adthing since.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s nev\u00ader too late,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat do you do now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a proof\u00adread\u00ader in a law firm.\u201d She looked down at her drink again.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, at least you have<\/em> a job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou<\/em> have a job\u2014you\u2019re a writer,\u201d she said. \u201cJust think of any\u00adthing else you have to do as expe\u00adri\u00adence for your writ\u00ading.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Not<\/a>

Not the bar in Bertucci\u2019s, but you get the idea.<\/p><\/div>\n

I want\u00aded to leap out of my stool, take this woman in my arms and kiss her, but I thought that might be a bit much. Instead I grabbed my things, includ\u00ading my beer, and moved down to the stool beside hers. I ges\u00adtured to the bar\u00adtender for two more drinks and put a twen\u00adty down to cov\u00ader them.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t have to do that,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow else am I going to have my way with you, if I don\u2019t ply you with alco\u00adhol?\u201d<\/p>\n

She gig\u00adgled. \u201cYou\u2019re cute.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think I\u2019m kid\u00adding,\u201d I said. \u201cCan\u2019t you tell I\u2019m one of those guys that needs to get girls drunk first?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI seri\u00adous\u00adly doubt that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChris Orcutt,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnne Bernay.\u201d<\/p>\n

We shook hands, and I raised my beer.<\/p>\n

\u201cA toast?\u201d Her eyes widened. \u201cTo what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo beau\u00adti\u00adful Boston red\u00adheads in shiny emer\u00adald coats.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled and clinked my glass with hers. She wasn\u2019t wear\u00ading a wed\u00adding ring.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, Chris,\u201d she said, \u201cwhy are you here all alone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want the long ver\u00adsion or the short ver\u00adsion?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, if it were any oth\u00ader guy, I\u2019d want the short ver\u00adsion, but I like lis\u00adten\u00ading to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood, I\u2019ll give you the epic ver\u00adsion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Radcliffe<\/a>

Rad\u00adcliffe Quadrangle\u2014photo by Rose Lin\u00adcoln.<\/p><\/div>\n

Now\u2026I could tell you about how that evening, after meet\u00ading at the bar, Anne took me to din\u00adner, and how we walked to the quad at Rad\u00adcliffe Col\u00adlege, sat on a bench and held hands. The air was warm and the lawn was lush, and sev\u00ader\u00adal old maples in the court\u00adyard stirred in the shad\u00adowy breeze.<\/p>\n

I could tell you how we met in Har\u00advard Square a few days lat\u00ader, how she picked me up in her Volk\u00adswa\u00adgen Cabri\u00ado\u00adlet (with the top down) and we played ten\u00adnis at the courts over at the Busi\u00adness School, and it began to rain, and we kissed in the rain, remem\u00adbered that the top was down and ran back to the car and tow\u00adeled off.<\/p>\n

I could tell you about how we went to din\u00adner in the North End, and how the old Ital\u00adian cou\u00adple that owned the restau\u00adrant thought we were mar\u00adried and gave us a table in the brick court\u00adyard out\u00adside and brought us a com\u00adpli\u00admen\u00adta\u00adry bot\u00adtle of Chi\u00adanti. I could tell you about how Anne and I paint\u00aded a pic\u00adture of a life togeth\u00ader, and how we took walks in the Pub\u00adlic Gar\u00adden, and how I met her for lunch a cou\u00adple times out\u00adside the law firm where she worked as a proof\u00adread\u00ader. I could tell you about how she was with a man she didn\u2019t love, and how in two short weeks we fell for each oth\u00ader. I could tell you about all of those things, but I won\u2019t. Not here. Not now.<\/p>\n

What I want to tell you about are the things Anne said to me\u2014words that have sus\u00adtained me while writ\u00ading in rel\u00ada\u00adtive obscu\u00adri\u00adty for the past 20 years. She tru\u00adly was an angel, and she came along when I most need\u00aded one.<\/p>\n

Dur\u00ading our din\u00adner in the Ital\u00adian restau\u00adrant, I told her about my new job as a park\u00ading valet, remark\u00ading that it was pathet\u00adic com\u00adpared to her boyfriend\u2019s work as a lawyer. But instead of scoff\u00ading at my new job or belit\u00adtling it, she scowled and said some\u00adthing I\u2019ve nev\u00ader for\u00adgot\u00adten. She said,<\/p>\n

\u201cChris, don\u2019t let those lit\u00adtle shit jobs get you down. You\u2019re a writer. You\u2019re above all that crap. Just think of it as expe\u00adri\u00adence for your writ\u00ading.\u201d<\/em><\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

For Anne, the days after our din\u00adner in the North End were hell. She and her boyfriend had a big blowout, dur\u00ading which she con\u00adsid\u00adered mov\u00ading out and get\u00adting her own apart\u00adment. I tried hard to con\u00advince her to do it. At some point dur\u00ading this escapade, she came by Jason\u2019s place and sat uncom\u00adfort\u00adably on the cor\u00adner of the futon mat\u00adtress and read through some of my writ\u00ading. I walked around the block while she read, and when I returned, she put down the pages slow\u00adly. Then she turned to me with a smile\u2014a smile that I still remem\u00adber because it was tinged with awe\u2014and said, \u201cChris, what\u00adev\u00ader you do, just keep writ\u00ading.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Look\u00ading back on it now, there was final\u00adi\u00adty in that state\u00adment. I think she had made up her mind about the kind of life she want\u00aded, and while she admired me and my will\u00ading\u00adness to live as an artist, I think she knew that she didn\u2019t have it in her to make the nec\u00ades\u00adsary sac\u00adri\u00adfices. (I don\u2019t say this as a crit\u00adi\u00adcism, by the way; hon\u00adest\u00adly, I think she would have been nuts<\/em> to choose me over her sta\u00adble boyfriend.)<\/p>\n

She asked to bor\u00adrow some of my pages to show her col\u00adlege friends, and the rev\u00ader\u00adence with which she asked and put them in her bag told me I didn\u2019t need to wor\u00adry about them. Besides, I want\u00aded her to take them. I want\u00aded to guar\u00adan\u00adtee that I saw her at least one last time.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The Boston Pub\u00adlic Gar\u00adden.<\/p><\/div>\n

A few days lat\u00ader, we met in the Pub\u00adlic Gar\u00adden. The ducks were out, as were the swan boats, and the flow\u00aders were in bloom. We walked togeth\u00ader hold\u00ading hands, but as soon as some\u00adone approached us on the path, we uncou\u00adpled because she was wor\u00adried about bump\u00ading into peo\u00adple she knew.<\/p>\n

And once again, she said some\u00adthing that has stuck with me, kept me going all these years, and I real\u00adize now that maybe our pur\u00adpose in meet\u00ading was to inspire each oth\u00ader. She said,<\/p>\n

\u201cI told my friends I met a writer and they asked me if he was the real deal. And I said, \u2018Yeah, he is. He real\u00adly is.\u2019\u201d<\/em><\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Anne Bernay, wher\u00adev\u00ader you are, when you said that, my heart swelled. You were the first woman who tru\u00adly appre\u00adci\u00adat\u00aded and encour\u00adaged my writ\u00ading.<\/p>\n

Thank you, Anne, wher\u00adev\u00ader you are.<\/p>\n

\u2014Chris<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cChris, what\u00adev\u00ader you do, just keep writ\u00ading.\u201d \u2014Anne Bernay, 5\/1994 Twen\u00adty years ago this month, I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":5875,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"wp_typography_post_enhancements_disabled":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[19,75,7,13,14],"tags":[102,103,110,100,114,108,106,115,107,109,112,111,113,105,104,93,101],"class_list":["post-5802","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-memoir","category-personal","category-writers","category-writingexperiences","tag-20s","tag-anne-bernay","tag-autobiography","tag-boston","tag-cambridge","tag-coming-of-age","tag-encouragement","tag-harvard","tag-inspiration","tag-literary","tag-literary-biography","tag-memoir-2","tag-nostalgia","tag-personal-history","tag-redheads","tag-writing","tag-youth"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5802","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5802"}],"version-history":[{"count":83,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5802\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6328,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5802\/revisions\/6328"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5875"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5802"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5802"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5802"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}