Apple

Miranda had been stalking Norman for months, friending and following under an alias. Someday, when they were married, she hoped that this little desperate detail would never surface, not even after their 25th Anniversary, when they’d be too tipsy from toasting with glasses too tall for tequila-not Merlot. Norman was a tequila man, but Miranda had already granted him absolution for this. After all, tonight was only the first date. She’d have plenty of time to introduce him to the finer libations in life, but, once again,she was veering from the script.

A cold wind and cozy overcoat lulled her into a reminiscent mood as Miranda recalled her first view of Norman. It was during one of her much longer than permitted breaks when she noticed a cubicle inundated with cat photos. Turns out, the resident of the space belonged to Norman’s cousin, Judy, and the 5x7, silver- framed photo with Norman and a few others stood out because it was the only one that had humans in it. However, from that first view, Miranda became drawn to Cousin Judy’s space like an enthusiast enthralled with some famous hidden work of art. Her entire lunch breaks spilled over into company time and were consumed by photo- gazing. There were also the times she had to don the role of cat-loving Judy’s beautiful but loyal and encouraging best friend. This role-play made allowances for Miranda’s frequent cubicle visits and for the periodic barging in with bogus complaints of printer troubles. She had no clue of what toner actually was, but each time, Judy was always friendly and accommodating, although she did wonder what Miranda could possibly be printing that required so much toner.

An adolescent giggle, adorned in #77, Summer Peach, escaped soft lips as she thought of the date tonight, the anticipation of it was as intoxicating as fine wine. However, she did puzzle over why she had gone to such great lengths to meet a man she’d thought only decently good-looking; Norman’s self-inflicted haircut and unremarkable jawline were usually not head-turning attributes for Miranda, and yet, Judy’s cousin with the sincere brown eyes had turned her. She leaned back and inhaled the soaked-in cigarette smells of the cab and its Cabbie, who leered at her from his rearview mirror. Miranda delibrately ignored the adoration. She was too busy applauding herself for the stealth she’d employed to arrange Norman’s maneuvered destiny.

Yes, she had fixed them up. Their “virtual meet-cute” had taken a great deal of time to plan. Norman had believed it to be just another blind date, one of a hundred his favorite cousin,Judy, had arranged this year (actually one of four-Norman was an exaggerator). Well, anyway, the fake Judy had called, said she knew this girl from work, blah, blah, blah, and “How about it?” He had only been twenty percent intrigued he calculated, and even a percentage less interested. And even though he had noticed the slightly huskier tone to Judy’s voice and thought it strange she’d called him Norman instead of “Norm”, as she always had, he still said, “Yes” as he always did.

I’m a good actor, Miranda thought to herself. But, she had to be. She’d given up her entire youth to portray Apple, an iconic, adolescent character in one of the most popular sitcoms in American television. Apparently, if it garnered a laugh, viewers enjoyed watching a mischievous brat scheme and manipulate those who loved and adored her. The revelation immediately brought on another and the irony was incisive and irrefutable. What she had done to meet Norman had been a classic Apple move, but this was not a sitcom where profound resolutions took less than thirty minutes to occur.

The #77 Summer Peach smile faded as reality wrapped in guilt began to seep through. Miranda’s well-manicured hands trembled as they retrieved the tiny orange pill from her purse. A few moments passed and Miranda began a rhythmic sway. She could hear the show’s theme song in her head now. Slowly, Apple’s voice chimed in like a soft bell. Relationships in the real world need maneuvering. She reasoned. How else could there be a happy ending? Miranda’s moment of second- guessing and guilt were lost in the sway of the music.

The Cabbie’s running of a red-light, followed by a cacophony of angry horns and expletives from surrounding drivers, was oblivious to him. In all his years as a cabbie, he had never encountered such a strange and beautiful distraction. At this moment, the anger he felt towards his boss, Ted, had dissipated. Getting reassigned to this new route may have been the luckiest thing he had every experienced. His brow furrowed in bewilderment as he listened to her repeat Norman’s name at varied decibels.

There’s nothing wrong with a little pretending, Miranda surmised, long after Apple’s chiming and the guilt had ceased. Life in front and behind the camera had taught her that lies and truths were co-parents. And although meeting and working with Judy had been brief, the encounter was true. So, maybe she hadn’t stayed at NEVCO, or any other company with an acronym for its title, long enough to befriend anyone-let alone cat-loving Judy-her two week stint there had afforded her the opportunity to learn Judy’s last name (Poole), and the name of her cat(also named Judy) but, most importantly, a lie had allowed her a relationship with Norman, which would likely become the truest thing in her life.Yes, there had definitely been no guilt written in this script, Miranda concluded.

The smell of strong Colombian coffee and mint sifting through the cab window alerted Miranda to Norman’s favorite coffee shop and signaled that her destination was near. Dewdrop breaths rose and fell slowly. Nervousness made her nauseous, but always produced a great performance. Again, she quickly reminded herself that this wasn’t a sitcom where relationships were scripted and sterile. No, this was the real world, the one between commercial breaks, the one that came after season finales. Miranda had fought endlessly to get to this world and its soothing salve of normalcy. The flip-flopping from TV and real life had been like escaping an ever-tilting hour glass. After many hours of therapy, the cure, she surmised, had been to just never speak of her life as Apple again. The real world doesn’t require thirty minute resolutions.

But, the transformation from TV to reality had been a bitter adjustment than imagined-thus the NEVCO job. No longer being the “Apple” of America’s eye had significantly reduced Miranda’s income and the amount of autographs to sign, and there were those moments of pre-dementia when Miranda would absentmindedly sit in the backseat of her car before remembering that she was now the driver, and no longer granted the luxury of staring aimlessly from the car window.These adjustments, though frustrating, were timid compared to the stark realization of the disparity between a royalty check and a prime-time one.

Money had certainly become Miranda’s enemy, but at least Time was now her ally. No longer a slave to sitcom hours, she had been freed from sponsor breaks, greedy producers and smothering fans, all demanding her time. Each hour was her own now, to get involved in whatever and with whomever she pleased and without the network’s approval. Miranda’s smile hid defiance behind it; it pleased her knowing that no one would have approved of Norman.

Norman stared aimlessly out from the perfect view of his condo, which was situated on the Southside. The area, which had once housed all the inhabitants of a failed society (addicts dealers, crooked cops and pimps) had slowly been gentrified with eclectic coffee shops, expensive condos and restaurants, but had still managed to allow a few of the older “native residents” to afford the new look and even allowed a few local homeless to meander(for now), to give the area a little edge.These allowances permitted Obama-voting progressives like Norman to come to the area with a little less guilt in tow. Miranda was surprised she’d agreed to meet him here. After countless lectures from her Mom about strange men and stranger places, she felt a sort of fiery defiance the second she stepped from the cab.The streets were practically void of people. Good. Miranda thought. No paparazzi to witness the “Apple of America’s Eye” entering a stranger’s apartment. She watched the cab as it eased its way back into light traffic and waited until it rounded the corner of Norman’s favorite bakery before she entered the foyer of condos.

Meanwhile, Norman was sitting in the only chair in the room and staring at the bottle of Merlot on the coffee table, trying-unsuccessfully-not to twiddle his thumbs, a habit his Father surmised came from a nervous condition inherited from his Mother’s side of the family. Miranda was running late, and it was this tardiness, not nervousness, which triggered the twiddling. He stood up to grab a cigarette from its hiding place at the exact moment the concierge’s voice buzzed the intercom.

“Your guest has arrived Dr. Franklin.”

Norman quickly straightened his tie and donned his favorite blue dress-jacket. The prop cigarette he usually used to keep him calm was placed securely in its hiding place and instructed Charlie, the concierge, to send his “guest” up.

Despite knowing she was expected, Miranda still knocked to announce her arrival. Apple would’ve just barged in she thought . (Childish disregard for etiquette always produced boisterous laughter from the show’s live audience). The door opened and the sincere brown eyes from the desk photo greeted her; Suddenly, Miranda felt as warm as tequila.

Norman made a mental note to not leer at Miranda’s full-grown curves as she eased out of her coat to reveal a green, velour dress, which clung lovingly to each curve. The showcase of cleavage was intentional.The dress was a tester, a way to “weed out” the geeks and freaks from those with potential. Leering was a deal- breaker. Not noticing at all called for too much speculation--another deal-breaker, a pleasant brief assessment, such as the one Miranda had just received from Norman, meant the date would continue. She offered her coat before he asked and seated herself on the almond colored couch next to the window with the perfect view. He’sgot great taste, she thought as she surveyed the room.

Norman gazed intently at his guest, but only when the risk of her noticing was minimal. He watched her as she sat perusing the room, trying to get a sense of her host, not from eye contact or intrusive queries guised in witty banter, but from taking in the surroundings. She doesn’t trust what she’s told, only what she observes, Norman thought, and for the first time in his life, he wished he could read minds. He would love to know how someone whose almond eyes were so beguiling and discerning as hers, could also house such timidity and loneliness. I could get lost in those, he thought before admonishing himself for his lack of self-control. Her eyes finally averted their attention to him, but he was ready.

“I’m glad we did this; it’s not everyday that I get to meet with a celebrity,” Norman remarked.

This comment brought a look of disappointment from his guest, which Norman quickly discerned and regrouped.

“Of course, I’ve never seen the show, just going on what Judy told me.” This redirect worked and was rewarded with a girlish smile. Miranda was very pleased he had not met Apple before he’d met her.

“So, you really have never seen the show?” She was confirming, more than inquiring.

“Nope, afraid not. My father found that sort of thing... distracting. I believe I was 19 before I even knew who Spiderman was, but I can give you a full dissertation on the life and times of any Greek philosopher you name,” Norman laughed, but it sounded more like a nervous heckle. Miranda’s smile warmed and a vine-like ease slowly began to spread throughout her tall, stately frame;It was the correct response. The knowledge of him missing what was common to most childhoods was catalytic to her trusting him. She settled back on the couch as if familiar with its cradling cushions and absent pillows and then softly exhaled. It was then that she noticed it, the bottle of Merlot sitting at the opposite edge of the glass-topped coffee table. She inhaled purposely, taking back all that she had breathed out, while still eyeing the bottle of Merlot.

“What else did Judy tell you about me?” she asked bluntly.

As a sail notices even the slightest shift of the wind, Norman could feel Miranda’s mood waiver. Placing the Merlot on the table had done what he had intended it to do; Although, it had taken her longer to notice it this time. He eased back into the groove of the armchair and donned the true role he had been commissioned to perform for the past year. He was starting to dislike this part of their session. Her beauty was so distracting that he had begun to cherish the few moments of the pretense. But, it had been over a year now, and progress had to be made. So, as any good shrink would do, Norman had promised himself that if he ever lingered too long in the moments of the “date” or began to treasure the role-play more than the reality, he would immediately refer Miranda to someone else.

Miranda tried to avert her attention back to her host, but the Merlot had her head spinning though she hadn’t touched a drop.

“Norman-I’m leaving now-I...I” Like always, Norman didn’t move, but remained seated in the same position. He hated seeing her like this, lost and afraid. “Miranda, you’re free to go wherever you want, whenever you choose. There’s no one holding you here. The real world doesn’t require thirty minute resolutions...but it craves progress.”

His voice was soothing and trusting. He had never added any words after resolutions before. Miranda looked into his eyes; she could still see the sincerity that had made her seek him out. Could she finally tell him? She wanted to finally be honest with him, tell him all that had happened and how he had already done so much to help her cope with that horrible night, the night her producer had lured her into his office, had placed the Merlot on his desk, placating her with words of admiration. He had known she and the other young cast members thirsted for adulthood. How could she have fallen for his paternal act? What parent allows access to alcohol? But, she had been one of the luckier ones. She had escaped him, escaped the groping hands and stale breath which smelled of weed and Merlot. Of course, she had run straight to her parents. This would be his last time destroying the life of a child. Wouldn’t it?

Unfortunately, the punishment fit very loosely around the crime. Miranda’s parents decided that profit would serve as the producer’s punishment, and that’s how child star, Miranda Wills, aka Apple, became the highest paid child actor in the history of television. She wished she could’ve given Time Magazine the true version of this feat instead of the lie that was invented.

Of course, with so much publicity and money, Miranda had to return to the show. To deal with it all, she oversimplified;It’s what Apple would’ve done. Becoming her character, she convinced herself that the incident in the room with the Merlot and that man had never really happened to Miranda, but to Apple. Besides, Apple was confident and tenacious enough, and better at handling being mauled by a lecherous producer. But, using an alter ego to deal had cost. Tears glided unchecked down a beautiful landscape. Miranda hadn’t cried in a long time. Though painful to watch, Norman had never seen Miranda cry during a session, and so he applauded the breakthrough.

“You don’t have to drink the Merlot, Miranda. You decide, but will you stay...please, stay so that we-we can talk.” The last plea, Norman noted, was too heartfelt. The attempt to avoid falling for her had failed, but that reality was still concealed from him, but not unknown to Miranda, and it was this knowing which settled her back onto the pillow-less couch, and for the first time she surmised that if she was ever going to get him to see her as more than a patient, she would have to come half the way. Reality craves progress, she repeated to herself.

“D-Dr.Franklin?” Miranda’s voice was still shaky as she pointed to the Merlot, “Will you share a glass with me?” Norman paused for a moment and then crossed the line from the living room into the kitchen to grab their glasses.