NORA COULDN’T SHAKE the heaviness.
News of her Oscar nomination had brought a wave of elation. So why did she feel so despondent this morning?
She’d gotten minimal sleep last night, and unfortunately, that wasn’t an isolated case. She had fought insomnia for weeks. Though she’d tried sleeping pills on the worst nights, she hesitated at the idea of pumping barbiturates into her body. She wasn’t a fan of laboratory chemicals and had heard horror stories of addiction.
She’d avoided a pill last night. And so, on top of her glum emotional state, she felt exhausted.
Random chatter surrounded her as other customers waited in line to place their orders. One customer carried away a cheddar-jalapeno bagel, crisp from the toaster oven, the tang of its charred edges enticing her. India.Arie’s “A Beautiful Day” played overhead. Nora wished her heart could take hold of the song.
Same coffee shop. Having maintained her anonymity for a longer stretch of time, she wanted to believe she’d grown more agile at it. As long as she kept herself hidden, no one recognized her here. Given time, she knew that would change, which would force her to move on, to find another shop where she could bide her time and try to make sense of her life.
In the meantime, however, she enjoyed this semblance of freedom.
She’d entered the coffee shop dressed in a baseball cap, sunglasses and a track suit, as though she had come from a gym. She hoped, by dressing like she didn’t care about her appearance, it would decrease the likelihood that anyone would recognize her or even give her a second glance.
Nora placed her order, then wandered away from the counter. The shop possessed the air of a gourmet gift shop, somewhere between urban and rural, and smelled like cinnamon sticks. The tables and chairs were the color of walnuts, and interspersed among them sat quaint shelves of products for sale—bags of coffee beans, boxes of loose-leaf tea, mugs and thermoses imprinted with a corporate logo and a clever quip. The cacophony of voices, a coffee grinder, and drink equipment ushered liveliness into an otherwise laid-back environment.
She wandered to one corner and browsed a community bulletin board while she awaited her drink. She scanned the advertised events and services: a dentist and chiropractor, an upcoming trivia night to benefit a local animal shelter, piano lessons.
Then she noticed a business card with a tagline printed in green letters across the top:
FIND YOUR HAPPINESS. REGAIN YOUR LIFE.
Beneath the tagline, the remaining text was printed in black. It looked like a normal business card. No picture; then again, she wouldn’t have expected one. She perused its next lines.
RUSSELL MERRITT, WELLNESS COACH
Online guidance to accommodate your schedule and needs.
A wellness coach? She’d heard of them but always wondered who sought their advice.
Nora had battled waves of depression ever since fame arrived in her life, yet she hadn’t confided in anyone about it. She didn’t want rumors to travel. Plus, she felt a tinge of shame, along with a measure of embarrassment: Why should she feel down? Millions of people would give their life’s savings to switch places with her.
Another inspection of Russell Merritt’s card.
Nora glanced around the room and, to her relief, found nobody paying attention to her. Lifting the pushpin, she removed the card from the bulletin board and slid it into her pocket. As soon as she removed her hand, a shout startled her.
“Venti skinny hazelnut latte with soy milk for Shelly!”
Shelly. Was that the alias Nora had given the cashier? She’d already forgotten. It was the drink she’d ordered, though.
She found a cozy chair at the far end of the dining area, angled away from most customers and beyond their immediate view, just in case someone happened to study her and figure out who she was. People in Los Angeles were accustomed to celebrities in their midst. They didn’t make a spectacle when they spotted one. Even so, she could sense their tactful stares. If someone recognized her today, she decided, she would bolt. She didn’t feel like being the center of attention, not when she felt like shedding tears.
Settling into the chair, she removed her smart phone from her purse and posted an update to her social media accounts.
The latte burned her throat as it descended. She remembered the business card she’d hidden in her pocket, pulled it out, and gave it another once-over. What could it hurt to visit the guy’s website? Nora rolled her eyes at how ridiculous she felt entering the site address.
Russell Merritt had a pristine, organized website. When she opened his bio page, Nora found a photo of a polished, professional man in a tie and modern eyeglasses. Judging from the hints of gray above his ears, Nora estimated he was in his late forties. She gave him a second perusal. Was it considered unacceptable to find your wellness coach sexy? He looked like a man who had his life together and savored every moment, regardless of how banal or significant it was. Behind the eyeglass frames, his eyes appeared gentle. Understanding.
According to his bio, he had spent the last fifteen years coaching satisfied clients from all walks of life. And sure enough, when she read his coaching policy, she confirmed their interaction would occur online only. They would never need to meet face-to-face.
“This offers many clients the privacy and anonymity they seek,” Nora read.
The first appointment was free, which allowed prospective clients to determine whether the arrangement worked for them before they pursued the relationship further.
Nora was intrigued.
Total anonymity? She had nothing to lose. She could create an alias for herself. This guy would never deduce her true identity. And unlike visiting a psychologist, Nora wouldn’t have to endure the awkwardness of looking this man in the eye, admitting private details to someone who had seen images of her ten feet tall.
Russell Merritt required neither contract nor commitment. If his advice didn’t help, she could move on, no strings attached.
Maybe he would have answers. Stranger things had happened to her.
Following the directions on the website, she created a user account. It didn’t require her to enter a name for the trial session, just an email address, for which she entered the account she used for junk mail. Then she submitted an initial message expressing nothing more than a desire to chat.
She wondered how long she would have to wait for a reply. She assumed it would take twenty-four hours.