The note had been signed, “Love, Rina,” and there was a phone number beneath the signature.
Julia shook her head and stood. “Are you kidding me! I’ve been walking around despondent for the past three days while this note was sitting here the whole time! Aagh!” She dashed back to the house clutching the note and grabbed her phone. Her hands shook such that she had to enter the number three times before getting it right. When the call went straight to voice mail, Julia didn’t know what to say and so she hung up.
Over the next week-and-a-half, she tried calling, leaving voice mails each time. Then she left messages with the unnamed woman who had answered “Miss Verralta’s phone.”
Julia left her name and number again, but Rina still hadn’t returned her calls. Thoughts of Rina consumed her. How many messages am I supposed to leave before I get the message that she’s not calling back?
“Julia!” said Isabella. “What are you doing?”
Julia’s distraction crashed into reality. “Damn. Did I just pour a mound of sugar into the lasagna?”
Isabella handed her a new lasagna pan. “You have to start from scratch.”
By the time this particular Tuesday night at the diner was over, Julia was no longer the orderly creature of habit she had always been. She hung the CLOSED sign, couldn’t care less about counting her tips, and left most of the cleanup for the morning crew.
She flipped off the lights and locked up, expecting to see her Fiat the lone car in the parking lot. Tonight, however, a snazzy red convertible was parked next to it. “What the—”
Before she could complete the thought, the car door opened, and Rina stepped out into the night. Julia dropped her knapsack on the ground, locking onto Rina’s gaze as the woman approached.
“Hello, Julia.”
“Rina, w-what are you doing here?”
“Hmm. That depends.”
“On what?”
“On you, Julia.”
Julia’s hand found its way onto her own hip. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“What calls?”
“My voice mails. And the messages I left with the woman who answers your phone.”
“I never got any messages.”
Julia’s eyebrows arched. “It took me three days to find your note. But when you didn’t call back, I’d assumed you had changed your mind. I mean, I knew how you felt about the age thing.”
Rina closed the distance between them and stroked back the hair from Julia’s eyes. “That’s Gigi, my personal assistant. Her job is to filter my calls, protect me. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me you’d called.”
“Maybe you should let her do her job. You were right, Rina. You couldn’t possibly need someone like me—to mess up your life.”
Rina touched her cheek. “No, Julia. I drove for hours to tell you I was wrong. You were right. I’ve done nothing but miss you. When it came down to it, I took a chance coming here because I can’t let you slip away without trying to win you—if you’re in the game.” Rina shifted her weight, looked away and then back at Julia. “I mean, you did say in the throes of passion that you didn’t care about the age thing.”
Julia smiled. “Not true. I said it afterward.”
“I haven’t been able to concentrate on a damn thing since I left here. I even lost a shoe! Not a pair, mind you, but a single shoe from a pair that’s worth a small fortune. Julia? Who loses one shoe?”
Julia laughed. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Right or left?”
“Right. And I’ve been sleepless. Have hardly eaten. All because I thought you hadn’t called me. Honestly, I’ve been a bit of a mess.”
Julia put her arms around the woman, pulled her in, and kissed her ardently before speaking another word. “Why are we kissing in the parking lot? Why don’t you follow me home in your car?”
Rina chuckled. “It’s not my car.”
“What?” Julia looked beyond her. “Is someone with you?”
“No. It’s your car.”
“Huh?”
“You wouldn’t let me buy my own dinner or pay for staying in the casita…”
“So you bought me a car! Are you crazy?”
“But it’s an Italian car—a Fiat, just like that old wreck of yours, but, you know, dependable and with airbags. And lasagna is Italian. I’m half Italian—maybe a little more than that since the lasagna.”
“I can’t accept it.”
“If it will make you feel better, you can pay for it.”
Julia laughed. “I would if I could afford it.”
“Oh, but you can.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I took pictures of your sculptures before I left—showed them to some gallery owners I know in Beverly Hills. You’re about to kick off a bidding war for two of the Arabians, and they want to see your work-in-progress when it’s finished.”
Julia felt her cheeks flush. “Hey, you weren’t supposed to see that.”
“But I did. And you’re not selling it.”
“I’m not?”
Rina stared at her. “Out of all the places in the world, I get stuck in the rain in the casita of a sexy young sculptress who happens to be creating a sculpture of me?”
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. It’s not for sale—and it still has a long way to go. Maybe it’ll be your birthday present. Thanks to Wikipedia I now know when that is. Did you know you were born in Paris?” Julia winked at her.
“How about an anniversary present? I wouldn’t expect something that beautiful—meaningful—for anything less momentous.”
Julia smiled. “Follow me home in your car. I’ll be driving the old Fiat.”
“Julia. That car belongs in a museum.”
Julia kissed Rina lightly on the lips. “Let’s go.”
“Come on. Don’t you even want to drive it?”
“Definitely, absolutely not. Let’s go.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Well, it is Tuesday night and I have driven an awfully long way. Grandmother Lucia’s lasagna? I’ve been thinking about it the whole way here.”
“You’re lucky my assistant caught me ruining the first batch. You’re not the only one who’s been walking in circles, Rina. I know it’s a long ride. Want to come into the diner and eat?”
“I was hoping you’d serve it to me in bed.” She raised her eyebrow. “You know—afterward.”
“You make me melt, Rina. If you don’t touch me soon, I might evaporate.”
This time, when Julia brought Katarina Verralta home to the Y2, they bypassed the casita and every room in the house except for the bedroom.
Julia pulled Rina on top of her, wound a shock of her chestnut waves around her hand, and gazed into her eyes. “You realize we’re already in this—whatever it is.”
“Thank you for saying it. I think I just took my first breath in two weeks.”
“What time do you have to leave tomorrow?”
Rina grinned. “I don’t have to be back for two days.”
“Really? Really?”
“Yep.”
“Tomorrow’s my day off,” said Julia. “Want to go riding with me? I’ll pack a picnic.”
“A picnic on horseback? Did I sign on to do a Western?”
Julia chuckled. “Yes. And as it happens, I’m your leading lady.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“Not just a date, Rina. Our first date.”
“You don’t count having hot sex all night long as our first date?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Great. Glad there’s no pressure.” Rina kissed her. “We’re already so good together.”
Julia rolled Rina onto her back and gazed into her eyes. “Remind me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rina wound her way up the hill in the scorned red convertible and coasted into her garage. She rolled her suitcase into the house and stopped in the kitchen when Gigi came boundi
ng down the stairs.
“I thought I heard the door. I’m glad you’re home—since you weren’t answering your phone for the past two days. You okay?”
“I’m great, Gigi. Everything all right?”
“Yes, except you haven’t been preparing.”
“What makes you think that?” Rina took a bottle of water from the fridge and turned toward the stairs.
“Shouldn’t we be running lines? Let me get your suitcase.” Gigi followed Rina up two flights to her suite. “Normally, at this point you’re stressing and making all kinds of demands regarding the script.”
“Are you saying I’m high maintenance?” Rina tossed her purse onto a chair in her living room and sat back on the Roche Bobois sofa facing Catalina Island. Gigi sat opposite her, staring.
“I’m just not stressed about the script.” Rina twisted open the water bottle and drank.
“Okay. Want to tell me what’s going on—where you’ve been disappearing to?”
Rina sighed. “Horseback riding lessons.”
“Then why the secrecy?”
“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure of my feelings.”
“Feelings? For horses?” Gigi scraped back her short hair. “What feelings?”
“I’ve met someone.”
Gigi’s eyes opened wide. Her mouth resembled a door left slightly ajar. “Where? Who? Is this your friend from rehab that you told us about? The writer?”
“No. She’s not in the biz.”
“Where would you even meet someone who’s not in the biz?”
“It’s simply one of those things. Fate, I suppose.”
“Since when do you believe in fate?”
The actress smirked. “Since now.”
“Tell me right now, Rina.”
Rina laughed. “All right. I’ve met someone.”
“You already said that! And?”
“I’m crazy about her.” Rina still felt the imprint of Julia’s body against her.
Gigi laughed. “What? You?”
“Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because first of all, you don’t fall for anyone. And I don’t know who this woman is—where she is—how you met…”
“Perhaps if you’d given me any of her countless messages, you would know.”
Gigi raised her eyebrows. “Is it that Julia person who’s been calling?”
“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought she was some troll who somehow got your number. Usually if you’re waiting for someone new to contact you, you let me know.”
“I didn’t hear from her immediately after we met so I didn’t think she’d call me.”
“Are you serious, Rina? Who wouldn’t want to be with an A-lister like you?”
Rina sat up and leaned forward. “Not everyone is as infatuated with Hollywood as you are. Has it occurred to you she doesn’t see me that way?”
“Honey, it’s not a matter of opinion that you’re a Golden Globe- and Oscar-winning movie star.”
Rina’s gaze drifted toward the sunset and then back to Gigi. “Yet somehow, right now, those things feel like a distant second.”
“Since when does your ambition take a holiday?”
The actress sighed.
“Details please.”
“Her name is Julia Dearling, and she lives in Desert Bluff, a small desert town out past Palm Springs.”
“How in the hell did you meet someone like that?”
Rina’s eyes searched in the direction of Catalina Island. “What do you mean ‘like that’? She walked into my life—or rather, I drove into hers.”
“If you’re becoming intimate, I need to vet her—have her sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
Rina waved the words away. “No. I don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, you do! Look at what happened with Bitchney Cavell—you didn’t want her to sign anything either. Aren’t you glad she did?”
“It’ll ruin things. Julia’s nothing like Cavell.”
“What does she want? We’ll give it to her up front so that nothing winds up in the tabloids that could out you.”
“No.”
“Yes. You’re not thinking clearly.” Gigi stood to leave. “I’ll let you get settled in. Maybe Clay can talk some sense into you. Are you hungry? It’s almost dinnertime.”
Rina shot to her feet. “Thanks for reminding me. Julia sent me home with a pan of her famous lasagna. I left it in the car. Would you be a dear and bring it into the house?”
“What’s with the red convertible?”
“Long story.”
Gigi walked toward the door. “Lasagna? Since when do you eat carbs before shooting a movie?”
“Since I met Julia. You’re going to love it. It’s her Grandmother Lucia’s recipe.”
“Grandmother who? I’ll make you a salad and have Clay mix you a vegetable concoction.”
“No. I want the lasagna. And Gigi, from now on when Julia calls, give me the phone—right away.”
“What if you’re busy?”
“Unless a camera is on me, interrupt me.”
Gigi groaned and closed the door behind her.
* * *
The incessant knocking on his door sent Clay dashing into the living room of Rina’s pool house.
“Come in, Gigi. What’s up?”
She stomped across the beach-themed living room. “You need to have a talk with her.”
“Rina’s back?”
Gigi scoffed. “She’s back. And she has a new girlfriend.”
Clay smiled. “Really? Now there’s something you never think you’re going to hear.”
“Yes. She doesn’t want her to sign a nondisclosure.”
“Why?”
“She says it will…” Gigi put air quotes around “ruin things.”
“Who’s the woman?”
“I don’t know. Some girl she met.”
“Rina doesn’t meet just ‘some girl.’ Is she the rehab friend?”
“That was my guess, but no.”
Clay picked up his phone and called the main house. “Welcome home,” he said when Rina answered. “Yes, she’s here.” He glanced at Gigi. “Okay, what time?” He paused. “Sure, that works.” Clay hung up and turned to Gigi. “Rina said to remind you about the lasagna in the car, to heat it in the oven on 375 degrees, and that she’ll meet us for dinner in thirty minutes.”
“Clay, wait until you see her. Something’s off.”
“Like when she came home from chocolate rehab?” He snickered. “I’ll never get used to putting those two words together.”
“Yeah. She has that same eerie calm—like namaste but on steroids—or not. You know what I mean.”
“Well, first things first. We need to vet whoever this woman is. On the other hand, you know how Rina gets once she starts filming.”
“Good point,” said Gigi. “She won’t make time for anything or anyone for months until the film wraps.”
“So, we’ll do our due diligence and let Rina’s nature takes its course.”
“All the more reason we need a nondisclosure signed. If Rina dumps her…”
“Maybe it’ll just fizzle out,” said Clay.
“Yeah. No! She’s all sizzle, no fizzle. You’ll see.”
* * *
Gigi sat at the kitchen table tapping her fingers as she and Clay awaited Rina.
“Stop that.” Clay placed his hand over hers.
Gigi lowered her voice. “We have to get out in front of this.”
“I know, but take it easy. You’re making me nervous.”
Clay stood when Rina entered. “There’s my girl.” He gave her a peck on the cheek, then stared at her.
Rina glanced between him and Gigi. “Look at you two! I feel like a teenager who’s about to get lectured for coming home after curfew.”
“Welcome home,” Clay said taking his seat. “Gigi said you have news. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not
really. But we all know that’s not a possibility.”
Rina took the lasagna out of the oven and dished it out. She sat down, closed her eyes, and inhaled the aroma.
“I love this!” She stuffed a forkful into her mouth.
“Honey,” said Clay, “you don’t…you can’t eat this way before you begin shooting.”
“Watch me.” Rina took another bite. “I start my boring regimen and workouts with Maribelle tomorrow. But tonight, there’s lasagna.”
“This is so good.” Gigi reached for another bite.
“So, who is she?” Clay sampled the lasagna. “God, this is good.”
“You don’t know her.”
He stared at Rina. “Neither do you. We need to vet her.”
“No! Not going to happen.”
“What if she outs you in the press? Or tells them secrets or lies about you?”
“She won’t, Clay.”
“How old is she?” he asked.
Rina gulped. “Why does her age matter?”
“Is she…mature?”
“More mature than I am.”
“Does she have kids? ’Cause if she has kids it’ll give me leverage if she turns out to be a psycho.”
“No kids, and I’m afraid she’s a little too normal for any of us.”
Clay stopped eating. “We need to check her out, Rina.”
“Forget it. This isn’t negotiable.”
“Mmm, this is so good,” said Clay.
“Her grandmother’s recipe,” Rina smiled. “Lucia. Grandmother Lucia,” she said in her authentic Italian accent.
“What’s up with you? Jesus, were you abducted by the Italian Amish?” asked Clay. “You walk around calm and—and happy. You let things slide that normally drive you crazy.”
“What’s up with me?”
“Yes.”
“I gave up chocolate, Clay.”
“This is all…chocolate?”
Rina swallowed her bite. “Not all. It’s everything that was hiding behind my addiction.”
“I still don’t get it,” Clay said. “How could anyone actually be addicted to chocolate?”
Gigi put down her fork and looked at Rina. “I hate to bring this up while you’re eating, but Britney’s manager called and said Britney wants to have a meeting with you sometime this week.”
“Why?”
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