The Girls of Mischief Bay

by Susan Mallery

  She reached the first rack of shirts and started flipping through it. The shirts were arranged first by color and then by size. She knew the brands he favored, so that would help. She also knew the collar size and sleeve length. But as she studied shirt after shirt after shirt, she began to wonder if she could know for sure she’d found one of his.

  She turned and saw the jeans section was even bigger. White shirts seemed to go on for miles. The store was massive and there were so many people pawing through what could be her things.

  The tightness in her chest began almost before she realized what was happening. Her breathing became labored and then the first cold claws of panic reached for her soft belly and ripped it open. She gasped and clutched her midsection just as the tears began to fall.

  She gripped her cart, hoping to stay upright, but it was too much. All of it. The overhead lights, the chatter of conversation, the smell of fresh soap combined with the scent of guilt and fear. She gave in to it all and slowly sank to the ground.

  Around her she heard a few murmurs as the nearest shoppers scattered. No doubt they were worried she was some crazy person who was going to brandish a knife or something.

  “I just want to find John’s things,” she whispered.

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

  She raised her head and stared at the tall, thin, dark-haired woman standing by her cart.

  “No,” Pam admitted. “I’m not.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

  Pam sniffed. “You must really have to deal with a lot of things here. I’m not sick.” She sniffed, then struggled to her feet. “I brought my husband’s clothes in a few days ago. Now I’m trying to find them to buy them back.”

  “Did you have a fight?”

  “No. He’s gone. He died. I miss him so much.” The tears started up again. “I don’t know how to be without him.” She noticed that two security guards were heading in her direction. “Are you going to ask me to leave the store?”

  “No. Of course not. I’m going to help you find your husband’s things. When did you make the donations?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Then they’re probably not out yet. Come on back to the sorting area and we’ll see what we can find.”

  Pam pushed her cart along and followed her through to the back of the store. “Thank you for being so nice.”

  “We all have to deal with something. I know that to be true. They say God never gives us more than we can handle, but I say sometimes He assumes we’re stronger than we are. Life is a challenge.”

  She pushed through swinging doors. Pam left the cart in the store and went with her into a huge back room. There were dozens of people sorting through thousands of donations. There were televisions and furniture, household goods, pots, pans, dishes and clothes. Mountains of clothes.

  The piles were higher than a basketball player’s head. They were impossibly large. It was as if every single person in the Los Angeles metro area had donated the same day she had.

  The woman at her side was talking, explaining about where the clothes would be, given when Pam had dropped them off. And then she knew the truth—that discovering a shirt or a jacket would in no way bring John back. He was gone.

  There was no bargaining, no mourning, no begging that would bring him back. He was lost to her forever.

  “Thank you for your help,” she told the woman and started to leave.

  “You don’t want to look?”

  Pam glanced back at her. “He’s not there.”

  She walked to her car and got inside. As she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, she remembered watching a movie with John. One he’d really liked—The Shawshank Redemption. Morgan Freeman’s character had said something in the movie. That it was time to get busy living or get busy dying.

  She probably had the line wrong, but that was the heart of it, she thought. Maybe her problem was she hadn’t made a decision yet, and until she did, she was trapped in a world of pain and suffering with no possible way to escape.

  Nineteen

  The Friday night crowd at Pescadores was loud and happy. Conversation flowed easily and there was plenty of laughter. In the bar, a baseball game played silently on several televisions. Shannon caught sight of the occasional play out of the corner of her eye. She’d never noticed the TVs before, but then she’d never felt the weight of silence when she’d been out with Adam before.

  This was their first P-V-R date. P-V-R aka post vasectomy reveal. They’d gone from texting to a couple of quick calls, the last of which had been him inviting her out to dinner tonight at a place they generally enjoyed.

  She’d accepted because she loved him and missed him, but also with a sense of dread. Because there was a part of her expecting this to be where he told her he was done with her. That she wanted impossible things, that his love wasn’t the forever, I want children with you kind. That he’d been more interested in getting laid than happily ever after.

  Even as she’d wrestled with her fears, she’d told herself she was being unfair. That Adam had been nothing but sweet and kind and open and attentive. That she shouldn’t assume the worst about him or them. But she was scared. After years of thinking she could never “have it all,” she’d finally found someone who saw who she was and still loved her. She’d allowed herself to hope and now this.

  She’d had a late meeting so they’d met at the restaurant instead of him picking her up. Not as convenient, she thought, but if things went south, at least she would be able to get away without a hideously awkward ride home.

  Not that the meal was going any better, she mused. Since being seated, they’d discussed the weather and how the Dodgers were off to a good start on the season but were likely to disappoint later in the summer.

  They’d ordered wine and an appetizer and now were left on their own. Which was turning out not to be a good thing.

  She glanced at him, liking the shape of his face and the kindness in his eyes. He was such a great guy, she thought wistfully. She’d known there were going to be issues they had to deal with but had assumed they would be about her getting involved with his kids or getting along with his ex-wife. For some reason, she’d never once thought they would be on different sides of the “I want kids” debate.

  He reached across the table and touched the back of her hand. “We should talk about it.”

  She nodded. “We should. I’m sorry I sprang the topic of more kids on you without warning. It never occurred to me that you’d feel differently. Foolish, but there we are.”

  “My vasectomy doesn’t meant I don’t want kids,” he began, then stopped himself. “At least, it…” Another pause.

  She really wanted to pull her hand back, but that seemed hostile. In truth, she felt the need to protect herself rather than withdraw. She wanted to curl up in a ball or have some layer of armor between her and him. Not that all the steel in the world would be enough to protect her from what he was trying too hard not to say.

  “I get it,” she said quietly. “You had your family and you were happy with Oliver and Char. You didn’t expect to get a divorce so why not? And even knowing you were going to be single again, you still had your complete family. I’m not there yet. I may not have made all the right decisions in the past, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to give up on being a mother.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he told her. “You’d be a great mom.”

>   “That’s yet to be proven.”

  He smiled and withdrew his hand. “I have faith in you.”

  She pressed her now-free arm against her stomach. “I wish I could say the same about myself. I guess I’ll have to figure out that one later.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” Adam told her. “The kid thing came up suddenly.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to scare you. We haven’t been dating that long.”

  “Long enough. I love you, Shannon. I want this to work. Can we keep moving forward with the idea we’ll be talking about our future and coming up with a plan that works for both of us?”

  She nodded because it was the mature thing to do. But in her head, she was less agreeable. How were they supposed to fix the problem? Was it possible for him to get his vasectomy reversed? She understood there were other options but wasn’t sure what he meant by coming up with a plan.

  She opened her mouth to ask him to be more specific, then pressed her lips together. Their relationship was too new, she thought. There was too much going on too soon. They didn’t have the history needed to get through it all.

  They weren’t going to make it, she thought suddenly. By bringing up children, she’d sent them down the road to the end. There was no fixing things now, she thought sadly. There was only getting through it all.

  “We do need time,” she said, doing her best to keep her mouth from trembling as she fought against the pain of the inevitable. She hadn’t met anyone like Adam ever. She’d been so sure he was the one. Yet here they were.

  “You won’t give up on me?” he asked.

  “No,” she promised, knowing it was the truth. She wouldn’t be giving up on him. But it was just a matter of time until he gave up on her.

  * * *

  “Come shopping with me,” Eric said with a grin. “Come on, you’ve got time. Tyler’s at preschool and Greta will pick him up when he’s done. You don’t have class until four. I’ll get you back in time.”

  Nicole couldn’t say what surprised her more. The invitation or the fact that Eric had shown up at her studio. He never came here. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered where it was.

  She hadn’t seen much of him in the past few weeks. He’d been busy starting his new life as a successful screenwriter. They’d hired the slightly scary Greta and she’d started on Monday. So far things seemed to be going fine. Tyler liked her and Nicole was determined not to be intimidated by her.

  She thought about all the things she had to do, then told herself they could wait. She and Eric needed some time alone together.

  “Shopping, it is,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Where are we going?”

  “Where else?”

  “Not Beverly Hills,” she said. “That’s ridiculous. It’s so expensive.”

  Eric opened the passenger side door of his new red BMW convertible. “Only the best for us. Only the best.”

  They headed toward the 405 freeway, then got on going north.

  Traffic was light in the middle of the day. The temperature was warm and the sky a perfect California blue. Eric turned on the radio to a popular pop station, then surprised her by reaching across the console and taking her hand in his.

  “I’ve finished the first round of revisions on my screenplay,” he said. “There were a lot of notes. I’m expecting another go-round, but Jacob said with what I’ve done, he’s ready to move forward.”

  “That’s great.”

  She knew Jacob was the producer who had bought Eric’s screenplay. He wanted to get it into production as quickly as possible. Nicole wasn’t sure of all the steps involved, nor did she understand who the players were. From what she’d been able to piece together, Eric’s sale had been something of a lightning strike. Instead of going through the usual channels and having it take forever, he’d gotten lucky.

  A member of his critique group was neighbors with Jacob. While Jacob hadn’t been interested in his buddy comedy, he’d been intrigued when told about Eric’s techno-thriller. They’d had a meeting, Jacob had read the screenplay and had made the impossible offer.

  Now they were moving forward with making a movie. From what she heard, most screenplays got optioned first. Those that were bought generally languished and were never made. Talk about a roller coaster.

  “You must be so proud of yourself,” she said. “What you’ve done is impressive.”

  He smiled at her. “I couldn’t have done it without your support.”

  “I don’t think I was very supportive. I yelled a lot.”

  “I deserved it. I should have been more clear about what I wanted. I should have made you a part of things. I’m sorry about that. But it’s going to be different now. You’ll see.”

  A promise she wanted to believe. And while part of her was willing to accept that he was right, she couldn’t be completely sure. Chasing dreams took time—she got that. But she still had the sense of being on the outside, looking in.

  They exited the freeway and headed east into Beverly Hills. Eric talked about what it would take to get the movie into production, how they would be filming in Vancouver and London and who would be in the starring roles.

  “Jacob and I have talked about an unknown for the female lead. Like a young Jennifer Lawrence.”

  Nicole laughed. “She’s only what? Twenty-five. How young are you thinking?”

  “Okay, not young, but undiscovered. The male lead would go to someone who can bring in the audience. There’s a spot.”

  He pulled into a lot and parked. They got out and walked toward the sidewalk.

  Nicole couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in Beverly Hills. When she was little, her mother used to bring her here every few weeks. They would window-shop and study the rich women who strolled so casually.

  “One day you’ll be famous,” her mother had promised. “You’ll shop here. You’ll buy the most expensive clothes and jewelry. Everyone will know who you are.”

  At first that dream had sounded fun but as Nicole had learned what it took to be successful as an actress or a dancer, she’d begun to wonder if it was worth all the effort. Of course, that had been before she’d discovered she didn’t have the talent.

  Now she lived what most would consider an ordinary life. She didn’t have any regrets about how things had gone. Wouldn’t it be funny if the whole dream her mother had for her was fulfilled by Eric?

  “Here we are,” Eric said, pointing to the front of a store.

  She studied the big windows and the display mannequins in suits and more casual clothes. The styles were the right combination of trendy and timeless, with impeccable tailoring and beautiful fabrics. It took money to look that good, she thought, slightly startled and totally bemused.

  Of course, she thought, doing her best not to laugh as they entered the European-based menswear store. Why would she have thought otherwise? Because when Eric had asked her to go shopping, she’d assumed it was for her. And she’d been completely wrong.

  “Good afternoon,” a middle-aged well-dressed salesman said as he approached. “How may I help you?”

  “I’m looking for a few new looks,” Eric told him. “Hollywood casual. Clothes I can wear to meetings and to parties.” He turned to Nicole. “Maybe one suit and a tux. What do you think?”

  “That sounds about right, although I’m not sure you need a tux right now. I’d wait until award season and get something then.”

  “Good point,” Eric said, and kissed her ch
eek. He turned back to the salesman. “No tux.”

  “As you wish. I’m Phillip. And you are?”

  Introductions were made all around.

  “Why don’t you come this way and we’ll get started,” Phillip said. “Would either of you like a glass of champagne?”

  “We both would,” Eric said easily, as if shopping with champagne was an everyday occurrence.

  Nicole followed them to the back of the store. She was seated on a comfortable love seat. An assistant brought out two glasses of champagne on a silver tray while Phillip took Eric’s measurements, then asked him a few questions about where he would need the clothing.

  “You’re in the business?” Phillip asked.

  No need to clarify. There was only the one business in Los Angeles.

  “Screenwriter.”

  Phillip’s expression remained impassive. “You’ve sold it?”

  “A seven-figure deal.”

  Phillip got a whole lot friendlier. “Excellent. Congratulations. We have everything you’re going to need. You’ll want to look fashionable, but without trying too hard. Casual but not sloppy. The focus is on you, not what you’re wearing. One suit for now. Navy, I think. It will all be about the tailoring. Prada, perhaps. The Italians know what they’re doing with a suit. Give me a few minutes to collect some samples. I’ll be right back.”

  Two hours later, they left the store. They were each carrying bags. Eric had bought everything from socks to a leather bomber jacket. Most of the pants, along with the suit, required tailoring and he would pick them up later.

  “I need to get you home,” he said as he stored everything in the trunk. “Then get to my meeting.” He walked around to the passenger side and held open her door. “You should take yourself shopping when you get a chance. Buy some new things.”