Helen of Pasadena

by Lian Dolan

  I wondered instead: How did Helen of Troy make it up this hill without ruining her gown?

  The Trojan dirt is a deep gray with flecks of silver limestone, but on Dr. Patrick O’Neill, who was lightly covered in the stuff, it looked like a sheen of the finest oils. He stood in the ten-foot-deep trench, glistening. His eyes were fixed on an invisible treasure in the walls, measuring and scribbling notes. A handful of students stood nearby, taking photos and notes as well. They turned to check me out, the overdressed outsider. Patrick hadn’t heard me coming, so I could take in the familiar linen shirt, the long legs and the strength of his exposed forearms. I thought the guy looked good in front of a computer terminal, but here, in his natural surroundings, he was ... he was….

  Ekram interrupted my festival for the eyes. “Dr. O’Neill. Your lady is here.”

  Patrick turned and squinted up at me, my silhouette outlined by the setting sun. The shade of dust heightened the blue in his eyes, the line of his mouth. “Helen, welcome to Troy.”

  As Patrick climbed up the ladder out of the trench, I had a moment to panic about the proper greeting. Hug only? Euro double-cheek kiss? Quick peck on the lips, followed by hug? I shouldn’t have worried.

  Patrick knew exactly what he wanted: a deep, long, full-on-the-mouth kiss. Who cared how dirty Travel Outfit #3 got? I was overwhelmed; Patrick was not. He whispered, “You’re here. Finally.”

  Yes, finally.

  I think one of the female students almost passed out.

  “Okay, guys, finish up without me. Don’t forget to catalogue the soil samples, Greta. Oh, Ekram, will you tell the cook I won’t be eating with the crew tonight? We’ll take something in my tent at 7. Leave some limeade and wine now, with fruit. Ms. Fairchild and I have some catching up to do.”

  Ekram nodded and disappeared like magic. The grad students stared in stunned silence. My knees wobbled a touch as Patrick firmly led me toward the small tent village in the distance.

  When we were out of earshot of the others, he finally spoke. “Your trip was good?”

  “I don’t remember a single detail before the last two minutes.”

  “Did you bring my cheeseburger?”

  “They confiscated it in Frankfurt. Something about the frilly toothpick.”

  Patrick stopped and pulled me close. “I’ve missed you, Helen.”

  “I can’t believe I’m here. What am I doing here?”

  “We have a few days to find out, don’t we?” He stroked my hair, then bent down to kiss my neck. “Do you want a tour of the site?”

  “Later.” I ran my fingers over Patrick’s dusty chest, then touched the moon and the stars on his forearm. “There’s something I want to do first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Take a shower.”

  Hours later, relaxing on the wooden deck in front of Patrick’s sturdy white tent, I felt the strong pull of history from Helen to Sophia to me. Maybe there was something in the shining gray dirt that made women bolder. Or less inhibited. Or just plain stupid. Those Turkish sheets certainly lived up to their reputation. “I have a good idea: Let’s spend the next couple of days re-creating some of those scenes from the Schliemann Journals. You know, Rudy and Sophia and those long summer nights. Like Journal XI, page 118. That was pretty sexy. How about that one?”

  “Helen of Pasadena, I’m shocked!” Patrick mocked, pouring me another glass of wine, part of the simple feast that the cook had set out for us. “I suppose you could consider re-creating certain scenes from the journal ‘research.’ I only wish I’d known of this particular academic interest earlier. It certainly would have enlivened our afternoons at the Huntington.”

  “At the time, I wasn’t quite ready for that level of … commitment to the work, Dr. O’Neill,” I half joked.

  “And now?”

  “I think I’m ready.” The sky was a deep blue, not yet black. The ancient plains stretched out before my eyes to the sea. I felt like I’d been here before. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Patrick leaned forward. “Of course.”

  “That morning back in May. At the hotel. You were going to say something and I cut you off. I was afraid to let you finish. I thought I could make it easier for both of us if I came up with the usual ‘not the right time, not the right place’ speech. But I think I was wrong. Do you remember what you were going to say?”

  “Yes, I do. I was going to say that I couldn’t.…” Patrick leaned back, avoiding my eyes. He seemed to struggle with the words. Damn. “… I couldn’t offer you what you had: a traditional life. With the house and the stability and a man who wore a suit and tie to work. But I wanted to offer you something, part of … me. I’ve been alone for years, always working. And I didn’t want to be, I don’t want to be, alone anymore. That morning, I wanted to ask you to be part of my life. You get me, Helen—my work, my life. I live in Athens, I work here, but still, I wanted you to be a part of that somehow.”

  You had me at hello.

  Patrick chuckled. “Wow, that sounds pretty selfish now that I actually say it out loud.”

  “Does your offer still stand?”

  He nodded, slightly surprised, waiting for an explanation. So I provided the best one I could. “I’m a planner, Patrick. I’ve been one my whole life. But after this last year, I understand that things don’t always go as planned. And I’m okay with that. I don’t know what the next phase of my life is going to be like, beyond getting Aiden through high school. But I’d like you to be a part of my life, too. I don’t need traditional anymore, at least I don’t think I do. We can make something work. Somehow.”

  “I’ll be back in California for a fundraising dinner in December that Ted Gamble is putting together. Does that qualify as somehow?” Patrick kissed me gently on the nose.

  “Yes, for now, anyway. Wait here.” I was reminded of one more item on my to-do list. I slipped back into the tent, in what I hoped was a feline maneuver, re-emerging a minute later with the pink scarf in the pocket of my linen shirt. “I think I owe you this, Dr. O’Neill.”

  I held out the treasured accessory. Patrick stood, taking the scarf from my hands and gently tying it around my neck, kissing me softly.

  “Come with me, Helen. I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “The earth, the heavens, the sea, the untiring sun, the moon at full.…”

  “Deal.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Though the actual writing of a novel is a solitary pursuit, the publication of a novel is not. Helen of Pasadena would still be an outline in my head without the support, encouragement and cheerleading from the following:

  Colleen Dunn Bates has been a friend, neighbor and work/life balance guinea pig for years; now, she is my publisher. Many thanks to Colleen and Prospect Park Books for taking a chance on a first-time novelist and doing so with such faith and fun. Thanks also to Caroline Purvis at Prospect Park, whose enthusiasm is matched only by her organizational skills.

  The Hell-Raising Heroines, my online writing group, kept me on track and perfectly punctuated when grammar eluded me. Special thanks to Kate Mason and Catherine Lucey, both of whom are wonderful writers, careful readers and fabulous women. Someday we should meet in something other than a Google chat room! Thanks also to Erika Mailman, who taught the novel writing course at mediabistro.com. Her early enthusiasm for Helen was inspiring.

  Linda Francis Lee shared her wisdom and wit with me, a total stranger on the phone, when I needed it. Thanks, Alana Sanko, for connecting us. Thanks also to Sally Bjornsen and Jodi Wing for their time and generosity.

  My Pasadena Posse, all the women who have cheered me on and supported my far-reaching media career in all its forms—thank you for your friendship and positive energy. I really owe lunch to: Ryan Newman, my personal therapist and walking partner; Susan Pai, a true connector and friend; Sally Mann, my fashion consultant for Helen; and Candy Renick, who let me steal her name.

  My family: Thanks to Brookes
and Colin for your patience and understanding. And for not bothering me for hours on end so I could write. Finally, all the gratitude in the world to my husband, Berick Treidler. Enough said.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lian Dolan is a writer, producer, talk show host, podcast pioneer and social media consultant. She writes the blog and produces the weekly podcast The Chaos Chronicles, a humorous look at modern motherhood, and she writes weekly for Oprah. com as a parenting expert.

  A decade ago, Lian created Satellite Sisters, a talk show, blog and website, with her four real sisters. From 2000 to 2009, Satellite Sisters won eight Gracie Allen Awards and had a million listeners a week. Lian is also the co-author of Satellite Sisters UnCommon Senses (Riverhead), and her writing has appeared in many national magazines. She is a popular speaker, always using humor as hook.

  Lian lives with her husband and their two sons in Pasadena, California.

  Q & A

  WITH AUTHOR LIAN DOLAN

  Unlike your protagonist in Helen of Pasadena, you’re not the daughter of pot-smoking Oregon fiber artists—you grew up in Southport, Connecticut. Isn’t that a lot like Pasadena? How did you get that outsider’s perspective that allows for such a witty and smart look at the more upscale side of the city?

  I often say that Pasadena is like Southport with palm trees. There is a real sense of tradition and civic pride in Pasadena that is very familiar to a Connecticut Yankee. Many families have been here for generations, attending the same schools, belonging to the same clubs, raising money for longstanding organizations, and living in the same neighborhoods. Pasadena residents love their city and everything it represents in terms of arts, culture, education and sports. They can’t imagine living anywhere else.

  But even while I’m comfortable with Pasadena’s societal workings, I’m not quite on the inside, having only lived here two decades! That leaves a lot of opportunity for observation.

  Pomona College is what brought you to Southern California. What made you stay? And why Pasadena?

  I left Southern California after graduation, but I guess it never left me. Six years later, I was back because I fell in love with a Pasadena boy. I was living in Portland, Oregon, and working in sports broadcasting when we got engaged. It wasn’t much of a negotiation, because he was clearly never leaving Southern California to live in the Pacific Northwest. Plus, he already owned a house near the Rose Bowl at age 25! Everything I owned fit in a Volkswagen. It made sense for me to move. I stayed because the beauty and energy of the city really fit my style. Plus, once again, husband never leaving, so I didn’t really have a choice.

  You were a Classical Studies major in college and studied in Athens your junior year. Did you want to be Indiana Jones?

  I was 16 when Raiders of the Lost Ark came out, so mainly I wanted to marry Indiana Jones. But the movie did inspire me to love archaeology. Plus, my parents forced me to take Latin in high school, which I ended up loving. In college, I studied Greek, plus history and archaeology. After spending a semester in Athens, I really thought I would have this very rewarding, romantic career digging up stuff in the Greek Isles. But, frankly, I wasn’t smart enough. Advanced ancient Greek did me in. And so did the thought of spending ten years post-college in pursuit of a doctorate. Instead of grad school, I moved to Jackson Hole to be a ski bum for two years. I think that says it all about my academic fortitude.

  But I still love history and am hugely jealous of people who can make a career pursuing the tiniest historical details with passion and scholarship. That is a dream job to me.

  It’s said that first novels are usually autobiographical. Is the title character Helen based on you?

  Absolutely not. Hahaha.

  Is Patrick O’Neill based on one of your college professors?

  Don’t I wish! Then maybe I would have found that academic fire I needed! Actually, I did have one archaeology professor that I had a little crush on… but he owned no nubby sweaters as far as I know. To create Patrick O’Neill, I researched actual archaeologists and modeled his fictional work and resume after the real Dr. Manfred Korfmann, a famous German archaeologist who managed the excavation at Troy until his early death. For the sizzle, I turned to the Facebook group “Bringing Sexy Back To Archaeology.” Yes, such a group exists, and the women of Sexy Archaeology were very helpful in describing the sexiest professors they ever had. I owe Patrick’s nubby sweaters, his tattoo, his tanned forearms and his quiet, thoughtful work habits to them.

  You already had a busy enough life as a mother, columnist, podcaster, blogger, volunteer, wife, sister, daughter and dog walker—how did you fit writing a novel in there?

  My writing teacher said that to write a novel, you have to give up something, so I gave up yoga to write in the morning.

  But before I even got to that stage, I knew I had a novel in me—but with so much going on, I couldn’t focus on fiction. Then when my radio show, Satellite Sisters, ended unexpectedly, I had an opening in my schedule. I was used to creating and performing six days a week on air, so I refocused that energy on writing. Unlike Helen, I jumped right in without overthinking the situation! I took an online novel-writing class and forced myself to write for the class critique group to stay accountable. I am a big believer in deadlines as a motivator. And announcing to the world that I was writing a novel and committing my energy to the process was key.

  There’s never a perfect time to write. If you wait for that, you may never get anything done. Plunging in was the key for me.

  You’ve lived in Pasadena a long time and have a lot of friends and family there. Are you worried that they might be offended when you have some fun at their town’s expense? Or if they see themselves in some of the more comic characters?

  Should I be worried? Dang, I hope no one eggs my house. I think most people have a sense of humor about themselves and the lives they lead. I satirize with much love. Hey, I’m the girl who gave up her career in sports for a Volvo with a keyless remote entry. Plus, I was sensible enough not to use any one person wholesale as a character. Or one school or charity. Everyone and everything really is fictionalized—a hazy stew of the people, places and events I’ve experienced.

  Has your teenage son read Helen of Pasadena? Does he think the character of Aiden is based on him?

  No, he hasn’t read it. There’s one upside to having a boy who doesn’t like to read! I could have made Aiden exactly like him and he never would have known. There are similarities between the two boys, but Aiden is not a carbon copy.

  I made Helen’s child a boy because I do know boys better, being the mother of two young men. For the plot’s sake, I wanted Aiden to have that parallel with Merritt and the pressure that comes with that. Plus, contrary to popular belief, boys at that age are emotional and complicated. And they can still be very sweet to their mothers.

  Is your husband anything like Merritt?

  100% no! First of all, my husband is a UCLA fan, not a USC guy. Enough said.

  In the novel, a lot of psychic energy is expended over education— specifically, the panic to get kids into the “right” school. Do you think American parents obsess about their kids’ educations?

  Of course we do! As parents, it gives meaning to our angst. I don’t know why we’ve ratcheted up the stakes for our children, but we have. Pasadena is a town where a great number of kids attend private and parochial schools, so the jockeying for admission starts in pre-K and is out of control by college. That was new for me, having gone to public schools my whole life, only going through the admissions process as a senior in high school. But it's not just in Pasadena: Today the pressure on kids to perform academically and athletically exists in every community all over the country. Having Aiden not attend the expected high school was my not-so-subtle way of saying that even though we may have expectations for our children, they have their own strengths and weaknesses, hopes and desires. Just a little parenting message in the fiction!

  We hear you’re working on two more novels in what’s
being called the Rose City Trilogy. Can you spill a bit about them?

  Both books will combine contemporary women and their historical counterparts. Both books will continue to explore the many roles women play as wives, friends, sisters, mothers, daughters, patrons of hair salons. And, of course, both books will be set in Pasadena, using the city’s rich cultural heritage as a backdrop. And you may see some familiar characters popping up again, because every book about Pasadena should include a former Rose Queen!