Hello, Hollywood!

by Janice Thompson

“Go back to bed, Athena. You need the rest. Poor girl.” She began to speak in Greek. Something about how no man would find me attractive in my current condition. Lovely.

  I offered up my best argument. “No, I want to help. You need me.”

  She pointed to my eyes, a look of horror on her face. “Not that bad.”

  “I’ll look better after I take a shower and put on some makeup. Don’t worry.”

  She clucked her tongue and disappeared into the hallway, muttering something in Greek about how life shouldn’t be this hard for a twenty-eight-year-old who still lived at home with her mother. About how she’d hoped for a better life for me. I chose to ignore her comments. I turned on the shower, letting it run until the bathroom filled with steam.

  I’d hoped the hot shower would awaken me, but it nearly proved to be my undoing instead. Apparently the heat of the water and my lack of sleep were a poor combination. I found myself feeling worse than ever. Woozy, even. What a mess.

  I staggered out of the shower, forgetting to rinse the conditioner out of my hair, which meant I had to get back in. Good grief.

  Snap out of it, Athena. Just be normal.

  I managed to dress, though I ended up with two shoes that didn’t match. After straightening out that fiasco, I headed to the car and drove to Super-Gyros, ready to put last night’s craziness behind me. With each new day came new blessings. Right?

  Moments later, I joined the rest of my family behind the counter. The familiar scent of peppers, onions, and spices almost roused me from my daze. Almost. At least I felt at home at the shop. I was among my own people, people who didn’t care if I could make them laugh or not.

  Aunt Melina sat in the play area with the kids, her trusty coffee mug at her side. I knew it didn’t really contain coffee. Well, not much. She often flavored her real beverage of choice with a bit of coffee. Probably to disguise the truth. I had to wonder how long she could go on hiding her real issues from the world. Did she even want help, or had she grown content in her pain?

  I went to work on the phyllo dough, remembering my middle-of-the-night ponderings. Maybe that bakery idea wasn’t such a bad one after all. I’d try to sneak away after the lunch crowd left to check out the empty space on the other end of the strip mall. Maybe I’d even take Mama with me. See what she thought about the idea. Surely she’d have a lot of advice about baking. And she certainly knew the ins and outs of running a business.

  Oh, who was I kidding? I couldn’t bake baklava for a living. God had called me to write, and write I must. Hadn’t every writer who’d ever pounded the keys gone through something like this? Surely my insecurities were ill-founded. Yes, of course they were. Why, in a day or two, I’d be over this. Hopefully.

  Hey, here’s an idea. Who says I have to write sitcoms? I can always get work at the newspaper. Put out a few magazine articles. Well, sure. Newspapers are always looking for writers.

  But what if I ended up writing for one of those gossip magazines? My fiction-telling skills were good . . . but not that good. Besides, my conscience wouldn’t allow me to exaggerate the truth. Unless . . .

  An idea took hold, one I couldn’t ignore. Maybe I could write a book. Yeah, I could write a book. A murder mystery about a Las Vegas comic who turned up missing after moving to L.A.

  Nah. The publishers would never buy it. Too predictable.

  What was up with these neurotic notions rolling through my brain? Hadn’t I spent the wee hours of the night praying about all of this? Hadn’t I given my worries to God? He probably wouldn’t take kindly to my current train of thought or the fact that I still seemed to be in fix-it mode.

  Lord, help me. I’m trying to take my hands off. Really.

  “You okay, Athena-bean?” My father looked my way, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You . . . well, you don’t look like yourself today.”

  Ugh. I’d hoped a pound and a half of makeup would’ve disguised that fact.

  “I’m okay, Babbas.” A tiny sigh escaped, one I hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Just a few problems at the office.”

  “Again?” My father took a couple of steps in my direction. “They treat my daughter badly?”

  “No, not really. I just . . .” I felt the sting of tears. “I’m just not sure about my job security anymore. What happens if they boot me out the door? Then what?”

  “Ah. Is that all?” He slipped me into a warm embrace. “It’s okay, Athena-bean. You can come work for Babbas. All the gyros you can eat and good company too.” He flashed a toothy smile. “And we have a great dental program.”

  Great. Just what I’d always hoped for. A great dental program. With all the pastries I planned to consume to drown my woes, I’d probably need it.

  “We’ll talk later, Babbas,” I said, then gave him a little kiss on the cheek. One thing about my father, he sure knew how to make a girl forget about her troubles. I’d found him to be the perfect counterbalance to the guys at the office, who loved nothing more than pointing them out.

  Elbow-deep in phyllo dough, I shifted gears, determined to put my worries behind me. Off in the distance, the bell above the door clanged, and I looked up as an elderly man entered, shoulders stooped. His soft, wrinkled skin reminded me of a pug puppy, and the pale blue-gray eyes spoke of weariness. Wow. He’d make a great character in a sketch. I filed away his physical attributes for use in a future episode. If I kept my job, anyway. Right now I’d better not be making any plans for the future, just in case.

  The man straightened a bit, brushed the rain from his jacket, and sighed. “They told me it never rains in Southern California.” I recognized the accent at once. Greek. Thick yet shaky. “They were wrong.”

  Mama smiled in his direction. “Sorry about the weather, but welcome to Super-Gyros. What can I get for you? Are you hungry? If so, we have the best gyros in the state. And if you like coffees, ours are wonderful, simply wonderful.”

  He stared at her as if seeing an apparition. “Thera. Little Thera.” His voice trembled. For that matter, so did his hands as he extended them in her direction. “You don’t remember me, child?”

  “Remember you?” Mama stared at him for a moment, a blank expression on her face. I drew near. So did my sister. And my sister’s children. And Babbas. After a few moments, the man said something to my mother in Greek. I barely made out his words through his tears. His name, maybe?

  “M-milo Consapolis?” Mama’s eyes widened and she took a step backward. “Aunt Athena’s Milo?” Mama began to rant in Greek, her emotions now in full swing.

  “One and the same.” He extended his hand once again, now speaking only in Greek. “Though if memory serves me correctly, your aunt broke my heart when you were quite young, so you can hardly call me Athena’s Milo.”

  “She broke your heart?” Mama shook her head. “But she always said . . .”

  “That I left because she took you in?”

  “Yes.” Mama’s voice broke and tears filled her eyes.

  Milo shook his head. “Nothing could be farther from the truth. I was perfectly agreeable with the idea of marrying Athena and taking you into my home as my own child until your parents could send for you. That was never a problem.”

  Mama nearly collapsed against the countertop at this news. “Then why did she say that?”

  “You know of her legal struggles, right?”

  “Legal struggles?” Mama shook her head. “No.”

  “When her mother died, the family estate was left to Athena under the condition that it remain in the family name. She was in her late thirties at the time and had never married. Likely her mother thought she would remain unattached. Athena’s attorney advised her not to marry if she wanted to keep the home.” He shrugged. “I’m sure there were ways around it, but her fear kept her from finding out, so she remained single.” The pain in his eyes reflected his feelings about that.

  “I had no idea.” Mama swiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Milo nodded, still looking wounded. “Athena had s
o many internal struggles. In my heart, I believe she thought I would eventually leave her, just like her papa abandoned her as a little girl. You know?” He took Mama’s hand. “Thera, I know that she loved you, in spite of the way things looked, and I felt you had a right to know.”

  “You’ve come all the way here—to California—to tell me this?” Mama wiped away a tear and sniffled. “I can’t believe it. God bless you for that.”

  “Well, I came for another reason too.” Milo shifted back to English. “I received a call from Athena’s attorney the week after she passed away with specific instructions to bring you a gift. One she wished you to have.”

  “A gift?” Now my mother’s tears began in earnest. “Yes, I received the letter. I knew some sort of inheritance was on its way. Oh, that poor, dear woman. How I misjudged her over the years! This just goes to show you that no one is beyond God’s reach. He has worked a miracle by softening my heart toward her, even if it is too late.”

  Milo winked, the soft wrinkles around his eyes becoming more pronounced. “You wait. I bring him in.”

  “Him?” Mama’s face paled, and she fanned herself with a napkin. “Oh, heaven help us. Don’t tell me Mean-Athena had a son no one knew about. I don’t think I could take another shock.”

  “Not a son . . . exactly.” Milo’s expression shifted, but I couldn’t quite read it. What was this guy up to?

  Moments later he returned with a crate in hand. A dog crate. He set it on the ground and nudged it along with a push. “Pappas family, I give you Zeus, Athena’s only child. He’s a Greek Domestic Dog.”

  Milo opened the door to the strangest-looking dog I’d ever seen. The little mongrel bounded out of the crate, heading straight for the cheese display. Once there, he leaped up on the table, pouncing on the plate of feta samples. Next he headed to the meat aisle, where he attacked a package of salami and chewed through the plastic. Then he set his eyes on me.

  Uh-oh. I formed a cross with my index fingers as if to ward off the evil spirit dwelling inside the beast, then took giant steps backward as he lunged my way.

  Aunt Melina went a little crazy at this point. She spit three times—as was her custom whenever she encountered demon spirits—and muttered, “Ftou, ftou, ftou!”

  It didn’t work. The dog leaped up, knocking over my cup of coffee, which spilled all over my white blouse. My foot landed in a wet spot on the floor and I went sprawling. The ornery mutt took this as a sign that I wanted to play. He jumped me—literally—licking my face, my ears, my hair, and my hands. I found myself pinned to the ground, the smell of doggy breath nearly causing me to hurl.

  “Get away from me, you mangy mutt,” I hollered. “What do you think you’re doing?” I clamped my eyes shut, willing the dog away. Still, the licking continued, though Milo did his best to pull the dog away. Disgusting!

  A decidedly male voice rang out, merging with the other sights, sounds, and smells. “Athena, if you’re gonna run with the big dogs, you’re gonna have to move faster than that.”

  I looked up, my gaze landing on Adonis. Er, Stephen. Perfect. Couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried. Rex and Lenora stood behind him. I noticed that Lenora wore a glittering white gown and carried a scepter. Well, at least I thought it was a scepter. She’d obviously made it out of tinfoil. It took me a minute to figure out her costume, but I finally got it. Glenda, the good witch.

  Apparently the sequins in her gown interested the dog too. He bolted her direction, yapping to beat the band. Stephen intervened, grabbing the dog by the collar and yanking him back. His voice remained low but steady. Firm. “Don’t even think about it.”

  In that moment, I wished Lenora could wave her magic wand and send Toto—er, Zeus—right back to Kansas. Or Greece. Whatever.

  Mama, never one to miss an opportunity to marry me off to any available candidate, set her eye on Stephen. “Who do we have here?”

  “Stephen Cosse. I work with—” He never got to finish the sentence because the dog jumped up and licked him in the face.

  My brother appeared from the back room, concern registering in his eyes as he saw Zeus. “Someone want to explain why we have a dog in the shop? Do we want the health department to shut us down?” His gaze shifted to Lenora in her shimmering getup, then back to the dog. No telling which one brought more confusion.

  “This is Zeus!” Milo proclaimed. “Your inheritance from the motherland.”

  “We inherited a dog?” Niko took a few steps in our direction and extended his hand to help me up. Thank goodness.

  “Not just any dog,” I said, brushing off my pants legs. “A Greek dog.”

  The cantankerous canine turned and offered a low growl, as if willing my brother to stay put. Never one to be outdone, Niko reached for the broom and began to wave it in the dog’s face, which caused the longest—and loudest—yapping spree I’d ever witnessed outside of watching The Dog Whisperer. Seriously? What kind of dog could keep on barking that long and not eventually end up with vocal strain?

  At this point, Milo handed Mama a note. She opened it, her hands trembling so hard I knew she wouldn’t be able to read it. “Athena?” She looked my way. “Would you?”

  “Is it written in Greek?” I asked. “I can speak the language, but you know I can’t read it. Not well, anyway.” If I attempted to translate that letter, no telling what I’d come up with.

  “I can,” Stephen said. “If it’s not too personal, I’ll be happy to translate it for you. My Greek is still pretty good.”

  Of course it is.

  “I’m sorry, but who did you say you are again?” Mama asked.

  He extended his hand. “Stephen Cosse. I work with Athena. I’m a writer.”

  My mother took his hand, gripping it firmly. “And you read Greek?”

  He nodded, and I passed the note his way, knowing Mama wasn’t in any shape to be reading it. If it turned out to be private information, she could forgive me later.

  Stephen’s voice remained steady as he read the words in the letter. “Thera, if you’re reading this note, I have gone to be with Jesus.”

  My brother grunted and muttered something under his breath.

  Stephen continued. “May the gift I give you today bring you as much joy as you brought me as a child.”

  “Aw, how sweet.” Mama managed a half smile. “Well, maybe she—” A pause followed and her smile faded. “Wait a minute. I never brought her joy as a child, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. She always acted like she hated me. So what do you think she’s trying to say about the dog? Is she sending some sort of subliminal message, perhaps?”

  Zeus jumped up and growled at my mother, baring his teeth. Ack.

  Stephen snapped his fingers and the dog settled down. He gestured to the letter. “There’s more. Want me to read it?”

  “I guess.” Mama sighed. “Good old Athena. Always has to get the last word.”

  I turned to Stephen to explain. “Just so we’re clear about this, my mother is talking about my dead aunt, Athena. Not me.”

  “Ah.” The edges of his lips curled up for a moment. “Thanks for clarifying. I wondered. I’ll file that away for future reference.”

  Hmm. There were a few things I wanted to file away as well. My wandering thoughts, for instance. How could I focus on poor Aunt Athena and her mangy mutt with such a handsome man standing next to me?

  Who was this guy, anyway? He’d come all the way from Vegas to our gyro shop to translate a letter from my dead aunt? Seriously? Had all of this been orchestrated as part of some great cosmic plan, or could the timing of his visit today be deemed a coincidence?

  Stephen read the rest of the note—basically instructions on how to feed and care for the dog—then handed it back to my mother. She folded it and put it in her apron pocket, shaking her head all the while.

  “Well, now. I will pray about this, and we will decide what to do with the dog.” Mama turned her focus to our guests, clasping her hands at her chest. “In the mean
time, are you hungry? Come. I’ll fix you the best gyro you’ve ever eaten.”

  Talk about switching gears. Clearly she did not care to address this any further. But all of the questions I had about Mean-Athena rushed through my head. She had left a lasting impression on my mother, and obviously not a good one. Was this gift an attempt to make things right, or some sort of subliminal message?

  Mama reiterated her offer to feed our guests.

  “I’m happy to take you up on that,” Milo said. “Smells like home in here.”

  “It is.” Babbas smiled. “Home to us, and now home to you. Any friend from Greece is a true friend indeed.”

  I should embroider that on a sampler and hang it on the wall.

  “I ate a Super-Gyro last Saturday,” Stephen said. “Which is why I talked Rex and Lenora into coming back today.” A boyish smile lit his face. “Haven’t had a sandwich like that in years. Not since I was a kid, back in Jersey. Not just everyone can build the perfect gyro.”

  “You do make the best gyro in town.” Rex offered my mother a smile.

  Mama grinned. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Liked it?” A look of pure bliss passed over Stephen’s face. “I’ve dreamed about it all week. And I promised Brooke I’d pick up lunch while I was out. She’s waiting back at our place, so I can’t stay long.”

  “Brooke?” My mama’s joy seemed to fade as she repeated the name. “Your . . . your girlfriend?”

  Could you be any more obvious, Mama?

  “No, my daughter.” As soon as Stephen spoke the word daughter, his face lit up and his eyes misted over. “Brooke is eleven. She’s lived with me since she was four. Her mom . . .” He shook his head. “Anyway, she’s not part of Brooke’s life. Haven’t heard from her in years. So I’m dad and mom. It’s been challenging at times, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, you should’ve seen me trying to French braid her hair the first few times,” he said. “I finally resorted to getting the instructions from the internet.”

  “The internet?”

  “Yeah. God bless YouTube. You can’t imagine how much I’ve learned from watching videos. And my daughter has been pretty good about it, all things considered. Only . . .” Stephen shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t know why I brought any of this up, anyway.”