by Thérèse
“Thanks,” she said, nodding. Omygod, his wife … Shit, of course he speaks French. Help.
“Well, I can see how frustrating it must be. But you said the agent’s helping right?”
Phew… she thought. “Yes. It’s all good, just so much more work than I was expecting.”
Taking a forkful of steaming risotto, Adam thought for a moment. “Somebody once said we’re two nations divided by a common language. Who was that?”
“George Bernard Shaw, I think … but for once he was wrong. It’s a completely different language.”
“I love the way you pick up on my references,” Adam said. “Though I think it may have been Oscar Wilde.”
“What-ev-er.” India laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be bilingual in no time.”
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India was in her element. Perched on a high stool in her low-rise Prana yoga pants and sleeveless tee, she felt totally in control and confident.
“You’re dealing with ‘millennials,’” she told the group. “There’s absolutely no way millennials think the way we do. Okay, I know, it’s California.” She smiled. “But even if we’re not owning up to our age, we are a different generation, mostly Gen Xers. It’s another world. We’re a long way from the days when you worried about your mom finding your diary or waited for your prints to come back from CVS.”
“Absolutely,” Lizzie said, nodding.
“That’s for sure,” A tiny thirtysomething woman with a spray-on tan agreed.
“Just look how the Internet’s changed everything,” India said. “These kids are their own brand, with their own fan clubs living in cyberspace. They’re communicating with each other at the speed of light but hardly communicating with us at all.”
A petite redhead in a plaid skirt and butter leather jacket murmured, “So true. My daughter, for instance, wouldn’t dream of ever answering her phone when I call. She texts, if I’m lucky.”
“They can create their own movies and star in them,” India added. “They can disappear into a labyrinth of untraceable connections. So how do we watch them? What can we do?” She paused. “And you know what’s the scariest part of all? We pretend that it isn’t happening and try to relate to them the same way our parents did with us.”
“We all feel so helpless inside and yet we pretend we’re doing great,” Lizzie’s friend, Farrah, volunteered. “We might be falling apart, but you’d never know it from the speeches at the bar mitzvahs or sweet-sixteen parties.”
“We have to start with being honest, Farrah, and try to understand what their world is like,” India said. “But enough from me. Let’s split up into groups and do some work.” She hopped off the stool. “Find a partner.”
Back at Annie’s that evening, India curled up on the couch in her fleecy dressing gown and new chocolate brown Uggs to write up her notes and plan a different communication strategy. In an open discussion later that afternoon, it had become clear that some of these women had been deep into drugs or promiscuous sex themselves as teens. Clearly, they were not going to come out and tell their precious offspring how they popped Ecstasy tabs or shagged around at raves between marriages. She would need a different approach to this part of her course.
She sucked on her pen. Still, she thought, this is heaven. How amazing to be teaching and facilitating without that awful com-mute, with no bells or assemblies, no mind-numbing lectures from Dr. White, no playground duty on freezing winter afternoons. How wonderful to have Adam. India could not remember a time she had felt happier in her life.
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India and Adam were sipping Bellinis in the lobby at Shutters.
“I can’t get over this place,” India said, tucking her feet under a velvet cushion on the luxurious fireside sofa and wrapping her Paul Smith pashmina round her shoulders. “It actually feels English, like the Soho Hotel in London, all the paintings and flower arrangements. It’s so cozy.”
“It’s got more of an East Coast vibe, that’s for sure,” Adam said. “But listen, it’s my turn for news,” he added, grabbing a handful of rice crackers.
“Go on,” she said. Please don’t tell me you and Angel are moving in together. Please.
“I’ve finally read a script that’s working for me. I’m excited.”
“That’s brilliant!” She exhaled with relief.
“Fred Stein’s directing. I’m gonna play a Russian guy who moves to London to find work. He leaves his wife and daughter behind in St. Petersburg. It’s contemporary. Apparently, London’s full of Russian immigrants right now?”
“Absolutely,” India said. “The papers are forever running articles about the Russians and Poles taking ‘our’ jobs. They seem to forget we marched around the world invading everywhere. It’s karma if you ask me.”
“Right. Well, London isn’t exactly Nirvana as my character finds out. He ends up on the streets for a while … then he meets someone … sounds cheesy, but it’s really tightly written. We’ll start shooting here and then there’ll be a few weeks on location in a village outside St. Petersburg in December. “
“Fantastic,” India said, her heart sinking at the idea of him so far away.
“Do you have a fur coat?”
“Sorry?” India spluttered, trying to mask her excitement. Omygod … omygod! He’s expecting us to still be together in December. That’s almost four months away.
“I repeat. Do you have a fur coat?” He grinned.
“I don’t,” she said, “but I’m seriously good at the vodka shots. Are you asking me to come visit?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I can’t wait to get you naked in the snow. I want to see you in a pair of boots, a pair of black leather thigh high boots…”
“Okay. It’s a deal.” She laughed. “You know ever since I read Anna Karenina I’ve wanted to go to Russia. I played the mandolin for a while; maybe I could learn the balalaika.”
“We’ll also be shooting in London, of course. I’d love to go visit your studios when I’m there. Maybe we could go together. Where are they based?”
“Oh … all over really,” she stammered. “I’ll see what I can fix up nearer the time.”
“Za vashe zdorovye,” he said, raising his glass. “To your health.”
“Down the hatch!” She laughed. “That’s English for ‘cheers.’”
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India pulled out the scalding chicken casserole dish with thick oven gloves and set it down on the range. Checking the browning roasted potatoes, she poured oil over them and went back to the armchair to catch the end of an episode of Supernanny.
Yuck. What’s with that red skirt suit? she thought. This is not doing anything to improve the image of the English.
Springing to her feet a few minutes later, she hit the remote as she heard the car roll up in the driveway. Clooney, who had been snoring loudly by the door, looked up lazily.
“Get out from under my feet,” India muttered, tripping over him in her rush to get outside. Annabelle was already climbing down from the Range Rover in a pair of pale blue jeans. Her hair was streaked blonde from the sun and the rich coral of her embroidered smock was accentuating her golden tan.
“I’ve missed you,” India yelled as Annabelle slammed the car door behind her. “You look absolutely wonderful.”
“Darling, you too. You look so LA in your sweats,” Annabelle said, hugging her. “We’ve had the best time. Hello, and I missed you too, Clooney.”
“I think he’s due for one of his pills,” India said, backing away from the dog as he lunged between them.
Joss swung down from the Range Rover and swept India up in his arms. “So how are you? You survived without us and from what I hear you’ve been busy.” He grinned.
India beamed. “Lots to tell,” she said, backing away from the hyperactive dog, who was now sniffing around her groin.
Joss yanked him by the collar. “Sit, Clooney. Sit.”
“I’ve made supper.
You two go freshen up and I’ll tell you over dinner. Anyone fancy a glass of wine? Rhetorical question I know.”
While Joss dragged the heavy cases into the house, India went to the kitchen, opened a freshly chilled bottle of Sancerre, and lit the collection of chubby scented candles she’d arranged in the center of the kitchen table.
“This smells delicious, darling. I’m so ready for home-cooked food,” Annabelle said, dragging out her seat. “So tell me about you and Adam. One-liner e-mails weren’t doing it for me. I want to hear all about the great romance. I know some of where you’ve been from the weeklies.”
“Yes,” India said. “We’re having some privacy issues. But they’ve mostly just been pictures of the two of us walking around Montana, and there was a nice one of us coming out of Marmalade Café. I love that café. It’s like Paris.
“You’re a good-looking couple,” Joss said, forking a potato.
“Yes, well, I’m on the alert these days. They’re not catching me with my knickers down again.” India laughed.
“Which is not a rule you’re applying to Adam Brooks, I assume,” he teased.
“Okay. I set that one up nicely for you,” she said, blushing. “Well, Mr. Brooks and I have been getting along extremely well and … as they say … moving swiftly on… My workshops are going brilliantly. I’ve been doing two a week and working on the book proposal in between times.”
“Lizzie e-mailed me the other day to say you’re incredible,” Annabelle said. “She told me you have the most wonderful way of bringing people out and guiding them gently. She said it’s heavy stuff but you make it fun.”
“That’s great to hear. She’s wonderful, so generous.”
“She’s amazed you have so much knowledge and common sense. That was the part I found the most surprising, the common sense.” Annabelle laughed as India topped up their wineglasses.
“It’s been the best summer,” India said, sitting down again. “Though I really have missed you. I absolutely love LA. Everyone’s so friendly and helpful. It’s been the most incredible time for me and I can’t thank you enough.”
“Darling, how could I possibly have got through everything without you?” Annabelle said, grabbing her hand.
Joss wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back from the table. “That was so good,” he said. “Annie and I were just saying how happy we are you’re staying. I’m not on the road until January, so you and I will get a chance to work out our schedules and make sure Annie doesn’t get overloaded.”
Annabelle smiled at him. She seemed more relaxed than India had seen her in years.
“Yes. We’ll all be together for Thanksgiving this year for the first time ever. Oh and Halloween. You can do the costumes with the girls – and there’s our birthday. I feel like doing a little happy dance. It’s so good to be alive!” Annabelle said, raising her glass.
“To us!” They clinked their glasses and raised them in the air.
“To health, wealth, and happiness, in that order,” Annabelle declared.
There was silence for a second, and then she added, “I’m not going to take anything on until the New Year, you know. I’m serious, I don’t want to look back years from now and think I missed the time with the girls. What was it you called them once, ‘the special years?’”
“Yes. It’s a special time. Right now they actually want to spend time with you. They won’t always,” India said, carving up the apple pie and piling slices of it into china dishes.
“Yes. I’m grateful for it all, believe me.” Annabelle paused for a second. “Lizzie’s started divorce proceedings; I’m sure she told you.”
“Yes, she really is remarkable. She’s determined not to play the victim. Her heart’s broken but she’s all about the kids. They’ll work it out I’m sure and with a bit of luck she’ll meet someone who’ll show her some respect,” India said, handing her sister a jug of fresh cream.
“Mmm … it’s been ages since I tasted your pastry, darling. You haven’t lost your touch.”
“Thanks. I’ve been cooking in between writing. I love this kitchen.” India licked apple off the back of her spoon. “One of the things my workshops have made clear is how many of these teens are in the middle of custody battles or dealing with stepmothers young enough to be their big sister. Lizzie’s been coming to some of the sessions and I think it’s been an eye-opener for her.”
“Stan’s been a good friend to me, but he’s lousy husband material. I’ll see him next week; there’s a launch at CAA,” Joss chipped in.
India could see this was probably a conversation best kept for when she and Annie were alone. She might easily hit a nerve. After all, Joss hadn’t exactly spent the sixties in a monastery.
“Stan’s a decent guy in lots of ways,” he said. “I don’t suppose he wants to make things harder for her than they already are.”
“Let me tell you about our trip last weekend to Santa Barbara,” India said, changing the subject quickly. “We had the best time ever. We stayed in an amazing estate on a private vineyard belonging to you’ll never guess who…”
PROFOUND THOUGHTS NOTE – In my element!
“This looks interesting,” Trules said, scanning the meditation room and pointing to the poster-size sheets of cardboard and neat clusters of crayons on the floor.
“Yes. We’re getting creative this morning. Give me one more minute,” India said, trying not to fixate on the inked image of a bleeding sacred heart with embellished crucifix on Trules’ ex-posed shoulder. She fiddled with a Norah Jones CD and adjusted the volume.
“India, now that I have you on your own,” Trules whispered, “I have to tell you how much I’m getting out of these workshops. It’s not easy to admit it, but bringing up Sam on my own is really tough. I never thought I’d ever trust another woman again after Kenny left. I want you to know these sessions are changing my life. You’re the real deal. You’re wonderful.”
India glowed. “Thank you so much, Trules. That’s wonderful to hear … yes, with me what you see is what you get.”
“I know that and I wanted you to know how much it means to me.”
“Well, thank you. That makes me very happy… Hi!” India said with a smile as Summer poked her head in the doorway. “Come on in. I love those,” she said, admiring Summer’s shredded blue jeans.
“Thanks. Got them from Barneys. They’re J Brand.”
“We’re working on the law of attraction this morning,” India said. “I think I might attract a pair of those to myself.”
“Law of attraction? Hey, I’m up for anything. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in years. Who knew having issues could be this much fun?” Summer quipped, bending down to help India spread out sheets of paper as the room began to fill up.
“So ladies, today we are going to stop focusing on your lovely offspring and spend a whole morning on you. We’re going to create vision boards,” India told them. “You have to work fast. Don’t overthink anything. Your subconscious will do it for you once you get into it. Take a couple of magazines and flick through them really quickly. The minute you see a picture of anything that you feel expresses you, just cut it out, rip it out.”
“It can be anything at all; a picture of someone doing something you love to do, or something you want to have; anything that feels meaningful to your own life right now. I’ll give you half an hour and then tell you what we’ll do next. Go!”
They’re really getting into this, India thought after a while, watching the fierce concentration on everyone’s face. I must do one for myself sometime.
“Now if any of you are wondering what this has to do with parenting, I’ll tell you,” she said, breaking the silence when the time was up. “Mimi, you can stop ripping paper now.”
Mimi, the proud owner of the largest bosom India had yet to see in California, laughed and put down her magazine.
“I believe that if you do something every day to nurture your own spirit then you can handle all the other stuff you
have to deal with so much better. Women often put themselves last. We get sucked up into other people’s needs and expectations. We forget who we are, who we used to be. This exercise is an incredibly powerful tool for getting back to our own spirit, to our connection with ourselves and to what we want. Let’s get on with it.”
The three hours flew by as they pasted their images onto the cards, and by the time they were saying their goodbyes, each woman was carrying her poster like a prized work of art.
“Next time we’ll talk about what we’ve learned. Sleep on it. Have a great week, everyone. Thank you all for coming.”
As the group began to trickle out, India started clearing up, and checked her phone. There was a short message from Adam. She could hear the strain in his voice.
“Hi, Indie, sorry to miss you. We’re downtown for the hearing. Try you later.”
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Closing the glass doors and crossing the garden quickly, India tapped on the kitchen window. Lizzie waved her inside.
“I was hoping to catch you today,” Lizzie said, resting the dish towel on the countertop and giving her a hug. “You look more like Annie every time I see you.”
India had a glow about her like she always did at the end of a good class. “Thanks,” she said, pulling off her bandanna and stuffing Annie’s pendulum crystal earrings into her purse. “It’s going well. I’m feeling good. How’re you?”
“I’m okay. Sorry I missed your session this morning. I’m only just in. Rhonda had to get her typhoid shot. I just dropped her back at school.” Lizzie rolled up her sleeves and filled a pan with water. “I’ve given Silvia a few days off; her sister’s just had a baby.”
“Can I help?” India asked, lifting up a potato peeler.
“Sure. Thanks. I’m making fish pie.”
Lizzie began carving the halibut while India plopped potatoes into salted water and shelled the iced shrimp that were float-ing in the sink.
“I had a drink with Stan last night,” Lizzie said after a few minutes. “He’s being civil. It hurts, but you know in some ways things aren’t that simple.”