by Anita Hughes
“My German chocolate cake is amazing and the chocolate torte is delicious,” Rachel suggested, offering her a sample of the torte. “Entertaining a new man?”
“My best friend, Angelica, is coming up from LA.” Rosie tasted dark chocolate and raspberries. “I think Ben and I may actually work things out.”
“Really?” Rachel leaned over the counter. “When my boyfriend cheated on me, I cut up all his boxer shorts.”
“Ben and I have been together for ten years.” Rosie sighed, sampling a piece of peanut butter brittle. “I miss him.”
“Love’s a bitch.” Rachel nodded. “I’ve been on a few dates with Patrick. If my father found out he’d pack me up to New Jersey faster than the roller coaster at Atlantic City.”
“Patrick in the delicatessen?” Rosie inquired.
“I’ve got a thing for red hair and freckles,” Rachel answered. “But he’s Catholic. My father would rather I stayed with Michael, who screwed two bridesmaids at his cousin’s wedding. Michael is Jewish, and an accountant.”
“I didn’t know parents still thought like that.” Rosie tried not to laugh.
“Thank god my father is on the other side of the country, but I swear he knows everything I do.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “He wants his daughter to marry a good Jewish boy like in Fiddler on the Roof.”
Rosie selected the German chocolate cake and Rachel put it in a box and added a pound of peanut brittle. “Good luck with the cheating boyfriend.” She handed Rosie the bag. “I hope he deserves you. You look like a movie star.”
* * *
Rosie carried two grocery bags into the Pullmans’ kitchen. She had found Hawaiian sea salt at Montecito Natural Foods. She had spent a wonderful hour reading the labels of salts and spices from around the globe. From there she went to Village Meat and Fish and bought fillets of salmon, a pound of cod, and a bag of lemons.
“You leave looking like the girl next door and come back as Elizabeth Taylor.” Morris whistled, coming through the French doors.
“Do you think it’s too much?” Rosie made a small twirl. The red fabric spun around her waist and the gold sandals glittered under the lights.
“I never knew you had Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes.” Morris smiled. “And those sandals! I’d love a pair in my closet.”
“Elizabeth Taylor had violet eyes,” Rosie protested. “I’ve never bought anything so impulsively. Ben’s contract is enormous, maybe I should have been wearing Manolos all along.”
“Don’t think about Ben.” Morris unwrapped the salmon. “Wear them because they feel like sex.”
“Yes, boss,” Rosie giggled, opening her shopping bag. “I got everything I need for dinner tomorrow. I’m going to make fish tacos with guacamole and German chocolate cake for dessert.”
“You’re going to save me a slice.” Morris peeked inside the cake box.
Rosie put the cod in the fridge. She placed the cake in the pantry and put the lemons in the fruit bowl. She walked over to Morris and kissed him briefly on the cheek.
“What’s that for?” He rubbed his cheek.
“For talking to me when I was so depressed, and for saying I look like Elizabeth Taylor.”
“That’s great.” Morris put the salmon in the fridge. “But I still want a piece of cake.”
* * *
Rosie stood in the bathroom of the guest cottage, applying mascara. She wore a white tank top and white linen pants and the new gold sandals. Morris had insisted on pressing her pants and she had borrowed Estelle’s curling iron. She brushed her hair and studied herself in the mirror. The circles under her eyes had disappeared and her arms and legs were tan. She rubbed pink lip gloss on her lips and went to wait for Angelica.
Crossing the lawn to the main house, Rosie wondered why she was so nervous. She and Angelica had spent countless nights eating ice cream straight from the carton. They suffered through Bikram yoga and kept each other on a five-day juice fast. But now Rosie had chosen her outfit as if preparing for a blind date. She took a long bath and spent an hour curling her hair.
In the years of their friendship, Rosie had always been part of Rosie and Ben. She had walked with the skip of someone in a bulletproof relationship. Angelica had the height, the pouty lips, and the glorious blond hair. She had parents with a magnificent estate and checks that appeared regularly in the mail. But she didn’t have someone who loaded up their iPhones with exactly the same songs. She hadn’t picked out the names of their children and the breed of their dog.
But now Rosie was a refugee in Angelica’s parents’ guest cottage and Angelica was channeling Katharine Hepburn. She hadn’t talked to Angelica all week; they exchanged texts because Angelica was slammed with wardrobe fittings.
A sleek Aston Martin entered the gates. It was midnight blue with chrome wheels and a British license plate. Rosie squinted, thinking one of Oscar’s singers had come to the house for a meeting.
“Rosie!” A tall figure waved from the passenger seat. She leaped out of the car and ran up the steps. Angelica wore pin-striped pants and a boxy navy jacket. Her cheeks were powdered and her eyebrows were plucked in a high arch.
“Where’s Matthew?” Rosie hugged Angelica, smelling Chanel No. 5 and hair spray.
“In LA. Have you met Dirk? Don’t you love his car!” Angelica waved her hand. “He had it imported from England; it drives on the wrong side of the road.”
“Why are you with Dirk instead of Matthew?” Rosie said in a guarded voice.
“I’ll explain in a minute.” Angelica dragged Rosie towards the car. “I want you two to get to know each other. Dirk, say something so Rosie can hear your divine accent.”
Dirk stepped out of the car and kissed Rosie on both cheeks. He had floppy dark hair and green eyes. His cheekbones were finely chiseled and his teeth looked perfectly capped. He wore a seersucker blazer and pleated navy trousers.
“Delighted to finally meet you.” He nodded. “Angelica talks about you all the time. And this place is fantastic.” He beamed at Angelica. “It reminds me of George and Amal Clooney’s summer home in the Cotswolds.”
“I can’t wait to show you mummy’s rose garden,” Angelica squealed. “I’ll get Morris to grab your bags. He’s British too, you might know the same people.”
Rosie followed Angelica into the house, suddenly feeling queasy.
“Angelica,” she hissed, after Angelica sent Morris to collect the luggage. “Why is Dirk here and why did you call Estelle ‘mummy’?”
“Dirk’s accent is so dreamy, it’s catching,” Angelica giggled. “I’ve been saying ‘let’s take the lift’ and ‘open the boot.’ I can’t help it, it sounds so sexy.”
“Come into the kitchen now!” Rosie demanded.
“We can’t leave Dirk.” Angelica wavered. “It wouldn’t be polite.”
“He can catch up with Morris.” Rosie pulled Angelica’s arm. “Unless Morris exposes him as not being British at all and having grown up in West Virginia.”
“You’re so tan and your hair looks great.” Angelica followed Rosie into the kitchen. The counter was lined with porcelain plates and there was a wooden salad bowl and linen napkins. “It was a good idea for you to get out of town.”
“You’re not answering my question,” Rosie repeated. “Why aren’t you with Matthew?”
Angelica took out a compact from her purse and smoothed her hair. She picked a peach from the fruit basket and took a bite.
“I forget how lovely it is here.” Angelica walked to the French doors. “The tennis court and the swimming pool. Morris at your beck and call. I’m cooped up on a soundstage practicing my vowels.”
“I am grateful to you and your parents.” Rosie nodded. “The house is gorgeous and your mom is wonderful. But why are you with that Pierce Brosnan wannabe?”
“Dirk is much more handsome than Pierce Brosnan ever was. Anyway, Pierce Brosnan is sixty!” Angelica turned around.
“C’mon, Angelica, you’re a great actress on the screen but
you’re lousy at pretending in real life,” Rosie prodded.
Angelica poured a glass of water and sat at the table. “I broke up with Matthew. I moved in with Dirk.”
“You did what!” Suddenly Rosie was back in Santa Monica, discovering that Ben screwed Mary Beth Chase and wanted to take a break.
“Dirk understands me, we have the same goals.” Angelica sipped her water. “The Philadelphia Story is getting pre-production buzz and everyone wants him for his next film.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Rosie paced around the kitchen. “What about the boyfriend who picked you up at midnight when you waited tables at Il Fornaio? The boyfriend you’ve shared a bed with for two years?”
“Matthew and I were never like you and Ben.” Angelica looked at Rosie. “Matthew has been ignoring me for months. The only words he responds to are ‘food’ and ‘sex.’ Honestly, Rosie, he’s plugged into his computer twenty-four hours a day.”
“It’s hard to compete with someone who ships his Aston Martin from England,” Rosie grumbled. “Matthew probably feels inferior.”
“All he had to do was talk to me,” Angelica argued. “Suggest we walk on the beach or go out to dinner.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“It really was,” Angelica assured her, her voice getting thick. “I’m not going to wait for Matthew to stop staring at a computer screen. I want to go dancing. I want to fly to Paris and stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Please don’t tell me Dirk promised to take you to Paris,” Rosie groaned. “That’s the oldest Hollywood cliché.”
“He’s not going to take me to Paris,” Angelica protested. “We’re going together, after The Philadelphia Story wraps. We’re equals, like you and Ben.”
Rosie softened. She remembered what it was like to love someone who knew exactly what you were talking about. If Rosie complained Adam was being unreasonable, Ben would grin and say he’d handle him. When Ben stared at the dailies for too long, Rosie made him a cup of hot cocoa and told him to take a break. At night, they couldn’t get enough of talking about changes in the script and wardrobe malfunctions. They lived and breathed movies and it was intoxicating.
“Let’s join Dirk and have a drink,” Rosie conceded. “We’ll see if Dirk still has that British accent after his third martini.”
They sat on the back porch, drinking dry martinis. Rosie passed a silver tray of asparagus crepes and crab cakes.
“What have you been doing up here?” Angelica asked Rosie. “You should get involved in the arts. Montecito has great summer theater.”
“I’ve been here less than a week; I haven’t done much of anything. I went shopping and tried a few recipes I learned in college,” Rosie answered. “I don’t want to do local theater. I’m going to play tennis and Estelle is going to teach me about roses.”
“I wanted you to get away for the summer, not turn into Rachel Ray.” Angelica raised her eyebrows.
“I’ve been thinking about what Ben said, that I’m holding him back,” Rosie said cautiously. “Maybe I should concentrate on our social life; throw great parties, cultivate the right people.”
“When did you talk to Ben?” Angelica stirred the olive in her martini.
“I called him last weekend. He was in a meeting but we’re going to talk soon. He’s coming to your dad’s July Fourth party.”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to base your future on Ben,” Angelica said, nibbling a crab cake.
“I like cooking,” Rosie protested. “And I’ve always wanted to play tennis.”
“I used to play tennis with Ewan McGregor,” Dirk broke in. “He’s got a terrific serve.”
“Dirk has only been in LA for a few years.” Angelica glanced at Dirk, her eyes sparkling. “In England he knew everybody: Daniel Craig, Matthew Goode, Gerard Butler.”
“What movies did you make in England?” Rosie asked, blotting her mouth with her napkin.
“I did theater, Royal Shakespeare,” Dirk replied smoothly. “My signature role was Hamlet.”
“Dirk had a huge following,” Angelica said loyally.
“Performing onstage is a noble calling, but acting in movies allows for the niceties in life,” Dirk ruminated. “I’ve got my eye on a yacht. I’m going to name her the Angelica.”
Rosie placed her asparagus crepe on her napkin, afraid if she put it in her mouth she might choke.
“The studio wants Dirk for the remake of To Catch a Thief,” Angelica explained. “They’ll be filming in the South of France.”
“Really!” Rosie gasped. To Catch a Thief was her and Ben’s favorite movie. They had dreamed of producing a remake. They spent hours debating which actors would be best for the lead roles.
“Nothing is final.” Dirk shrugged. “I only wish my gorgeous Angelica would play Grace Kelly’s role.”
“They want someone more famous than I am,” Angelica said hastily. “Katie Holmes or Kate Hudson.”
“They don’t have your poise or your beauty,” Dirk replied gallantly.
Rosie got up to go into the kitchen. Suddenly she couldn’t stand another minute of their mutual admiration society.
“I’m going to start dinner,” Rosie excused herself.
“I’ll come with you.” Angelica followed her.
Rosie walked ahead, thinking the dinner party was a bad idea. The more Angelica and Dirk talked about Hollywood, the further away it seemed. She tied an apron around her waist and laid the tortillas on the counter.
“Are you okay?” Angelica stood behind her.
“I’m fine.” Rosie blinked. “I’m making fish tacos.”
“I didn’t ask about the menu,” Angelica snapped. “Why weren’t you part of the conversation? You weren’t listening to anything we were saying.”
“I was preoccupied.” Rosie avoided looking at Angelica. “I didn’t want the guacamole to congeal.”
“Rosie!” Angelica blocked her path to the fridge. “You were supposed to come up here and relax, and you’re cooking and playing tennis.”
“Ben is an amazing director, maybe the best of his generation. He should work with the biggest producers in Hollywood.” Rosie chopped green onions.
“I’m not following,” Angelica said, leaning on the counter.
“Ben and I could be happy if I back off from the studio and concentrate on our social life.” Rosie added grated cheese and tomatoes to the tortillas.
“What about Mary Beth?” Angelica asked.
“I hate that he cheated on me.” Rosie threw the cod on the skillet. “Sometimes when I picture them together I can’t breathe.” She sprinkled the onions on the tortillas. “But it only happened once. Ben said we needed time to think and he was right.”
“Did he say anything else?” Angelica inquired.
“What do you mean?” Rosie looked up from the tortilla.
“Did he tell you his plans after his movie wraps?” Angelica asked.
“Ben’s still shooting.” Rosie shrugged. “Then comes post-production. He probably hasn’t thought about when he’s going to get a haircut. You know how consumed he gets when he’s on the set.”
“Dirk and I had dinner with Ben the other night.” Angelica sipped her glass of water.
“You and Dirk?” Rosie repeated. “You didn’t tell me they had met.” She took the cod off the stove and cut it in thin strips.
“Ben wanted to talk about his next picture,” Angelica explained, putting her glass in the sink.
Rosie concentrated on her tacos. She added two scoops of guacamole and a spoonful of shredded cabbage. She decorated each one with cilantro and added a dollop of sour cream. “What next picture?” she asked finally.
“Ben is going to direct To Catch a Thief.”
Rosie imagined going on location with Ben, staying at the Carlton InterContinental Hotel in Cannes. They would drive to Monte Carlo and gamble small amounts at the roulette table. If they won they’d treat themselves to a bottle of champagne a
nd drink it on the dock, watching the yachts rock in their berths.
“I should call and congratulate him.” Rosie set the fish tacos on three plates. “Dirk’s right, you would be great in the Grace Kelly role. You could finally go back to your natural hair color and be a blonde. I’m surprised Ben didn’t offer it you, he’s your biggest fan.”
“I’m so sorry, Rosie.” Angelica looked at her friend. “I dreaded telling you the whole drive up, I almost made Dirk turn around and go back to LA. You’re my best friend in the world and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you,” she said lamely. “I’d give anything for someone else to have delivered the news.”
Angelica’s words were a dull roaring sound in her ears. Rosie stood in front of the stove, clutching the frying pan. Her chest tightened and her legs were wobbly.
“Did Ben offer you Grace Kelly’s role?”
“I’m not going to answer that question while you’re holding a frying pan,” Angelica responded.
“Did he?” Rosie put the frying pan down.
“He did,” Angelica admitted. “But I turned him down.”
“Why did you turn him down?” Rosie whispered.
“We met Ben for dinner at the Beverly Wilshire the other night,” Angelica answered. “Ben thought Dirk would be perfect for the Cary Grant role. He said they have identical profiles. And he begged me to play the Grace Kelly part. He thought I could capture her languid beauty and portray a proper blue blood.”
“Who was Ben with at the Beverly Wilshire?” Rosie tried to swallow.
“He was with Mary Beth,” Angelica said slowly. “Mary Beth is going to be executive producer. They’ve even formed a new production company: MB&B Productions. I couldn’t say yes, Rosie. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rosie’s throat was parched and she felt dizzy. “And how could he do that without asking me?”
They had never gone to the trouble of forming a corporation. They were Ben & Rosie. Why would they spend their time and money on attorneys and legal documents when they would be together forever? But neither of them made decisions about anything without asking each other’s permission. Rosie wouldn’t even try a new brand of cereal because Ben needed his bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch every night before bed, and Ben always bought Colgate toothpaste because Rosie hated anything with mint.