I moved away from my mother to rearrange things in my already neat and tidy suitcase. “Fine, I guess. Same old thing. He’s working at the store. I’m…uh, working at the station.” Lightning didn’t strike, so God must have approved of my little white lie. He probably wouldn’t want my mother to worry about my welfare, which was a much more charitable reason for accepting my lie than my reason for telling it.
Mom smiled. “I don’t mean how are your professional careers. I mean, how is your relationship?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. “Uh, friendly?” Surely she didn’t know anything about our night together. It hadn’t changed anything…except for the fact I now knew first-hand why women fell at his feet. And was oh-so-tempted to fall at his feet again myself.
“You have a good relationship, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “We’ve been friends for years, Mom.”
“I just wondered if it was something more yet.”
“More?”
Mom looked at me with such intensity, my eyeballs began to itch. “Good relationships aren’t accidents, Margo.”
“And your point?”
“I just wonder if you realize what you have with Christopher.”
“Like romantically, you mean?” My mouth fell open as she nodded. “Just a few weeks ago, you told me I should get back together with Kevin. That marrying him might be my last chance. Now you suggest I should be involved with Chris?”
“I just meant that you might like being married if you’d give it a try—”
“So, since Kevin didn’t work out for me, I should latch on to Chris a few weeks later, because God knows I might not have any more chances?” I slammed the lid of my suitcase closed and whirled to face her. “You know what, Mom? I’m not like you. I don’t change men like I change my underwear. And, I certainly don’t need relationship advice from a person who can’t keep a relationship longer than a year.” I shoved past her to the door of the bedroom when Chris honked outside. “You know,” I said, pointing down the hall in the general direction of the main part of the house, the part of the house where the McFarland family gathered, “I hope you think about what you’re doing to the rest of this really nice family. I wonder how many other families you’ve left in the dust over the last twenty years. Besides ours, I mean.”
***
Chris must have sensed my volatile mood, because he didn’t move the Jeep immediately. Instead he sat and watched me for a minute, letting the engine idle.
I watched the front door, half expecting my mother to come running after me. “Can we just go?” I asked. “Sooner than later?”
“Sure.” Chris put the car in reverse and backed out. “What happened?”
“Nothing I want to talk about.” I leaned my head back against the seat and enjoyed the wind blowing through the open roof. “Suffice it to say, we could probably leave for New York any time now, and I wouldn’t be missed.”
Chris laughed. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll get away with that.”
“Probably not.” I sighed and pawed around in the glove compartment for my sunglasses. Slipping them on, I turned to Chris. “So, where are we off to? Someplace obscenely fun and mind-numbing, I hope.”
“You’ll just have to sit back and find out. But, I think you’ll like it.”
I took his advice, sitting back and enjoying the beautiful day. Enjoying the freedom of not having to try to fit in with a family I’d never fit in with. Enjoying feeling comfortable and relaxed for the first time in several days. Being with Chris, even when we bashed heads or had our differences, was never a struggle.
“First stop, the Walk of Fame,” Chris finally announced, as we circled around Hollywood, looking for a parking space.
“The Walk of Fame?” I peered at him over the top of my sunglasses. “Since when are you a movie-star hound?”
“Just follow me.”
We piled out of the Jeep and Chris reviewed a map, while absently reaching out to take my hand. With a sidelong glance, I let him take it. The jolt had me swallowing and staring off into space to beat the unexpected feeling into submission. Friend, friend, friend, friend, I chanted to myself, as he dragged me a little way down the sidewalk. Pretty soon, though, I was caught up in the stars themselves. Muted pink stars on charcoal plaques dotted the sidewalk as far as the eye could see. Tourists paused every once in a while to have their picture taken with this star or that.
“Hey, look. Arnold.” I pointed to the star of the governor of California. “Bet he’s glad he got that star before he started the job. There aren’t any politicians with stars on the Walk of Fame. Maybe the Walk of Shame.”
Chris, off in La La Land, didn’t comment. He walked a bit farther then indicated the next corner. “We need to cross. Come on.”
I blindly followed, letting him pull me along Hollywood Boulevard, taking in the 1920s and ’30s architecture. The beautiful beige spire of the Hollywood First National Bank Building reached for the sky across the street from us, and Chris seemed to be headed that way.
“Going banking?” I asked, as he pulled me up onto the sidewalk. I was grateful that my dizziness had completely abated over the past week, making it much less difficult to keep up with Extreme Treem as he headed, with determined purpose, toward…whatever we were heading toward.
“Here.” Chris stopped and finally dropped my hand, turning his high-wattage smile in my direction. “Just for you.”
I looked down to find another star, like all the other stars, and yet not. It was Elvis’s star.
“Oh.” I bent to run my hands over the cool stone. “You looked up Elvis’s star just for me?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, looking pleased with his surprise. “Elvis’s star was one of the first approximately fifteen hundred installed between February 1960 and June 1961. However, no formal ceremony was held for the unveiling, so Elvis wasn’t even present.”
I laughed. “Wow! That took a lot of research. I’m impressed.” And more than a little pleased at the effort Chris had taken to surprise me.
Chris produced a disposable camera from his pocket and waved me into place so he could get a few shots of me drooling over Elvis’s star. “You may also, if you choose, adopt Elvis’s star. You must, however, agree to polish it on the first Saturday of every month.”
I laughed. “A bit of a long commute from Manhattan, wouldn’t you say?” I stood and brushed my now dusty hands off on my shorts. Looking back at the star, I sighed. “Might be worth it, though, to take care of Elvis on a monthly basis. It’d have to be even better luck than flicking the bobblehead.”
Chris wasn’t done with the surprises, though. We crossed the street to the Hollywood Wax Museum, where Chris dragged me in after dismissing my claims of nightmarish flashbacks of the Memphis prison. He did, however, hold my hand very tightly as we checked out the hideous replica of the King, probably worried that my grabbing of Elvis’s hand at Graceland hadn’t really been an accident. We visited the Rock Walk on Sunset Boulevard, where Chris took another couple of photos of me standing with Elvis’s bronze plaque, situated right between Buddy Holly and Marvin Gaye. We even went to the Peterson Automotive Museum and paid admission just to see “Mongrel,” a very strange, multicolored roadster that had been in a movie with Elvis.
I replaced my sunglasses as we exited the building. “I can’t believe you paid fourteen dollars for me to see one car.” Despite my accusations of wasting money, I couldn’t quit smiling. I appreciated it more than he could know.
Chris knew. “I figured you needed cheering up. It’s been a long week for you.”
I stared straight ahead as we walked back toward the Jeep. I didn’t want him to see how much his words, his noticing, affected me. “That obvious, huh?” I kept my tone light.
“Just to those of us who know you well.”
“Well, thank God, that’s only you, then.” I flashed him a flirty grin. “So, where to next, my ever-so-excellent tour guide?”
“How about some lunch?”
We ate lunch at the Formosa Café, ogling Elvis’s signed photograph on the wall. (I ogled, he ate). Then, we took a drive past Elvis and Priscilla’s former home on Monvale Drive, a white cottage Chris informed me had been purchased for a mere $335,000 in 1972.
“Quite the Elvis trivia buff all of a sudden, for someone who doesn’t even like him,” I teased.
“Some things are just important to know.”
Not for most people, they aren’t, I thought, counting palm trees as we headed for who knew what surprise next. Distraction—from what was developing into a serious problem in my mind—was absolutely necessary.
We drove for a while, finally ending up at the beach.
“Notice the name?” Chris pointed as we drove into the town.
“Manhattan Beach! We’re home!” I cheered, waving my arms out the top of the Jeep. It was breathtaking, even as crowded as it was. A long pier stretched out into the crashing turquoise waves. Rollerbladers and runners sped down the strand, gleaming with sweat in the California sunshine. “Oh, God, I want to run. It’s been too long.”
“What a great place, huh?” Chris parked the Jeep within sight of the beach and we sat there a moment, taking it all in. “I’d even consider running here.”
“Oh, sure.” I laughed. “A fair-weather runner. Besides,” I said, closing the car door behind me, “you wouldn’t be able to run any further in L.A. than you do at home.”
“Probably not.”
I was getting used to Chris taking my hand as we wandered around. He’d done it several times today, and it was no less pleasant this time than it had been the first. I didn’t know what to make of it. He never held my hand in New York. On top of that, I kept catching him looking at me. Just looking, like he wanted to say something…or he couldn’t get enough of watching my pleasure at his Elvis tour. Was it because of what happened that night during the rain storm? Or was it that we’d spent so much time together in the past month?
Afraid I was reading too much into the whole thing, I concentrated on the view and the sun and the beach stretched out for miles in front of us. We strolled down the strand to the white sand beach and parked ourselves on the beach towel Chris had the forethought to pack.
Leaning back on my hands, I turned my face toward the sun. “I could live here.”
“Really?” Chris asked, sounding surprised. “I thought you were Manhattan born and bred.”
“We were born and bred upstate,” I reminded him. “Besides, as you so carefully pointed out, this is Manhattan.”
A group of volleyball players a few yards away drew our attention as their game got rowdy. When the game wound down, surfers out on the waves offered more entertainment. The peace here was incredible, so free of worry and care that, for a while, I truly did believe I could stay here forever.
“So what happened with your mom this morning?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Why not?”
I flopped back down on the towel and stared up at the sky. “She was just giving unsolicited advice, that’s all.”
“About what?”
About you. “About…relationships.”
“Trying to set you up with one of your future stepbrothers?”
I gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Chris laughed. “Yeah. Sure you don’t want to talk about your mom?”
“Positive.”
“You know, you could be honest with her.”
“About what?”
“About why you can’t seem to get along with her. About why you’re mad at her all the time. About how you feel about your childhood.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I wondered how much he knew. “What about my childhood?”
“Rob used to talk about it. I didn’t make the connection to what happened that day at Dillard’s right away. Now I know why you were so upset.”
I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing. “There’s nothing to be upset about. It’s ancient history.”
“But it still affects how you look at your mom.”
“It does not. That has nothing to do with why I don’t get along with my mother. I don’t get along with my mother because she drives me crazy. Because she tries to run my life. Because she thinks I should…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
For a while, we sat in silence. I thought about my mother’s suggestion that Chris and I had something between us, that a good relationship shouldn’t be ignored. What I was ignoring was how much I wished she was right, and knowing she wasn’t. Couldn’t be. I don’t know what Chris was thinking, but it certainly didn’t have anything to do with relationships and me.
“So, what time do you have to get back?” Chris finally asked. “For your interview?”
I glanced at my watch. “Oh. Yeah.” I’d completely forgotten. “I need to meet Nancy at six.”
Chris stood and pulled me up beside him. “Then I guess we better get you home so you have time to get ready.” He turned to look at me with a thoughtful expression. “You are going to tell her the truth, aren’t you?”
I frowned. “What is it with you and all this truth-telling? There is some benefit to silence, you know.”
“What would that be?” Chris took my hand and started back to the Jeep.
“Safety. Not having to worry about being rejected.”
“Are we talking about your mom or Nancy?”
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing Chris to a halt.
“Well?” he prompted, when I didn’t answer him.
“I’m not talking about my mother.”
“Fine. So, you’re talking about Nancy.” He didn’t sound convinced. “No one will get mad at you for telling the truth. Do I have to give you that whole honesty speech again?”
“It wouldn’t help,” I pouted, dropping his hand and stalking back to the Jeep ahead of him. Why was he pushing all my buttons and ruining a perfectly good day? “You just don’t get it. You have a secure job, a business. Your entire career isn’t in the hands of a lot of very judgmental people.”
Chris laughed as we seat-belted ourselves for the ride back to the McFarland house. “Yeah, just every sporting goods consumer in Manhattan. Chip and I are acutely aware that any mistake on our part could bring our store down in a heartbeat.” Chris headed out of Manhattan Beach, and I turned to glance back at the little town with the homey name. At least homey to me. Maybe I’d come back here some day and take a run on the beach.
Chris continued, “Remember when we had that huge downturn of business a few years ago?”
“Sure. Why?”
“It was poor management on our part. Mine and Chip’s. We talked about it and decided to be honest with the public. We put out a few brutally honest press releases, talking about how business was and how we planned to make up for our shortcomings and nearsightedness. It was a big risk. Customers could’ve just gone to one of the other sporting goods stores in the city, figuring we were a couple of screw-ups. Instead they came in droves. I had at least a dozen people a day tell me they admired our honesty about the situation.”
I frowned a little. “You make it very difficult to stick to my convictions here.”
“Maybe because in your heart you know your convictions don’t make sense.” Chris reached over and took my hand. That weird tingly feeling went through my fingers. “Just try telling Nancy the truth and see what happens.”
“Yeah, my ruined career could be what happens.”
Chris flashed me his killer smile and I knew I’d at least consider it. That grin had powers he didn’t even realize. Or did he? “Have a little faith. Take a chance. Live dangerously.”
My stomach cramped. I’d lived dangerously not too long ago, in a humid hotel room during a flash flood. What felt incredible at the time also had the potential to completely ruin something very important to me.
I wasn’t sure Chris’s advice was wise.
Chapter Fourteen<
br />
“Cryin’ in the Chapel”
“So, you see—” I took a giant, very unmannerly, nerve-stabilizing gulp of the red wine Nancy had ordered for our meal, “—I wasn’t sure how to tell you I lost my job. I’m not even sure I should tell you now, to be honest.”
The tall, skinny, graying blonde on the other side of the table only said, “I see,” before leaning back in her seat and retrieving a cigarette from her purse. She lit it and took a long drag before eyeing me again.
Nancy Noble and I were dining on the patio of Spago Beverly Hills, and I was too nervous to enjoy it. The salmon—what I’d managed to actually choke down—tasted wonderful, but I wouldn’t be reporting back to anyone on my experience of dining in one of Wolfgang Puck’s famous restaurants. My mind blurred and my stomach knotted. I crossed my fingers under the table and prayed I hadn’t done the wrong thing.
“Well.” Nancy leaned forward and sucked another lungful of smoke, which she blew out of the corner of her mouth. “That changes everything.”
Oh! What winged thing just took off from my shoulder? I think it was Hope. Sighing, I laid my fork across my plate, not even bothering to pretend I could finish my meal. The whole interview had gone so well. Until I decided to be honest. Damn Christopher Treem’s honorable soul. He didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
“Like I said, I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I wasted the photographer’s time and yours. I understand if Today’s Country wants to name someone else as Best DJ.”
“Why would we do that?”
“What? Because I thought—”
“You won. That doesn’t change. In fact,” Nancy said, stubbing out her hastily smoked Virginia Slim in the ashtray, “it’s liable to gain you a lot of sympathy.”
“Yeah, well, sympathy doesn’t pay rent.” I chuckled, relieved Nancy wasn’t snatching back my award and running from Spago, leaving me with the check for being a fraud.
“But sympathy could get you job opportunities. Where have you looked?”
For the next half hour, we discussed my job-hunting failures. The calls, the résumés sent. The rejections.
The Kiss Test Page 23