Split Ends

by Kristin Billerbeck

  But then again . . . “Dane. You’re home early!” I run toward him and then realize he’s looking scared. So I slow and try to meet him casually. He reaches for me, drops his arms to his sides, puts out his hand to shake. I take it and pull him a little closer. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.

  “Got home this evening. Wide awake, thanks to a little jet lag. When you didn’t come home for dinner, I worried your cousin abandoned you again.”

  How sweet is that? “I’ve been taking the bus home. Tonight I was tired, though, I was going to call a cab.”

  “Sarah Claire, have you seen a pay phone lately?”

  I think about this for a moment and shake my head.

  “Here.” Dane hands me a cell phone.

  “What’s this? Well, I mean, I know what it is. Why are you handing it to me?”

  “I had an extra line that an assistant used at the store, and I haven’t turned it off. I charged it up today, so it’s yours for as long as you need it. No woman should be alone in LA without a cell phone. This isn’t Sable.”

  I look down at my feet, remembering my current Oompa Loompa look. Maybe the French women look worse; he hasn’t noticed. “Why would you do this?”

  “‘Whatever you do for the least of these . . .’ Which in LA I take to mean the person without a cell phone.” He laughs at his own joke.

  “Or a car? Or a thousand-dollar handbag.”

  “Can’t help you with the bag, unless someone drops one off at the shop. I’ll let you know.” I feel like the world’s been lifted from my shoulders as he takes my duffle.

  “You don’t look dressed to rescue a damsel in distress.”

  “I’m always dressed like this, and I never have anything better to do than rescue damsels in distress. I hopped on the plane straight from a meeting this morning.”

  My breath catches. “A girl could get lost in those eyes—I mean, words like that.” I cover my mouth with the tips of my fingers.

  “I thought we might get some dinner. No sense in both of us getting take-out and bringing it back to the house.”

  “Dinner,” I say breathlessly, like a desert-crosser says water.

  “You weren’t planning on cooking, were you? I wouldn’t want to miss that.”

  “I haven’t been to the grocery store. Sorry.”

  “No worries. I wanted to check on my house. I was thinking we might pick something up and take it back to my place—if you feel comfortable with that, I mean. I just want to see how construction is moving along, and I'm interested in a woman’s opinion.”

  “Your place?” Now I’m a girl of solid character—staunch morals and a strict edict to live the opposite of my mother—but when he says his place, I don’t think about any of those promises. And that’s what scares me. I'm really tired. I think I should just turn in. I haven’t had the best day. Did you notice that I’m orange?”

  “But you did get that awful haircut fixed. Not that it made any difference to your beauty. Having a bad one,I mean, not fixing it.”

  “I’m orange.”

  “You look stunning as usual. Sarah, I’m not going making a pass at you back at my place; it’s just dinner.”

  “Trust me, I understand that. But why not?”

  “Is that an invitation? I was trying to be polite, you being Scott’s cousin, but if I had an arsenal, trust me, I'd make a pass. As it is, I grew up around old ladies and old furniture, so I’m not sure how I’d go about making a pass.”

  “Would you like directions?” I ask him with a boost of self-esteem. “I missed you, Dane. The house wasn’t the same without you.”

  “I missed you too. If I were to get myself an education on making said pass, you would be open to the idea? In the Christian sense, I mean.”

  Dane, I am open till death do us part. I nod shyly, feeling heat in my moonshine face. I don’t dare look at him, out of fear he’ll know what I’m thinking and run for the hills, as the laws of commitment are known to make a man sprint.

  “I think I might want to get an espresso if I’m going to be out like this.”

  He looks at his watch. It’s a classic Seiko and it looks generations old. I think Cary Grant had one like it in his photos. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

  “When there’s nothing to do in town, eight is two hours past when they roll the streets up. Sable’s so cold during the winter, we don’t much venture out even for dinner. It’s like two a.m. to me, and here you all are having a life.”

  “I know better than to mess with a woman who grew up in cowboy country. I’ve seen my share of spaghetti westerns.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “I did.”

  “Where?”

  “Is this a quiz?”

  “No, but I just wanted you to know I haven’t been to college. In the interest of full disclosure before you make said pass.”

  “It’s because of my car, isn’t it?”

  “Your car?”

  “Yes, it’s equipped with an emergency ejection button for all passengers who did not attend college. Like the air bag with kids in the car, I’ll turn it off before you get in. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I can’t make a pass if you’re going to act naïve about why I’m here. Why wouldn’t I want the company of a beautiful woman to drive with me along the PCH and see my house and check on progress. And please note, it’s after carpool hours on the 405, so this is from my heart, not out of the need for a passenger.” He puts his hand to his chest.

  “PCH?”

  “Pacific Coast Highway.”

  “Ah. You mean the ocean?” I ask brightly.

  He grins. “So that’s what it takes. Yes, I mean the ocean. Is that enough to tempt you then?”

  More than enough. He could lose the “ocean” and add “cesspool” and I’d be tempted. “Will my cousin wonder where we are?”

  “Will he care?”

  I shrug. “Good point.”

  Dane starts to walk and I come alongside him. “How did you find me?”

  “I was parking behind the salon when I saw you walking, and I called Yoshi’s to check when you’d be off, actually.”

  “I saw the edge of it from the plane.”

  His face expresses his puzzlement.

  “The ocean. You asked if I saw it. I saw it from the plane.”

  “Seeing it from the sky is not the same as dipping your feet in the waves.” He offers the crook of his elbow. “What do you say to a late dinner and the beach?”

  “Just you and me?”

  He looks around his feet. “I think so, unless you have someone else you want to invite.”

  It’s only a ride to the beach, but all I can think about is Would our baby have that great cleft in his little pudgy chin? Would he grow up smart like his daddy or overly cautious like me? Maybe both? Would we make the perfect child, and would science want to study it?

  On second thought, I think it would be a girl. Dane seems like the kind of man who has girls and who would teach them to get into MIT and take the world by storm. She would be a very bright girl, and I’d dress her well. She’d have it all. Parents who loved her, a brain for greatness, and really, really cute clothes. We’d take trips back to Wyoming for Christmas.

  “Does my cousin need us out of the house? Is this a favor for him? Your coming here?”

  “What kind of favor would I be doing your cousin?”

  “I can’t stand it when people answer a question with a question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—” I swat his arm. “You’re infuriating me.”

  “I hear that a lot. I have an infuriating personality. It’s why your cousin calls me Lurch. He claims I creep around. I’m quiet and tall; what am I supposed to do? Put bells on my feet like a toddler?”

  “How on earth did you pick my cousin to live with during the renovation?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “But I have a normal answer: Scot
t’s the only one I know in California. What’s your excuse?”

  He laughs heartily. “I like Scott, and he puts up with me. Let’s get to the beach before it gets too late.”

  I stop walking and look up at him. “You seem awfully intent on getting me to the ocean. What’s up with that?”

  “Why are you unbelievably suspicious?”

  “Cary Grant wore a hat just like yours in Suspicion to murder his wife.”

  “But he didn’t do it. Because the studios wouldn’t let Cary do it.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I live near the Chinese Grauman’s theatre and the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and I furnished Cary Grant’s old house at the beach when new residents moved in. I am nothing if not well versed in Hollywood history. How could I do my job otherwise?”

  “Your job. Yes, about that. I noticed you were an antiquarium from your card.”

  Again he laughs.

  Dane Weston is what I aspire to be—well, minus the guy part. He’s elegant and professional in his pressed slacks or suit, and more important, he looks like he belongs in them. Not like he’s inherited an older brother’s clothes. He reads U.S. News & World Report and BusinessWeek for entertainment, and he understands what the Dow Jones Industrials are. By all appearances, you’d think he had a professional butler looking after him, but as his roommate, I can testify he does it all himself. He’s regal, just like Cary. And though I find him the most attractive man I’ve met to date, I can’t help but feel as though my flaws are highlighted neon yellow, cast underneath his long shadow. And that was before I was golden sunset in color.

  “Your card said you were an antiquarium,” I repeat.

  He smiles. “You make it sound as though I collect fish. I’m an an-ti-quar-i-an.” He says the word slowly. In separate syllables for the country girl.

  I could die. Antiquarium, antiquarian. You say potato, I say po-tah-to. Neither word means a thing to me. It’s been such a long day, and I feel the sudden sting of tears over my mistake. I’m sure it’s more about Kreata’s hair and my neon face than my own ignorance on antiquarians, but still. Although I blink wildly to hold them back, I held everything in all day in order to not stand out at work, and I let my guard down when I walked out the door. When all else fails, try honesty.

  “I don’t know what that is, Dane.”

  He stops dead, looks at me, and wipes an escaped tear from my cheek. His voice softens. “Sarah . . .” He comes in close so I can’t avoid his eyes. “No one knows what it is; that’s why I use it. The title makes me sound more exclusive. I’m an antiques dealer. I buy and sell European antiques in a small shop in Brentwood. It’s only open to dealers, designers, and the more savvy collectors, not the public. My clientele prefer the title. It helps them charge their customers a higher premium.”

  I feel a strong headache coming on. “Antiques.” The word rolls off my tongue. “I don’t know a thing about them. Well, other than they’re old.”

  “Not always. Sometimes collector’s items for these homes are quite recent, but yes, the definition of antique is that something is old. I grew up around them. It was my parents’ business. I’m not creative enough to strike out on my own like you. I wonder if I had a skill what I might have become.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “We need to fix that. If that’s the nicest thing you’ve heard, you’re not setting your standards high enough.”

  “So do you think Ben Affleck will have the same effect on people as Cary Grant some day? Will people buy his old house to relive an era?”

  “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

  I giggle.

  “Even the orneriest, snobbiest of people look good under a full moon at the beach. And I want you to see my kitchen, see if you like what I’m doing with it. Maybe you’ll find me more to your liking. A man with a good kitchen definitely has potential, don’t you think?”

  If I found him more to my liking, I’d be doing the cavewoman bonk over his head and taking him home by the hair. And let’s just say Mrs. Gentry would definitely not approve of that. It’s not even what Dane says; it’s that there’s some kind of chemical combustion that goes on when we’re together. Something impossible to explain but magic to encounter. I’m going to call it the X factor. In reality, he’s probably the kind of man who saves worn stamps and metal lunchboxes in his closet, and I’ve created him to be nouveau Cary Grant.

  Story of my life.

  chapter 13

  You must learn day by day, year by year, to broaden

  your horizon. The more things you love, the more you

  are interested in, the more you enjoy, the more you

  are indignant about, the more you have

  left when anything happens.

  ~ Ethel Barrymore

  I feel the phone in my hands and gaze at Dane, thinking over his invitation. It’s just dinner. I know that, and yet I know myself. I know how I feel about Dane.

  “Dane, I have to make a phone call.”

  He shakes his head. “So make one.”

  I look down at the phone in my hand. “It’s long distance.”

  “Believe it or not, Sarah, the cell phone will call long distance.”

  “But what will it cost?”

  “It’s free. It’s an international line. Just make a phone call. Why don’t you go over on that low wall and talk, and I'll window shop. I’ve been meaning to get down here to Rodeo Drive to think about Christmas anyway.” He smiles broadly.

  “I like platinum,” I joke.

  I walk over to the Louis Vuitton storefront and dial Kate. Of course, she’s probably off fooling around, hiding from Ryan. Who’s stalking me. As if I had something to do with it with any of the failing relationships around me.I have no idea why Scott dumped his fiancée, yet here I am, witness to the whole soap opera. Now I’m getting interrupted at work because Kate is having thoughts. What is this, the Dark Ages?

  Kate answers on the first ring.

  “Thank goodness you’re home.”

  “Where else would I be, Sarah, it’s ten o’clock.”

  I look at my watch. “Oh, right. Time difference.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  I turn around and stare into the store window, whispering, “It’s fabulous. I’m with Dane!”

  “Dane. I thought he was in France or something.”

  “He’s home early! And he came to pick me up, and he’s lending me a cell phone!”

  “Did you tell him you have a date with someone else?”

  “Shut up. Listen, Dane invited me to his place, and I need you to tell me why that is such an incredibly bad idea. Go ahead and tell me about the girls who got pregnant in high school.”

  “You have serious issues if you can’t go to dinner with a guy without your virtue suddenly being at stake. What’s wrong with you?”

  “So that’s my support, huh? I’m feeling all warm and tingly. Really.”

  “Well, just be sure and close the door like they do in all your old movies. Like you wouldn’t freak out that you’re just like your mother. Please. You have issues, girl. Go to dinner and quit whining. No wonder you never had any dates.”

  “Ryan called today. He said you’re talking strangely.”

  “I’m not talking strangely. I’m talking about what I really want in life. It wouldn’t be strange if Ryan didn’t want to tell me what I really wanted.”

  “Kate, Ryan loves you.”

  “I’m not willing to be who Ryan wants me to be just to have a man, all right? I’m not your mother.”

  “Kate!”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a rotten day and I’m struggling. Pray for me, all right? I’m going to watch TV and forget this day ever happened. Oh, hey, call Mrs. Gentry if you have a chance. She’s been dealing with your mom, and she told me not to tell you or worry you, but you know I can’t do that, so call Mrs. Gentry.”

  “I will.”

  �
��Don’t worry about Ryan and me. We’re in the process of designing the way our life will look together; we’re in negotiations, all right?”

  “But you’re not thinking of leaving Sable?”

  “I don’t know what I’m thinking. Look, Sarah Claire, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not one to speak to me on what kind of life I lead, all right?”

  She hangs up on me.

  My best friend hung up on me. What the heck?

  In the past, I usually let Kate have her temper tantrum and we talked later like nothing happened, and that’s what I’m opting for here. I look at Dane, who seems content looking at windows, though I know he’s not interested in anything. “Dane, I’m going to make one more call! I’m sorry!”

  “Take your time!”

  I call Mrs. Gentry and breathe in relief at the sound of her voice. “Hello?” she answers raspily.

  “Mrs. Gentry, it’s Sarah Claire.”

  “Sarah Claire, is everything all right? It’s nearly ten-thirty.”

  “It’s only eight-thirty here, and yes, everything’s okay. Did I wake you? I just forgot about the time change.” And the fact that old people go to bed at eight-thirty. “I just wanted to check on my mother, and I thought you might know something. She’s not returning my calls.”

  “Now, Sarah Claire, I hadn’t wanted to worry you. How are you doing in Beverly Hills? You must be awfully busy, because the girls and I haven’t received our promised letter.”

  Why is it that every time I talk with Mrs. Gentry I feel guilty? “I’m doing fine, Mrs. Gentry. How are you?”

  “This Dane fellow, how is he?”

  “He’s fine. More than fine. We’re going to have dinner tonight.” I look toward him and he offers me a smile and a wave. He’s beautiful.

  “Kate’s keeping us up to speed on your blooming romance.”

  “So the entire town of Sable knows.”

  “Yes, dear.” She says this matter-of-factly.

  “There’s nothing to know, really. He’s my cousin’s roommate and he’s my polar opposite, yet I can’t help the way I feel about him.”