Wish List

by Fern Michaels

  “All RIGHT! Two dogs. That’s my final offer.”

  “I accept your offer. Dolly, I’m scared. No, what I’m feeling goes beyond scared. I’m petrified. Acting is all I know.” She was blubbering, tears washing down her cheeks in a mini-waterfall, a luxury she could rarely afford for fear her eyes would be puffy and bloodshot.

  “It’s okay,” Dolly said, dropping to her knees. “Go ahead and cry all you want. And when you’re done, I’ll peel some cucumbers to put on your eyes. Crying is very therapeutic. It releases all kinds of tensions and toxins. All you have to do is tell yourself it’s their loss. And it is. You’ve had more than most in this town, you have your Oscar, your star, and your footprint. Not too many people can say that. Nothing lasts forever. That’s always been one of your favorite sayings.” She was crooning as she rocked Ariel back and forth like an indulgent mother. “Okay, a cat, too. Two dogs and a cat. They’ll do a writeup on you in Variety. ”

  Ariel hiccupped as her outburst subsided. “In this whole damn town, you’re my only true friend, Dolly. Sometimes I think you and I are the only ones who know what the word loyalty means. I’m okay now. I am scared, but I’ll deal with it in my own way. I’m fortunate enough to have options. Today was . . . the confirmation I needed to know I’m finished as an actress in this town. You’re probably right about the animals. Perhaps later when things are more settled.

  “Dolly, do you ever want someone to love? Someone to love you? I mean really love. Did you ever have that? In the twenty-five years we’ve been together, I never asked you. I don’t even know why I’m asking you now. I had that once, a very long time ago. I didn’t have it in either one of my marriages, though. Do you think it’s true that you only love once?” Her voice was sounding fretful. Almost whiny.

  “Once, a very long time ago,” Dolly said softly. “It wasn’t meant to be, I guess. I never found anyone after that. The truth is, I didn’t look very hard. I’m contented. I would have liked to have children though. It’s my only regret. Are we letting our hair down here, Ariel? If we are, then what about you? You had two husbands and several relationships so you know what love is all about. I wish one of them had worked out for you. Is it possible, Ariel, that at one time you lost someone you really loved and no one else measured up?”

  “I wish . . .”

  “How many does that make for today’s wish list?”

  “Two,” Ariel said.

  “Two’s good. Two’s better than the six you logged yesterday. And the five the day before that. Those lists have grown a lot in the past year. Are you aware of that, Ariel?”

  “Of course. But wish lists don’t mean anything. It’s just something I do. Did I answer your question?”

  “No.”

  “Once, a long time ago, I loved someone, but my father called it puppy love. My parents said I was too young and they didn’t like the boy. My father got transferred and we moved away. End of story.” No, it isn’t the end of the story. Someday you’re going to have to talk about that little tale. Aloud. I wish . . .

  “I’m going to make you a cup of tea. You look peaked, Ariel. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you aren’t coming down with the flu. You could even have some kind of intestinal bug. I. think you can use a nap. We won’t be having dinner till around eight. The fire will keep you cozy. It’s raining out right now and the wind is kicking up. It’s going to be an awful night.”

  “You don’t have to be so cheerful about it,” Ariel grumbled as she settled herself into the mound of pillows. She was sound asleep when Dolly returned with the tea.

  The housekeeper set the tray down on the low table in front of the sofa. She dropped to her knees, her hand going to her employer’s forehead. Warm, but not alarmingly so.

  Dolly rocked back on her haunches. Ariel was always so in control of her life. She never did anything until she mapped it out, checked it longways, sideways, and up and down the middle. Then she talked the problem to death until she was one hundred percent comfortable. Many a night they sat up talking about a problem, drinking black rum tea and nibbling on dry toast. Ariel shared all her problems with her, valued her opinion. Not only was she a wonderful employer, she was also a marvelous friend.

  Dolly struggled to her feet and picked up the tea tray. She shook her head. Rejection had to be the worst thing in the world, especially for an actress. It bothered her that Ariel hadn’t confided her worries about losing out these past months to other younger, more glamorous actresses. Actually, it was more like an entire year since Ariel had been offered any kind of serious role. So many scripts, so many readings, and then . . . nothing. Today must have been some kind of invisible deadline for her employer. She wished she could remember exactly how many calls she’d gone on the past year. Sid would know, but she wasn’t going to call him. That would be stepping over boundaries. She turned, set the tray back down, bent over, and stared intently at Ariel’s face. The little bumps Ariel was so worried about were raised almost like pimples, but they weren’t pimples—she was almost sure of it. She could feel her stomach muscles begin to tighten. She almost ran from the room, the tea on the tray splashing over the side, dribbling down to the polished hardwood floors.

  Something was really wrong with Ariel’s face . . . and it was getting worse every day.

  “So, Dolly, what’s for breakfast?” Ariel asked.

  “You get half a grapefruit and a slice of dry toast. Five minutes. Coffee’s ready.”

  “Today, Dolly, I’ll have two scrambled eggs, three slices of toast for dipping in my egg yolk, lots of strawberry jam, and real cream for my coffee. I have a full day ahead of me and I need sustenance. I’m going to take a full page ad out in Variety asking for scripts. I have a call in to my attorney and one to Sid. I’m going forward with my plan to form my own production company—and I’m seriously thinking about directing a movie if the right script comes along. After breakfast I’ll call my financial advisor to see if he can get me some backing. First rule of business, Dolly: you never play with your own money. If I absolutely have to, that’s a different story. I figure I’ll be scared for the first two camera set-ups, then I’ll be fine. I’ve learned a lot over the years. Sometimes I even surprise myself with what I’ve picked up. It stays with you, if you know what I mean. I know I have to wear comfortable shoes, not those spike-heeled numbers I’ve been wearing every day of my life. Hollywood doesn’t take women directors seriously, but they’re going to take me seriously. The secret is control. I’ll buy the property outright. I can do it. I feel it. What do you think, Dolly?”

  “If it feels right, I say go for it.”

  “It feels right,” Ariel beamed.

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  “Since my first turr-down. In my thirty years in the business I always got the part, every time I read for it, until that day. I was right for that part, too; the producer and director thought so, but the money people wanted someone else. When it happened a second and third time I saw the handwriting on the wall. You know me, though, I have to be hit over the head with a hammer before I give in. Even a stupid person would realize the game plan changes after a dozen turn-downs. I’m not a stupid person.”

  Dolly set Ariel’s breakfast in front of her. “You haven’t eaten a breakfast like this in ten years. Maybe fifteen. I hope your stomach is up to it. You better buy a girdle along with those comfortable shoes.” Her voice was sour sounding, but Ariel was so busy wolfing down her food she didn’t notice.

  Dolly poured herself a cup of coffee, adding four sugars and enough cream to turn the coffee white. She sat down across the table from Ariel, her eyes sharp. “Ariel, have you ever thought about leaving Hollywood, you know, going somewhere else?”

  “And do what?”

  “Any number of things. You need to slow down. This . . . whatever it is . . . hasn’t really hit you yet. Maybe something to do with fashion. You’ve got a great eye for color and design. We could start a catering company. Low-fat everything. I could
do all the cooking and you would be my best endorsement. That would be interesting. With all your resources maybe you could start up some kind of business where you could utilize the talents of people like Carla. I guess I’m saying don’t rush into anything. Think about it before you jump in with both feet.”

  “That was wonderful! I’ll have another cup of coffee, Dolly. I have thought about it. For a whole year. Am I missing something here? Are you thinking about going into business for yourself? If you are, I’ll back you all the way. This is all I know, Dolly. It’s my life. I have to have something. I could never just get up and walk away. I bet I could even act and direct at the same time. Others have done it. The bottom line is, I believe in me. That’s half the battle right there. Now, to the good stuff. Let’s plan a party. This company will be formed before we know it. Scripts will be arriving by the truckload. I know Kenneth Lamantia will have our backing before either one of us can sneeze. It’s almost like it’s a done deal. So, let’s plan a real gala. Grand announcement. The whole nine yards. We’ll invite the whole town and pray half of them will be a no-show. This has to top the party we gave after I won my Oscar. You’re going to see some major sucking up. It might feel good for a change to be on the other side of the fence.”

  Dolly wrinkled her face into a grimace that was supposed to be a smile. Her fat pigtail swung from side to side as she bobbed her head up and down. “No, I do not want to go into business myself. I was thinking about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. This town is a killer. You know it and I know it. I meant us. For whatever good I’ll be, I’m with you all the way. A party it is. I must say, you’re taking all this pretty well. I thought you’d be . . . devastated.”

  “I was. Don’t forget this has been going on by degrees this whole past year. While I’m not used to it, I can live with it. It’s my choice to walk away. There will be parts offered to me, but they won’t be good and I’ll feel like I have to take them. I don’t want that to happen. This is best.”

  Ariel finished her coffee. “Well, it’s off to my office. I’m going to think about redecorating it. I’d like it to look more feminine. We can change the drapes, get some new carpet, get rid of that monster desk and get a white one. Colorful cushions, some new chairs for clients, loads of plants, and maybe some of those crisscross strips for the windows. I want it to be a cozy room. Thank God for the fireplace. Two chairs and a low table will be just the right touch. I think I’m getting excited. Listen, do me a favor and run to the drugstore and get some of that coverup for these spots on my face.”

  “You could go to the doctor, you know. What’s a half hour out of your life? You might need an antibiotic. Makeup is not going to work, I can tell you that.”

  “We’ll try it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll go to the doctor. It just seems kind of silly to go to a doctor for a few little bumps.”

  By the time Dolly announced lunch, Ariel had the wheels in motion to start up her own production company. Her ad was placed in Variety, she’d rented a post office box in Dolly’s name, and opened a business bank account in the name of her new corporation, Perfect Productions. She had a new tax ID, and would shortly receive tons of legal documents, according to Lamantia.

  Ariel dusted her hands dramatically as she made her way to the kitchen. A ham and cheese sandwich with side orders of potato salad and coleslaw waited for her. Ariel ate it all, grumbling that it hurt to chew. “I’ll bet I’m getting an abscessed tooth and that’s why these things are erupting on my face. Five bucks, Dolly. It didn’t hurt when I ate breakfast. Maybe I will make an appointment with the dentist tomorrow, just to check it out. Boy, that was a good lunch. It’s wonderful to eat again. I’ll do the treadmill this afternoon to walk off the calories, so stop fretting. And now,” she said, “I’m going to plan my office. I have some papers you have to take to the bank—and you have to go to the post office and sign something, and pay six months’ rental. The rest of the afternoon is yours for your soap operas.”

  “Make the office pretty, Ariel, so we can take an afternoon tea or coffee break like they do on those coffee commercials. You know the ones, where the women are all dressed up, sitting in brocade chairs wearing high heels and there are fresh flowers everywhere. Everything is frilly and pretty.”

  “I’ll do my best. Do you have any Motrin?”

  Dolly shook three tablets into her hand from the bottle in the kitchen cabinet. Ariel swallowed them with the remains of her soda.

  “Call me when dinner’s ready. Let’s call the party a soiree. I’ll make up the list and you can take it to the printer tomorrow. Three weeks from Saturday. Off the top of my head, how does this sound? ‘Ariel Hart requests the honor of your presence at a soiree on November twelfth, nineteen hundred and ninety-four.’ I’ll spell out the day and the year, makes it look more formal. I’ll go on to say something like, ‘In Celebration of the Formation of Perfect Productions.’ I know it’s not worded right, but you get the idea. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good. Formal, right?”

  “Absolutely. I’m going to wear that beaded dress I had made in Hong Kong. We’ll have to go to Rodeo Drive and get you something super fancy. Start thinking about what you want.”

  “I wouldn’t count on wearing that dress if you keep eating the way you are. I looked at it when it was delivered and there aren’t any seams to let out.”

  “Well, I’m not going to worry about it now. I’m so excited, Dolly. I think I can do this. It’ll be a real hoot when some of those players who crossed me off their list start sucking up. Guess that’s not very nice of me, huh? Who cares? It’s my turn now. I do feel good about this. Jeez, it’s raining again. Back to my work and my toasty fire. You should build one here in the kitchen fireplace. Do that, Dolly, and we’ll eat dinner out here. Let’s go to Aspen for Christmas and see some snow. I’ll make the reservations. Maybe we should invite Carla. What do you think?”

  “What I think is you got a whole lot on your plate. The party, Aspen, the new business. Slow down. You don’t have to do everything all at once.”

  “Yes, I do, Dolly. I have to keep busy so I don’t think. I don’t want to turn bitter and become one of those unforgiving recluses who abound in Hollywood. I knew what would happen going in, but I was young then and thought this day would never come. Life goes on and I want to go on, too. It’s the only way I know.”

  “Okay, but pace yourself. Promise me.”

  “I promise. See you at six o’clock.”

  The afternoon passed quickly for Ariel. The decorator would arrive first thing in the morning. She made reservations for a seven-day stay in Aspen, then called Carla, who said she’d be delighted to make the trip. The dentist was away in Vegas on a convention so she made an appointment for the following week. Before she did her five-miles on the treadmill she washed her face, then reapplied the coverup. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the bumps were bigger and her entire face ached. The Motrin should have kicked in by now. Maybe she should try another dentist. She finally decided if she wasn’t any better by morning she’d call Dolly’s dentist. She popped two more Motrin from a bottle she kept in her desk.

  Ariel was a half-mile into her walk when she had to get off the treadmill because her head started to pound unbearably. Never a worrier by nature, she was now more than a little concerned that something might be seriously wrong. Lord, what if she did have an abscessed tooth and they had to take off all her pricey porcelain? I’m not going to worry about it now, she told herself. They’ll fix me some kind of temporary and I’ll hide out. It’s that simple.

  The clock over the mantel said it was four-thirty. Time for a little nap before dinner. Tomorrow she would feel better, she was sure of it. Tomorrow would be the first day of her new career. She crossed her fingers the way she did when she was a child, hoping that this new career would be as successful as the one she was giving up. I wish . . .

  Two

  It was a celebratory meeting in more ways than one. It was also Halloween and Dol
ly had decorated the lawn and front door with fake spider webs, goblins, and witches chasing sheet-clad ghosts.

  They were all waiting for Ariel to return from town: financial advisor Ken Lamantia; agent Sid Berger; broker Gary Kaplan; actuary Alex Carpenter; and a team of lawyers, Marty Friedman, Ed Grueberger, and Alan Kaufman. Audrey and Mike Bernstein, Ariel’s long-time accountants, and Carla Simmons were the last to arrive. They were all talking at once, each offering input and toasting the success of Perfect Productions with fresh apple cider.

  “Have all the RSVP’s for the party come in yet?” Sid asked.

  Dolly nodded. “Two hundred people. Everything’s under control. I’m sure Ariel will be home any minute now. She’s pretty excited.”

  A discussion followed about how well Ariel was making the transition from actress to producer and how successful they all knew Perfect Productions was going to be.

  “Where’d she go?” Carla asked curiously.

  “I believe she had a fitting for her dress. You know how that goes. She probably lost track of time. It’s possible she had some last minute details to see to about the party. It’s just two weeks away. I think I hear the garage door. If anyone wants to spike the cider, feel free. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Dolly opened the kitchen door that led to the garage. Ariel was sitting in her car, her head in her arms over the steering wheel. She didn’t move when Dolly opened the door. “Everyone’s here, Ariel. They’re probably spiking the cider as I speak. How did you like the lawn decorations?” When there was no reply, Dolly reached in to the car and tugged at Ariel’s arm. “What’s wrong?” she asked fearfully.

  “Everything is wrong. Dolly, go in there and tell them all to go home. Tell them I’ll call them in the morning. I’m not up to . . . I can’t face . . . do it, Dolly.”