California Girls

by Susan Mallery

  “You’re her, aren’t you?” the shorter of the two teens asked, her blond ponytail swinging as she spoke. “You met Treasure on your show.”

  They were both wearing school uniforms, no doubt from one of the expensive private schools in the area.

  Finola watched the gallons click by on the gauge and wished the fuel would flow faster. Realizing there was no escape, she forced a smile. “Yes, I did meet her. Are you fans?”

  The girls looked at each other, then back at her. The taller teen rolled her eyes. “Of course we are. She’s just amazing. So talented and beautiful. She could have anyone. Is she really sleeping with your husband? Isn’t he like really old?”

  The blonde nudged her friend. “Don’t.”

  “What? I’m just asking. I would hate my boyfriend to cheat on me, but with Treasure I guess it would kind of make sense.” She smiled. “My mom says you’ve had work done, but not enough to keep him happy. I’m thinking of getting bigger boobs, but I just can’t decide.”

  The blonde shook her head. “Don’t do it. Wait until you’re her age to have surgery. You look great the way you are.” She turned to Finola. “So do you mind he’s sleeping with Treasure? I mean do you not care anymore when you get old, or does stuff like that still hurt? You know—being left and laughed at and stuff.”

  Finola told herself they weren’t deliberately cruel, they were just young and thoughtless. At least she hoped they were because otherwise the next generation was going to be a disappointment.

  Not caring that she didn’t have a full tank, she flipped off the nozzle and put it back in place, then screwed on the gas cap.

  As she walked toward the driver’s door, one of the girls called. “You’re really not going to say anything, are you? Man, you totally are a bitch. You deserve it, you know.”

  Finola started the engine, then drove away. She was careful to check for traffic before merging onto the street. It was only once she was safely away from the gas station that the shaking started, an aftereffect from trauma, she thought grimly.

  There was no escape. There was nowhere to go where she wouldn’t be recognized and humiliated. Everyone had an opinion on her marriage, the affair, her appearance. Telling herself she didn’t care wasn’t helpful, because she did care. She wanted to be liked. More important, she needed to be liked to be successful at her job. It was so damned unfair—six weeks ago everything had been fine, and now it was all crap.

  She drove back to her mom’s place in Burbank and thought wistfully of her own beautiful house. If only, she thought as she walked inside and called out, “Hey, Mom. I’m back.”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Finola set her bag on the entry table and kicked off her shoes. As she entered the kitchen she saw at least half a dozen boxes stacked by the back door. One was open with the contents spread on the table. Her mother brushed a stray strand of hair off her face.

  “After Zennie left I was so upset, I had to do something so I dragged these boxes in from the garage. It was that or sit around and drink.” Mary Jo sighed. “Not that there won’t be wine later, but at least I’m doing something constructive first. Did you know?”

  The question was direct enough that Finola knew there was no point in pretending she thought her mother was asking if she knew there would be wine later.

  “Zennie told me a few days ago.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “She wanted to be the one to share the news.” Finola walked over to the table and looked at the collection of odds and ends. There was a photo album, some old dress-up clothes and a few books. She glanced back at her mom.

  “I think she’s an idiot,” Finola said flatly. “She’s all caught up in the romance of the moment—giving her best friend a baby—but what if something goes wrong?”

  “That’s what I said. This is so much bigger than she thinks. She’ll be carrying that baby, she’ll feel it growing inside of her and start to care. I remember how I felt when I first found out I was pregnant with you.” Mary Jo’s expression softened with a smile. “Your father and I were so happy. It was a dream come true.”

  Finola couldn’t imagine being anyone’s idea of a dream, but it was nice to hear.

  “What a mess,” her mother said. “Nigel cheats on you with that ridiculous singer, Glen dumps Ali and now Zennie’s having a baby for someone else. I swear, I must be the worst mother on the planet.”

  “I’m happy to put all the blame on you,” Finola said without thinking.

  Her mother stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing. “It’s always the mother, isn’t it?” Mary Jo pointed to the pile of junk on the table. “Let’s get this cleaned up. We’ll go through the other boxes, then drink the wine I opened.”

  They sorted through the first two boxes quickly. The dress-up clothes were assessed for wear. Those still viable were put in the giveaway pile while the rest went into the trash. The books were sorted and the photo albums stacked to be gone through later.

  The second box was more of the same, with the exception of several pairs of painted wooden spoons.

  “Those are ugly,” Mary Jo said, reaching for the spoons. “They should be tossed.”

  “No way.” Finola grabbed them and waved one in the air. “These are our fighting spoons.”

  Her mother looked at her blankly.

  “We used to have sword fights,” Finola explained. “Upstairs. The three of us battled.” She smiled at the memory of time spent with her sisters. She’d been older and not as interested in play but they’d always been able to entice her into joining them with the fighting spoons. “Trust me, Zennie and Ali are going to want to keep these.” She plucked out the two dark green spoons. “These are mine.”

  “If you say so.”

  There was a box of old summer clothes from when the sisters were young and a very dusty and slightly moth-eaten fur stole. Mary Jo shook it out before wrapping it around her shoulders.

  “Your father bought this for me.” Mary Jo smiled sadly. “Your biological father, I mean. We were so poor, but so happy. We’d been invited to a fancy party and wearing fur was all the rage.” She pursed her lips together. “It wasn’t like today when any kind of fur has a stigma. Back then it was all good. Your dad found this at a thrift shop.” She sighed as she walked back and forth in the kitchen, the fur contrasting with her T-shirt and yoga pants. “I felt pampered and oh so beautiful.” Her smile turned wistful. “Your father had a way of doing that. He could turn any occasion into something special.”

  “Do you still miss him?”

  “Less than I used to, of course. He was a wonderful man. I’m sure over time we would have had our ups and down, but he was gone when everything was still perfect.” She looked at Finola. “Then it was just you and me.”

  She draped the fur over a kitchen chair. “I know it’s silly, but I think I’ll keep this. Maybe I can get it cleaned. It’s not in horrible shape.”

  Memories were powerful, Finola thought, wondering what she would want to keep from her marriage when—

  No, she told herself firmly. Her marriage wasn’t ending. She and Nigel were going to get through this and come out stronger than before. They had to.

  She put the next box on the table and opened it. Her mother was still stroking the fur so didn’t notice the box until Finola pulled out a large green-striped hatbox.

  “This is nice,” she said. “But I don’t remember it.”

  Mary Jo looked up. “Oh, there it is,” she said, almost to herself. “I’d wondered... You shouldn’t open it.”

  “Really?” Finola laughed. “You’re keeping secrets.”

  Her mother surprised her by running her hand across the box. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. It’s been so long. Go ahead. I’ll get the wine.”

  “Now I’m intrigued.”

  Finola quickly cleared off
the table and set the hatbox in the middle. She sat down, then carefully removed the lid. Inside was a hodgepodge of greeting cards, jewelry boxes, folders and several scripts.

  Her mother returned with an open bottle of pinot grigio and two glasses. “Go ahead. Go through it, then ask your questions.”

  Finola opened one of the robin’s-egg blue boxes with the words Tiffany & Co. embossed on the top. Inside was a beautiful starfish brooch encrusted with diamonds.

  “Holy crap, are these real?”

  Mary Jo poured the wine. “They are.”

  “You can’t keep something this valuable in the garage, Mom. It should be insured and in a safe-deposit box.”

  “I suppose.” She took the brooch and held it in her hand. “It’s pretty, but not me. Still Parker insisted.”

  “Parker?” Finola pulled out one of the folders and opened it. Inside were head shots of Parker Crane.

  The actor was much younger in the pictures, all handsome with a sexy smile and a twinkle in his eye. Parker Crane had been as famous for his reputation with the ladies as for his movies, she thought, trying to remember what else she knew about him. But he’d been way before her time. Now he was a successful TV character actor who still had a roguish air about him.

  “You knew Parker Crane?” she asked, looking from the pictures to her mother. “No, you were involved with him. When?”

  “After your father died. For months I was too stricken with grief to do much more than take care of you. There wasn’t enough money to support us forever so I had to do something. When I started looking for a job, a few friends insisted I go with them to a big Hollywood party first. Just to get my spirits up. Parker was there. He swept me off my feet. You and I moved in with him. We traveled the world. It was very romantic.”

  “I don’t remember any of this.”

  “You were still just a baby. Probably about a year old.”

  “You met a guy at a party and took off with him?”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m sure I made him work a little harder than that, but in essence, yes. I was so grateful not to be sad anymore. I knew it would never go anywhere. Parker was the consummate playboy and it wasn’t as if I truly loved him. Your father still had my heart. But it was fun while it lasted.”

  Finola took a drink of her wine. “How did it end?”

  “I woke up in a hotel room in Rome and he was gone. The bill was paid and he’d left two tickets for us to fly home. I remember lying in bed thinking I had to start living a real life. That I was done with pretend and done with Hollywood.”

  She picked up a small ring box and opened it. Finola gasped when she saw the large ruby surrounded by diamonds.

  “You could have sold the jewelry and lived off the proceeds for a few years.”

  “Oh, I was going to, if it became necessary.” The smile returned. “I wasn’t foolish enough to think Parker’s gifts were to be kept sacred. But I wanted to see if I could support myself first. I did sell a couple pairs of earrings to pay for secretarial school, then I got a job as a receptionist at the ABC television studios and that’s where I met Bill.”

  Finola thought about her handsome, movie star biological father, and then Parker, a man from the same mold. “Did you marry Bill because he was a regular person?”

  “I thought things would be better if I admitted to being ordinary. And for a while, they were. We had good years.” She drank more wine. “But I could never give him what he wanted.”

  And vice versa, Finola thought. She would guess Bill had seen Mary Jo as an exotic flower. He would have admired her but not known exactly what to do with her.

  “In the end,” her mother said, “I couldn’t make him happy. I suppose after a while I stopped trying.”

  “That’s what he said,” Finola told her. “Dad called me when he found out about Nigel. He wanted to tell me that even though Nigel cheated, I still had some fault in the failure of the marriage.”

  Her mother looked at her, her expression sympathetic. “Not what you wanted to hear.”

  “Of course not. Nigel humiliated me. He didn’t just cheat, he made it public.”

  “He did all those things and he’s a horrible person for doing it, but Bill isn’t wrong.”

  “Mo-om, you’re saying it’s my fault?” She didn’t care that she sounded like she was seven. “I’m the injured party.”

  “You are if you think you are.” She slipped on the fur wrap and slid the ring on her right hand. “But being the injured party is an easy trap. If you spend too much time feeling sorry for yourself, you never act.” She looked at Finola. “It took me until I was fifty to figure that out. You might want to learn the lesson a little sooner.”

  * * *

  Zennie and Gina stood by the bar area, searching for an open table. It was nearly five and The Cheesecake Factory at the Sherman Oaks Galleria was starting to fill up.

  “There,” Gina said, pointing.

  Sure enough there was an empty booth in the back by the bar. They hurried over, each sliding onto the bench seats.

  “I claim this for me and my friends,” Gina said with a laugh.

  “It’s an interesting choice for us.” The group tended to go out to local bars rather than brave the Galleria.

  “DeeDee’s been talking avocado egg rolls for two days,” Gina admitted. “After a while, I caved. I mean, who can resist those?”

  “I’m in.” Zennie might not be drinking these days, but she was still eating. And after days of following her prenatal diet perfectly, she figured she was due something fried.

  Cassie and DeeDee joined them, DeeDee sliding in beside Zennie.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t scrub in today,” DeeDee said with a sigh. “Dr. Chen was on a tear. He had Rita in tears before we’d even opened up the patient. I missed having you there to act as a buffer.” She grinned at Gina and Cassie. “Zennie’s his favorite.”

  “Oh, we know,” Gina said. “He makes it very clear.”

  “Why didn’t you scrub in?” Cassie asked.

  “There was an emergency bypass this morning around five. I was on call.” Her phone had gone off at four o’clock and she’d been in the OR by five. Six hours later, their patient was in recovery and doing well.

  Their server appeared to take their orders. Everyone got cocktails, DeeDee ordered two plates of avocado egg rolls and then it was Zennie’s turn.

  “Club soda,” she said, bracing herself for the onslaught.

  “What?”

  “You’re not drinking?”

  “We’re going to Uber home. Come on, Zennie, forget that it’s a school night.”

  She smiled at the server. “Club soda,” she repeated.

  When the server left, Gina looked at her. “What’s up? You’re not feeling well?”

  “I, ah, had an early morning.”

  No one looked convinced, which was not a surprise. Four wasn’t really that early, not when her alarm typically went off at five. She drew in a breath and quickly explained about Bernie and the surrogacy and the fact that she was pregnant.

  All three of her friends stared at her. DeeDee recovered first and grinned. “That is the coolest thing. Congrats. I can’t believe you’re doing something so wonderful for a friend. I mean I knew you were amazing but this is—”

  “Too dumb for words,” Gina said flatly. “What were you thinking, Zennie? Having a baby you’re not even keeping. What if something goes wrong? What if they change their mind?”

  The questions stung. “You sound like my mother.”

  “Maybe because your mother’s right.”

  The attack shocked Zennie. DeeDee came to her rescue.

  “Back off, Gina. What Zennie’s doing is fantastic.”

  “No, it’s not.” Gina’s expression was serious. She shook her head. “How long until Dr. Chen takes you off rotation
? You might be his favorite, but he’s not going to want you in surgery if you’re pregnant. What if you get nauseous or pass out or something?”

  Zennie hadn’t thought of that. “He can’t do that. It’s illegal.”

  “He’ll find a way,” Cassie said gently. “Zennie, what you’re doing is really wonderful for Bernie, but have you thought about how it’s going to screw up your life?”

  “I’m having a baby, not taking on a terminal illness.”

  “Pregnancy’s hard,” Cassie continued. “I’ve watched my sisters go through it and it truly sucks. You have no idea what you’ve signed up for. I hope it’s worth it.”

  DeeDee glared at both of them. “Don’t listen to the sourpusses. You’re my hero. Good for you, Zennie. Dr. Chen isn’t going to do anything about your being pregnant. He’s a sweetie.”

  All three of them stared at her. She blushed. “Okay, maybe not a sweetie, but he’s not that awful.”

  “You said he had Rita in tears,” Gina muttered. “Rita was a Marine.”

  Zennie did her best to process her friends’ reactions. Having her parents object was one thing, but she’d really expected her friends to be more supportive. And what if they were right about Dr. Chen? What if she did get thrown off the team?

  “You know the worst part?” Gina asked. “What if you find the right guy? How are you going to explain being pregnant?”

  “I’m not looking for a guy.”

  “That’s when you always find him,” Cassie pointed out. “Oh, Zennie, I wish you hadn’t done this.”

  Zennie glared at the two of them. “You know what I wish? That I had friends who could be happy for me and support what I’m doing.” She turned to DeeDee. “I need to go.”

  DeeDee slid out of the booth. Zennie followed. She faced the table.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how much you’ve disappointed me,” she said before hugging DeeDee. “Not you, my friend.”

  “Thanks. You don’t have to go.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She threw twenty dollars on the table to cover her drink and share of the egg rolls, then walked out.