by Gigi Blume
“I know I met her once, but I felt we really bonded in that time. Like a daughter I never had.”
“Except for the two you did have?”
“In addition to. Like a third daughter I never had.” She sighed. “I wanted five or six, but your dad wouldn’t think of it.”
“Okay.” I absentmindedly broke down some gift boxes leftover from Christmas.
“It’s not what you think, dear.”
“I’m not thinking anything at all, Mom.”
“He didn’t get a… you know. He’s good at math.”
“You don’t have to explain.” The last thing I needed to hear was stories about my mother’s cycles and the measures Dad took to avoid impregnating her. I crumbled some wrapping paper and threw it in the wastebasket. Post-Christmas organizing was a fun and tedious job. I’d have to find new homes for the various gifts I’d received. And then I noticed a particular gift. The book Jorge gave me. I didn’t even want to look at it. I was so disgusted. If I weren’t such a nerd, I’d have thrown it away. But it was a first-edition Hobbit. It had to be incredibly valuable. The thrift shop or wherever he got it from didn’t know the gem they had sold him. Maybe I could sell it on eBay.
Mom had moved on to her local gossip train. Something about a neighbor’s daughter getting married and how all she wanted now was grandkids. Truthfully, I kind of tuned her out because I found something in the book I hadn’t noticed before. Tolkien’s signature. It was personalized. Why didn’t I catch on to that before?
To Martin. A small boy with big dreams. JRR Tolkien
Martin. Martin Darcy?
“Mom, I gotta go.”
“But I haven't finished telling you about—”
“Sorry, bye.” I hit the end call button and immediately pulled up a search for Tolkien’s date of death. 1973. It was possible Will’s father met him as a young boy. Then again, there could be any number of people with the name Martin who happened to know the famous novelist. More realistically, someone from England. But then I remembered Will’s letter. He said Jorge had taken some of his father’s books. Was he really so stupid as to give one of them to me for Christmas?
I gingerly filed through the aged pages for annotations or notes perhaps. Something that could give me more answers. And then I found it. Tucked deep in the pages where it was sure not to fall out, was a strand of hair enfolded in a scrap of waxed paper. And next to that was a small photograph of Will’s mom.
It was evening when Cole finally called. They were on to some lead, but that’s all he could say. Even he didn’t have the details. All we could do was wait. One last thing he said before he hung up. “Go to the theatre tomorrow and do your best. I’ll be home Tuesday.”
None of us wanted to sit like hens and wait, and we certainly didn’t want to do our final dress rehearsals while poor Lydia might be lying in a ditch somewhere. But Cole was right. It was all we could do. Wait, hope, and rehearse. Opening night was less than a week away.
And so off we went on Monday to the theatre, morbid and sad. I felt like a jerk, singing and dancing and doing comedic bits. It was weird without Lydia there. But Nora tagged along to claim a small piece of her sister through the osmosis of the art.
“I’ll feel close to her just being there,” she said. So we brought her with us. The other absences in the cast were deeply felt. We knew Cole was still in Mexico, but our stage manager did a perfectly fine job at running the show. Stella cut out early, but Will didn’t show up at all. After all the new insights I had about his character, how I was now sure he was a man of virtue, he didn’t bother coming to one of the last rehearsals before opening night. I was Lydia’s oldest friend in the cast. We were practically sisters. So were Holly and Jane. We were heartbroken and worried. But we came to rehearsal. Where the heck was Will? Did he want to wash his hands of this whole mess? Would the actor that played Samuel have to step up last minute to do Will’s part? Those thoughts did nothing but stress me out. But then I had another thought, and I became incredibly depressed. What if I never saw Will again? What if he was gone from my life forever? I mean, I knew it was inevitable. We’d part ways after the run. But now that I was faced with the reality of it, and with the possibility of it being sooner than expected, the idea of it was unbearable. I’d gotten so used to his presence, now that he was gone, I wasn’t whole.
My heart galloped in my chest, and all those rocks in my stomach (the ones I’d been entertaining for weeks as the ingredients for my loathe pie) turned to fairy dust, and I felt lighter than air. Oh. My. Hamilton. I was in love with Will Darcy.
How incredibly inconvenient.
Why me? Why was I the stupid girl in the movie that didn’t realize until it was too late that the perfect guy had been right in front of her all along? I wanted to throw popcorn at myself.
There was one good thing that came of the whole day. Bing and Jane were on speaking terms again. They weren’t quite back to the same old smooching in the dressing room antics, but the mutual affection was written all over their faces. It was a sliver of light in an otherwise gloomy day and only a matter of time before we could ship their names together. Jing got my vote.
“Did Bing tell you why he skipped out on Stella’s charity?” I asked as we hung up our costumes for the day. The corners of her lips hitched in the silent grin of someone with a secret and a flush of pink dotted her cheeks. But I was having none of that. There would be no more secrets.
“Spill,” I demanded. I even did the Wonder Woman pose.
After a few moments, she burst at the seams and said, “He was in New York!”
And I knew immediately that Bing in New York at the same time as Jane was no coincidence. As it turned out, he learned she was there through friends. I guess the theatre world really was that small. He followed her there in a grand romantic gesture just to apologize. Like he couldn’t do that in California. Nope. Had to go to the Big Apple.
But I was happy for her. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was her.
“I hope you can find a good guy too.” Her eyes were rimmed with happy tears as she gave me a gentle hug. “There’s someone out there who’s perfect for you.”
“You mean someone who’ll put up with my snark?” I laughed.
“It’s not snark,” she said. “It’s intelligence.”
Wonderful. Now she would get me crying.
“Well…” I said with a wink. “Maybe someday I’ll come across another guy like Colin.”
“That will make your mom happy at least.”
I know I said no secrets. Perhaps I should have told her all the details of the gala, how we walked the dog and sang and almost kissed in front of the tree.
“Oh no!” I cried.
“What?”
My ornament. The beautiful year bulb Will gave me. I left it behind in my haste to get home. I would tell her eventually, but it wasn’t the right time. I sighed and shook my head slowly.
“Oh, I just remembered something I lost.”
Wasn’t that the understatement of the year? It was more than the ornament I’d lost. So much more. I’d lost love.
“They found her!”
Jane and I shot our heads to the sound of the approaching voice. Holly burst through the dressing room, waving her phone in the air. “She’s okay.”
“Lydia?” Jane exclaimed. “How did they find her?”
“No time,” she answered. “Nora’s already in my car. Let’s go.”
Jane and I dropped what we were doing and ran out with Holly. She filled us in as best she could in the car.
“Cole got her across the border,” she said, speeding down the 101 freeway. “She’s in a Chula Vista hospital.”
“Is that where we’re going now?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Where’s Chula Vista?” asked Nora.
“A two-hour drive, honey,” said Holly. “But I can make it in one-forty-five.”
She was right. She had a lead foot, but she was right. One hour and fo
rty-seven minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of Chula Vista Memorial.
I hated the smell of hospitals. It always reminded me of band-aids and sadness. But all that disappeared when I saw Lydia in her hospital bed, surrounded by plush toys and balloons. Cole and Stella were at her side, and although I wanted to be the first to throw my arms around her, I held back enough to let Nora have that distinction.
The reunion between the two sisters was beautiful and gave us all the feels. Lydia gave my hand a squeeze when it was my turn to approach the bed. I noticed several bruises on her face and arms. Probably more where the hospital gown covered. Her left eye was swollen, and a bandaged cut trailed across her eyebrow.
“Hey,” I joked. “You look great for a boxer.”
“Yeah.” She smiled, trying not to laugh. Laughing looked like a painful endeavor. “Lightweight champion of Penzance.”
“Maybe we’ll make you a pirate now,” said Cole.
Lydia nodded and cupped a hand over her injured eye.
“An eye patch can be arranged,” said Stella. “Would you like a parrot to go with it?”
“A foul-mouthed parrot,” Lydia said feebly.
“Consider it done,” replied Stella. “But in the meantime, how about some hot chocolate from the coffee cart? Cole and I will leave you to visit with the girls for a while.”
Lydia smiled and said yes to the hot chocolate. “Extra marshmallows,” she said as Cole and Stella left the room.
Nora sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Lydia’s feet. “When can you go home?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” she answered.
“Then I’ll stay the night.”
Despite Lydia’s protests, Nora insisted she’d be perfectly comfortable in the visitor’s chair.
“I’ve slept in worse conditions,” she said.
She wasn’t fooling anyone.
Lydia was in good spirits considering what she’d gone through. I wanted to ask her how she got those cuts and bruises. Did Jorge do that to her? Holly had told us everything she knew from Cole’s phone conversations, which wasn’t much. She had a fractured rib cage, head injuries, and several skin abrasions. Holly guessed from rope or wire. It was disheartening to see Lydia like this. Still, I was grateful to see her alive.
We joked about the five-star resort she was currently staying at, asking about the quality of the room service and spa amenities. We all laughed when a nurse came in to check her IV. Lydia jokingly asked her if she could change the drip from a cava to a brut. She rolled her eyes. She’d probably heard that one before.
We all did our best to keep the conversation light. None of us wanted to ask Lydia what had happened. Eventually, she was the one to bring it up. The way she told it, one would think she was pitching a movie. She even winked at her sister and said, “Are you getting this down? This is Oscar material.”
I imagined some of the more spectacular moments in her story were elaborated for dramatic purposes, and most likely, the version she would someday tell her grandchildren would be completely outrageous, but for now, she basked in the warmth of being the center of attention and played off our pitiful expressions. She was scarce on the details. But her entire narrative was embellished with sounds and smells and how scared she was, but also brave when faced with the possibility of death.
Long story short. Jorge Wickham: bad, bad guy. Apparently, he had some connections in the Mexican Mafia where someone could make a lot of money in human trafficking. Especially with blond-haired, blue-eyed girls. Like Lydia.
A knot formed in my belly at the memory of Jorge, and how he was always concerned about his finances. The things he had said to me when he had dinner at my parents’ house. And Christmas. What did he mean when he said he was afraid of obscurity? At the time, I blamed it on the Darcys. But now, I knew better. If only I hadn’t been so blind, I could have prevented this. Lydia would be safe at home, and Will and I could…
No. There was no Will and me.
Lydia finished her story by saying she was dropped off in a field blindfolded, and Cole came to her rescue like a knight in shining armor.
“Okay, now tell me something happy.” She was so over The Adventures of Lydia and the Mob and was ready to change the subject. She reached out her hand to Jane. “I heard you got a callback in New York. Tell me about that.”
Jane looked warmly upon Lydia, braving it through the pain like a trooper. It was obvious to me that Jane didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She wouldn’t let anyone ask her about her audition since she returned. Maybe it wasn’t the happy news Lydia asked for. But she took Lydia’s hand and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Well,” she began. “New York is cold this time of year. But it’s pretty. Some Christmas decorations were still up when I arrived, so that was nice to see.” Then she turned to Nora. “It’s probably colder in Massachusetts.”
“Oh, yeah,” agreed Nora. “Manhattan is more temperate.”
“Especially,” I added, “if you have a special visitor to keep you warm.”
Jane shot me a knowing glare and went on at Lydia’s insistence.
“Just tell us about the audition already,” Lydia said with a wince at the pain in her ribs.
“The producers at The Majestic were so nice,” said Jane. “Everyone was, really.”
“Aaaand?”
“And,” Jane said, blushing and reigning in a silly grin, “I don’t know how to say it.”
“Just say it!” we all cried in unison.
“They offered me alternate Christine Daaé. I start right after Pirates closes.”
This was big news. Huge!
The congratulations poured forth from all of us in varied expressions and exclamations.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Holly.
“Now I’ll know someone famous,” said Nora.
“You’ll get to do those Instagram story takeovers,” said Lydia excitedly. “I’m going to totally follow you.”
Jane tried her best to answer all their questions and comments. Lydia and Holly could hardly contain their joy, Nora seemed impressed in her own mellow demeanor, and I couldn’t be prouder for my friend. Something inside me knew she’d get the job. I’d been expecting it. And I was so happy for her. Still, a small part of me mourned our friendship because no matter how much we vowed to keep in touch, it was about to change in a big way.
“Well, Beth,” Jane looked directly at me. “What do you think? Want to move to New York with me?”
“What?” How did this conversation get turned towards me? Oh yeah. That was so Jane. She loved to perform for a crowd as long as it was in a theatre, but she couldn’t handle too much personal attention. It was doubtful she’d do any Instagram story takeovers.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” she said. “Just think about it.”
“I don’t see what there would be to think about,” said Lydia. “Just do it. Like Nike.” Then she made the swoosh sound.
Actually, there was a lot to think about. My family. The lease on our apartment. William. Or not William. And when did I start calling him William?
At length, I said, “I’ll think about it. And congratulations. You’re made of star-stuff. You belong on Broadway.”
Tears formed in Jane’s eyes, and she reached over the bed and clamped her hand over mine. “Ditto.”
“All right,” exclaimed Lydia. “Enough sappy talk. Where’s my hot chocolate? Stella’s been gone forever.”
“I’ll find her,” said Jane, getting up to go. Holly joined her. “I’ll come with. Maybe they have muffins. Anybody want a muffin?”
I declined the offer. We hadn’t had dinner, so I hoped we could stop at Plant Power on the way home.
“Since we’re all getting up, I’m going to track down a nurse to see when you can go home,” said Nora.
The three of them were gone in a parade of yoga pants and messy buns. Watch out, Chula Vista Memorial, musical theatre girls were taking over.
“So,”
I said, looking around at all the stuffed bears and balloons. “You got a moving van for all these presents?”
Her room was seriously filled with them. Huge flower arrangements, a bouquet of helium ‘Get Well Soon’ balloons, a giant teddy bear occupying a corner of the room. Somebody went to Costco.
She grinned as she swept her eyes over it all. “Isn’t it great? I should get abducted more often.”
“Not even funny,” I warned. “Were they having a sale at the gift shop?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Most of it’s from Will.”
Hold the phone.
“Will?” I questioned. “Darcy?”
She nodded and scrolled through her phone. Holly had brought it for her, along with some other items.
My jaw almost fell off its hinges. “Why would Will Darcy buy you your own Hallmark store?”
She looked up from her phone and blinked at me with those blue doll eyes. “He was there when Cole rescued me,” she said plainly. Then she went back to her phone.
“He was there?” I cried. “In Mexico?”
Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no,” she said. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. Just forget I said that.”
“I can’t forget you said that. It’s like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube.”
“Well, I don’t know why he was there. Just that he was.”
It floored me how Lydia could be so cavalier about this whole thing. She barely got out of there with her life. A guy we were all smitten with betrayed her. She was dumped in a field blindfolded. But whatever—a movie star came to her rescue and filled her room with get well wishes. So what?
My fingers itched to call Will. I had to know what his involvement was in Lydia’s rescue. How did they do it? Did they have an altercation with El Chapo? Was he hurt? What happened to Jorge? Did he get away?
But I couldn’t bring myself to call him. He didn’t want anything to do with me. That was clear. Cole must have called him for help. That’s why he was there. Did Will speak Spanish or something? Ugh! I had to stop asking questions to the air. I’d just drive myself bonkers.
“Dang, girl, I look hot in this pic.” Lydia had gone back to scrolling through her phone. From what I could see, she was deleting the photos with Jorge, but her lighthearted commentary was her coping mechanism.
