“How did we get back to the children issue? I never want to force you or make you give up something you love – especially if I’m not prepared to do the same. I don’t want to be a hypocrite.”
“And you don’t think I would love our children more than my job? That there might be other opportunities for me in town?”
“I…”
“So let me get this straight. If I were to find something permanent or freelance that would keep me close, or forego work altogether, you would consider getting pregnant?”
Taken aback, Amy says, “You’d have to quit smoking.”
Zach stubs the cigarette in the ashtray and says, “Consider this my last one ever.”
“Wait, are you serious?”
“Isn’t that the whole point of us checking in to a fancy hotel?”
“I’m thirty-five, there’s no guarantee things will happen easily or without help.”
Zach walks over to clasp her hands in his own and says, “Are you actually considering having a baby with me?”
“While we’re trying, I want to attend couples counseling. I don’t want to bring a baby into a dysfunctional home.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“No counseling, no baby. I know we’ve done a lot of things our own way, but if we’re going to bring another life into this world, I want things to be done correctly.”
“I could manage that.”
They sit in silence for a moment, then Amy asks, “When is your next assignment?”
“I’m supposed to fly to Libya early next week, why?”
Blushing prettily, she looks aside and says, “I’m fairly positive that’s when I’ll be ovulating. Do you mind if Ito covers the gig?”
Sweeping his wife up into his arms, Zach says, “You bet he can.”
Giggling, Amy asks, “What are you doing?”
Whisking her into the bedroom, he says, “Seems like we might need a bit of practice before next week and I want to get started as soon as possible.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
July 14, 2:00 P.M.
Carrying her burnt orange Hermes Kelly bag, Frances “Fifi” Wyndham-Penn, walks around the space, carefully inspecting each and every corner. The bellboy, Chad, stands stoically, arms crossed behind his back, and notices that while on the surface she appears calm, he senses something distracted about her. He’s been at this long enough to know her type based on name and luggage alone. She doesn’t want him to speak and barely wants him to exist. He’s already placed her numerous suitacases on the luggage stand and carefully hung her garment bags in the closet.
When she’s done with her tour, he asks, “Can I show you how to use some of the technological elements in the room?”
“No, I’ve been staying in hotels for years and I don’t need instruction.”
“Would you care for anything else, Ma’am?”
“No.” She digs through her bag and hands over a crisp five dollar bill.
Tipping his head, Chad murmurs an obligatory, “Thank you,” and exits the room.
Frances is on her way to Europe. She’s been driven in today from Palm Springs and will meet the private jet tomorrow at the small, regional but very functional Van Nuys airport. While Fifi usually prefers to stay at one of the more upscale properties (the Regent Beverly Wilshire or Beverly Hills Hotel), she hasn’t enjoyed their service the past few visits and has therefore decided to branch out. Her husband’s secretary, a rather forceful young woman by the name of Caroline, had suggested the Winchester.
Personally, Fifi misses the days having a dedicated travel agent, but the extra cost seems a bit over the top, especially when Caroline can handle the details. She is rather efficient and did put together most of the upcoming holiday.
Straightening her already impeccable Chanel suit, Fifi slides a hand over her neat chignon, sits down on the couch and thinks about what she should do with the rest of her afternoon. She has any number of friends in the city that she ‘owes’ lunches to. There is the youthful and charming Dani Carlton, a new acquaintance whom she met and was surprised to absolutely adore – a pleasant surprise among the usual WAGS. Their respective contributions through charity work had brought them together. Or perhaps Hannah MacManus, a dear friend she hasn’t seen in ages.
In her sixties, but still looking very much in her late forties, and admitting to not much more than her fifties, Fifi, ne Frances Wyndham is more familiar with Los Angeles than most knew or could guess. She had arrived in the city decades earlier, with a dream to be an actress. Unlike other silly women who knew to use birth control, Frances hadn’t been careful. So when she had fallen pregnant and decided to keep the baby but give it up for adoption, no one had known – not even the father of the child.
As with every time she is in L.A., she thinks of her choice. She never told the father and wondered if now was the time. He still lives in town. Wringing her hands together, she decides she will think better after eating. Calling room service, she asks politely, “Could I have afternoon tea sent up?”
Not precisely comfort food, but Fifi hopes the meal will settle her stomach. More than anything, the small meal gives her something to do. Over the years, the older woman has become quite adept in filling the time without anything of particular substance. In the recent past, she’s taken to using medication to further block her from reality. Nothing illegal, just a combination of Xanax and Prozac to keep her from worrying or caring. She absently wonders where the need for these chemicals came from, where she lost her sense of direction.
In fact, where has she put her Valium? Traveling without it is very stressful.
She sighs, thinking about the upcoming trip. Her husband, Richard Penn is a major real estate developer, and has turned around a lot of projects in his years. He now is semi-retired and serves on a board of directors who convene twice a year in exotic locations. In fact, he is already in the South of France, meeting, and it is there Fifi is on her way to join him. They married a bit later in life. Fifi was in her thirties, and although she did not set out to, began their relationship when he was still married to the mother of his children. The decision had been a bit calculated. Having already found and lost the love of her life, Fifi had recognized the need for protection. While she was very fond of Richard, love was not entirely necessary.
Unfortunately, as much as she tries, she cannot avoid the feelings she once had for the father of the daughter she’s never seen again. Tapping her manicured nails on the couch surface, she knows Caroline could get the contact details of this man. Her husband’s assistant used to work in the entertainment industry, and still has the connections.
Richard will never know. Richard probably wouldn’t care if he did know. They stopped sharing a bedroom nearly three years ago and Fifi is certain the ‘business he had to attend to’ in France is half her husband’s age.
Finally feeling energetic and motivated about something, the excuses fall away. Scrolling through her Blackberry, she dials Caroline’s number.
“Yes, Mrs. Wyndham-Penn?” Caroline answers on the second ring.
“Hello.”
“How is the suite?”
“Very nice. Thank you. I especially like the flowers you sent ahead,” Fifi references the pink roses, her favorite, sitting in a vase on the desk.
“Yes, they were, ahem, a gift from Mr. Penn.”
Both know Caroline is lying, that Mr. Penn has no idea the flowers are even there, but Fifi replies, “He is very thoughtful, but I was actually calling about something else.”
“If you forgot something in Palm Springs, I would be happy to send the driver.”
“Actually, I need a phone number.”
In her office, Caroline rolls her eyes. To this day, even after a year, she does not understand how Fifi is incapable of looking up anything by herself. Reminding herself that the money is good and the job is stable, Caroline forces a polite tone, and asks, “Who would you like to speak with? I’d be
happy to connect you.”
“No dear, just the number. I was hoping you might be able to use some of your connections in the entertainment industry.”
“Of course.”
“It’s Mr. Erik Kester. Do you know him?”
Caroline is silent for a few seconds. Her brain is trying to determine why on earth her boss’s wife wants to get in touch with the head of a major entertainment studio. She finally answers, “It may take me a few minutes, and I may only be able to get his office number, not his direct line.”
“That’s fine.”
Swallowing, Caroline asks, “Will he know what your request is in regards to?”
Fifi ignores the question and responds, “Please call me back when you have the details.”
A knock on the door signals the tea service, which is rolled in by Stephen. A sizable amount of finger sandwiches (both vegetarian and non-vegetarian options), four delicate and small cakes of various flavoring, freshly made scones, clotted cream, butter, and an assortment of jams fill the table. Hot water steams from the kettle and a selection of various teas accompany the space. Additionally, the kitchen has included sugar (4 kinds, block white sugar, block brown sugar, Splenda, and Sweet and Low) and cold milk. There are doilies everywhere and an elaborately folded napkin provides a home for the cutlery.
A frustrated Fifi looks over the delivery and says, “Could you please bring back the milk, warmed up?”
“Certainly.”
Stephen immediately scurries out of the room and heads towards to the service lift.
While usually on a diet of 1000-1200 calories per day, given her impending call, Fifi feels the need to splurge and decides to indulge herself. Looking in the mini bar she is pleased to see a decent brand of champagne and pulls the small bottle out.
When a knock on the door alerts her the bellman is back, she opens the door and he steps forward with a tray (and another doily) with the small saucer of heated milk. After placing the warmed beverage on the tray, he asks, “Would you care for anything else?”
“Could you open the champagne?”
“Certainly.” With a bit of flair and pomp, Stephen opens the small bottle of champagne and serves the bubbly liquid in one of the flutes.
“Thank you.”
“If you’ll just sign here?” He hands across the folio and she signs, knowing the hotel has already included at 18% service charge, does not add a tip.
“Thank you.”
As someone whose food is usually bland, steamed, or had all taste (and calories removed from it), Fifi revels in the richness of the butter and sugar. She enjoys the champagne and has a delicious buzz when Caroline returns her call.
“Yes, dear?”
“I have the number you’re looking for, however…”
“Yes?”
Momentarily surprised by the endearment, the assistant responds, “Uh, I can’t stress this enough, please do not tell him how you got the number. What I’m going to send you is his private cell phone and the person that I got it from could get into a lot of trouble.”
“Understood. Please trust me, it is only one call I’ll need to make. I understand Mr. Kester is an important person and I will not waste his time.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, I know you’ve been working hard the past couple of weeks to put our trip together. Why don’t you take some of Mr. Penn’s petty cash and book yourself in for a day of treatments at Burke Williams while we’re away?”
“I…”
“I’ll be flying most of tomorrow and he’ll be offline. I insist.”
Not wanting to question the motivation, Caroline answers, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Fifi resists the urge not to remind Caroline to stay quiet about this matter, but does not want to draw attention to herself or the request. Instead she concludes, “Thanks again for all your help.”
“Call if you need anything else.”
A moment later, via text message, an 818 area coded number comes through. Hands shaking, Fifi finishes the rest of the champagne. Not quite ready, she crams the rest of a scone in her mouth, chews heartily, swallows and feels prepared.
What if he does pick up?
What if he doesn’t?
Recalling she was once a strong woman who could make decisions, Fifi picks up her mobile and dials the numbers. The line rings, once, twice, three times and finally a voice she hasn’t heard in ages asks, “Who is this?”
“Frances Wyndham.”
There is silence on the other end of the phone, which Fifi does not know whether to take as a good or bad sign.
“Frankie, is it really you?”
She knows he remembers her because he’s used her nickname. Tears begin to block her vision and she sits down on the bed. She answers, “Yes.”
Fifi hears a slightly muffled voice say, “Hold my calls,” then a door close and finally he asks, “Where have you been?”
“Here and there.”
“Why are you calling? Is everything okay? Are you in some sort of trouble? How are you?”
She hears nothing has changed – he’s as excited as ever. It’s also now or never. She takes a calming breath, and forcing the three scones and half a dozen finger sandwiches she’s eaten to stay in her stomach, says, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“I’ve missed you, Frankie. All these years and I never stopped—”
“There was a baby.”
“What?”
“When I broke things off with you, I was two months pregnant.”
Erik’s shocked silence is appropriate. With a husky voice, he asks, “What did you do?”
“I kept her.”
There is a long pause. Fifi wonders what Erik would look like now. For the most part, she’s resisted the urge to Google him. Finally he asks, “As in raised her?”
“No, I gave her up for adoption.”
While Erik processes this information, he asks, “You’ve not tried to find her?”
“No.”
“She’s not trying to find you?”
“No.”
“And your husband doesn’t know?”
“What makes you think I am married?”
“Frankie, you are a beautiful and incredible woman who deserves love. As much as it pains me to think about it, I’m sure you’ve been married a number of years now.”
Fifi is silent a moment before she answers, “Yes.”
“And does he know about our daughter?”
“I… No.”
As outraged as he should be with this information, Erik thinks back to the relationship he had with this woman nearly thirty years ago. They had shared something truly special, something he had never experienced since. After the disappointment and hurt of her sudden disappearance had dissipated, he hoped her life had been a good one. Now, while he wants to be angry, to begrudge her decision, instead he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me? You have to know I would’ve done the right thing.”
“The ‘right thing’ is what got my parents together years ago. Their relationship produced me, but ended terribly. I didn’t want to force marriage on anyone. I saw what that could do, what you could become. I couldn’t be responsible for destroying another two lives.”
“What gave you the right to make that decision for me? How do you know I wouldn’t have loved to be a husband and a father?”
“You haven’t become either.”
“I… How do you know?”
“I’ve read up on you, followed your career. With every step you made up the corporate rung I knew I had made the right choices. Sacrifices had to be made.”
“Where are you now? Please tell me we can talk about this in person.”
She hesitates before answering, and replies, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Frankie…please, I’m not upset, I just want to see you again.”
Fifi, unable to stay still, paces around the suite. Resolvin
g herself, she says, “I’m at the Winchester in Beverly Hills, but I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
Why then, did she tell him where she was? Does she think he’s going to drop everything and drive himself over? To clarify any disappointment of whether or not he will show, she continues, “I’m going away to Europe for the next three weeks and am flying out tomorrow morning. Give me that time to tell my husband. He doesn’t know about…her and he deserves at least that much.”
“If you’re sure. I can cancel my schedule for the rest of today.”
Although she’s flattered and realizes this conversation is going better than she ever dreamed it would, she says, “No, it’s not necessary.”
“So, as far as you know she’s out there?”
“Yes. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about her, about the choice I made and about not telling you.”
“I believe you. And you’re positive I can’t come to you?”
She considers his request again and finally answers, “I’m sure.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“When is her birthday?”
“She was born in the early spring. February 17, 1982.”
“Where?”
“I went to northern California. She was born near Palo Alto.”
“Did you meet the family who…?”
“No. I held her once and had to let her go.”
“After all these years, why did you call and tell me this? Why now?”
She looks outside, into the gorgeous summer day, and says, “I think about her. Every day.”
“That seems natural.”
“And I wonder about her – what her life is like. By now, perhaps she has married, maybe…maybe we have a grandchild.”
“Maybe we do. But I have to ask again, why today?”
“You’ll think it’s silly. Even I’m not sure I believe it.”
As deliriously happy as Erik is to once again be speaking with the love of his life, he says, “I promise I won’t.”
Fifi pauses and answers, “I thought I saw her.”
“Where?”
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