“You do realize this isn’t my problem,” Sara says.
“I do.” But for one—okay, the second—time in your life, do something decent, will you? “I made a mistake. People make mistakes.” Luckily, my God is more forgiving than you.
“I don’t make mistakes.” Click. But I know Sara; she’ll do what she can to stop that check. If there’s one thing Sara is, it’s in control. She will control where her money goes at any cost.
The money is gone, and I have no job. But I have everything in front of me to make a business. I just need to get fabric. Looking around the loft, there is fabric everywhere, and while the combination might make a stellar colorful skirt for Poppy, I’m thinking the couture crowd will probably pass.
The day’s angst has worn me out, and I feel my eyelids getting heavy as I think about cleaning up this mess. I fall on my futon and fixate on the orange glow of the streetlight below. Nate Goddard kissed me. I wonder what that was about?
I wake up to the harsh sunlight beaming through my soaring windows, highlighting the shambles of what’s left of my career. There’s a knock at the door, and I look at my watch to see it’s nine-thirty a.m. Nine-thirty!
I look through the peep hole to see a UPS man with clipboard in hand. I open the door. “Good morning.”
“Morning to you, Miss. I have a package here for Lilly Jacobs.”
“That’s me.”
“Sign here.”
I do, and he hands me an enormous package from San Francisco’s Jeweler. I rip open the package, and inside there are yards of cream shantung silk. I pull it out, admiring its perfect form and luxurious feel. Underneath it is more crepe paper and another box. I hang the fabric up in my closet and look at the box. It’s a brand-new Italian ionic hairdryer like the one at her gym. There’s a note pinned to the box:
Lilly,
I hope this hairdryer will make the upcoming winters more bearable for your gorgeous, thick hair, which you simply must stop straightening. The silk is for my wedding gown.I know you’ll do something incredible, and my father will provide any seed pearls or crystals you might need. But something fairly simple, all right?
With love,
Morgan
She can’t possibly believe I’m going to design her wedding dress without speaking to her first. I take out the gleaming silver hairdryer. I choose silver, I think to myself. I plug it in and feel the power, as even my thick mop blows easily under it. I put the hairdryer aside and start to clean up my loft.
As I finish, I’m just about to spray Lysol when I think of Morgan walking down the aisle with the subtle scent of Mountain Breeze disinfectant in her shantung silk. The phone rings, and I answer it, praying it’s Sara with word of my recovered check.
“Lilly, it’s Nana.”
I sigh. “Oh hi, Nana.”
“Is that any way to talk to your grandmother?”
“I’m sorry. I just thought you might be someone else.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel good?”
“It’s a long story, Nana. What’s up?”
“Max fell off a ladder this morning. He’s got a broken leg, and I was wondering if you could help me get him home from the hospital.”
“How’d you get there?”
“He drove with his broken leg. Of course, we didn’t know it was broken yet, although thinking back, it was bent pretty funny. I’m sure he knew it was broken.”
“Nana! Stop. What hospital are you at?”
“Mercy General.”
“I’ll be right there. Max has a car, right?”
“Of course, how do you think we got here?”
I hop into my jeans, modeled after Sevens, and oh so well-fitting. I actually appear to be shapely in them. Topping the jeans with a long-sleeve silk T-shirt I made from scraps, I am downright couture. Hospital attire never looked so good. Of course, I’m anxious about Max being on a ladder, as I have little doubt who had him up on the ladder. Can you say, lawsuit? The good news? I’m in the hole $20K, and I’ve got nothing else left to take.
As I walk out the door, Nate is outside about to knock.
My demeanor softens, and I feel a little giddy. “Hi, Nate,” I say girlishly. “Did you have a good sleep?”
“A little. I was up with China most of the night, but I’ll get a nap before I have to call London.”
“I know how you feel. I talked to San Francisco last night, and I’m probably going to call Poppy in Cupertino today. It’s just overwhelming sometimes. Dialing that 408 area code really gets the better of me.”
“Listen, I just wanted to say no hard feelings about last night, huh?” He doesn’t smile.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, we were just both wrapped up in the emotion of the night. I was upset about Kim leaving. I didn’t want you to think we couldn’t be friends after what happened. All right?”
“Right. Sure.” I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a goose honk. Here I had this great kiss, this magical kiss that I actually dreamed about, and today I’m being told it meant nothing. It was nothing. I so don’t get men. “George Clooney, here you come, right?”
“No, it’s not like that. It’s just that we’re friends. I don’t want to mess with that. I’d do anything for you, Lilly, but it’s not like that.”
I thought we already messed with things, but that’s me. “Friends.” I thrust my hand toward him. “I’ve got to catch the bus. Max and my Nana need a ride home.”
“Do you want me to drive you?”
“No, actually you’ve done enough already.” He looks at me sulkily here. “With the computer and the sewing machine. You’ve done quite enough.”
“Right.” He stands in the doorway.
“Excuse me,” I try to walk around him, but we meet chest-to-chest as I do. He looks down at me, and I’d swear he was about to kiss me again, but I move around him. “I’ll let you know if I hear from Sara about the check.”
“That would be great.”
“See ya later.”
“Hey, Lilly, I Netflixed A Fish Called Wanda. I know it’s one of your favorites.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get some work done. Appreciate the offer though.” I try to be as cool as possible, but naturally I don’t feel it. I feel jilted, used, and like a complete moron.
After locking the door (all seven locks this time), I start to walk down the hallway. Looking back at Nate, I just want to burst into tears. That’s what a girl gets for giving away the milk, I hear my Nana taunt.
But Nate had part of my heart all along, I guess. And I never knew it. Oh I know the arguments: he’s not a Christian; he doesn’t share my faith; we don’t have a solid foundation. I know the facts, but tell them to my heart. Because after his kiss? I want nothing more than to forget who I am for Jesus, and be who I want to be for Nate Goddard. He waves me good-bye, and I can’t help but think of the one Shakespearean line I remember. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
chapter 16
The bus to the hospital seems to consist of several homeless people and myself. Now you might ask, where is my Christian compassion? Shouldn’t I be handing out sandwiches and used coats? But those questions are irrelevant, because of course, you cannot smell what I smell. And they do not allow Lysol on the bus. I’ve tried before. I don’t imagine Calcutta smelled much better, but Mother Teresa was a better woman than I.
Once I’m on the BART train, the world looks—okay, smells—a little brighter, and I’m dropped off right in front of Mercy General. I tuck my sketch book under my arm and head to the emergency room.
I used the time on public transportation and actually did some drawings that I think might work for my collection. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking of Morgan’s lithe figure and how it will look best in a wedding gown. She could wear any style she wished, but I want the gown to be perfect. More than that, I want the groom to be perfect, and that aspect definitely needs work.
I walk into the emergency room which is a zoo, like something out of the Animal
House movie. I almost expect to hear, “Food fight!” There’s so much activity. Kids are screaming, moms are spanking, wives and husbands are fighting, patients are yelling at nurses. It’s like one of those disaster movies where they’ve just announced the world is being nuked in five minutes, and there are four spots left in the bunker.
I see my Nana sheepishly sitting in the corner with Max in a full cast up to his thigh.
“I could have driven,” Max says when he sees me. “It’s probably a lot less dangerous than sitting here like decoys. But of course, we had to wait for you once you’d started.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “How’s your leg?”
“Broken in three places.”
I cringe. “Don’t tell me anymore. Here, let me help you up.”
“I can get up.” Max pushes himself up off the arms of the waiting room chair. He looks down at me, annoyed that he should be so babied. Hey, you know, I didn’t exactly sign up for this gig.
“Where’s Valeria?” I ask and see Nana shake her head.
Max just rolls his eyes. “Let’s get to the car. I don’t want to be on this leg too long.”
We start to walk to his car, which I’m picturing as a Pinto or an Escort or something equally in poor taste, and he stops at a sterling silver Jaguar.
“This is your car?” Dang, the TV critic business pays all right.
“I didn’t pick it out, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Max groans as he tries to maneuver into the backseat.
“Nana can sit back there, Max. It’s your car. Why wouldn’t I think you picked it out? I picked out the bus and hold myself fully responsible for the choice.”
“Valeria picked it out,” Nana says as she tries to squeeze into what there is of a backseat. Italian cooking and riding in the back of a Jaguar are not a great mix. Eventually, Max gets tired of watching her maneuver and somehow gets himself and his cast back there.
“Don’t mention that woman’s name,” Max says about Valeria, his eyebrows lowered menacingly.
I slide into the driver’s seat. “You know, Max, the best of us get dumped. Welcome to the real world. She was too young for you anyway.” Some of us get dumped without actually realizing we had a relationship in the first place, and doesn’t that feel good?
“I didn’t get dumped,” he snaps. But inside, I’m thinking, Yeah, she did dump him, and what do guys expect when they’re twice someone’s age, and they are only slightly better than a troll, and the woman is a swimsuit model? I mean, call me naïve here, but DUH!
“How’s unemployment, Lilly?” Nana asks.
“Liberating.”
Here Max laughs, and my grandmother harrumphs.
I start up the car, and it just purrs like a kitten. Granted, a powerful, lion-like kitten, but still. I wonder if now is a good time to tell him I’ve never driven a car worth real money before. Seeing his scowl in the rearview mirror, I’m thinking probably not.
We’re silent as we drive home. I assume Max doesn’t want to talk about getting dumped, or whatever his macho name for it is, and I’m not keen on speaking of my unemployment or my loss of $20,000. So silence is definitely golden. As we drive up to his house in the Marina, it’s obvious that Max has time to take care of the place. I don’t know why it never dawned on me before, but this place has to be worth two million at least for its location. Its façade is much grander than those in the neighborhood, with ornate iron gates leading to the entrance and carefully-planted landscaping giving it a designer’s touch. Even the paint job is elaborate, like the City’s Victorian-era Painted Ladies.
He’s got an incredible view of the Bay from his place, although he usually has the plantation shutters closed for better television viewing. He’s also got a totally redesigned kitchen with granite counters, but you never notice any of that because the TV is so disproportionate to the rest of the place. It definitely makes me wonder how everyone in this city seems to have money except me. He sits and watches TV and makes more than I do! Obviously a lot more! It’s clear that my degree in finance translates into a complete loss when you look around at Bay Area success.
Nana speaks first as we reach the small driveway. “I’ll be inside making some soup. You make sure Max gets settled, Lilly. I’ll be up in a while.”
Max and I scowl at one another. “Sure, Nana.” Thankful the car is still in one unencumbered piece, I come around to the passenger side to get Max out, and rescue him from being wrenched in the backseat. Have you ever tried to get the first pickle out of a full jar? Um, yeah, it’s like that.
Max takes my help this time, as the Jaguar is extremely low to the ground, and having a straight leg for the maneuver is more than he can handle. He puts his arms around my neck and I help him to his feet. He steadies himself on me, and I hand him the crutches.
“There. Could Valeria do that?”
“She’s a black belt in karate.”
“Would you give it up? She’s a child,” I say angrily. “You know what happens to those girls? They turn thirty, grow up, and think, What am I doing with this old guy? It happened to Rod Stewart; it can certainly happen to you.”
“She wasn’t my girlfriend.”
“I never said she was.” But usually, when a woman hangs out and watches TV and makes you dinner she’s generally your girlfriend. Unless she happens to be my Nana.
“Valeria was sponsored by my father to come to America and work in one of the hotels. My father was a Russian-Jew. He tries to do a lot for the old country.”
Like get his son hot-looking women? “You don’t need to say anything more,” I say, silently praying he will. “Wait a minute. What do you mean your father’s hotels?” Emphasis on the plural.
“She found out who I was and made her move for marriage. I didn’t fall for it, but I ended up looking the fool just the same. Maybe she knew all along. I don’t know. Your Nana figured it out.”
“Who are you?” I ask, as he leans on me on the driveway. His eyes are so expressive. They seem to talk without even a hint of a smile on his face.
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk. “I’m a TV critic.”
Somehow, I don’t believe this is all he is for a second, but I figure I can ask Nana later what he means. His father owns hotels. Big deal. If he’s an heir, is that a crime? I’d be shouting it from the rooftops and looking for my monthly handout!
Getting up the tiled stairs is a trick all its own, and more than once, I thought we might both tumble to the bottom.
Max gets to the door and opens it without unlocking it.
“You don’t lock your door? In San Francisco?”
“I lock the gate.”
“Let me help you get settled.”
“You’ve done enough.” He starts to close the door on me, but taking after my Nana, I push it open.
“Don’t be so difficult. You’ve got no reason to hate all women because of Valeria. She has to grow up first before we can technically call her a woman anyway.”
“I don’t hate all women; don’t be ridiculous. And she didn’t dump me. I told you.”
“You didn’t tell me anything. Typical male.”
“I just don’t know what you women expect. You come on to us guys, using your wiles, and then once we take the bait, you cut the line and run off to the next guy.”
“I don’t do that. None of my friends do that. Girls do that. You were dating a girl.”
“Your Nana liked her for a while. And we weren’t dating. I keep telling you.”
“My Nana likes anyone with naked ambition, especially if they can turn it into cash.”
“That’s a harsh assessment of your own grandmother.” Max lowers himself onto his leather sofa.
“It’s said in love,” I answer truthfully. “If I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t have tried finance in the first place. I wouldn’t have a useless MBA from Stanford. I don’t think being rich is in my blood because I just don’t really care that much, you know?”
“All women say that.�
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“I’ll give you that. I’d like to buy nicer fabric for my clothes, have a place that’s lit by more than a single light bulb in the hallway. But I don’t want to crunch numbers to get it. Does that make sense? I’m capable of making money, Max. I just want more than that.”
“Yes, you’re waiting for Mr. Right to make your dreams come true and bankroll your life.”
I laugh out loud. “You cannot possibly believe I think that living in San Francisco. In case you haven’t noticed, most of the men here aren’t exactly looking for a damsel in distress.”
“So, do you want to live like that forever? In some dumpy loft you can barely make rent on? You got out of Stanford. You have to have a touch of ambition.”
“You don’t think I’m ambitious?” I’m dumbfounded after Nate and Kim both accused me of being practically ruthless.
“I’m just saying I see your grandmother’s point of view, but as one who turned down the family business, I understand more than you think.”
“I wasted eight years, all counted, with school and working in the industry. What did you go to school for?” I ask, wondering how one prepares for a life of professional television- viewing.
“Journalism.”
“Can I open these?” I ask, perched over the shutters.
“As long as you close them again,” Max grunts.
“Did they give you any happy pills for pain?” I ask. “You need some.”
I open the shutters, and a magical view of the San Francisco Bay, sapphire-blue from the afternoon sun, appears.
“Oh, Max,” I say wistfully. “You have the most amazing view. I’d never get anything done if I lived here. How can you keep this window closed?”
“It’s not shut all the time, Lilly. Just at night. I didn’t get a chance to open it this morning.”
“Does my Nana know your dad owns those hotels?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m just surprised she never tried to set me up with you. She must like you.”
“Did you want to be set up?” he raises an eyebrow.
Hmmm. An interesting question. I think on it for a minute. “No, I’m just sort of curious why she gets herself a certified heir in her presence, and the thought doesn’t occur to her. I’m not good enough for you apparently.”
She's All That Page 14
