by Anne Canadeo
Maggie noticed many personal touches—a photo of Jennifer and Nick on their wedding day and another with the couple posed at the Great Wall of China. There was also a framed poster from one of her early film successes and a large vase of fresh flowers near the window. Lily of the valley.
“Lovely flowers,” Maggie remarked. “I have some in my garden. They don’t bloom around here until May, though.”
Jennifer smiled. “I love gardening. When I have the time. I can’t get lily of the valley to grow very well where I live, but friends know it’s my favorite. Regina Thurston, our executive producer, sent that bunch. To wish me good luck on the film,” she explained. “Take a seat, everyone, I think there’s enough room,” the star said graciously. “Alicia, can you bring some of those kale chips and the green drinks . . . oh, and the strawberries?”
Maggie was more inclined to pairing her tea with a blueberry scone, or even plain butter cookies. But of course, white flour, sugar, and butter were pure poison to a movie star. Jennifer Todd was so slim—practically skeletal. She probably lived on nothing more than kale chips and filtered water.
“Please help yourself.” Alicia set down a tray with several small teacups, made of dark green pottery, alongside a cast-iron teakettle with a coppery sheen. Maggie had seen such kettles in specialty tea shops and knew they cost a small fortune.
There was also a dish of what looked like green potato chips and a more approachable-looking bowl of ripe strawberries, along with several bottles of a healthy-looking green drink.
“Nick and I have these smoothies flown in almost every day from a terrific little vegan restaurant in Laguna Beach. I practically live on them. Try one,” Jennifer encouraged them. She picked up a bottle and twisted off the cap, then poured it into a tall glass.
Maggie and her friends all took cups of tea. Phoebe was the only one tempted by the green drink. She sniffed it curiously before tasting, like a little cat.
“So . . . where shall we start? Maybe I should tell you a little about the character I play. Her name is Renee Woods. She’s a young widow without children who has thrown herself into running her knitting shop the last few years, since her husband died. A bit reserved. Maybe even shy.”
“That’s weird. She sounds a lot like Maggie,” Phoebe blurted out, then looked embarrassed. “Sorry, Mag. I don’t think you’re shy,” she assured her.
“Thanks for that. It does sound like me . . . a little,” Maggie admitted. “I opened my shop right after I lost my husband. Though I’m not all that young. I do have a daughter; she’s in college. I used to be a high school art teacher, but I decided it was time for a change,” she added.
“An art teacher? How interesting. That’s a wonderful detail.” Jennifer seemed delighted by the disclosure. As if Maggie had made up some fascinating embellishment in a work of fiction. Except that it was her real life story, she reflected.
“Alicia? Can you get this down for me?” Jennifer turned to her assistant, who sat in a chair beside the star.
“I’m all set.” Alicia already had an iPad, opened and booted up on her lap. The large bandage on her left hand didn’t slow her down a beat as she began tapping out notes. “This is interesting,” she agreed, smiling at Maggie.
Jennifer looked back at Maggie. “Please go on with your story . . . So I’m a former art teacher. Do I miss teaching? Working with students and all that?”
Maggie was getting confused with all these points of view—Jennifer, her character, Renee . . . and her own life. She felt as if she was suddenly walking in a hall of mirrors.
“I do think about my art room years once in a while. And I stay in touch with many of my special students. It’s mostly fond memories. But I don’t miss it. I’m using my teaching skills every day with the classes I lead at the shop. It seems almost synchronistic, the way this new career path evolved for me. Equally as rewarding as working at the high school. Maybe even more.”
“That’s wonderful. I love that perspective. Life just . . . evolving for you. I’m going to use that, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Maggie had thought that Jennifer would be asking about practical matters—how to use the yarn winder for instance, or ring up a sale. Not her own life story.
But she had no experience with actors and how they worked. It appeared that they created the characters they had to play much the same way that writers created a character on a page. It was fascinating, she thought.
“I love that word, ‘synchronicity.’ I love that wise perspective.” Jennifer nodded.
“Maggie’s very wise,” Lucy remarked, making Maggie blush.
“With a lot of insight,” Dana added.
“Quite a character in her own right,” Suzanne quipped.
“Yes, I can see that.” Jennifer smiled. She had dazzling blue eyes and amazingly white teeth.
Maggie wondered if they were the original set. It didn’t seem possible; they had to be caps or some sort of cosmetic enhancement. Otherwise, the actress was a natural beauty. No obvious nips and tucks, or frozen, tight spots that hinted at too many Botox shots.
“So . . . did you always knit, or was that taken up recently?”
“I learned from my grandmother, when I was a teenager. But I didn’t spend much time on it until I was pregnant with my daughter, Julie. I came across a simple pattern for baby booties in a magazine, waiting for a doctor’s appointment. I decided to make them by the time she was born. I ended up with booties, a jacket, a hat, and a matching blanket,” she rattled off, making everyone laugh.
“I never heard that story before,” Dana remarked.
“Me, either,” Lucy noted.
Maggie shrugged. “Maybe I just made it up.”
“If you did, you’re a better actress than I am.” Jennifer’s quick comeback made everyone smile. “So you took to knitting quickly. Sounds like you were a natural.”
“Not quite. Those early attempts were far from perfect. The toes on the booties curled, like little elf shoes. I don’t think the baby noticed,” she added with a laugh. “I’d had a miscarriage before I became pregnant with Julie. Knitting calmed me down and distracted me. A very therapeutic hobby for pregnant women. Especially if they’re put on bed rest.”
“I never thought of that. What an authentic story. And what a lovely image—an expectant mother, creating something so protective and comforting for her baby.” Jennifer seemed enchanted. “Alicia, make sure you get this down. Every word.”
“I’ve got it. Great stuff,” Alicia added, looking up for a moment to smile at Maggie again. She typed on steadily, like a court reporter taking down intense testimony.
“I can see Renee knitting a little jacket or some booties. It’s perfect. We have to tell Theo to write that in to one of the later scenes.” Jennifer turned to her assistant again, then back to the knitting friends. “In the plot, Renee has been longing for a baby, but she and her late husband couldn’t conceive. Then Tyler Hanson comes along. Well, I don’t want to ruin it for you.”
“Tyler Hanson . . . that’s the character Heath O’Hara plays?” Suzanne sat up at attention, eager for tidbits about her idol.
Jennifer nodded. “Heath brings so much to the role. He’s such a gifted actor.”
Maggie smiled, though she couldn’t see how a handsome hunk would have any problem playing the role of . . . well, a handsome hunk who sweeps a shy, widowed knitting shop owner off her feet. Which seemed to be the bare bones of the story, from what she could glean from Jennifer’s description.
“So, do they end up together, Renee and Tyler?” Suzanne asked eagerly. “I love a good romance.”
Jennifer smiled. “Oh, it’s a good romance. But for one thing, Heath is married to Trina’s character, Sabrina . . . and he dies rather tragically, very bravely in fact.” She looked suddenly sad, as if these characters were real people. “But at least Renee has the baby,” she added. Her eyes suddenly widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my gosh . . . I spoil
ed it for you now, didn’t I? I’m so sorry . . . I didn’t mean to.”
“That’s all right. We’ll definitely see it anyway,” Lucy assured her.
“I’ll see it a few times,” Suzanne promised.
Jennifer looked relieved, but before she replied, a black iPhone on the table buzzed, signaling a call or text coming through. Alicia quickly picked it up. “It’s Nick’s assistant. They want you in makeup in five.”
Jennifer sighed and picked up her teacup. “Tell them I’ll be right there. This is important, too.”
She looked over at Maggie and her friends again. “It’s been amazing talking to you, Maggie. It’s already been a huge help. And I didn’t even get to ask you any of my technical questions about running the shop. Or what you all do in your knitting group. Can we talk some more later?”
“Absolutely,” Maggie said graciously.
“Would you like to come to a knitting group meeting? You’ll get some great material touches for your character,” Suzanne solemnly promised the movie star.
Maggie sat back, stunned by Suzanne’s nerve. She could see her other friends felt the same. Who would ever imagine inviting Jennifer Todd to one of their humble meetings? The thought would have never crossed Maggie’s mind.
Maggie sometimes wondered why Suzanne wasn’t selling million-dollar properties every day with her just-do-it—or say-it—philosophy.
Of course Jennifer wouldn’t come, though Maggie expected a polite excuse.
“I’d love to. When is it?”
“When can you come? That’s when we’ll have the next one,” Suzanne promised, moving in quickly to seal the deal.
“Let’s see . . . Alicia, do you have the schedule handy?” Jennifer turned to her assistant, who had quickly brought up another screen on the tablet.
“Monday night looks possible.” Alicia nodded and glanced at Jennifer.
“Yes, that looks good. I can come for a little while on Monday night, around seven. Does that work out for you?”
Maggie wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t recall whose turn it was to hold the meeting. They usually rotated between their homes and the knitting shop. But Jennifer probably wanted to visit the shop. She probably had questions about her character’s job as the proprietor and all that.
“We can meet at seven in the shop, provided the movie crew isn’t there,” Maggie added with a hopeful smile.
“We’re filming at the beach house most of next week. Didn’t you get a schedule from Lyle?” Alicia asked.
“No . . . I didn’t. Is that who I should ask for the particulars?”
“He must have emailed it. Maybe he had the wrong address. What’s your email address, Maggie? I’ll send you one right now.” Alicia looked down at her iPad, fingers poised.
Maggie told her, grateful for the young woman’s efficiency. “Thank you so much.”
“So we’ll meet on Monday night and help Jennifer prepare for her role?” Maggie looked around at her friends, who nodded eagerly, though she suspected Monday night was not ideal for all of them. But she was also sure they would cancel any previous commitments to hang out and knit with Jennifer Todd.
Maggie rose from her seat. “This has been lovely. Thank you both.”
Her friends stood up, too, and also thanked their hostess and Alicia.
“It was great meeting you. I’m really looking forward to Monday night,” Jennifer replied.
Dana took a last sip of tea before setting down the cup on the tray. “This tea had such an unusual flavor. What kind is it?”
Jennifer seemed pleased by the question. “A special blend of green tea. It’s very difficult to find. I purchase it through a contact in Australia. It’s just chock-full of wonderful vitamins and antioxidants that come from bamboo,” she enthused.
The brew did have a distinct fragrance and a smooth taste, Maggie had noticed, one that didn’t seem at all familiar. “Is it made from bamboo leaves?”
“Not the bamboo exactly. It’s the panda poo. It’s used to fertilize the tea plants,” Alicia explained. “Pandas eat only wild bamboo and hardly digest their food, so their excrement is filled with amazing nutrients.”
“I feel so vitalized after a cup or two . . . and strangely calm at the same time,” Jennifer added.
Phoebe nodded. As if this all made perfect sense. “Pandas are very calm animals. Playful, too.”
Suzanne looked like she was going to playfully barf some back up. “Amazing,” she said, putting down her teacup.
“I can’t offer anything that exotic. But we always share a nice dinner and some wine with our knitting. And we look forward to seeing both of you,” Maggie added, extending the invitation to Alicia.
A few moments later, Maggie and her friends regrouped on the sidewalk, a short distance from the shop. Fans still waited five deep around the fence, but the TV news vans were gone.
Maggie was about to suggest that they all head to the Schooner. It was half past eleven, and having woken up at five, she was definitely ready for lunch.
But before she had time to speak, Suzanne gripped her arm with one hand and pointed with the other. “Look at the limo! I wonder who’s in there?”
Lucy stepped around Maggie for a better view. “Looks like we’re going to find out. It’s pulling up at the shop.”
Maggie and her friends scurried down the sidewalk, chasing the sleek luxury car that cruised along like a great white shark.
When it finally parked, two large, brawny men wearing tight charcoal-gray suits, black shirts, and black ties climbed out. They gazed in all directions as they walked around the car and out to the sidewalk. One of them held his hands out and asked the group of onlookers to step back, while the other two flanked the passenger-side door of the vehicle.
After a few moments, the back door on the passenger side opened again. A long, elegant leg—clad in a fishnet stocking and a tight black boot—emerged.
Then a swish of a golden fur, trimmed with fluffy white stuff.
Before the rest of the body appeared, Maggie had already guessed the identity of the mystery arrival.
“Trina Hardwick. She knows how to make an entrance,” Lucy murmured.
“You’d think it was the red carpet at the Academy Awards,” Suzanne noted.
“Maybe stars need to practice in out-of-town markets. The way they get the kinks out of Broadway shows?” Dana asked.
Trina Hardwick, in all her glory, stepped out of the car and raised a slim arm above her head, waving to fans who greeted her with cheers and wolf whistles.
She turned a few times, tossing a mane of thick, reddish-gold hair, as one hand pushed back her fur coat and rested on a lean hip, showing off her Barbie doll figure to full advantage. Long, slim legs, a tiny waist, and a full, bouncing bosom. She leaned against the limo in a sultry pose. Or maybe her boots were so high she needed the fender for balance. Either way, she twisted from side to side with a dazzling smile while fans and a few strangling reporters ran up to take photos.
“She is beautiful,” Lucy noted.
“If you like the obvious type,” Suzanne sneered.
“As in . . . obviously gorgeous bombshell?” Phoebe countered.
“I’d text a picture to Matt, but I don’t want to give him any encouragement,” Lucy confessed. “That’s too much competition for me.”
“Maybe . . . but do you think that’s all . . . real?” Phoebe raised a pierced eyebrow.
“The glossy mane is full of hair extensions. As for the rest, these are real . . . and I have the hips to prove it.” Suzanne looked down at her own chest. “Those things? I doubt it. Though I’m sure they’re the best set money can buy.”
“Suzanne . . . you just can’t assume that,” Dana scolded her.
“Phoebe asked a valid question and I’m answering with fact-based knowledge. First of all, no arm fat. And when she twists and turns, they’re still pointing straight ahead. No natural bounce and jiggle. Dead giveaway,” Suzanne added knowingly. “I bet if she
laid down flat, it would look like two Tupperware bowls stuck under her dress.”
“Suzanne . . .” Dana turned to her, shaking her head. “That’s not fair. And possibly not even true. About breast implants or Trina’s body,” she added in a reasonable tone.
“Think what you like. I know reality from illusion, ladies. And I can tell synthetic enhancements, let us say, from Mother Nature’s natural blessings,” she added, tugging her sweater down.
“Thanks for keeping it real, Suzanne. We can always count on you for that.” Lucy laughed and patted her pal’s shoulder.
Trina had finished posing and slowly sauntered down the sidewalk, then down the brick path toward the shop, still waving and smiling, flanked by her bodyguards. Who looked like a doo-wop trio from the sixties in their matching outfits, Maggie thought.
“Speaking of keeping it real, how about some real food? Lunch at the Schooner?” Maggie suggested as the redheaded bombshell disappeared into the knitting shop.
“The panda poo tea and kale chips weren’t enough for you?” Lucy teased.
Before she could answer, Dana interrupted, reading off her cell phone. “Before we dis that nutritious snack, I just Googled the tea. It’s one of the most expensive blends in the world, next to tea leaves covered in gold leaf,” she added with a little laugh. “While the health benefits are hotly debated, each tiny cup of panda poo brew cost about fifty dollars to prepare.”
“So Jennifer Todd isn’t exactly a hometown girl with simple, unspoiled Lipton tastes?” Lucy surmised.
Suzanne shrugged. “If I was raking in zillions of dollars a day making movies, maybe I’d go all the way for the gold leaf stuff. It doesn’t mean she’s not a nice person. I bet she comes to our meeting Monday.”
“Do you really think she will? Or is she just too polite to refuse?” Lucy asked. “She did seem interested in asking you more questions, Maggie.”
“I suppose it depends on her schedule and how tired she is after a day of working on the movie. What’s the worst thing that could happen? We’ll all get together and do some knitting.”
“Good point,” Lucy agreed.
