Destiny Plays

by Leslie Pike

“No. Oakland. But I guess she grew up in St. Helena. That’s why Mom’s club is trying to help her and her daughter.”

  I take the turnoff towards the outskirts of town where there’s graffiti on every timeworn building I see.

  “Christ, this place is a shit show,” I say.

  “What about dinner later? You and me. I’m buying.”

  “Yeah, that works. Where?”

  “I’ll come to you. How about sushi at seven?”

  “Good. See you then.”

  We disconnect and I check my GPS. I’m close, just one final turn. There it is. The Palace Café sits on an otherwise vacant plot of land. Whoever came up with that name has a good sense of humor. The parking lot is mostly dirt with the occasional weed sprouting up. It looks like a tired Midwest setting in a movie, not a place within spitting distance to the wealthiest part of California.

  There’s only five spots to park, but it doesn’t matter because three are vacant. I pull in one space removed from a gardener’s truck and an old Civic, acutely aware the Porsche is out of place.

  Grabbing my briefcase, I lock the car and head for the door. I can barely see through the dirt-streaked glass and the handmade signs covering the windows. The door squeaks as I walk inside.

  There’s a counter with six cracked vinyl barstools. The end one has stuffing sticking out of the crack. One middle-aged man occupies a seat. I’d guess this is the gardener because of the hat that he’s rested on the stool next to him and the dirty scarf tied round his neck. This man works hard for his money.

  The four booths against the wall are empty.I can see one short-order cook through the opening to the kitchen. There’s a toothpick in his mouth and his tongue moves it in a constant dance. The steam from the grill rises in front of him. He looks tired and sweaty. Somewhere in the back I hear dishes being washed, or tossed. I can’t tell because no one’s trying to do it quietly. At the back of the cafe stands a woman wiping down a table. She sees me now.

  “Bill, I’m going to take my break,” she says to the cook.

  He responds with a lift of his chin and she walks towards me.

  “Hello. I’m Christos Santini.”

  I extend my hand and she takes it in a firm grip. A weary smile brightens her face. “I know who you are. Hello, Christos.”

  Somewhere in the recesses of my brain familiarity calls. I’ve seen this woman before. But where?

  “Do we know each other?” I say.

  “Go Panthers!” she says without a trace of excitement.

  Then it all falls into place. It’s Rebecca Martin, the cute blonde cheerleader from high school who all the Santini brothers had the hots for. Dion especially. But she only had eyes for the quarterback. For just a second my face must show my surprise.

  “Yep, it’s me,” she says.

  “Rebecca. It’s good to see you,” I regroup and answer appropriately.

  She motions to the booth at the far end of the room. I follow her there and we slide in on either side.

  “My mother didn’t tell me it was you I was coming to meet,” I say.

  “She probably doesn’t know we went to school together. I didn’t want to ruin my chances of getting your help, so I just kept quiet. But as soon as I heard her name I put it together.”

  Her face still has the ghost of her young self, but it’s become almost unrecognizable by whatever it is she’s gone through. It’s hard to believe we’re the same age.

  “So, tell me your story. I understand you have a daughter.”

  Walking the half block towards Yama’s Sushi, Rebecca’s life story is replaying in my mind. Christ. The clients I normally represent are wealthy and secure in the knowledge of where their next meal’s coming from. Probably Flemings Steakhouse. More times than not, their children have too much of everything except what really counts, their parents’ time. One or both litigants are always angry and intent on coming out on top of the settlement, willing to spill all their spouse’s secrets if it makes it happen.

  Today I heard how the other half lives. Rebecca seems like a decent woman, despite the fact she’s had to go it alone. I sensed no bitterness at an ex-husband she hasn’t seen in years. She’s accepted her reality. There’s only love for her daughter. And fear. The girl’s alone in a low-rent motel six nights a week while Rebecca cleans offices. Two jobs and she can hardly make ends meet.

  I’m going to help them. It’s the right thing to do. When I get to the office tomorrow, I’m going to get started. For the first time in years I feel an excitement building thinking about how I’ll be able to accomplish it.

  Nash is visible through the window. He’s already claimed our favorite table in the front corner. I make my way inside. He spots me, lifts his hand to the server and points to his sake.

  “I’m late. Sorry,” I say as I walk up to the table.

  “It’s fine. I started without you.”

  Besides the sake, he has a spicy tuna roll and some sashimi in front of him. He uses his chopsticks expertly and takes the entire huge slice of the roll in his mouth.

  I remove my jacket and hang it on the back of my chair. My hot sake arrives just as I take a seat.

  “How’d it go?” says Nash.

  Stretching my legs under the table I exhale a sigh. “You’re not going to believe it. The woman I went to meet turned out to be Rebecca Martin. Remember her?”

  Nash’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Ra Ra Rebecca?”

  “I forgot we called her that. What assholes.”

  “It was wishful thinking on our part. Boys trying to impress each other. I don’t think anyone but the quarterback knew if she cheered or not.” He puts air quotes around the word.

  “What was his name?”

  “David King.”

  Nash eats the last of his sashimi then makes eye contact with the server who just walked up. “I think we’re ready to order. What’re you gonna have?” he says to me.

  “Dragon Roll, Kings Roll and an order of edamame.” I repeat my usual order burned in my brain.

  “I’m going to have the same, minus the edamame,” he says.

  The girl just nods and walks away.

  “Anyway, King’s the father of Rebecca’s daughter. He’s never paid support. It’s a sad story.” I run my fingers through my hair and crack my tight neck side to side.

  “Think you can help her?”

  “I’m going to try,” I say knowing just how much it’ll take.

  “How’d she look?”

  “Like a forty-year-old woman who’s had to fight every battle in life alone.” It’s hard to get that image out of my mind because every bad break was etched on her face. It brought home just how fortunate my family’s been.

  “Damn. What can Farrah and I do?” he says sincerely.

  “I don’t know yet. Something. Let me see how this plays out.”

  He looks at me and tilts his head. “You look tired, brother. I’ve heard you sigh three times since you sat down.”

  “I’m mentally drained. Tired of overthinking.”

  “Kate?” he says.

  “Yeah. If I had to bet, I’d say she’s gonna leave. Her career is important to her and there just hasn’t been enough time for us to . . .”

  I’m interrupted by our soup arriving.

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as she walks away, Nash asks me the one thing I’ve been wondering since this morning.

  “So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before. What did you do when Farrah left that made her come back?”

  He looks at me with empathy and steel in his eyes. “I let her go.”

  The last thing Nash said to me has a terrible ring of truth to it.

  I thought about it all the way back to my loft. That old cliché about setting something free and if it returns it’s yours forever, turns out it may be good advice. If it works that is, otherwise you’re just screwed and alone.

  I’m trying to k
eep busy till she gets back, unloading the dishwasher, going through my mail. I keep looking at the clock. Nine forty-five. She was going to talk with her Director, but she didn’t specify her intentions. Is she giving her notice or confirming her departure?

  Should I call her aunt? Where’s that going to get me? Maybe she could give me a clue how far to go in convincing Kate to stay. Don’t do that. You’re forty fucking years old. Shit. I’m on my own with this one. I hear the key in the door and I stand frozen.

  She walks in, looks at me, and starts crying.

  “What happened?” I say.

  She just shakes her head, puts her purse down on the counter and comes to me. I wrap my arms around her and hold her.

  “Tell me,” I say, not really wanting to hear the bad news.

  “I have to go.”

  My heart may stop beating. There’s such a finality to the way she said it. “Why? Come on, stop crying. Tell me what happened.”

  I lead her by the hand to the couch.

  “I went to dinner with the Director and the Artistic Director of our company.”

  “I hate them already.”

  “No, they’ve both been pretty good guys. I told them I wanted to take a sabbatical. Half a year. That would give you and I time to see where this is going. Of course, I didn’t tell them that. I just said I had family issues I wanted to attend to. But that I could rejoin in New York in June. It would buy us time anyway.”

  “And?”

  “The AD turned me down. Said I had signed the contract and if he’d make an exception for me, he’d have thirty actors demanding time off when they needed it. Plus, my name is a draw, and if I’m missing from the bill, he’d hear about it from every Director in every city we’re scheduled to perform in.”

  I feel the heat rise in my body. “You signed a contract?”

  She nods her head in defeat. “I did it in October, right before I came back to St. Helena.”

  Fuck me.

  “Then the nail in the coffin walked in,” she says.

  “Who’s that?”

  Her eyes meet mine but I sense hesitation when she speaks.

  “Remember my co-star, James Masters?”

  “What about him?”

  I know my face is wearing the pissed off emotion I’m feeling just hearing the asshole’s name.

  “Apparently, James was meeting them for drinks after our dinner. He came early.”

  “Of course he did,” I say sharply. I’m not sure who I’m accusing of wrongdoing. The guy? The Director? Stupid fate?

  Kate stands and starts pacing while she talks.

  “They tell him I’m considering breaking my contract and James goes ballistic, which makes them dig in more.”

  “Why should Masters care?” I say knowing the answer.

  “Because he gets the best reviews of his life when we’re together. That’s not bragging. It’s fact.”

  “And he wants to get in your pants,” I blurt out.

  She doesn’t answer me or contradict my accusation.

  “Back in your pants?” I say.

  “That’s neither here nor there. It’s all about the reviews.”

  “That’s a yes,” I say getting up and walking to the kitchen. Why did I ask the question I already knew the answer to? I need a drink. “When are you leaving?” I say knowing it sounds cold.

  “The twenty-sixth.”

  I don’t even respond. I’m shaking my head, but my dialogue is one hundred percent internal.

  “What now?” she asks softly.

  I have lots to say, and I do it with force. “Now we take ten steps backwards. I’m sure if you really wanted to get out of your contract, you could. Or at least you’d let me look at it for you and see if there’s anything that can be done. I think you’re folding your hand before you have to. But I can’t control that. It’s your call, Kate.”

  She brings her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound of crying.

  I take a breath then jump back in, this time a little calmer. “I’m aware you love what you do, but again, you yourself said you wanted to know the life you didn’t choose. What if this is your chance to find out?”

  “That’s unfair, Christos. We’re not kids. We have lives that are complicated. There’s baggage.”

  I can’t hold back.

  “Baggage? What’s that? I can’t think of anything that would stop me from being with you. Fuck baggage!”

  “You don’t have to imagine because what you’re passionate about is always right here in San Francisco.”

  I lock eyes with her across the room. “What I’m passionate about is you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Kate

  The dark clouds and cold drizzle reflect my mood. As I gather my belongings and pack suitcases, it strikes me. I’ve never been so genuinely unhappy before. Emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, I’m in unfamiliar territory. Unsure of direction. Obscenities punctuate my thoughts, and for the hundredth time I kick myself for handling things poorly. But in my defense there wasn’t enough time to figure out how I could have done things differently.

  It’s quiet in the house today. Usually there’s music playing. But I don’t dare take the chance. I’m in no mood for hearing love songs. It wouldn’t take much to get me crying again.

  Not sure what he’s up to, but Christos made a flimsy excuse to leave this morning after he dropped me off. Supposedly he’s helping Nash and Farrah get things ready for tonight’s Christmas Eve party. What I think he’s doing is shopping for a gift for me. We vowed to keep things simple. I bought him a leather-bound copy of The Taming of the Shrew and signed it with a special message.

  To the only man who ever tamed me.

  Your Kate.

  Thank God I’ll have Auntie to talk with today. I make a mental note to remember to leave her my keys for the car. She always makes me feel better. Although I can’t imagine how she’s going to accomplish it. Why are you torturing yourself? I try to stop thinking about what’s happening, but my mind refuses to pay my will any attention.

  What I have to do is stand firm in my decision and keep moving forward. It’s always worked for me. Throughout my life I haven’t second guessed myself much. I’ve felt sure footed and confident, and lived my life accordingly. Even as a young girl I knew who I was. It’s only now that I waver. Ironic that just as I have a firm hold on the brass ring, I’m considering throwing it away.

  I keep going over what Christos said to me that night at the loft. Then what it was like when he stopped talking. How the unspoken, heartbreaking words hung in the air. And also how it felt to be in his arms afterward. Will I ever know such tenderness again?

  Now the hours count down. There’s barely forty-eight left. If only I still had the sixteen days that sounded so bad at the time. I’ve never dreaded Christmas before. Tonight will be a first. Even when I was a girl and my mother hurried through opening our presents so she could go party with her boyfriend. Even then I thought the night had a kind of magic. But this will be a fresh hell.

  The rest of the day is filled with more of the same depressing thoughts. They carry me to where I stand now on the porch watching as Auntie drives up. All around, dry fallen leaves dance in the wind. It’s only quarter to five, but the color of the sky makes it look much later.

  “Hi, honey!” she says walking up to the porch. The small duffle she carries gets dropped on the closest chair.

  “Hi, Auntie.”

  We greet each other with a kiss. United appears in the doorway and sounds a loud meow. I think he’s missing his friend. Join the club my furry little buddy. Then he bolts for the pile of leaves under the bare December tree. He jumps high, trying to catch the one the wind has reclaimed. It floats mid-air. When he lands on the dead crisp pile, it scares the shit out of him. He scrambles half way up the tree, clinging to the branches.

  “That one is hysterical,” Auntie says. “I’m thinking of keeping him if Nash doesn’t find him a home.”

  “Oh, good. He
likes it here.”

  She notes my somber expression. “Okay, let’s go in and talk. Come on.”

  She puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me inside. As soon as we lock eyes, I dissolve into tears.

  “Oh, Katie!” She wraps her arms around me and I let myself go. “It’s all right. Okay, honey. Let’s talk about it. Let’s go to our spot.”

  We move to the bottom step of the staircase where we sit close. I lean into her open arms.

  “Oh, Auntie. I screwed everything up. Everything.”

  “I thought you’d decided. Didn’t you?”

  I break from her warm embrace and look her in the eye. “I have. It’s done. But it’s living with it that’s the hard part.”

  She gives me a half smile. “Oh, baby, you haven’t even begun to live with it yet.”

  I hang my head. “I know.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  “He got quiet.”

  I drop my head in my hands and try to block out the image.

  “What was said about trying it long distance?”

  “He’s not interested.”

  She picks up my chin and looks me in the eyes. “No, I don’t think that’s what he’s telling you. I think he’s in love and can’t bear the thought of having just a piece of you. Because that’s what it would be.”

  “He didn’t say anything about love.”

  “I don’t think I’d tell someone I loved them if I knew they had plans to leave. What about you? Are you in love with him?”

  I stand. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m gonna get ready. He’s picking me up at six.” I barely make eye contact because I don’t want to start crying again.

  “I’ll make us some tea. You go get yourself together and you’ll feel better.” She stands and gives me a hug. “It’ll all work out, Kate. You’re a smart woman.”

  What exactly does she mean by that?

  We’re almost at Farrah and Nash’s house, and he hasn’t told me he thinks I look beautiful. I know it’s intentional because he tells me every night. There’s no blaming him though. Maybe he needs to start disconnecting, even if in one small way. It’s been a mostly silent ride, interrupted by the occasional inconsequential comment. Gone is our banter and ease with each other. Sadness has replaced everything.