“Of course. Your bedroom is always waiting for you, Finola. What a mess. I’m very angry with Nigel. I expected better from him. Pack what you need and come over. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thanks, Mom. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“It’s never a problem.”
Finola hurried into the bedroom. She would need to pack enough to last at least a week, she thought grimly. Her work clothes were at the studio. Still, she had to assume she could be photographed anytime she was out in public.
It took her over an hour to pull everything together. Before she left, she called Rochelle and asked her assistant to pick her up a burner phone. When they hung up, she turned off her phone and wondered briefly if it would ever be safe to turn it on again.
Chapter Fifteen
Zennie nearly canceled her blind date Sunday night. She certainly wasn’t in the mood—not when she was still sore from her ridiculous fall down the side of a mountain. But Cassie had insisted on setting it up, saying it would take Zennie’s mind off her recovery, and Zennie hadn’t come up with a reason to say no quick enough. So she dutifully applied mascara, fluffed her hair and pulled on her go-to date outfit.
At least the cropped pants were a soft fabric that didn’t irritate her still scabbing wound, she thought as she drove the short distance to the trendy bar in Toluca Lake. Much more important, so far there had been no ill effects of her tumble. No cramping, no signs of bleeding. If she was pregnant, then the tiny life inside of her seemed to have ridden out the fall with no problem.
The bar was small, with bistro tables clustered too close together. The decor leaned toward midcentury modern, with a heavy emphasis on TV shows from the 1950s. She found the old posters and memorabilia just a little over the top.
She looked around for “a guy tall enough to be a basketball player” wearing a black shirt, and spotted a brown-haired guy fitting that description. He looked up, saw her and smiled before coming to his feet and approaching.
“Zennie? I’m Jake.”
“Nice to meet you, Jake.”
They shook hands and went back to the table he’d claimed. The chairs seemed hard, although maybe that was just because she was a little battered. Still, a little padding would have been nice, she thought, shifting to get comfortable.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Jake said when they were sitting across from each other.
The table was so small and his legs so long, their knees were practically touching. Zennie fought against the need to move back to give herself more personal space.
“Cassie tells me you’re an OR nurse.”
“I am. Most of the doctors I work with are cardiac surgeons, so it’s very rewarding work. Cassie told me you’re a friend of her brother’s and that you’re a high school basketball coach.”
He grinned. “I am. Recently divorced.” His smile faded. “She left to go find herself.” He made air quotes. “I’ve moved on and am ready to start dating again.”
Oh, goody.
“What do you like to do for fun?” he asked. “Cassie said you’re pretty athletic.”
“I run and rock climb. I love surfing and I like yoga. Do you like being a coach?”
The awkward and uninspired get-to-know-you chitchat continued for several more minutes. Zennie tried to stay engaged—Jake was nice enough and attractive, but honestly, she felt nothing. Her faux date with C.J. had been a lot more fun. At least they’d had instant chemistry.
One of the servers stopped by. “What can I get you?” the pretty blonde asked. “Our Old-Fashioneds are really popular.”
“I’ll have one of those,” Jake said. “Zennie?”
Crap. Double crap. She couldn’t drink, something she should have thought of before agreeing to meet a guy in a bar. “I’ll have a club soda.”
Both Jake and the server stared at her for a second before the server shrugged and walked away.
“You don’t drink?” Jake asked. “Cassie never said anything.” His disapproval was clear.
“It’s not that I don’t drink,” she began, not sure how exactly to explain the situation. “I’m not drinking right now.”
He looked her up and down. “You’re on a diet?” His tone was doubtful.
“Not exactly.” She smiled. “Okay, I need you to promise not to say anything to Cassie because I haven’t told her yet and this is way over the TMI line for a first date, but it’s really exciting.”
Jake looked more wary than interested. “All right.”
She quickly explained about Bernie and the artificial insemination. “It’s only been a few days, but I don’t want to take the chance and drink right now.”
Jake stared at her. “You’re telling me you’re pregnant?”
His voice rose with each word until he was speaking loud enough to cause other patrons to turn and look.
“No, I’m saying I might be. I—”
He stood. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work for me. I have no idea what the hell Cassie was thinking. Jesus.”
Before Zennie could remind him Cassie didn’t know, he was gone, leaving her sitting alone. Seconds later the server returned with their drinks.
Zennie thanked her even as she realized Jake had taken off without paying for his drink. Nor had he wanted to listen to her explanation. As far as first dates went, it certainly wasn’t her best.
She took care of the bill and left. As she drove home, she replayed the disastrous few minutes, finding the situation more humorous than disappointing. Her mood lightened even more as she realized that she had the perfect excuse for not dating: she might be pregnant.
“I might be pregnant,” she whispered aloud, taking the concept on a test drive. Really, she might be and if she was, she couldn’t be dating. No one would understand—Jake was proof of that. So where did that leave her?
Alone, she thought as she pulled into her parking space. Happily and blissfully alone. She didn’t have to date anymore, not until she knew if she was having a baby and if she was, then hey, not for months and months.
She hurried inside, practically giddy with a sense of freedom. No more small talk, no more worrying about what to wear or if she’d shaved her legs that day. She could do what she wanted and the hell with a man. She could learn Italian or spend more time with her friends or figure out what she wanted from her life. She was free!
As Zennie stood in the center of her apartment, she wanted to spin or cheer or do both. What she did instead was to really look at the small space and wonder if she should start thinking about buying a condo. Just her, for her. She could get exactly what she wanted and not wait for some guy to transform her life. Because if she needed changing, by God, she was going to do it herself!
Word of Nigel’s affair seemed to be spreading more slowly than Finola would have thought. Apparently not everyone hung on TMZ’s every word. Of course not everyone had a husband sleeping with Treasure, so there was that.
Monday she got through her show without anyone saying anything. Afterward she had an uncomfortable meeting with her producers where she was forced to tell them what had happened. They said all the right things, offered support and promised to talk to her should anything change, which was about the best she could hope for.
Rochelle did research on personal bodyguards, something Finola didn’t want to deal with but knew she had to consider, if the press got out of hand. She took the information and promised to contact one of the companies the second she felt threatened. Rochelle made it clear she thought Finola should have one on call before then, but Finola wasn’t ready to make the decision.
By three o’clock, she’d left the Burbank studio and was heading southwest toward Beverly Hills. She’d taken a second to log into Nigel’s work computer to check his surgery schedule. She didn’t know if he was back from his South American ski trip or if he hadn’t left yet and she didn’t c
are. All that mattered to her was the bastard was in town and she was going to confront him.
She left her car with the medical center’s valet and took the elevator up to Nigel’s plush offices, grateful there weren’t any photographers around. Apparently Nigel wasn’t stalk-worthy.
She’d looked up what kind of surgery he was doing that day and knew when it was going to be finished. The first thing Nigel always did after surgery was to go to his office and dictate his notes. He might be a shitty husband, but he was a good doctor, something that didn’t give Finola the least amount of comfort.
She breezed into the waiting area, waved at the perky receptionist and kept on walking. While she was fairly sure that everyone on staff knew about the affair, she was still his wife and there was no way they would try to keep her out. Not at first anyway. By the time they came up with a plan, she would be long gone.
She heard the receptionist scramble out of her seat, but ignored the movement and headed directly for Nigel’s corner office. She pushed on the partially open door and saw her husband at his desk, dictating into a small recorder. When he spotted her, he paused the recording. She closed the door and let the rage overtake her more sensible emotions. Power and strength would be required, she told herself. The next few minutes would be difficult but she was going to survive them.
“Finola, what are you doing here?” Nigel asked, coming to his feet. “I’m at work.”
His emphasis on the last word made her smile.
“Really, Nigel? Are you at work? Is this where you do your work things and have I violated that?” She waved her hand. “By the way, the office is lovely. The color scheme, the tasteful art. Hmm, who decorated this office for you? Your wife?”
“Stop it,” he growled. “What are you doing here? You can’t just waltz in here like this.”
“Your days of telling me what I can and cannot do are long over. At least I had the courtesy to wait until you were done with surgery for the day. I could have come early—shown up right before you had to do something important, but I wasn’t that much of an asshole. Only you are.”
“You’re comparing a television show with surgery?”
“I’m comparing work and what matters to each of us and being thoughtful and trusting the person we were married to. Things you’ve forgotten about.” Her anger grew and she reveled in the power. She took a step toward him. “The tabloids know. I was confronted by photographers yesterday. Word is out and it will be spreading. First you blindsided me on my show and now this. You’re a monster.”
She expected Nigel to push back. He surprised her by returning to his seat and waving her into the one opposite. She hesitated, then sat down.
“We need to talk about this reasonably,” he told her, obviously trying to keep his temper under control. “We are where we are.”
“That’s easy for you to say. We are where you put us. You’re not the one being chased by photographers.”
“Oh, please. As long as it helps the ratings of the show, what do you care?”
Tears burned, but she refused to show weakness. “Is that what you think?” she demanded. “That this is a game to me? You’re wrong. This is my life. Our life. You’re the one playing games, Nigel. You’re the one destroying everything we have.”
His gaze was steady. “I may be the one who cheated, but I’m not the only one who destroyed things. You had your part.”
“I’m not sleeping with Treasure.”
“I didn’t go looking,” he yelled. He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t searching for anything on the side. Yes, I was unhappy, but I lived with it. She’s the one who came on to me, and to be honest, it was nice to have the attention.”
“Nice to have the attention?” she shrieked, not caring who heard. “That’s how you excuse yourself?”
“I’m not excusing and I’m not apologizing. I’m telling you what happened. You can think what you want. You always do. Treasure was interested. She pursued me. She reminded me what it was like to feel young and vital and attractive to the woman in my life.”
“You’re blaming me? You’re saying I wasn’t doing things the way you wanted? You never once said you were unhappy. You never once asked for anything to be different. What exactly did I do wrong? Not read your mind? We had a good marriage. We cared about each other. We had plans.” They had been on the verge of getting pregnant, although he didn’t know that.
“This is not about me,” she told him.
He leaned back in his chair. “So I’m the bad guy here? You have no part in it? You’re not going to take even a little blame?”
“Why should I?”
“That’s an interesting question.” He pulled his cell phone out of his desk drawer and tossed it onto the desk. “Remember that time we accidentally synced up our calendars?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You unsynced with mine, but I was still connected with yours. I saw all your appointments. I figured out the code, Finola. I saw the little icon you use to remind yourself to have sex with me.”
She felt herself flush as she stared at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied. Shit. Shit. Shit!
He shook his head. “Don’t pretend. I can show you the calendar now, if you’d like.”
“I thought us having sex is a good thing.”
“It would be if you really wanted it. But you didn’t. You scheduled it like the dry cleaning. No one wants to be a chore.”
She remembered her father’s words that part of the breakup was her fault. She’d told him he was wrong, but listening to Nigel, she thought maybe, just maybe, he’d been partially right.
“It wasn’t like that,” she whispered. “It was never like that.” Only it had been exactly like that.
“I didn’t go looking for Treasure,” he repeated. “She came looking for me. I was flattered and lonely and maybe later I’ll regret it but right now she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t explain how I feel when I’m around her, but it’s like a drug.” He stood. “I didn’t mean to hurt you and I’m sorry about the tabloids, but I can’t undo either.”
And he didn’t want to, she thought. Or wouldn’t want to if the price was giving up Treasure. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. She knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking.
She looked at him. “It’s not going to last and then what? Do you expect me to take you back?” A question that presumed he wanted to come back in the first place.
“I guess we’ll have to see where it goes.”
“Just like that?” She stood. “You’re willing to risk everything?”
“For her? I am.”
* * *
Ali found herself scrambling to be ready for her Saturday move. There had been an unexpected work crisis in quality control on Thursday and Friday. Ali had gotten the first call from a disgruntled customer Thursday morning. It had taken her the better part of the morning to figure out what had gone wrong. Friday had been a series of meetings with lots of yelling. As Ali hadn’t been part of the mistake, she’d only had to listen, but the problem had sucked up any chance of leaving work early to get ready for the move.
She’d stayed up late Friday, organizing as much as she could. When she’d texted Daniel, he’d told her not to worry—the guys who were helping would finish the packing. All she’d needed to do was sort her belongings into two piles: the things she was storing in Daniel’s garage and the items she would want with her, conceivably for the next year.
She had gotten to bed shortly after midnight. Saturday morning she was up early to double-check her decisions and try to be awake enough to be both perky and collaborative as she finished packing up her bedroom. On a usual day neither feeling was especially hard to muster but for some reason and despite two cups of coffee, Ali couldn’t helping feeling a little...sad.
&nbs
p; She supposed the reasons were obvious. She was leaving her apartment after living there for three years. Although moving had always been the plan, it was supposed to be because she was marrying Glen and taking the next step in their relationship. Instead she found herself forced out of her home and into a living situation that was admittedly lovely but not of her choosing. Okay, sure, technically she’d chosen to move in with Daniel, but only because she couldn’t afford a decent place of her own. She accepted the relationship with Glen was over, she just wished there weren’t daily reminders of how sucky things had gotten.
The date of the wedding was rapidly approaching. As she studied the sealed boxes and the stuff yet to be packed, she wondered how she was going to feel on the actual day. Would she be sad, angry, depressed, resolute or some combination of a thousand other emotions she couldn’t predict? And while she was on the subject, what was Glen feeling? Did he miss her at all? Miss them? Did she want him to? She’d been so caught up in logistics that she hadn’t spent a lot of time on her own emotions. Or maybe she’d been hiding from them. Either way at some point she was going to have to deal. Not just with the loss she felt, but also the lack of loss. The truth was she didn’t miss Glen much at all.
She hated admitting that, but what choice did she have? She’d been sad at first and humiliated because hey, who wouldn’t be, but not devastated. She wasn’t crushed or thinking she would never again be happy. What was up with that? She wanted to tell herself she was in shock, but she wasn’t sure she was. And if she wasn’t—if she’d really gotten over him so very easily—what did that say about her, about them? If she hadn’t been in love with him, why on earth had she agreed to marry him?
All difficult questions she didn’t want to think about but until Daniel and his guys showed up, she didn’t have many distractions. She walked through the half packed, half empty apartment, as if she could find the answers somewhere in a closet or drawer. There were pieces of her life with Glen, items from the life they were going to have together, but no real pain, no heartbreak. She’d been so sure he was the one...but he wasn’t.
California Girls Page 18
