She looked at the worn sofa and love seat, the matching coffee table and end tables. The style wasn’t hers at all, but it was familiar, comfortable.
Nigel didn’t want to be with her anymore. The truth couldn’t be avoided forever. She could dance around it, scream, run, she could even hide, but she couldn’t change the truth. There would be no baby, no happily-ever-after. Nigel had thrown away their future with his affair and from what she could tell, he’d done it without giving the consequences any thought.
She wanted to say Treasure had bewitched him, that he was under the influence of some sex drug and one day he would resurface. She wanted to believe that with counseling and therapy and maybe some kind of rehab program, her old husband could come back to her. The only problem was deep in her gut, she didn’t think he wanted to. Nigel liked who he was with Treasure and she couldn’t be with someone like that.
She tried not to hear him accusing her of scheduling sex with him. Why was that so awful? Why did that make her a bad person? They were busy. Yes, they loved each other, but after so many years of marriage, the reality was it was difficult to always find the time. So she’d made sure their lovemaking didn’t slip off the radar. Why did that make her a bad wife?
But in Nigel’s eyes, she’d committed an unforgivable crime and when Treasure had come along... She admitted she wasn’t sure if he’d taken revenge, seen no reason to resist, or both.
Her bedroom was at the front of the house, with a big bay window and a walk-in closet. Her old full-size bed, dresser and desk were where they had always been. There were posters on the wall, but hers had never been of movie stars or rock bands. Instead she had pictures of Jane Pauley, Andrea Mitchell, Diane Sawyer and Elizabeth Vargas. All her heroes. While her friends had been glued to E!, she’d watched news reports.
Shelves were crammed with her awards from both high school and college. She’d worked hard to be a good journalist. When she’d landed her first job as a TV reporter in Bakersfield, she’d known she was going places. The offer from the LA station had been even more exciting. Hosting AM SoCal had sent her in another direction but one that challenged her. Everything had been so great and then it had all come crashing down around her.
She walked over to her desk where she’d already set up her laptop. Next to it was the mail she’d collected from the house. She flipped through the handful of bills and ads, and saw a thick envelope. After opening it, she stared at the invitation and groaned.
The charity gala to benefit children with cancer was a big deal. The local station was a corporate sponsor. There was no way not to go and no way to go with Nigel.
She sank onto the chair and covered her face with her hands. What had happened to her hopes and dreams? How had she lost everything without warning? And even though she knew it was over, why did she so desperately want her husband to come back?
* * *
“I can do this,” Zennie murmured to herself. It was two weeks and one day after her artificial insemination procedure. She’d had a big glass of water, had three different pregnancy tests lined up and was simply waiting for the urge to pee.
She felt good. Not pregnant or in any way different, just good. She’d been eating from the approved list of foods, drinking plenty of water and taking her vitamins, although all of it felt more like going through the motions than for any real purpose. She wondered if “real” mothers felt any differently while they were waiting to find out the good news.
She walked around her apartment, trying to think about anything but having to go to the bathroom. After a few minutes of flipping channels, she found herself caught up in a Love It or List It episode on HGTV. Half an hour later, she got up at the commercial and walked into her bathroom. It was only when she saw the sticks carefully laid out on the counter that she realized she’d totally forgotten about the test.
“This is ridiculous,” she murmured with a laugh and prepared to do her thing.
She followed the instructions and when she was done, she put the tests on the paper towel and waited. It didn’t take long for them to change. Each test had a different kind of indicator, but the results were exactly the same. According to the sticks, she was pregnant.
Zennie stood in her small bathroom, not sure what to think. She stared at herself in the mirror, noting she looked wide-eyed and more than a little scared. She was pregnant. Pregnant, as in with child. There was a baby growing inside of her. Holy crap!
She ran and got her phone, then took a picture of the sticks and texted Bernie. She didn’t have to wait very long for her phone to ring.
“I knew you were going to do it today,” her friend said, her voice thick with emotion. “I just knew it. Really? Really?”
“I’m just telling you what the plastic said.”
“Oh, my God!” Bernie shouted. “We’re having a baby!”
Zennie grinned. “So it seems.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“I’ll be here. Do you want me to keep the sticks or can I—”
“Don’t you dare throw those out. I’m keeping them forever.”
“You know I peed on them, right?”
“I know and I’m so happy. Give me fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.”
Zennie was still smiling when she hung up.
She put the sticks into a small plastic bag then tried to figure out what she should do while she was waiting. Before she could pick something, Bernie was at her door.
Bernie dropped her purse and a grocery bag onto the floor and flung herself at Zennie.
“Thank you,” she said, hugging her so tight she couldn’t breathe. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I would have loved you forever no matter what, but now I love you more.”
Zennie laughed and hugged her back. “I’m happy, too. I mean that.”
“Yay.” Bernie stepped back. “I brought you a couple of gifts.” She picked up the shopping bag and pulled out a jar of pickles.
Zennie grinned. “Clichéd but appreciated.” There was also a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and two copies of a thick book.
“For us to read together,” Bernie said, handing her one. “Everyone says this is the one to really read. It goes month by month through the pregnancy. I’ll make up a schedule so we’re reading at the same time. It’s going to be great.”
Zennie took the book and flipped through it. As Bernie had said, there were chapters on each month with a drawing showing how big the baby was and lots of questions and answers. The word hemorrhoids caught her eye and she quickly closed the book.
“Thanks. I’ll start reading it today.”
“Me, too. Hayes is super excited. I called him on the way over. We want to take you to dinner. There’s a great new vegetarian place that doesn’t serve alcohol so you won’t feel deprived. Just make sure you eat plenty of protein at lunch so you get in enough for the day. They have great cheese dishes for calcium.” Bernie hugged her again. “This is going to be great.”
“Uh-huh.”
Zennie told herself it would be. That there was no reason to feel overwhelmed or confused or just a little sense of misgiving. Of course Bernie was excited and Zennie really needed to know what was happening to her body. More information was always better than less.
“So dinner tonight?” Bernie asked.
“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”
“No hot date?”
“You know there isn’t. No guy wants to deal with a pregnant woman and I’m in a good place right now.” Zennie laughed. “The best first date I’ve had in months was with a woman, so what does that tell you?”
“That this pregnancy was meant to be. If you’d stayed with Clark, he would have been upset and in your face about what you were doing.”
The comment surprised Zennie. “I don’t think he would have at all. I mean, we were just getting to know each other, but Clark wasn’t like
that. He was really supportive.”
“I’m sorry.” Bernie touched her arm. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m just saying, now it’s not a problem.”
Zennie actually preferred being alone to being in a relationship, but she wasn’t sure she liked Bernie thinking of her being with someone as an impediment to her having their baby.
“So better for me to be alone so I can focus?”
Bernie’s lower lip trembled. “Zennie, I’m sorry. I’m saying everything all wrong.”
Zennie shook her head and hugged her friend. “No, you’re not. It’s me. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” She started to laugh. “I think it was hormones.”
“Really?”
“Aren’t I your most levelheaded friend?”
“You are.” Bernie clutched her arms. “You’re really having our baby.”
“I really am.” She opened the front door. “I love you, now go celebrate with your husband. I’ll see you two later.”
“I’ll text the time. Love you bunches. Bye.”
Zennie closed the door behind her friend, then sat on the sofa. Pregnant. She was well and truly pregnant and had no idea what to do with the information. She had so many people to tell. Her mother for one, and her dad. She was going to keep quiet at work as long as possible. Ali knew about the procedure but not the results.
Zennie got her phone and quickly texted her sister, then sat back and tried to wrap her mind around the information. Pregnant.
I’m super excited for you, Ali texted back. Congrats.
Zennie smiled. She scrolled through the contacts list, hesitating when she saw Clark’s name. No way, she told herself. She didn’t want to tell him. Besides, it would be a little too weird to text him to let him know she was pregnant. Jeez—what a crazy idea. Why on earth would she be thinking...
She flopped back on the sofa and grinned. Oh, yeah, she was pregnant and it was going to be a heck of a ride.
Chapter Seventeen
Post-show fan greetings were a tradition on the show. Those who wanted to meet Finola stayed after for a quick meet and greet. Finola usually enjoyed spending time with her viewers but ever since the news had hit, she’d been reluctant to have any one-on-one time. Even smiling and shaking hands seemed risky, and she’d kept Rochelle close to whisk her away if necessary. But it had been more than a week and no one had said anything, so she was more relaxed as she worked her way through the line of fans, and Rochelle had retreated to the dressing room.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, shaking hands with an older couple. “I appreciate it. Are you locals?”
“Yes, we live in Huntington Beach,” the gray-haired man said. “Bought our first house there nearly forty years ago.”
Finola chuckled. “And it’s worth a whole lot more now.”
“It is.” He winked at her. “You’re sure pretty. Just as pretty in person.”
“Oh, Martin, you’re such a flirt.” Martin’s wife rolled her eyes. “As if she’d been interested in an old coot like you.” Her tone was teasing, her smile friendly.
“You’re charming, Martin,” Finola said, chuckling before turning to the next guests. “Hello. Thanks so much for coming to the show.”
The next couple was what looked like a mother-daughter pair, with the mother in her midforties and the daughter college age.
The daughter smiled. “Your clothes are great. I try to get my mom to dress better, but she won’t listen to me. Do you do your own hair, or does someone do it for you?”
Before Finola could answer, her mother narrowed her gaze. “I don’t understand why you’d want to air all your dirty laundry out in public like that. What’s the payoff to you? Are you that hungry for attention? Is that why Nigel left?”
Finola felt the judgment and slap all the way down to her soul. She wanted to run away but there was no escape and no one to protect her. She looked around, but most of the crew had disappeared and the other guests had left. These were the last two.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Finola said before she could stop herself. She knew there was no point, that she should simply thank them for coming and walk away, but she couldn’t seem to move. “Not the affair or the publicity. There are photographers stalking me. They found out where I live and they chase me in their cars, making me feel scared and unsafe. It’s a nightmare and it’s humiliating.”
She was saying too much but she couldn’t seem to stop. She wanted this woman to know that it was all Nigel. All him and that whore Treasure. Finola was the innocent party. She’d done nothing wrong.
She opened her mouth to say that, then shook her head. She was a fool. Whatever this woman thought of her was her business.
Finola forced herself to smile pleasantly at both of them. “Thank you so much for coming. I hope you enjoyed the show.” Then she turned and walked away, heading for the hallway where there would be people to make sure that awful woman didn’t follow her.
Behind her she heard the daughter saying, “Mo-om, why’d you say that? It was really rude.”
“She thinks she’s all that because she’s on TV.”
“She’s doing her job.”
“She chose this.”
Finola turned another corner and the words were lost. She made her way to her dressing room and went inside. Once the door was closed behind her, she leaned against it, as if keeping out everyone else.
Rochelle looked up from her laptop. “You okay?”
“Yes, of course. Just dealing with fans. You know how they can be.”
Rochelle’s gaze sharpened. “Did someone say something?”
Finola used her hand to flick away the question. “Do we have the segments for next week’s shows?”
“So that’s a yes.”
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no way to keep this sort of thing from happening. Everyone has an opinion, even if they don’t actually care about me or Nigel or even Treasure. Right now we’re interesting. Next week everyone will tune in to watch a surfing dog.”
“Do you know how many views you’ve had?” Rochelle asked softly. “Of that segment with Treasure?”
“Tell me.”
“Over two million.”
Finola collapsed on the sofa. “We’re just not that interesting. How can anyone care?”
She didn’t expect an answer and Rochelle didn’t say anything. Finola closed her eyes. “Isn’t it enough that we’ve had meetings discussing what segments we can and can’t do on the show? My agent yelled at me when she found out. She reminded me that when anything like this happened, she was my first call. The producers all huddle together and stop talking when I walk by.” She opened her eyes and stared at her assistant. “I’m not the bad guy.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Let me get you some tea.”
Because Finola couldn’t go home yet. She had fittings for the next quarter’s wardrobe and after that she had to work out for two hours to stay thin enough to be on TV and be attractive so people wouldn’t think Nigel had cheated on her because she was a hag.
“Thanks,” she said gratefully. “I swear I’ll get this figured out and quit whining.”
“You’re not whining,” Rochelle told her as she stood. “Finola, you’ve been through a lot. You’re dealing and it’s damned impressive.”
“Thank you.”
Finola told herself she would hang on to the kind words of support. She would stay strong and get through this, whatever it took. And when things were sorted out, she would—
Honest to God, she had no idea what she would do, but she was determined to be stronger than she had been. Honed by fire or whatever the phrase was. Because she was so tired of feeling broken.
* * *
Midmorning Ali finished the semiannual inventory of Mustang parts. The process controls she’d suggested a few months ago had turned out to make a big
difference. She had a few more ideas she was going to discuss with Paul once she got her thoughts down in writing. As she made a few notes to review later, she thought about the possibility of going to college.
She hadn’t—after Finola and Zennie had gone, her parents had told her there wasn’t any money. She didn’t have a burning ambition to do anything specific, so she hadn’t really minded. Now it occurred to her she should have protested a little more than she had. Both her sisters had four-year degrees and she had nothing. They both had well-paying careers and she worked in an auto-parts warehouse. Yes, she’d moved up, from stocking to shipping to inventory control, but did she want to do this for the rest of her life? Didn’t she want to grow and be challenged and maybe contribute more than making sure there were plenty of headlights in stock? Not that she didn’t pride herself in her work, but was this where she saw herself in twenty years?
She knew her restlessness was as much about her breakup as her job. She was in transition and that was never easy. Even good change was stressful. So fine, if she didn’t have direction, she would figure it out. In the meantime, she could go to community college and start taking her general education classes. At least she would be moving forward instead of standing still.
She entered her inventory results into the computer, then went to the shared printer to pick up the paperwork. On her way, she saw Ray. Instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt, he had on black pants, a dress shirt and sports jacket.
“Ray, what’s going on? Hot lunch date?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Ali. I have a date.” He tugged at his collar. “Man, I hate dressing like this, but it’s for a good cause, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ray frowned. “You haven’t heard? Paul has given notice. He’s finally retiring. I’m interviewing for his job. The owner asked me to. Wish me luck.”
California Girls Page 20
