California Girls

“Parker?” Finola pulled out one of the folders and opened it. Inside were head shots of Parker Crane.

The actor was much younger in the pictures, all handsome with a sexy smile and a twinkle in his eye. Parker Crane had been as famous for his reputation with the ladies as for his movies, she thought, trying to remember what else she knew about him. But he’d been way before her time. Now he was a successful TV character actor who still had a roguish air about him.

“You knew Parker Crane?” she asked, looking from the pictures to her mother. “No, you were involved with him. When?”

“After your father died. For months I was too stricken with grief to do much more than take care of you. There wasn’t enough money to support us forever so I had to do something. When I started looking for a job, a few friends insisted I go with them to a big Hollywood party first. Just to get my spirits up. Parker was there. He swept me off my feet. You and I moved in with him. We traveled the world. It was very romantic.”

“I don’t remember any of this.”

“You were still just a baby. Probably about a year old.”

“You met a guy at a party and took off with him?”

Her mother smiled. “I’m sure I made him work a little harder than that, but in essence, yes. I was so grateful not to be sad anymore. I knew it would never go anywhere. Parker was the consummate playboy and it wasn’t as if I truly loved him. Your father still had my heart. But it was fun while it lasted.”

Finola took a drink of her wine. “How did it end?”

“I woke up in a hotel room in Rome and he was gone. The bill was paid and he’d left two tickets for us to fly home. I remember lying in bed thinking I had to start living a real life. That I was done with pretend and done with Hollywood.”

She picked up a small ring box and opened it. Finola gasped when she saw the large ruby surrounded by diamonds.

“You could have sold the jewelry and lived off the proceeds for a few years.”

“Oh, I was going to, if it became necessary.” The smile returned. “I wasn’t foolish enough to think Parker’s gifts were to be kept sacred. But I wanted to see if I could support myself first. I did sell a couple pairs of earrings to pay for secretarial school, then I got a job as a receptionist at the ABC television studios and that’s where I met Bill.”

Finola thought about her handsome, movie star biological father, and then Parker, a man from the same mold. “Did you marry Bill because he was a regular person?”

“I thought things would be better if I admitted to being ordinary. And for a while, they were. We had good years.” She drank more wine. “But I could never give him what he wanted.”

And vice versa, Finola thought. She would guess Bill had seen Mary Jo as an exotic flower. He would have admired her but not known exactly what to do with her.

“In the end,” her mother said, “I couldn’t make him happy. I suppose after a while I stopped trying.”

“That’s what he said,” Finola told her. “Dad called me when he found out about Nigel. He wanted to tell me that even though Nigel cheated, I still had some fault in the failure of the marriage.”

Her mother looked at her, her expression sympathetic. “Not what you wanted to hear.”

“Of course not. Nigel humiliated me. He didn’t just cheat, he made it public.”

“He did all those things and he’s a horrible person for doing it, but Bill isn’t wrong.”

“Mo-om, you’re saying it’s my fault?” She didn’t care that she sounded like she was seven. “I’m the injured party.”

“You are if you think you are.” She slipped on the fur wrap and slid the ring on her right hand. “But being the injured party is an easy trap. If you spend too much time feeling sorry for yourself, you never act.” She looked at Finola. “It took me until I was fifty to figure that out. You might want to learn the lesson a little sooner.”

*

Zennie and Gina stood by the bar area, searching for an open table. It was nearly five and The Cheesecake Factory at the Sherman Oaks Galleria was starting to fill up.

“There,” Gina said, pointing.

Sure enough there was an empty booth in the back by the bar. They hurried over, each sliding onto the bench seats.

“I claim this for me and my friends,” Gina said with a laugh.

“It’s an interesting choice for us.” The group tended to go out to local bars rather than brave the Galleria.

“DeeDee’s been talking avocado egg rolls for two days,” Gina admitted. “After a while, I caved. I mean, who can resist those?”

“I’m in.” Zennie might not be drinking these days, but she was still eating. And after days of following her prenatal diet perfectly, she figured she was due something fried.

Cassie and DeeDee joined them, DeeDee sliding in beside Zennie.

“You’re lucky you didn’t scrub in today,” DeeDee said with a sigh. “Dr. Chen was on a tear. He had Rita in tears before we’d even opened up the patient. I missed having you there to act as a buffer.” She grinned at Gina and Cassie. “Zennie’s his favorite.”

“Oh, we know,” Gina said. “He makes it very clear.”

“Why didn’t you scrub in?” Cassie asked.

“There was an emergency bypass this morning around five. I was on call.” Her phone had gone off at four o’clock and she’d been in the OR by five. Six hours later, their patient was in recovery and doing well.

Their server appeared to take their orders. Everyone got cocktails, DeeDee ordered two plates of avocado egg rolls and then it was Zennie’s turn.

“Club soda,” she said, bracing herself for the onslaught.

“What?”

“You’re not drinking?”

“We’re going to Uber home. Come on, Zennie, forget that it’s a school night.”

She smiled at the server. “Club soda,” she repeated.

When the server left, Gina looked at her. “What’s up? You’re not feeling well?”

“I, ah, had an early morning.”