“That’s totally different,” I pointed out quickly. “You’re from New York, like me. You’re used to public transportation. Navigating all those freeways in LA had to suck. And you’re only taking a break from the Hollywood thing until you have some money saved up and your shit together—”
Both CeeCee and Gina pointed at the “swear” jar, which I’d intended for them to do. I’d sworn on purpose, to lighten the mood. Whenever Gina began to dwell on why she’d taken a detour from her dream of movie stardom, and ended up in my apartment in Carmel, her voice caught, and her eyes filled. She’d been crashing at my place for several months, though none of us—not even Jesse, who was the most soothing of souls—had learned why, except that life in Hollywood had been harder than she’d expected.
“For now,” Jesse had advised, after one late-night chat by the backyard fire pit at the house he and my stepbrother Jake shared had left her looking particularly pensive, “leave it alone. She’ll tell you what happened when she’s ready. Just let her heal.”
So Gina was healing on my futon couch and earning minimum wage, plus tips, at the Happy Medium.
Getting up to stuff another dollar in the “swear” jar, I went on, “I don’t think Kelly’s changed much since high school.”
Becca’s new stepmother had barely glanced at Sister Ernestine as she’d explained why she’d called.
“So it was just another one of Becca’s accidents?” Kelly had asked. “She’s so clumsy.” Her tone suggested, So why do you people keep calling me?
The fact that Becca had had more than one of these kinds of “accidents” alarmed me—this family seemed to dwell a lot on the word accident.
But before I could say anything, Sister Ernestine butted in.
“Well, yes, Mrs. Walters, but this time you may want to take Becca to see her pediatrician. Miss Simon and I aren’t trained medical professionals, and as you can see by Becca’s uniform, there was quite a lot of blood—”
“Becca, you keep a spare shirt in your locker for PE, don’t you?” Kelly asked.
Becca nodded, looking cowed by her glamazon of a stepmother.
“Great,” Kelly said. “No need for me to take her home then.” She’d given us one of her patented Kelly Prescott Look-at-me, I’m-a-real-California-blonde, capped-teeth-and-all smiles. “Well, thanks for calling, Sister. Suze, it was, uh, good to see you again. Buh-bye.”
“Not so fast, Kelly,” I’d called just as she’d spun around on a red-soled Louboutin, her long, honey-gold curls leaving behind the delicate odor of burnt hair that had spent too long in a curling iron. “I’d definitely have a doctor look at your stepdaughter. In fact, I’d take her over to the emergency room at St. Francis in Monterey right now and ask for a Dr. Jesse de Silva. He’s excellent. Here, let me write it down for you.”
I’d scrounged around for a pen and notepad, which hadn’t looked too professional, since all the pens and notepads had been flung to the floor by Becca’s still-absent guardian angel.
“The ER?” Kelly had pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead. “You can’t be serious. It was just a cut. She says she’s got an extra shirt. She’s fine.”
“Yeah.” Becca had nodded vigorously. “I’m fine.”
“She’s not fine, Kelly.” I’d shoved Jesse’s name and number into Kelly’s manicured hand. “Take her to see him. She needs to get that cut looked at, and by a professional. Do you understand what I’m saying, Kelly?” I’d wanted to add, You dumb cow, but of course I couldn’t.
Kelly looked down at the hastily scrawled note in her hands.
“Jesse de Silva,” she read aloud. “Why is that name familiar to me?” Then a lightbulb seemed to go off in her dim, beautiful head. “Oh, my God, isn’t that your boyfriend? Wait, yes. It is! I read in the online alumni newsletter you two got engaged. Marrying your high-school sweetheart. Isn’t that cute?”
I’d felt myself turning red.
“Yes,” I’d said. “Jesse is my fiancé. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a terrific pediatrician—”
Kelly had crumpled the note in her fist, then thrown it to the floor with all the other detritus. It was apparent her Isn’t that cute? had been sarcastic.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she’d said, her perfectly made-up eyes flashing. “Using your job here to drum up business for your boyfriend. I know things are bad in the medical industry, but honestly, Suze. I’d think you of all people would know better. Funny how I used to think you were sort of smart, coming from New York City, and all. I remember some of us in school even looked up to you, once upon a time, and thought you were going to go places. Well, that was a long time ago, obviously.”
She’d smirked, then stepped over a collapsed Venetian blind and added, “Sister Ernestine, you might want to rethink hiring this person. My husband is a major donor to the academy, you know. I doubt you’d want to do anything to upset him.”
Then she’d tossed her hair and left, her high heels ringing on the mission paving stones.
siete