Chapter Six

That night, Eleanor went out for Thai food in West Hollywood with Luis and Sasha. As she rode in the passenger seat of her roommate’s father’s hand-me-down BMW, she watched the lights pass beyond the window and wondered how she’d gotten here.

She knew how, of course. The cross-country drive a few months before had been memorable, and not just for the scenery—eight southern states she’d never before laid eyes on, not to mention a two hundred foot tall cross just off the freeway in Texas to put the Bible in Bible Belt. She and Julia hadn’t spent so much time together since before Eleanor left for college. Her little sister had grown up, as evidenced by nightly phone calls to James, her boyfriend of four years who, she’d confessed one night in a darkened Motel 6 room that smelled of carpet deodorizer, had begun to drop hints about marriage and kids. Julia had a job she liked and someone she loved waiting for her back in Burlington, a whole life already in progress not far from where they’d grown up, while Eleanor was temporarily employed and currently un-partnered, crashing at her college roommate’s apartment three thousand miles from home.

Lunch with Tessa and Laya had reminded her of what she had lost—her mother—and what she had yet to find—a family of her own. After the job talk, they had strolled through the gardens above the canyon with Laya holding their hands and swinging fearlessly between them, her laughter rising above the koi ponds and into the fruit trees that lined the stone pathway. Eleanor had caught herself thinking that the summer could be just like this—the three of them together among the flowers and shade trees at the edge of the canyon. And just for a moment, she’d felt more at peace than she could remember since her mother’s death, the loneliness she’d carried around these last months temporarily forgotten.

Just before Laya’s nap, Tessa had walked her out to the driveway. As the limo driver held the back door open, the actress touched her arm and said, “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Eleanor had glanced sideways at her, aware of Tessa’s hand lingering against her skin. “I thought that was my line.”

“Not in this case. The job’s yours if you want it.”

“Right.” She hesitated. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Then Tessa did something that made Eleanor doubt even more the sagacity of accepting the offer: She leaned in and kissed the air near Eleanor’s right cheek. “Thanks for coming to lunch.”

Eleanor swallowed hard. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Then the driver was opening the back door of the limo, and Eleanor was giving a half-wave as she slipped into the car. She was tempted to glance back through the tinted window to see if Tessa still stood on the drive, but she stared straight ahead. She thought she was picking up on certain signals from the star, but what if Tessa just enjoyed being worshipped? What if she was another insecure beautiful woman who needed everyone to love her? For a woman like that, no amount of attention would ever be enough.

At the same time, how could she turn down the job when it offered her a respite from another round of indentured financial servitude? Probably she should just pick a school, move there as soon as Barclay’s term ended, and get a summer job to help defray tuition costs. But no job in the world would pay what Tessa was offering. The Madison program, her top choice, was the cheapest one on the list and, like the others, had offered her partial funding. If she agreed to be Laya’s nanny for the summer, she wouldn’t have to worry about taking out loans for at least the first two years of the five-year program. Could she pass that up?

She’d argued with herself all the way home, then mentally debated the issue some more while she waited for Sasha to return from playing tennis at her club. If she took the job, she’d be getting paid exorbitant sums to hang out with a kid she already liked. Laya was still testing boundaries and learning when to push, when not to. But she was a secure and confident and kind-hearted kid. She was loving and, obviously, well-loved. Eleanor hadn’t expected such balance from someone like Tessa. Before they’d met, she’d pictured the stereotypical career actress more interested in herself and the Hollywood scene than in her offspring. But Tessa was engaged, an active parent, seemingly unplugged from the film industry by choice. And she wanted Eleanor to join their family for the summer.

Over appetizers, Sasha filled Luis in on Eleanor’s continuing celebrity adventures as they munched vegetarian spring rolls and coconut prawns.

“I can’t believe Tessa Flanagan invited you into her inner lair,” Luis said. “Bitch—I don’t know if I should be jealous or kiss up.”

“Kiss up, my friend,” Sasha said. “Tessa asked our little Elle here to be her daughter’s nanny for the summer. If Elle plays her cards right, she’ll be in the inner lair almost daily.”

“No she didn’t,” Luis squealed, reminding Eleanor of the sounds her students made at recess. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I mean, that’s fantastic. You are going to say yes, aren’t you?”

Eleanor sipped her pomegranite margarita. “I don’t know yet.”

He stared at her, apparently stunned speechless.

“I know, right?” Sasha said. “I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this bizarre response. When the Tessa Flanagans of the world invite you into their private circle, even if it’s only as a paid employee, the answer is always yes. Particularly when they offer to pay you two-K plus a week.”

Luis whistled. “Damn, girl. Are you sure it’s babysitting she wants you for? She didn’t mention booty calls by any chance, did she?”

Eleanor glared at him. “Of course she didn’t. She was completely professional.” No need to mention the seemingly more-than-friendly looks Tessa had occasionally leveled at her, or the air-kiss when they parted. Probably Tessa hadn’t meant anything by that, either.

“Sorry, chica,” Luis said placatingly. “No need to get your panties all in a bunch.”

She could feel Sasha’s eyes on her and took a deep breath, releasing the sudden anger Luis’s flippant remark had ignited.

“A bit sensitive, aren’t we?” Sasha commented. “Wait—that’s why you’re thinking of running off to Wisconsin, isn’t it? You’re afraid something might happen with her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eleanor said. “The only reason she even offered me the job is that Laya has a major case of hero worship going. That, and Barclay has done all of the heavy lifting—you know, background checks, fingerprints, the promise of my firstborn child.”

“Please. As if you’ll ever have a child,” Sasha said. Then she looked down at the table and sighed audibly. Her biological clock had recently shifted into high gear. Everywhere she went, she told Eleanor, she saw babies or pregnant women. The night they’d broken up over dinner at Spago’s, she’d been sure Ben was finally going to ask her to marry him. Instead he’d told her he was leaving her for a recently divorced co-worker at his PR firm, a woman with whom, incidentally, he’d worked closely for longer than the five years he and Sasha had been together.

Eleanor couldn’t decide if she should smack Sasha up side the head or squeeze her hand in sympathy. She exchanged a look with Luis, who shrugged helplessly.

“I can see you both, you know,” Sasha said, and took a sip of her Thai coffee spiked with Jack. “Now, tell us what the house looks like, Elle, and don’t leave anything out.”

Dutifully she launched into a description of Tessa’s house, a vintage English country estate in the Hollywood Hills with a Tudor façade, ivy-covered walls, and orange and lemon trees in the garden overlooking the canyon. They’d spent more time outside than in, so she was better able to describe the elegantly curved swimming pool, matching hot tub, wisteria-shaded patio, and distant ocean views than the interior of Tessa’s beautifully appointed home.

“She lived on the beach before, didn’t she?” Sasha asked. Their entrees had arrived by now, and she scooped brown rice onto her plate before covering it with chicken cashew stir-fry.

“In Malibu,” Eleanor said. “Apparently the paparazzi used to anchor boats offshore and stalk her from afar.” No wonder Tessa had moved into the more easily defensible foothills—like the royals of old who built their castles on promontories and dug moats all around. Just like that.

“Those guys are snakes,” Luis said. “It may be legal to harass people the way they do, but it’s definitely not ethical, if you ask me.”

“You sound almost as idealistic as this one here,” Eleanor said, nodding at her roommate. “Maybe you guys should break off and form your own firm that does good deeds. You know, start the next Legal Aide.”

“We would be so much more effective than they are,” Sasha said. “The talent they hire is abysmal. Half the time they don’t even know how to file a brief.”

As the conversation moved on to lawyerly topics, as it almost always did, Eleanor tuned out. She pictured a gang of photographers storming Tessa’s beach house, a cross between Saving Private Ryan and Gia. Good thing Tessa had retired. Not that retiring meant she was immune to scrutiny. But even Eleanor, who lived on the other side of the country and was more attuned to advances in literacy pedagogy than the state of the film industry, knew that the public spotlight had shifted from Tessa Flanagan in recent years to younger, hotter actresses. She would always be Hollywood royalty. She was just no longer one of its undisputed queens.

Eleanor dug into her basil fried rice and tried to put thoughts of Tessa Flanagan out of her mind. Easier said, of course, than done.

Tessa wasn’t used to waiting. Actually, that wasn’t true. Being an actor was a lot like being a soldier, according to the research she’d done for a role in a movie about Desert Storm—the motto “Hurry up and wait” fit both occupations equally well. On a movie set, each scene required the completion of a thousand or more tasks: sets had to be built, camera tracks laid, hair and makeup perfected, new tracks laid when the director of photography decided to change the shot, and so on. After a dozen years in the movie-making business, Tessa was accomplished at waiting.

What she wasn’t used to was having her personal life depend on someone else’s decision. For the past ten years or more, other people had sought her approval, her agreement, her acceptance. Now that she was the one waiting for another person’s verdict, she wasn’t sure she liked the feeling much—a sign the experience was probably good for her. A voice came out of the past, her father’s laughing baritone with an echo of County Derry: “It’ll put hair on your chest, love.” And her own laughter, just like Laya’s now—high-pitched, carefree. Hard to remember she’d ever felt that free.

On Sunday morning, after a semi-sleepless night, Tessa had already been reading for an hour when she heard Laya pad down the hall and pause outside her half-open door. “Come in, munchkin,” she called, and her daughter stumbled sleepily around the edge of the door.

Laya was dressed in her favorite PJs, a plaid cotton top and mismatched light blue pants with pink bunnies on them. Tucked under one arm was one of her stuffed animals, a giraffe named Gerri who came up to her belly button. “Hi, Mom,” she said, throwing Gerri up onto the king-sized bed and climbing up after him.

“How did you sleep, my sweet?” Tessa asked, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek.

Giggling, Laya swiped at her cheek and threw herself across the pillows. “I dreamed Miss Chapin lived with us. Do you think she could come back again sometime?”

“I hope so,” Tessa said, rubbing at a smear of what was probably peanut butter stuck to Gerri’s right ear. “Was it a good dream? Did you like having Miss Chapin around?”

“Of course,” Laya said, looking at her as if she were crazy for even asking. “You like it too, don’t you?”

“Sure.” She closed the Sarah Waters novel—almost done, finally—and grabbed her daughter, tickling her belly. “I think it’s time for pancakes!”

Laya squirmed and shouted, “Pancakes! Let’s find Lolo!”

As they dressed in matching bathrobes and tramped downstairs, Tessa was relieved once again that her child could so easily be distracted with promises of food. Like mother like daughter. One of the first things she’d done after landing her first paying gig—five thousand dollars for two lines in a James Cameron film had seemed like a fortune to her then—had been to go to the grocery store and stock up on all of her favorite foods. As a foster child and then a struggling college student, she’d survived for longer than she cared to remember on canned goods and day-old bakery products. As a working actor, she could finally afford the good stuff. She’d never looked back and never planned to. That was why she had hired the Midas of financial advisors, Howard Duffy, business planner to the stars.

Over the years, Howard had carefully hoarded her money and helped her spend only the interest on her principal investments. At his urging, she owned a restaurant in La Jolla, real estate in Hawaii and Mexico, and an investment portfolio focused on long-term growth, while at her insistence Howard gave away a good chunk of the profits from her investments to a list of her favorite liberal causes. When she’d decided to look into starting a charitable foundation, she’d called Howard first, and he’d pointed her toward the Byerlys, her co-conspirators in trying to fill the hole Princess Diana’s death had left in the celebrity-giving scene. Their words, not hers, but an ambition she didn’t mind sharing.

Ama was still at mass and the pancakes still in liquid form when Tessa’s BlackBerry rang, Eleanor Chapin’s name flashing on the caller ID. Tessa left Dani and Laya in the carriage house discussing where eggs came from and took her cell phone outside. On the one hand, she was glad she wouldn’t have to wait all day for Eleanor’s decision. But what if the answer was no?

She flipped her phone open. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Eleanor said, her voice cool.

Shit, Tessa thought, and paced toward the shallow end of the pool. She hadn’t let herself dwell on what it would feel like if Eleanor turned her down. The sinking sensation in her stomach was nearly unfamiliar: disappointment. She’d insulated her life so carefully these last years, she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

She forced her voice to sound upbeat. “So have you thought about my offer?”

“I have,” Eleanor said gravely. “It’s a very generous offer, as I said yesterday. Too generous, in fact. I’d like to accept, but I’m not sure it’s a fair wage.”

Wait, she was taking the job? Tessa couldn’t stop the grin that split her face. “Obviously no one ever taught you how to negotiate. You’re supposed to ask for more, not less.”

“Private schools don’t have unions,” Eleanor said, and Tessa thought she detected a matching smile in her voice. “I’m not going to talk you down, am I?”

“Nope. So you’re saying yes? You’re going to spend the summer with us?”

“I am,” Eleanor said. “If you still want me to.”

“Of course I want you,” Tessa said, then instantly regretted her word choice. Nothing like a Freudian slip to out your less-than-honorable intentions. Not that she intended anything dishonorable toward her daughter’s future nanny. “Anyway,” she added quickly, “I’m delighted to hear the news and I’m sure Laya will be too. Ama and I will tell her today and I’ll get in touch with my lawyer this week. There’ll be some paperwork for you to fill out at his office, the usual W-2 and more NDAs. Is it okay if I have his assistant call you to set up an appointment?”

Eleanor said it was, and then asked, “When would you like me to start?”

They decided on the first of June to give Eleanor a couple of weeks with Ama and Dani still around. Then in mid-June, Tessa, Eleanor and Laya would fly to Kauai. By the time they returned to California, Ama and Dani would be settling back into life in the Philippines.

Plans complete, another silence set in. Tessa wondered if Eleanor was at the Beechwood apartment she shared with her college roommate or if she was somewhere else in L.A., strolling a boardwalk or a city street. Tessa could hear traffic in the background, but her own L.A. apartments pre-fame had been noisy, community affairs. She didn’t miss the sound of buses or feuding frat boys.

“I’ll be in touch, then,” she said finally. She didn’t want to hang up yet. She remembered how Eleanor had sat cross-legged on the wicker couch on the patio, smiling affectionately at Laya, watching Tessa bemusedly. She longed to invite her over again. They could swim, or walk in the garden or read quietly in the sun. But she couldn’t ask that, not of someone who would be on her payroll in a matter of weeks. Anyway, soon enough she would see Eleanor nearly every day.

“Thanks, Tessa,” Eleanor said, using her name for the first time. “I look forward to working with you.” Despite the formal words, her voice was light. “Tell Laya hi for me, and I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“I will,” Tessa said. “See you soon.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “Soon.”

They hung up, and Tessa held the cell phone to the front of the ancient Sea World T-shirt she’d slept in, smiling out at the view from her patio. Eleanor would be with them for the next three months. “Eleanor,” she murmured. She liked the sound of the old-fashioned name. No one in Hollywood picked names like that anymore, not for themselves or for their children.

“What did I miss?” Ama asked, bustling across the patio, her purse and an umbrella slung over one arm.

“She said yes,” Tessa announced, turning to smile at the older woman.

“That’s wonderful!” She slipped her arm through Tessa’s and tugged her toward the carriage house, umbrella bumping against her side. “We’ll have pancakes and orange juice to celebrate.”

“You know, Tita, it isn’t raining,” Tessa said as they walked.

“I thought it might earlier, but it was just that pollution,” Ama said, and shook her head, grumbling under her breath.

Tessa squeezed the older woman to her side. She was going to miss her so much. Maybe Eleanor’s presence would help ease some of the loss. Maybe Eleanor would fill the space—before she left, too, Tessa reminded herself. Everyone left. It was inevitable. Even Laya would someday depart to lead her own separate life. Fortunately, not for a while, she thought as they opened the door to the carriage house to find Laya and Dani busy stacking pancakes on yellow Fiestaware plates.

“Hi Mom! Hi Lola!” Laya said, gazing on them happily. “Time for pancakes!”

And they were mighty tasty too.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 605