Split Ends (18 page)

“Not when there's women like you around. It's really easy to be the good-time girl, isn't it? No dinners on the table, no laundry to do. One job only, but he won't marry you. No man ever will!”

My mother slammed the door in her face, but not before Mrs. Simmons looked me straight in the eye. I'll never forget the look of desperation mingled with hatred in her eyes. The next day everyone in school was told by Cindy that my mother was free for the taking. We never recovered from that night. Our reputation was sealed in stone.

Alexa puts her right leg into the car first. It goes on forever. It's like she herself is never going to get into the car. Just her endless limb. While I wait, I ponder the fact I'm in her Mercedes with its supple gray leather interior and all the appointments. Just sitting in this car might be worth dying for. I mean, if you're going to go, you don't want to go in a Kia, know what I'm saying? At least Mom would think I'd made something of myself. “She died in a Mercedes” would be her mantra at the Hideaway. Who knows, maybe Mom has a secret insurance policy on me and her troubles would be over.

“You don't talk much, do you?” Alexa asks me. “ You don't have to talk about Scott. I don't want to hear it anyway.”

“I talk. I'm just not sure what to say to you.”

“Why don't you tell me why you're here with Scott?”

“I've known him since I was a child. We grew up together in Wyoming.”

“I should have known he'd go back to his hick roots. Is that what he wants out of life?” She looks over at me with her icy blue eyes. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I answer uncertainly.

“Are you hungry?”

“I am. Haven't eaten all day.”

“It will be nice to have some girl time over dinner.” Her tone is gentle and considerate, which both unnerves and relaxes me.

I meet her gaze. She is way too good for Scott. Although at this point my stomach is growling, and I would befriend Freddie Krueger if food was involved.

“Why are you following Scott?”

“You need to ask him that, Sarah. I wouldn't be following him if he'd just tell me good-bye. It's not too much to ask for the years I spent with him. I mean, sure I made a mistake, but it doesn't mean—” She stops and looks at me. “Your outfit isn't great for evening. You've got hair on you. I think we'll go somewhere casual.”

“Casual would be good.”

After a few stoplights, Alexa pulls up to a restaurant called Jody Maroni's Sausage Kingdom. Sausage I can do, though I can't imagine the lean beauty queen inhaling a link of meat.

The restaurant is . . . well, it's sort of tacky—bright, sunlight-yellow tile with red, white, and black accents. But I'm thinking a girl can get a decent meal here— none of those California portions they call dinner. I feel myself exhale, knowing our conversation will look better after a full stomach.

“You have to try the Venetian chicken with sun-dried tomatoes.”

Complete word salad. “What?” I try to mask my ignorance, but the truth is Californians can't even eat a sausage normally. Sausage is pork parts and things you really don't discuss in mixed company. Sun-dried tomatoes? Come on.

“The Venetian chicken is to die for, and not bad in calories. Jody's is my guilty pleasure.”

Did they drag my chicken in the canals of Venice? If so, that might be acceptable sausage.

We park her car in the lot with other luxury vehicles. Apparently sausage is big doings here in Century City. (I only know where I am because there was a city sign announcing our departure from Beverly Hills and West Hollywood.)

“Or they have this new one with pomegranates!” Alexa is very enthusiastic about her food. “I might try that one.”

As she says this, I hear Dane's voice telling me Iran is the number one importer of pomegranates. He has facts like that all the time, and I think he's rubbing off on me.

Alexa slams the door, locks it with a beep, and steps quickly along the sidewalk. “This is my favorite place to eat. Scott likes being seen in all the right restaurants, but this is way more fun, and I'm actually full when I finish. I suppose when it comes to eating, I'm a country bumpkin too.” She looks at me again. “No offense.”

“You can say ‘country bumpkin,' ‘hick,' or ‘cowgirl' without apologizing. I don't take it personally.”

“You don't?”

“Why should I? Wyoming is beautiful country.”

“Of course it is.”

“Scott's from there,” I say, the slightest edge in my voice.

“That's right,” she remembers.

“How long have you two—”

“Been estranged?”

“Yeah.”

“About a month. He told me there was someone else, and I suppose that was my clue, but I thought he just needed a break, you know? He asked me to get a few things out of his apartment that I'd left there, but he didn't tell me the engagement was off, or ask for the ring back. I thought he needed some space, but I haven't heard from him since. Dane moved in, and that was the end of it.”

“Maybe he doesn't want the ring back,” I say brightly. Although I'm sure we both know my cousin may be a lot of things, but generous with his cash is not one of them. I believe the word
skinflint
applies here.

She shrugs. “I keep hoping, but he's changed his cell phone, and Dane picks up all my calls to the house. I still have hope. I guess that's why I'm following him, but it's bordering on pathetic.”

“Yeah, but men make women do crazy things.”

“I should know better.” She heaves a desperate sigh. “But I didn't bring you all the way to dinner to whine at you. I want your opinion.”

“My opinion?”

“If Scott isn't coming back, why won't he ask me for the ring?”

“You're asking me to make sense of that? Oh, Alexa, I couldn't tell you why he can't face you in the first place. He's usually so confrontational. If there's anyone who enjoys confrontation—”

“See? I know, that's why I still have hope that he's coming back.”

“Maybe you need to play hard to get.” I lift up my finger. “I know. Maybe you should put the engagement ring on eBay and forward him the URL? If he thinks you're getting the money for it—”

She starts to laugh so hard that she throws back her head. “I like your way of thinking, Sarah.” She shakes her head, “But no, I can't do that.”

“And I wouldn't suggest it.” I clear my throat. “You know, as anything more than a joke.”

Meeting her earlier on the street that night, I was convinced Alexa was psychotic. Now I wonder if she's saner than I am. Which doesn't really speak well of my Christian walk, but there it is. Getting dissed without closure is the ultimate female bonding issue.

“You were going to marry him, and he's not returning your calls?” I say this mostly for myself—unable to believe that my cousin would be capable of something I thought reserved for the likes of Bud Simmons.

She shrugs. “I can't force him to get married, can I?”

I'm taken aback at this answer. It seems so reasonable, and yet she is stalking the man. “So why are you following him again?”

“I only want closure. I only want him to tell me to my face what I've done is unforgivable. I want to hear him say it.”

Unless he's the blackness in your universe, not sure that's going to happen. “I don't know what to say. He hasn't told me anything, Alexa.”

She opens the door to the sausage king and all eyes go to her. She's still pretty in the greenish-hue of florescent lights. So wrong. Just for one day, I'd like to possess her kind of beauty. I'd go back to Cindy Simmons and give her an earful about true inner beauty.

We walk up to the counter, waiting our turn to shout at the guy behind the cash register.

“I thought Scott liked the flashy types, but maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe he craves hometown girls since he's been here. Maybe homemade mashed potatoes are what he craved all along.” She pauses while I stare at her.

“I said I was okay with the ‘cowgirl' and ‘bumpkin,' but ‘mashed potatoes'? Not so much.”

“I didn't mean it that way. I meant Scott grew up with you. Maybe he craves hometown-clean beautiful. Not made up.”

I brighten at her words. “You think I'm beautiful?”

“And wholesome. That's all I meant. My mouth gets ahead of me sometimes.”

I like her. When I think about Mrs. Simmon's reaction to me, the venom in her eyes toward a little girl, and then Alexa's reaction when she thought I was sleeping with her fiancé, I have to give her props. She's too good for Scott.

I start to muse about my new life in Hollywood. “Isn't it funny we women all think it's about who's the prettiest? Has there ever been a supermodel that hung on to a man, ever? Yet we all think the prettiest girl wins.”

“That eighties model is still married to Ric Ocasek from the Cars.”

“Yeah.” I wrinkle my nose. “Not a great example.”

“Heidi Klum!”

“She kissed a few frogs first. Had a baby with at least one.”

“Right.” Alexa puts a finger to her chin in deep thought. “I'm sure there's someone who has been monogamous with Prince Charming.”

“I'm sure there is, but maybe our odds aren't any worse. Our' meaning ‘mine,' of course.” I look at her. “You don't count, as you could be a supermodel.”

“Ah, that is so sweet.” Alexa's voice softens and sighs.“I suppose you can cook too.”

“I make the best mashed potatoes ever,” I tell her. “The secret is they have to be terrible for you. If they're healthy, they don't taste good.”

“You'll have to teach me.”

Alexa walks in her stilettos to get a few napkins. She does so with grace. Like a wild cat in the zoo, it's hypnotic and disconcerting, and everyone's eyes follow her, like at a tennis match.

“I can cook other things,” I say, looking for something to feel good about as she walks back. “I learned early because my mother worked nights.”

“You seem very sweet, Sarah, but very different than me, and if Scott is craving familiarity, I can't be that. My analyst says people want what they want and you have to accept that. Seeing you, I can accept that Scott was not looking for me as a life commitment. I'm in the process of accepting that.” She tosses her chestnut hair and blinks those ice-blue eyes to wash away the sudden tears.

Her analyst. How Hollywood is that? She could have any man she wanted. The question remains why she wanted my cousin in the first place—this man who clearly has a little to learn in the chivalry department.

“Do you know what you want for dinner?” she asks me.

“Just order two of what you're getting.”

She shouts the order at the guy behind the counter, and I shove money at her, which she pushes back at me. “My treat. I figure if I'm going to whine at you, it's the least I can do.”

“Alexa, I don't know what happened between you and Scott, but I'm truly sorry. I don't want to be in the middle of it.”

She waves the comment off. “But you are in the middle of it.” It's not said with any malice, but I suppose there's plenty of truth in that statement. “You're living in our apartment. You know his new phone number. I just want an answer, Sarah. That's all I want. Can you tell him that much for me?”

“I'll do what I can. I promise. You seem pretty calm, and that's a good thing. I once saw my mother throw a guy's belongings out of a convertible along the highway when he broke up with her. His stuff was strewn there for ages until the snow came—and come summer, there were still remnants of the breakup. Not pretty.”

Alexa laughs. “Really? I should have thought of that. But it's so white trash . . . no offense.”

“In our small town, everyone knew the story after that. Someone put the guy's underwear over the signs along the highway, like those old Burma Shave signs.”

She starts to giggle. “I do wish I'd thought of that, but I'd never have the guts to follow through, and this town's too big to have any lasting effect with something fun like that.”

“Actually, it was more humiliating than fun. The whole town knew it was my mother.”

I never liked any of the women Scott dated. They were always hard chicks who could throw back liquor to rival our parents and who dressed in low-cut t-shirts and pointy-toed boots. Alexa is about as far from that image as I can picture.

“Just tell Scott I'd like to see him to give the ring back. I'm not keeping it. It's not a gift; it symbolizes something that isn't. We both made our mistakes, but let's not make all our years together a sham.”

I just nod. Her pain is palpable.

“Thanks for coming to dinner,” she says. “This is good
for closure. I wanted to hate you, but I don't. But you'll always be second to the work. Just be aware of that.”

“Did you see me get tossed out on the street?” I ask with a laugh.

“I'm sure his excuse was some ditzy starlet who got kicked out of a restaurant, couldn't get into a restaurant, they didn't have the right colored M&Ms in her green room, blah, blah, blah. All stuff an agent does, not a stylist. But they call him instead. They love him. If he was smart, he would become an agent as well and double his fees.”

“I don't think I could stand by for that. You're a stronger woman than me.”

“You are standing by for that,” Alexa reminds me. “Scott needs to be needed. Are you needy, Sarah?”

“I'm breaking free of a lot of baggage at home.”

Her eyebrows lift. They are the perfect shape, and I can't help but wonder if she sees Anastasia, the eyebrow woman. “You're only trading the luggage if you're here with Scott.” She hikes a Gucci bag over her shoulder as we walk toward the table. “I want Scott to be happy.”