Split Ends (20 page)

“Does my cousin need us out of the house? Is this a favor for him? Your coming here?”

“What kind of favor would I be doing your cousin?”

“I can't stand it when people answer a question with a question.”

“Why?”

“Because—” I swat his arm. “You're infuriating me.”

“I hear that a lot. I have an infuriating personality. It's why your cousin calls me Lurch. He claims I creep around. I'm quiet and tall; what am I supposed to do? Put bells on my feet like a toddler?”

“How on earth did you pick my cousin to live with during the renovation?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“But I have a normal answer: Scott's the only one I know in California. What's your excuse?”

He laughs heartily. “I like Scott, and he puts up with me. Let's get to the beach before it gets too late.”

I stop walking and look up at him. “You seem awfully intent on getting me to the ocean. What's up with that?”

“Why are you unbelievably suspicious?”

“Cary Grant wore a hat just like yours in
Suspicion
to murder his wife.”

“But he didn't do it. Because the studios wouldn't let Cary do it.”

“How did you know that?”

“I live near the Chinese Grauman's theatre and the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and I furnished Cary Grant's old house at the beach when new residents moved in. I am nothing if not well versed in Hollywood history. How could I do my job otherwise?”

“Your job. Yes, about that. I noticed you were an antiquarium from your card.”

Again he laughs.

Dane Weston is what I aspire to be—well, minus the guy part. He's elegant and professional in his pressed slacks or suit, and more important, he looks like he belongs in them. Not like he's inherited an older brother's clothes. He reads
U.S. News & World Report
and
BusinessWeek
for entertainment, and he understands what the Dow Jones Industrials are. By all appearances, you'd think he had a professional butler looking after him, but as his roommate, I can testify he does it all himself. He's regal, just like Cary. And though I find him the most attractive man I've met to date, I can't help but feel as though my flaws are highlighted neon yellow, cast underneath his long shadow. And that was before I was golden sunset in color.

“Your card
said
you were an antiquarium,” I repeat.

He smiles. “You make it sound as though I collect fish. I'm an an-ti-quar-i-
an
.” He says the word slowly. In separate syllables for the country girl.

I could die. Antiquarium, antiquarian. You say potato, I say po-tah-to. Neither word means a thing to me. It's been such a long day, and I feel the sudden sting of tears over my mistake. I'm sure it's more about Kreata's hair and my neon face than my own ignorance on antiquarians, but still. Although I blink wildly to hold them back, I held everything in all day in order to not stand out at work, and I let my guard down when I walked out the door. When all else fails, try honesty.

“I don't know what that is, Dane.”

He stops dead, looks at me, and wipes an escaped tear from my cheek. His voice softens. “Sarah . . .” He comes in close so I can't avoid his eyes.
“No one
knows what it is; that's why I use it. The title makes me sound more exclusive. I'm an antiques dealer. I buy and sell European antiques in a small shop in Brentwood. It's only open to dealers, designers, and the more savvy collectors, not the public. My clientele prefer the title. It helps them charge their customers a higher premium.”

I feel a strong headache coming on. “Antiques.” The word rolls off my tongue. “I don't know a thing about them. Well, other than they're old.”

“Not always. Sometimes collector's items for these homes are quite recent, but yes, the definition of antique is that something is old. I grew up around them. It was my parents' business. I'm not creative enough to strike out on my own like you. I wonder if I had a skill what I might have become.”

“That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.”

“We need to fix that. If that's the nicest thing you've heard, you're not setting your standards high enough.”

“So do you think Ben Affleck will have the same effect on people as Cary Grant some day? Will people buy his old house to relive an era?”

“I won't dignify that with an answer.”

I giggle.

“Even the orneriest, snobbiest of people look good under a full moon at the beach. And I want you to see my kitchen, see if you like what I'm doing with it. Maybe you'll find me more to your liking. A man with a good kitchen definitely has potential, don't you think?”

If I found him more to my liking, I'd be doing the cavewoman bonk over his head and taking him home by the hair. And let's just say Mrs. Gentry would definitely not approve of that. It's not even what Dane says; it's that there's some kind of chemical combustion that goes on when we're together. Something impossible to explain but magic to encounter. I'm going to call it the X factor. In reality, he's probably the kind of man who saves worn stamps and metal lunchboxes in his closet, and I've created him to be nouveau Cary Grant.

Story of my life.

chapter 13

You must learn day by day, year by year, to broaden
your horizon. The more things you love, the more you
are interested in, the more you enjoy, the more you
are indignant about, the more you have
left when anything happens.
~ Ethel Barrymore

I
feel the phone in my hands and gaze at Dane, thinking over his invitation. It's just dinner. I know that, and yet I know myself. I know how I feel about Dane.

“Dane, I have to make a phone call.”

He shakes his head. “So make one.”

I look down at the phone in my hand. “It's long distance.”

“Believe it or not, Sarah, the cell phone will call long distance.”

“But what will it cost?”

“It's free. It's an international line. Just make a phone call. Why don't you go over on that low wall and talk, and I'll window shop. I've been meaning to get down here to Rodeo Drive to think about Christmas anyway.” He smiles broadly.

“I like platinum,” I joke.

I walk over to the Louis Vuitton storefront and dial Kate. Of course, she's probably off fooling around, hiding from Ryan. Who's stalking me. As if I had something to do with it with any of the failing relationships around me.I have no idea why Scott dumped his fiancée, yet here I am, witness to the whole soap opera. Now I'm getting interrupted at work because Kate is having
thoughts
. What is this, the Dark Ages?

Kate answers on the first ring.

“Thank goodness you're home.”

“Where else would I be, Sarah, it's ten o'clock.”

I look at my watch. “Oh, right. Time difference.”

“Is everything all right?”

I turn around and stare into the store window, whispering, “It's fabulous. I'm with Dane!”

“Dane. I thought he was in France or something.”

“He's home early! And he came to pick me up, and he's lending me a cell phone!”

“Did you tell him you have a date with someone else?”

“Shut up. Listen, Dane invited me to his place, and I need you to tell me why that is such an incredibly bad idea. Go ahead and tell me about the girls who got pregnant in high school.”

“You have serious issues if you can't go to dinner with a guy without your virtue suddenly being at stake. What's wrong with you?”

“So that's my support, huh? I'm feeling all warm and tingly. Really.”

“Well, just be sure and close the door like they do in all your old movies. Like you wouldn't freak out that you're just like your mother. Please. You have issues, girl. Go to dinner and quit whining. No wonder you never had any dates.”

“Ryan called today. He said you're talking strangely.”

“I'm not talking strangely. I'm talking about what I really want in life. It wouldn't be strange if Ryan didn't want to tell me what I really wanted.”

“Kate, Ryan loves you.”

“I'm not willing to be who Ryan wants me to be just to have a man, all right? I'm not your mother.”

“Kate!”

“I'm sorry. It's been a rotten day and I'm struggling. Pray for me, all right? I'm going to watch TV and forget this day ever happened. Oh, hey, call Mrs. Gentry if you have a chance. She's been dealing with your mom, and she told me not to tell you or worry you, but you know I can't do that, so call Mrs. Gentry.”

“I will.”

“Don't worry about Ryan and me. We're in the process of designing the way our life will look together; we're in negotiations, all right?”

“But you're not thinking of leaving Sable?”

“I don't know what I'm thinking. Look, Sarah Claire, I don't mean to be rude, but you're not one to speak to me on what kind of life I lead, all right?”

She hangs up on me.

My best friend hung up on me.
What the heck?

In the past, I usually let Kate have her temper tantrum and we talked later like nothing happened, and that's what I'm opting for here. I look at Dane, who seems content looking at windows, though I know he's not interested in anything. “Dane, I'm going to make one more call! I'm sorry!”

“Take your time!”

I call Mrs. Gentry and breathe in relief at the sound of her voice. “Hello?” she answers raspily.

“Mrs. Gentry, it's Sarah Claire.”

“Sarah Claire, is everything all right? It's nearly ten-thirty.”

“It's only eight-thirty here, and yes, everything's okay. Did I wake you? I just forgot about the time change.” And the fact that old people go to bed at eight-thirty. “I just wanted to check on my mother, and I thought you might know something. She's not returning my calls.”

“Now, Sarah Claire, I hadn't wanted to worry you. How are you doing in Beverly Hills? You must be awfully busy, because the girls and I haven't received our promised letter.”

Why is it that every time I talk with Mrs. Gentry I feel guilty? “I'm doing fine, Mrs. Gentry. How are you?”

“This Dane fellow, how is he?”

“He's fine. More than fine. We're going to have dinner tonight.” I look toward him and he offers me a smile and a wave.
He's beautiful.

“Kate's keeping us up to speed on your blooming romance.”

“So the entire town of Sable knows.”

“Yes, dear.” She says this matter-of-factly.

“There's nothing to know, really. He's my cousin's roommate and he's my polar opposite, yet I can't help the way I feel about him.”

“I heard all that. It's not like you to talk so glowingly of a young fellow, so I wondered why you were entertaining the idea of a date with another.”

“The trainer, yes. I wondered that too. But he asked and I couldn't think of a good reason to turn him down. It doesn't change the way I feel about Dane.” I smile at him.

“Nor should it, but there's nothing wrong with getting what you want either. You don't have to settle, Sarah Claire. You went to California to get what you want, so get it. You're nothing like your mother. You're loyal to a fault, and if your heart is telling you Dane is something special, why wouldn't you listen to that?”

“Mrs. Gentry, about my mother,” I say, avoiding the topic. Romantic advice is not what I need.

“We'll get to her. What does your heart say about Dane? You're usually very good about knowing a person's heart. If you think he's a good man—”

“What if I'm wrong?”

“Was going to California wrong?”

“Well, I screwed up someone's hair today. Other than that I haven't cut anyone's hair. I lower toilet seats, empty garbage cans, and sweep up hair right now. Oh, and I make coffee, so you might say there were some consequences to my decision.”

“That's just earning your keep, Sarah Claire. Nothing wrong with an honest day's work; we did much worse than you're being asked to do just to get our paltry paychecks back in the day. Because we were lucky to have a job, period. It wasn't about fulfillment, you know. It was about having enough money to put fruit in the cellar.”

“Mrs. Gentry, my mother.”

“I'll tell you when I'm ready to talk about your mother.”

I shut up immediately. Mrs. Gentry is so amiable, so gentle, but she runs things like any good librarian would. She likes order and will not abide by the chaos of me jumping conversations.

“What I've seen is fear driving you, Sarah Claire. You don't want to end up like your mother, so you leave. But you're nothing like your mother—because of your mother. You were the caretaker; that makes you different because of your role in the relationship, don't you see? You can't run scared of romantic entanglements forever.”

“Mrs. Gentry, I don't mean to change the subject, but my mother?” I plead. This time more forcefully. “There's nothing to talk about with my romantic ventures.”

“She had another incident with the law. I think it's time she went into a program, Sarah Claire. She has no concern for anyone around her. She's blacked out a few times—once in Milly's when waiting for an order of coffee and once on the road the other morning before church.”

I swallow hard. How do I get my mother to do anything she's supposed to do? For the good of humanity, herself, or anyone?

“I've looked up a few programs and—” I grimace in defeat. “How would I pay for them? I came here to make enough money, but I have to give it a little time—there are state programs, but I . . .”

Excuses. Just like my mother uses. She could kill someone, and I have to find a way to stop it I know that, and yet I feel powerless.

“She's going to kill someone if she isn't stopped.” Mrs. Gentry voices my fears. “Al took her keys away, and the ladies have been taking turns driving her to work. But she's working at the bar, and the first thing they teach you in any addiction class is that you can't be near your addiction and what makes you crave it. You can't be sober and work as a bartender; it's not going to happen.”