A Girl's Best Friend (17 page)

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Maybe.”

“You’re warped.”

In my mind, I replay the desperation on Max’s face when he looked for Lilly that day. I wanted him to follow her, to play dead for her, but I realize now that was wrong. Lilly doesn’t want to be chased or pursued by love like I do. She wants love to feel like a scruffy, time-honored, fuzzy slipper, not a glass one like I’ve searched for.

I look down at the stunning solitaire on my right hand. It’s a rare blue diamond, a brilliant cut in an amazing hue of aquamarine. My father’s hoping to start a new diamond trend in San Francisco. I’m sure he invested before the scandal, and as I gaze into its clear blue depths, I wonder if any man will ever care enough to give me a ring like this without wanting to profit from it. My own father is incapable of such a feat. I imagine my odds aren’t good.

“I want to be loved,” I say. “You want to be comfortable. So here we are, alone with a futon. Just two girls and our steamer trunks full of baggage.”

Lilly sits down beside me and grabs my hand to look at the diamond. “That’s an amazing stone.”

“Wouldn’t it be something if it’s all I had left?”

“How do I make him believe me, Morgan? That I’m not the wife his mother expects, so he can warn her?”

How does she make me believe it? I mean, if I had a man look at me like that. If there was a man on earth capable of feeling about me like Max does, I’d give up anything. I can’t identify with Lilly at all, because I’ve waited my whole life for unconditional love—at least the closest you can come to it here on earth. I searched for it in my mother, followed my father around for it, and mistakenly allowed a con artist to make me believe it was present.

I know my contentment should be in Jesus. I’ve read the Book. I know how it ends. But I also feel the chill of my discontent around me, and the longing for someone on earth to weather the storms of life with me. My goal is Jesus, but I still want someone to walk the pathway with me. Just one good fish, Lord! I’ve been alone my entire life—besides my father and Mrs. Henry. I want someone who notices I’m actually there. Is that too much to ask?

“I don’t know what to tell you. I think you might have figured it out before now. Would you really be willing to walk away from Max?” I stand up and reach into the fridge for a Diet Pepsi, which I pop with vigor before Poppy gets here and ruins my fun.

“Never,” she admits. And I have to say, it’s the first time I can remember Lilly being truly honest about how she felt. She was so afraid to want something because her nana might tell her it wasn’t the right thing, but I think Lilly has finally come into her own.

I watch Lilly pick up a picture of Max, and the look in her eye is evident. She loves him with all her heart, but Lilly lost her father, and her mother abandoned her. People she loves are known for leaving, and someone needs to convince her Max is different.

“Max might leave, Lilly—people are flawed. But I don’t think he ever would. I think he would cherish you and support you, and most important, I think he’d tell you when you were full of garbage. Like today, for example. But if you’re looking for perfect, you’ve got to look up.”

Her eyes fill with tears, “I couldn’t stand it, Morgan. If he left, I mean.”

“But you can stand looking him in the eye and telling him you won’t meet his mother?”

She wipes the tear away with the back of her hand. “His mother will hate me.”

“Max is not a mama’s boy, or he wouldn’t live across the country from his parents. Lilly, if I made a play for Max—not that he’d notice me any more than the doorknob—but if I came on to him, what would happen?”

She starts to laugh through her tears, “Max is really not all that great on the flirting business; he probably wouldn’t notice. No offense to you, Morgan.”

“I’ll wait for Poppy downstairs.” I don’t know why, but I just can’t take Lilly this morning. I suppose it’s because she has what I want in the palm of her hand, and she won’t even wrap her fingers around it and embrace it.

In contrast to Lilly’s pursuit of all things vocational, I am a serial monogamous dater. I have always had a boyfriend to parlay me to the next social event, a man about whom the paper conveniently estimates his net worth in terms of how likely I am to marry him. Without a boyfriend, I feel empty, incomplete, and just plain lonely. I suppose it comes from being virtually ignored by my parents.

But isn’t that so hip? To blame my parents for all my problems and not take responsibility for the fact that I don’t know how to be alone.

Clearly, I have a long way to go on this contentment factor.

“Before you go, I made you something.” Lilly jumps up from the futon and goes to her coat closet, which is a mishmash of so much stuff, you almost expect the bowling ball to come rolling off the top shelf like on the Flintstones. “It’s for your job interviews. Remember? I told you I had something for you for court.”

“Lilly, what on earth?” It’s a gorgeous
black pant set, with long sleeves and starched white cuffs and a collar. It’s very nautical. Very chic and extremely gorgeous. “It’s incredible, Lilly. You never cease to amaze me with what you can do with that sketch book of yours.”

“It’s from my collection this fall. This one is your size, so I brought it home last night. I thought it would help in the job search, and it’s completely in your budget: free. I’ll make something new if there happens to be a court date.”

I dash behind the Chinese screen and climb into the new outfit, starved for the feel of fresh clothing on my limbs. In this, I know I will be able to get a job. I feel like a million! And it didn’t cost me a thing. Now I know how Daddy feels when he collects the rent. Advance to go, collect two hundred dollars.

“So you’ll meet Max’s parents and you won’t freak out on commitment while I’m gone?” I say while I admire my image in the mirror.

Lilly nods. “You’ll stay away from my Max?”

I laugh. “Lilly, he’s all yours, but I’ve got news for you. Max sees no one but you in the room, and if I were you, I wouldn’t give him the chance to question his affections. Or next thing you know, you’ll be on the front page of the newspaper in the arms of a bigamist.”

I slip into a pair of comfortable Cole Haans, which I snuck over, and head out the door feeling like the San Francisco executive I’m about to become. My reality just got kicked up a notch. Financial District, here I come. And this time, I’m dressed for the occasion.

chapter 16

I
feel like a new woman in front of Lilly’s building. I don’t even have matching accessories, and I still walk like I’m on the runway. That’s how one knows good clothing. Lilly’s designs are enough without baubles and trinkets, though I’d never let my father hear me say that. That’s blasphemy to a Malliard. Good clothes always call for fine jewelry, my dear. But seriously, Lilly really is a talent, gifted with fabric, like I’m gifted at sniffing out the best spa products. Too bad she’s socially inept. Well, I guess it’s not actually too bad, because if she and Poppy weren’t socially inept, we never would have met and bonded. If there’s one thing that’s good in my life, it’s that I have friends as strange as me. Just in their own particular way.

Poppy honks the horn of her Subaru Outback. You can tell it’s Poppy’s because it’s the only Subaru in town without the mandatory bumper sticker of the following persuasion:

Free Tibet

Love Animals—Don’t Eat Them

KQED (public television)

Pro-child, Pro-choice.

No, Poppy has none of those bumper stickers, but rather a big silver Jesus fish on the back of her Subaru. The car, which is a cranberry red and as sporty as you can go with a Subaru, is perfect for getting her to her little mountain hikes.

While we’re on the subject, what is the actual point of hiking, can you tell me? Does the view not look just as good from a well-appointed balcony? Having a goal is really not necessary to enjoy the outdoors. I want to tell Poppy this, but she doesn’t get it. Any more than I get her desire to view the Valley from nearby peaks. Sweating for fun is completely outside my realm of understanding, unless a sauna is involved.

I head towards the wannabe SUV. She honks the horn again to let me hear its cute little whimper, and I climb into the passenger seat.

“Hey, thanks for picking me up. I needed the moral support, because working world, here I come!”

“Great outfit. Is that one of Lilly’s?”

I nod. “Isn’t it fabulous? I printed some leads off the computer last night, and instead of business, I’m going to concentrate on the fashion sector. I thought we’d start at some of the boutiques I used to frequent.”

“Good idea. And I have a lead for you I think you’re going to like. It’s right up your alley.” Poppy turns off the radio, which is playing some new-age Enya-type music, and looks at me. “Did you see the newspaper this morning?”

Oh heavens, when will I not learn something personal in the newspaper? “I’m avoiding it. Is there something I should know?” I really wonder what it must be like for families who actually talk and tell each other things rather than learn them in the gossip rags and society pages. Imagine what it would be like to hear your mother was a Hollywood actress from her, rather than in her obituary.

“I wouldn’t have seen it,” Poppy continues. “But I got into town early and read the paper in a coffee shop.”

“You went to a coffee shop without me?”

“I had a green tea. Relax. I’ll stop anytime you’re ready if you want to ingest more poison.”

I pull at the waistline of the pants Lilly made for me in “my size.” That’s a relative term, as in the last month I’ve put on a few pounds and apparently I am currently someone else’s size. Someone who is distinctly bigger than me. I’m surprised Lilly didn’t notice, but since she didn’t, I have a feeling I’m going to be permanently tattooed with the waistline of these slacks.

“So what did the paper say? Am I going to jail? Is the tax man coming?” I try to laugh off any fears.

“It had nothing to do with the tax stuff. What’s that about?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to call my lawyer with the abs of steel.” I start to giggle to myself. “He should have been a plastic surgeon.” Mostly because he doesn’t need an ounce of work himself. He belongs in Rome, cut from marble.

“Who should have been a plastic surgeon?”

“My lawyer. He’s all clean-cut and pretty, like a plastic surgeon. Perfect teeth. I just don’t think I can trust a man with perfect teeth.”

“Maybe his father was a dentist.”

“So how’d he get the abs? Is his mother Jane Fonda?”

“How do you know he’s really a lawyer? Lilly said this was the guy at Spa Del Mar.”

“He said my dad hired him after it was clear the government wasn’t going to leave us alone and instead was deciding to pursue a lawsuit.”

“Your dad hired a lawyer? And you believe that?” Poppy asks, a distinct tone of disbelief in her question.

“The charges are true.”

“How do you know?”

“Daddy’s getting a wife.”

“It’s about time, isn’t it?”

“She looks sort of like Pumbaa with microdermabrasion.”

“Oh,” Poppy nods. “I see.” And it’s clear, she does. My dad is all about image, and he did not suddenly change overnight. Gwen clearly has some cash. I know it’s awful to think such things about your father, but if there’s one person I love, and yet still see the truth in, it’s my dad.

“Did you look your lawyer up in the phone book?” Poppy asks.

“No.”

“On the state bar website?”

“No.”

“Did you even Google him?”

“No, okay, I didn’t do anything. I lusted over his Bowflex bod and that was it. What more did I need to know? I’m shallow, and a wee bit desperate, all right? ‘You’ve got a good behind, I’ll follow you into court.’ Is that what you want to hear? I was an idiot. Once again.”

“Absolutely not. I’d just think if I was facing tax evasion charges, I’d be
a little more serious. I mean, even that
Survivor
winner faced five years in jail for not claiming his million. I imagine your dad hasn’t claimed a lot more than that.”

“You’re assuming he’s guilty.”

“I am.”

“That’s not like you, Poppy. What about his right to a free trial, and innocent until proven guilty? You’re all about the ‘peace first’ effort.”

“He’s guilty in my book already for putting you on his business. You and Lilly have spent a lifetime answering to nana and your father. To the point that you’re both scared to live. I’m tired of watching it, and tired of you both making excuses for your dysfunction.”

“Dysfunction?”

“That’s right. I’m surpassing ‘issues’ and ‘fears’ and going straight for ‘dysfunction.’ If your wedding history doesn’t prove to you something’s off, I don’t know what will, Morgan. The fact that you’ve never had a full-time job, were engaged to a man you felt sorry for, and then one who conned you? If you’re not seeing some dysfunction here, I can’t help you. You’re like a walking definition of
neurosis
.”

“We may be dysfunctional, Poppy, but you’re in the same pen as us. If we were dogs in the San Francisco SPCA, we’d be in the same chain-link box for our issues. Lilly with her little doggie Lysol can, you with your little hemp collar, and me getting ‘fixed.’”

“I am a working chiropractor. I have a career. I have people who come to me for advice. I’m not dysfunctional.”

“You haven’t bought a new skirt in this decade. You smell like herbs rather than a woman, and the last date you had was probably when that skirt was in style. Am I right?”

“Unlike you, Morgan, I don’t measure my successes in terms of men in my life.”

“And that’s a good thing, because it would make you a failure. I would assume you need men in your life to measure them. And cracking their backs doesn’t count.”

“I came up here to help you. Like Lilly, you’re picking on my clothes. What is it with you two and my clothes?”

“If you have to ask, that’s a problem. Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just tense. I suppose you have a balm for that.”

“No, but I brought you some oolong tea. I’m wondering if I should have gone straight for St. John’s Wort.”