The Next Thing on My List (8 page)

Instead, I set down the notebook I’ d been clinging to. Lizbeth was never going to listen to my pitch. This was my chance. If I blew it, what was the worst that could happen? I’ d never see these people again, and Bigwood could hardly fault me for failing when he’ d done exactly the same thing moments before.

‘ I do have a way we may be able to partner that would be low-cost,’  I said, aiming to keep my voice steady. ‘ It’ ll help you get your feet wet. Once you see the good work we can do, I’ m confident you’ ll want to continue the association at a higher level.’

Then I pitched the hell out of my free gas idea. I was so focused on what I was saying that I didn’ t even worry that I was braless. Without the graphs and charts I’ d been working on, I knew I was the main show, so I did my best to make giving away free gas sound like the next step in reality TV. I painted a mental picture of happy motorists screaming with glee as we told them they’ d won free gas-of how they would surely thank their generous sponsors for this honor, perhaps even wipe away tears of gratitude. All on TV. And all for the low, low price of, say, a few thousand?

They loved it-they loved me! Although they couldn’ t commit on the spot-they first had to run it by the powers-that-be-they assured us they’ d do everything they could to make the project happen.

Later, as we walked back to his car, Lou Bigwood gave my shoulder a squeeze and told me I did a great job.

‘ Thank you, Mr. Bigwood.’

‘ Call me Lou.’

That was when it hit me: I was now one of Charlie’ s Angels. Susan was going to keel over laughing.

I suspected that Lizbeth, however, would be less amused-leaving me to fret the entire way back to the office over how much she’ d try to make my job a living hell.

Chapter 6

I woke to the phone ringing. Seven forty-five on a Saturday. Who’ d be calling this early?

I let the machine pick up, but when I heard it was my mom, I grabbed it. ‘ It’ s not even eight o’ clock!’

‘ It isn’ t? Oh, sorry. Go back to sleep.’

‘ No& ‘  I rolled out of bed and ambled to the kitchen to start the coffee. ‘ I needed to get up anyway. What’ s up?’

‘ I wanted to let you know that Vons has those bags of frozen shrimp on sale for $8.99 a pound.’

As if I knew how to cook shrimp? ‘ Okay& thanks& don’ t think I need any.’

‘ I know, but your father wanted me to call you and tell you to pick some up. They have a limit of five bags. He’ s already been to the store twice, and he’ s afraid if he goes back again, they might catch on.’

I smiled-my dad loved to find the bargains. ‘ Okay. No problem.’  After my mom warned me that the sale ended Wednesday, she and I were free to catch up. While I made toast and peanut butter for breakfast, my mom gave me what I’ ve come to refer to as the floral report-that is, the state of various flowers in her garden. ‘ So why did you need to get up early today?’  she asked after sharing her haunting story about how the delphinium were at death’ s door.

‘ I’ m meeting that girl who might be my Little Sister,’  I reminded her. ‘ The one who’ s fourteen?’

‘ That’ s right. You told me that. But I guess I’ m confused. I don’ t remember the list saying you had to get a Little Sister.’

‘ It doesn’ t. This is for the one about how I’ m supposed to change someone’ s life.’

She gave a derisive grunt. ‘ With a teenager? Good luck.’

Exactly what I was worried about. ‘ What did I get myself into?’

‘ I’ m joking. Sweetie, when you were that age, I’ d have loved it if a caring adult took you out to do fun activities. Maybe you would have been open to that. Lord knows I tried to get you to try new things.’

‘ You did? I don’ t remember that. Like what?’

‘ Oh, you know, learning to play an instrument or taking up a sport.’

‘ Bob did enough of that for both of us,’  I grumbled jealously. My brother-eleven months older than me-had so many activities on his college applications that he had to cut a few for space.

‘ He did always prefer to keep busy,’  my mom agreed, as usual turning a deaf ear to the sibling rivalry brewing. ‘ But you know what I always appreciated about you?’

‘ What?’

‘ I loved how you seemed content being who you were. Didn’ t always have to go running around proving things. Of course, you could have watched less TV. But-’

‘ You thought I was content?’

‘ Absolutely. From the day you were born. Your brother cried and fussed so much as a baby. I had to entertain him almost every minute of the day. But you-we hardly ever had to pick you up. You’ d lie there in your crib for hours at a time, gurgling away. Staring at the ceiling& happy as can be.’

THE AFTERNOON HAZE refused to lift. Even at five o’ clock when Rose Morales and I pulled up to Deedee’ s house, the sky continued to cast its gloomy spell. Luckily, the homes in the neighborhood were painted in intense yellows, pinks, and blues, so they practically generated their own light.

Where Deedee lived was almost tiny enough-yard and all-to fit inside my apartment. It sat mere yards from the entrance to the Marina Freeway. Even though cars roared by, a group of boys attempted to play a game of soccer on the street. I felt a twinge of rent-controlled guilt knowing that they probably paid twice what I did.

Rose put her Honda Civic in park and rolled up her window. The plan was to visit with Deedee and her mother for a few minutes. The mother didn’ t speak any English, so Rose would serve as interpreter. Then Rose and I would take Deedee to the Sizzler for dinner.

‘ Anything else I should know?’  I asked before getting out of the car. Frankly, I was nervous about meeting a blind woman who didn’ t speak the same language as me. What were we going to do-feel each other hello? I supposed we could chat about burritos or huevos con queso, my command of Spanish being limited to food words.

Reading my worries, Rose assured me, ‘ It’ ll be fine. Maria is a kind woman, and you and Deedee are going to hit it off. If for any reason you don’ t, you’ ll let me know. We’ ll find you another match. It’ s that simple.’

We walked to the house, and Rose rang the doorbell. After a moment, a boy answered the door. He was about ten years old, with a wide mouth and a haircut that looked as if it might have been self-inflicted. He left us there, shouting in Spanish. A bit later, a girl I assumed was Deedee came to the door and told us to come in.

The house was sparse and neat, and as soon as Deedee’ s mom came bustling up to meet us-short, broad, and dressed in a pink terry sweat-suit-I understood why neatness mattered. I’ d have never known she couldn’ t see if Rose hadn’ t tipped me off. She clearly knew the lay of the land. If my own mom had been relying on Bob and me to pick up our things so she wouldn’ t trip, she’ d have been falling and breaking a hip every other day.

Rose did introductions all around, and we took a seat in the living room. Deedee’ s actual name was Deanna Garcia Alvarez. The boy who’ d met us at the door was her brother, Ricky. And I hadn’ t needed to worry about an uncomfortable silence. Rose chattered away happily in English and Spanish, expertly soliciting answers from the rest of us about a series of benign topics from home decorating to taking the bus to the fact that Deedee has made honor roll every semester so far in high school.

All the talking gave me a chance to steal a look at Deedee. She was about my height of five feet four and had large, almond-shaped eyes-and if I thought I’ d been generous with the eyeliner the day I gave a kiss to the busboy, I was naive about the eye’ s ability to bear the weight of makeup. It suited her, though, in a cat-girl sort of way. She was a fourteen-year-old girl trying to look older. In other words, typical. Her hair was pulled back from a round face, and there was a mole above her right eyebrow that I thought was adorable but that I’ d bet for sure she hated. She wore boys’  big hip-hop-style shorts and an oversize Raiders jersey-her attire at one point being the topic of conversation, I suspected, because I saw Maria gesturing at her in that disapproving way moms do, and it was the only time Deedee appeared to get an attitude. Plus Rose opted not to translate that part.

Reflecting back on the dinner that followed, I can’ t pinpoint the exact moment I decided I’ d agree to be a Big Sister to Deedee.

It might have been when she announced at the Sizzler that she loved salad and then loaded up on potato salad, macaroni salad, Jell-O salad, and ambrosia without a clue of the irony.

Or even before that, when we went to cross the street to get to the restaurant and-out of habit, I’ ll assume-she started to take my arm before dropping it and stepping away in embarrassment.

Who knows? I may have been drawn to a lively and willing disposition that gave promise of a certain& shall we say& malleability?

Plus I felt sorry for the poor kid. Rose whispered to me over the all-you-can-eat taco bar that Deedee had never been to a movie at the theater. Guess when your mom can’ t see, you might as well wait until it comes out on DVD.

Still, if I had all the girls in the world to choose from, I wondered if I’ d pick Deedee. Hard to say. She was definitely a far cry from the dimpled, wide-eyed girl I’ d envisioned. But I consoled myself with the thought that it doesn’ t work that way in life with kids anyway. You get what you get.

LIZBETH CORNERED ME by the reception area first thing Monday morning. ‘ Did you follow up on that call?’

‘ What call?’  I asked, knowing exactly what she was referring to. If she’ s going to keep giving me only the minimum merit increase every year, I want to earn it.

‘ Troy.’

‘ Troy& ?’

‘ Troy Jones.’

My brows furrowed as if I were trying to place the name.

‘ Troy Jones the traffic reporter for K-JAM radio,’  she snipped. ‘ You said you called him and that you were going to follow up because he hadn’ t called you back.’

This was another one of those times that I felt sorry for her. I couldn’ t imagine trying to supervise an employee who was so pathologically passive-aggressive. But that’ s what she gets for getting to me before I had my first Diet Coke of the day. And for being Lizbeth.

‘ As a matter of fact, I did. He said he needed to look into it, and he’ d get back to me.’

Her face lit up. ‘ Did it sound hopeful? Maybe I’ ll call, too. Give him a bit of a-’

‘ He has to check with his boss,’  I said hurriedly. ‘ He likes the idea, but it’ s a sticky situation& office politics and whatnot. I got the definite impression that he would have a problem with it if we applied pressure.’

Lizbeth nodded, told me to keep her posted, and left to do whatever nefarious bidding was next on her agenda.

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed with relief. That’ d teach me to try to be clever. Because fact was, everything I’ d told her was true: I had called him, and he’ d said he needed to check into it and get back to me. Only the ‘ it’  had nothing to do with being a spokesman for L.A. Rideshare. I hadn’ t even brought up the subject.

‘ It’  was trying to find out who Buddy Fitch was& and what he might have done to Marissa.

That alone required supreme finesse. I had called Troy to thank him for sending the yearbooks. Then, while I had him on the line, I asked nonchalantly if he knew of a Buddy Fitch. Of course he asked why. Although I tried to stall him off by alluding vaguely to the list, I could tell the curiosity was eating him alive.

‘ One of the items on the list says, Make Buddy Fitch pay,’  I finally admitted. ‘ But I don’ t know who he was or what he did.’

‘ It says to make him pay?’

‘ Yeah.’

‘ Boy, it’ s weird to think my sister would write something so vengeful. It doesn’ t sound like her at all.’

‘ It doesn’ t?’

‘ Not Marissa. If she was that pissed off, then this guy must really have it coming. He must have-’

‘ Troy, I’ m sure it was nothing bad,’  I interrupted, hoping to shift his train of thought, at least for now. If the idea that Marissa was the victim of any sort of cruelty was going to get planted in his head, it wasn’ t going to be me with a shovel in my hand and dirt under my fingernails. ‘ Maybe he played a friendly practical joke on her and she wanted to do something funny back.’

‘ Yeah& maybe,’  Troy said, his voice skeptical. ‘ So he wasn’ t in any of the yearbooks?’

‘ Nope. That’ s why I was hoping you might be able to ask around for me. I thought he could be a family friend or someone she worked with.’

‘ Okay. I’ ll ask my parents, and I’ ll try calling her old boss. I’ ll let you know as soon as I find anything out.’  Then he added apologetically, ‘ It could take a while, though. I’ m swamped at work right now-the station’ s got some big fair coming up, and I’ ve been roped into helping out. How fast do you need this?’

‘ No hurry. I just need to have everything done before her birthday, so we’ ve got time.’

‘ Not that much time. Just over four months left.’

I understood the warning underlying Troy’ s words. As far as he knew, I’ d been working diligently on completing the list since the accident last July and not merely since I’ d seen him at the cemetery six weeks ago. By his calculations, then, my time was half-over rather than only just beginning.

‘ Well, I didn’ t want to pressure you,’  I said by way of explanation.

‘ I just don’ t know how long it’ s going to take to find this guy. But I really meant what I told you before. Anything I can do to help I’ m glad to.’

If ever there was an opening for me to make Lizbeth happy and ask Troy to sign on as a spokesman for my company, this was it. Yet I couldn’ t make myself do it-not after he’ d just told me he was so busy. Not while I was already asking him for another favor.

Instead, I merely thanked him, and even when he asked me directly if there was anything else he could do& anything at all, I demurely declined.

It didn’ t matter anyway, I assured myself. The traffic reporter project was yesterday’ s news. I sat at my desk, having escaped Lizbeth’ s scrutiny earlier that morning, and was secretly making plans for the gas giveaway. Granted, I still hadn’ t gotten a go-ahead from Bigwood-which meant S.C. Electric hadn’ t yet said yes-but I felt certain it was going to happen. I was in the midst of pondering whether I’ d have the nerve to call them myself when Bigwood’ s secretary, Phyllis, strode into my office.

‘ You’ re late,’  she said in her road-gravel voice.

‘ Late? For what?’

She crossed her arms, which were twisted with muscle. Phyllis terrified me. Between her leathery skin, broad frame, and salt-and-pepper hair that she kept pulled back in a bun, she gave every indication that the rumors that she used to ride with the Hell’ s Angels were true. ‘ The directors meeting started at ten. Everybody’ s already there.’

I was invited to a directors meeting? Me? This sort of thing never happened to anyone here, much less me. If any of my predecessors went to a directors meeting, they never made it out alive because I’ d sure never heard about it.

‘ Nobody told me,’  I attempted to explain as I followed Phyllis’ s confident stride. Then I added nervously, ‘ Any idea why they want me there?’

‘ Beats me,’  she replied before depositing me in Bigwood’ s office without further comment.

I squinted to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. Even though he had a corner office with spectacular views, Bigwood had every curtain drawn, giving the place, for all its size, a cavelike feel. He was there along with Lizbeth, Susan, the head of finance, and Ivan Cohen, aka Dr. Death (no one knew what he did, but pack your bags if he ever called you to his office, because you were headed for either unemployment or some sort of career Siberia).

‘ Nice of you to join us,’  Lizbeth sneered.

Susan cleared off a space next to her, and I mouthed a ‘ Thanks’  in her direction.

Bigwood regarded me curiously. ‘ You look different. What’ s different about you?’

I’ m wearing a bra, perhaps? When I shrugged, Susan widened her eyes at me, as if to say, Give an answer. I quickly understood why: He wasn’ t going to drop it until I did.

‘ Glasses-did you use to wear glasses?’  My mind raced-what could I say? Nail polish color? A brow wax? ‘ Wait-’  He snapped his fingers. ‘ You’ ve gained a few pounds!’

Lizbeth tittered. ‘ You guessed it,’  I replied as gaily as I could manage, given the fact that I had gained a couple of pounds.

‘ Good for you,’  he said. ‘ You look healthy. I admire a woman who isn’ t afraid to eat.’  To delight him further, I took a cookie from a tray in the center of the table.

My interest in being summoned to the inner sanctum soon turned into mind-numbing boredom. How did Susan stand this week after week? Bubba sat at my feet, probably because I was the one who kept feeding him pieces of cookie. They discussed strategies and funding and I don’ t even remember what else, because eventually there weren’ t even any more cookies to keep Bubba interested and me entertained, and as I wondered if winter had yet turned to spring and contemplated crawling across the conference table and begging Dr. Death to put me out of my misery, Bigwood turned to me.

‘ June, I’ m putting you in charge of the gas giveaway promotion. I’ d like to see it happen within the month.’

At last& the reason I was here. Apparently, not only was my project approved, but I’ d been given the lead on it. Over Lizbeth, no less! As delighted as I was, I was smart enough to squelch any show of emotion. ‘ Great,’  I said, trying to sound casual. I dared not look directly at Lizbeth for fear I’ d be turned into a salt pillar on the spot.

‘ Gas giveaway?’  I heard her say. Clearly this was the first she’ d heard about it, and she sounded none too happy to be out of the loop. ‘ Gee, Lou, I don’ t believe that I-’

Bigwood cut her off. ‘ June will fill you in.’

And that was that. He stood to leave, and everyone else followed suit, including Lizbeth-who either respected Bigwood as the final word or was too busy plotting my murder to say anything further.

Cautiously, as one might approach a feral cat, I edged my way over to her. ‘ Let me know when you want me to give you the details. I’ d be happy to,’  I said.

Without so much as glancing at me, she replied frostily, ‘ Oh, I’ m sure you would.’

Chapter 7

T he problem with having a list of things to accomplish like Marissa’ s, I soon discovered, is that you become loath to expend energy on anything that isn’ t directly related to the challenge. It’ s about payoff. Like in high school when a teacher, eyes shining, would tell us about an exciting educational opportunity-a play we could attend or a museum exhibit related to our studies. It may have even sounded remotely interesting. But it came down to what one brave soul would eventually voice for the rest of us: Will we get credit for it?

That’ s how I felt when Sebastian Forbes called to ask me to a party he was throwing for himself. It was to celebrate the success of his book-which currently topped the Los Angeles Times best-seller list and was number five on the New York Times list. Publishers Weekly called it ‘ a darkly comic tour de force.’  ‘ I owe almost none of it to you,’  he chirped happily, ‘ but I want you to come to the party and behold the rat bastards who abandoned me in my time of need.’

‘ So they came back?’

‘ Like moths to the flame.’

He hinted there might be fellow writers and a few actors there as well-there was already talk about turning his novel into a movie. Still, I had to force myself to accept the invitation. All I could think was, Will anyone be giving massages? Will I get on TV? I thought back to the list for other tasks I needed to accomplish: Any chance there’ ll be boogie boarding? Is Buddy Fitch invited?

I eventually caved and took down directions to his home. Before we hung up, he said, ‘ I suppose I should tell you, I’ ve been seeing my doctor.’

‘ Oh& ‘  I wasn’ t sure what to say. It seemed such an intimate thing to confide in me considering we’ d met only recently. Besides, he’ d seemed so healthy.

He caught my hesitation. ‘ No, I’ m seeing my doctor. His name’ s Kip, and he’ s smart and gorgeous, and he’ ll be at the party, so be on your best behavior.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘ So I take it that JJ’ s gone for good?’

‘ JJ who?’

SEBASTIAN LIVED in a Mediterranean-style house in the Hollywood Hills-although a case could be made for calling it a mansion. I let out a whistle of appreciation as I walked into the vast foyer with Susan. (She’ d begged to come along after I mentioned the party to her-she’ d borrowed my copy of One-Woman Man and couldn’ t stop talking about it.) Painted in gold hues, the walls were covered with abstract paintings. I’ m sure they were all of naked people.

‘ So these are the spoils of a best-selling author, eh?’  I said to Sebastian as he collected our coats.

‘ This, the spoils? Hardly,’  he scoffed. ‘ My advance was minuscule. The home is thanks to Grandmum, who died several years ago.’

‘ I’ m sorry& .’

‘ Don’ t be. She was an evil, bitter hag who made everyone miserable.’

‘ I loved your book!’  Susan gushed out of nowhere, making me start.

Sebastian beamed. ‘ And June, who is your lovely friend?’

I made introductions as he escorted us into the main living area. Susan launched into a breathless swoon about how the earthquake metaphor he used to parallel his tumultuous relationship with his mother had brought her to tears.

About a dozen people milled around the room, which had high ceilings, minimal furniture, and-instead of walls-massive windows opening to a sparkling, twinkling city below. The night was clear but nippy. We’ d seen a sky full of stars on the drive over, which-because of the perpetual haze and smog and city lights-is a rare treat around here. From my apartment, I can usually spot only a handful on any given night. It’ s ironic: Los Angeles is the city of stars, but only the kind that are on the ground, attending premieres and getting the best tables at fancy restaurants.

‘ It’ s still early, so you’ re among the first here,’  Sebastian said.

‘ Early? It’ s ten-thirty!’  I cried.

‘ I know-a pretty good crowd so far, don’ t you think?’

I hoped Susan and I didn’ t stand out. We both wore black on black, although she had a classic silk sort of thing going. My outfit looked as if it were off the rack from Express-which it was, but it had seemed a whole lot more sophisticated in the dressing room than it did here.

I was helping myself to a crab puff off a passing tray when a swarthy, well-built man walked by in what appeared to be standard men’ s trousers, only cut so low in the back that his crack showed. He wasn’ t ‘ sagging’  the way the kids do-that is, wearing them low with his underwear exposed. They were just plain low, no underwear in sight.

‘ Man-ass,’  Sebastian supplied when he caught me staring.

‘ Excuse me?’

‘ It’ s the latest style from New York. They refer to it as man-ass. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to limit my butt-crack viewing to repairmen and dockworkers.’