California Girls Page 7

  Right on time, Bernie pulled up in her sensible sedan. Zennie walked over to meet her.

  Zennie Schmitt and Bernadette Schmahl had been roommates their freshman year at UCLA. Bernie had known she was going to be a teacher while Zennie had been equally determined to become a nurse. They were about the same height and size, they loved to work out and they both thought the old Monty Python TV show was the funniest thing ever. It had been roommate love at first sight for both of them. The only difference between them was their looks. Zennie was a boring blue-eyed blonde while Bernie was “the pretty friend” with high cheekbones and dark tan skin.

  They’d stayed close after college and Zennie had been Bernie’s maid of honor at her wedding to Hayes. The two friends ran together every Sunday morning—sometimes just the two of them, sometimes in a group. The only time they’d had to take a break from running had been three years ago when Bernie had been diagnosed with uterine cancer. She’d endured surgery and chemo and had survived both. Now she was happy, healthy and moving on with her life.

  “I appreciate you showing up,” Bernie said with a grin as they started their run with a slow jog. Their route would take them along the Woodley Park/Lake Balboa loop. It was just over five miles long and relatively flat. Not exactly challenging, but today’s run was about hanging out as much as it was about getting exercise.

  The morning was still cool and the sky was clear. Later it would warm up but right now the low sixties felt really good.

  “Why wouldn’t I show up?” Zennie asked.

  “I saw the surf report. You could be out on the waves right now.”

  “I’d rather be with you.”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet. Thank you. How are things?”

  “Complicated,” Zennie admitted. “Glen dumped Ali.”

  “What? No. He couldn’t. The wedding’s in what, two months? Hayes and I already got our invitation.”

  “She found out on Friday.”

  Zennie filled her in on what had happened. As she spoke, they picked up the pace.

  “Ali is devastated and with Finola out of town...” She grimaced. “I spent Friday night at her place. I should probably call her later, to make sure she’s okay.”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate that. I’ve never met Glen but now I have to hate him for sure.”

  “You and me, both. I just had the fitting for my bridesmaid’s dress. It was a good one, too. Navy and a pretty style.”

  Bernie grinned. “No lime green ruffle extravaganza?”

  “Nothing like that.” Zennie grimaced. “It’s so awful. I swear, if I didn’t have Finola’s marriage to Nigel and your marriage to Hayes to believe in, I’d say the whole concept of falling in love and being happy is a hoax.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  Bernie shook her head. “You had a date last night. If you’re talking about love being a hoax, then it didn’t go well. What happened? I thought you liked Clark. I thought you two had a chance. He sounded adorable. Anyone who devotes his life to caring for animals has to be a nice guy, and you need a nice guy.”

  Zennie groaned. “It was only four dates. How can you be this upset?”

  “I want you happy.”

  “I am happy. I love my life. Not everyone needs to be paired up. It’s not the law.”

  “Fine. Be a freak. I’ll still love you no matter what. So how did you end things? Please tell me you were gentle. I’d hate to think you hurt poor Clark’s feelings.”

  The question was oddly unsettling, Zennie thought as they picked up the pace. They always ran the middle three miles faster and used the last mile as a slow cooldown.

  “I didn’t break up with him. He’s the one who said it was over. Actually what he said was that he could tell I wasn’t that interested in him.” She decided not to mention the lesbian thing. That was just too weird and embarrassing.

  “No! Did you tell him he was wrong?” Bernie glared at her. “You didn’t, did you? Zennie, come on. What didn’t you like about him?”

  “Nothing. I liked him. Just not that much. Look, can we talk about something else? How’s your work? How’s Hayes? Are you still thinking of getting a cat?”

  Bernie laughed. “We were never thinking of getting a cat. I’m much more a dog person and we’re still talking about it. As for work, things are great. This week our main focus is money.”

  “Isn’t six a little young to enter our capitalistic society?”

  Bernie taught kindergarten at a prestigious private school in Sherman Oaks. She was the most popular teacher at the school, and parents put their kids on the waiting list for her class within six months of their babies being born.

  “We’re learning about different types of money. That’s part of our math studies. Next week I’m going to bring in currency from different countries and blow their minds.”

  Conversation continued through their run. When they got back to the parking lot, Bernie collected smoothies from a cooler in her back seat. They walked over to the picnic benches. After stretching they sat across from each other.

  This was part of their ritual, as well. A protein-based smoothie and a half hour more of conversation before they returned to their busy lives.

  Bernie picked up her drink, then set it down. “I had my two-year scan a couple of weeks ago.”

  Zennie’s stomach instantly knotted as fear, worry and terror bathed in her cold sweat. “And?”

  Bernie’s smile was big and broad. “It was clear. It was perfect in every way. The doctors are convinced they got it all and while I still have to have scans, at least for the next couple of years, they told me to go live a happy life.”

  Relief was sweet and immediate. Zennie sagged a little. “You scared me. Next time lead with the good news.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get upset. I’m fine. I feel great. Better than I ever have.”

  “Hayes should take you on a fancy trip to celebrate. You both deserve it.”

  “Funny you should say that. Hayes and I do want to celebrate, but in another way. We want to have a baby.”

  Zennie was both thrilled and sympathetic. Bernie’s cancer treatment had included surgery that had taken her uterus and her ovaries. There was no way she could carry a child or even use her own egg. Because of her cancer diagnosis, some pregnant women looking at adoption might not want to consider her and Hayes.

  “What’s the plan for that?” Zennie asked, doing her best to sound upbeat. “Adoption?”

  “Surrogacy. We’d use a donor egg and Hayes’s sperm. We’ve been doing a lot of research and it’s a relatively simple procedure.”

  Zennie smiled at her. “So basically artificial insemination. That would be easy enough. I think they use a turkey baster to insert the sperm.”

  Bertie rolled her eyes. “There’s no turkey baster, but the process is similar. We find a surrogate, wait for her to ovulate and ta-da, pregnancy.”

  “That sounds a lot easier and faster than adoption. And it’s legal, right? You wouldn’t have to worry about the surrogate changing her mind?”

  “It can always be a concern, but California is ahead of the curve when it comes to surrogacy.” Bernie gripped her smoothie. “Zennie, I want to say something. Just listen and then speak from the heart. No matter what, you’re my best friend and I’ll always love you. Please, please feel free to say no.”

  Zennie stared at her friend. She half knew what Bernie was going to say, but was still surprised to hear, “Hayes and I would like you to consider being our surrogate and egg donor.”

  It made sense, Zennie thought. She was young, healthy and strong. She wasn’t in a relationship, she had good insurance, and it wasn’t as if she was using her girl parts for anything else. But carrying a baby was a big deal, wasn’t it? Honestly, she didn’t know much about pregnancy beyond her nursing school rotation i
n delivery and pediatrics.

  “We’d cover all your expenses,” Bernie went on. “Co-pays and your maternity clothes and any special food you needed. You would be entitled to maternity leave when you had the baby and we’d cover an extra month at home so you could fully recover.”

  She paused and shrugged. “I want to say more, but I’m going to stop now. If you need to say no, then do it. I’ll totally understand.”

  Zennie reached across the picnic table and squeezed Bernie’s hand. “Stop. I’m not going to say no this second. I’m surprised, but I also think I’ve totally been expecting this. I mean, I never thought about it, but who else? I’m your best friend, Bernie. I love you and Hayes and I want you to be happy. I know you’d be great mom. It’s just big and I need to mull for a bit.”

  Bernie’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course. Take as much mulling time as you’d like. Take a year. You have to be sure. You have to know what you’re getting into.”

  “I will think and investigate and I won’t take a year.”

  Bernie brushed away her tears. “Thanks for even considering this.”

  “Thank you for asking. It’s an honor. Now we need to get going. You have to go home to your handsome husband and I need to do a little research.”

  They stood and hugged.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Zennie promised.

  “Thanks.”

  As she got in her car, Zennie knew she had a lot to consider and think about. While her first instinct was to immediately say of course she would be their surrogate, she understood that this was possibly the biggest decision of her life and not one to be made lightly. Still, it was Bernie and she had no idea if it would be possible for her to ever say no.

  Chapter Six

  Finola had a little trouble reading the digital clock on the nightstand. The numbers were big enough and even projected onto the ceiling. The problem wasn’t the size of the display or the brightness—it was that they wouldn’t stop moving.

  Back and forth, they jumped like numerical fleas doing a dance that made her head spin. Dang numbers, she thought, wondering if the concept was funny enough to make her smile because nothing else had.

  She was pretty sure she was still drunk. She’d been chugging vodka steadily since, oh, sometime Friday night, and now it was Sunday. She still hurt all over and she constantly felt sick and inside her chest, where her heart was supposed to be, was just a hole.

  She looked back at the clock and saw it was maybe nine forty. At night, she told herself, looking out the window just to be sure.

  Yup, it was dark, so nighttime. Nine forty on Sunday night. A day she’d spent entirely alone because, despite his promise, Nigel had never stopped by.

  She’d known he wouldn’t, she admitted, but only to herself. There was no way he would want to talk to her after what he’d done. Nigel loved pointing out her flaws but didn’t like hearing about his own. There was no way to put this on her, no matter how he tried, so of course he was avoiding her. It was just a character flaw.

  She’d been telling herself that for hours and hoping that, at some point, she would believe it. Only now, lying on their bed, in their bedroom, in their house, knowing he was probably fucking Treasure right this second, she was finding it harder and harder to believe that was all it was. Her spinning head and muddled mind weren’t enough to distract her from a horrific truth. That Nigel hadn’t failed to come by because he was ashamed or because he was busy having sex. He hadn’t come by because he wasn’t here anymore.

  In LA, she clarified for herself. She wasn’t thinking he was dead.

  She reached for her tablet, put it down, then swore under her breath. After sitting up, she drank more vodka, grimacing when she realized the ice had melted, diluting her drink. Stupid laws of physics or whatever it was that controlled melting ice cubes. She didn’t want watery vodka, she wanted cold vodka.

  She opened the tablet and went directly to the TMZ home page. She didn’t have to look hard to see the headline: Does Treasure Have a New Man?

  Her vision blurred more as she started crying again. Finola angrily brushed away the ridiculous, useless tears and clicked on the link that took her to the page. There were more pictures than text, which was fine with her. The last thing she wanted to do was to give herself a headache from reading impossibly small and moving print.

  Instead, she studied the photos, trying not to care about how young Treasure was and how incredible she looked in a very tiny bikini.

  “Look at her ass!”

  Finola thought about the hours she spent working out and how every year it was just a little bit harder to keep things high and tight and firm.

  Life was many things, but fair wasn’t one of them, she told herself.

  There were more pictures, all of them of Treasure. Once Finola had accepted the other woman’s incredible body, she started paying more attention to where the pictures had been taken. One word jumped out at her. “Bahamas.” Her already shaky stomach sank.

  “He’s not there,” she whispered, even though she knew he had to be. She scanned the pictures again, looking more closely at the people in the background. No Nigel, no Nigel, no...

  She turned back to one of the pictures she’d already studied, peering at it more closely. There, in the background. The image was blurry, but she recognized the man. He was with her. Nigel had gone to the Bahamas with Treasure.

  “Bastard!”

  She reached for her drink, only to remember the watery contents, then bounded out of bed. That last thing was a mistake as the room spun and her stomach lurched. She hung on to the nightstand to steady herself. When she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to fall over, she headed for the landing and, clinging to the railing, made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

  There were two empty bottles of vodka on the counter. A third still had most of its contents. She dumped the tepid liquid from her glass into the sink, added ice, then poured in more vodka. After two big gulps, she set the glass on the counter and closed her eyes.

  Nigel had gone away with his twenty-three-year-old mistress. Right now they were together, having sex or mocking her or something awful and hideous. He’d left her, just like that, with no warning. He’d left her on the weekend she’d wanted to tell him she was ready to get pregnant.

  Sadness overwhelmed her. Sadness for what had been lost. For all her hope of him being sorry and them getting over this, she honest to God didn’t know if that was possible. Even before she decided if she was willing to forgive him or not, Nigel had to come home and that sure wasn’t happening now.

  Tears returned, along with frustration and anger and hurt. She hated Nigel, hated him. She didn’t want him dead, she wanted him punished and humiliated. She wanted him naked and in public with lines of people pointing and laughing at his dick. She wanted him tied up and left in a public square until he was forced to pee and shit on himself. She wanted his fingers broken so badly, they would never heal right and he would have to stop doing surgery. But mostly she wanted it to be last Thursday so she didn’t know about the affair and she didn’t have to hurt this much.

  She went back to their bedroom and walked into his closet. Finola grabbed an armful of the clothes he hadn’t taken. She carted them over to the French doors, then stepped out onto the balcony. She didn’t hesitate at all—she simply flung the clothes off the balcony, onto the patio below. A few shirts fluttered into the pool.

  She went back inside and repeated her actions until all his clothes were in the backyard. The last to go was his winter coat—a beautiful camel-colored cashmere that he wore when they went back East. She tossed it, hurling it as hard as she could so it would fall into the chlorinated water. When she was done, she went inside. She sank onto the bathroom floor and rested her head on her raised knees.

  He was gone, she thought to herself. Just gone. He’d left her and their marriage as if he’d never
loved her. The leaving was bad enough but to have chosen a public figure for his transgression was just as unforgivable. Because under the torment of having lost her husband and her marriage was an even more devastating truth.

  Unlike most women going through this, her anguish would not be played out in private. Instead the whole world was going to know. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but at some point a photographer would put the pieces together. In her line of work, there were very few secrets. Until today, she hadn’t cared about that. She wasn’t a secret kind of person. But all that had changed and now it was just a matter of time until she was put on trial by a fickle public and a hungry, uncaring press. Losing Nigel had nearly killed her—what was going to be left when she lost herself?

  * * *

  Ali got through work on Monday with a minimum of fuss, mostly because she didn’t tell anyone about Glen. Yes, it was probably the coward’s way out, but she was fine with that. Eventually she would have to come clean, but not right this second.

  She finished her quarterly inventory inspection by noon, then filled in when the quality guy had to leave early to go pick up his kid. She measured parts against the specs and declared them good to go, all the while thinking only positive thoughts. She spent her lunch break making phone calls from the privacy of her car, and canceled the wedding venue and the caterer. Daniel was taking care of the photographer she’d hired.

  After finishing her calls, she stayed in her car until her break was officially over. She leaned back against the seat and marveled at life’s sense of humor.

  The brother she’d assumed was dependable and normal and honorable had turned out to be a total douchebag while the brother who was a little dangerous and put her on edge had turned out to be the world’s nicest guy.

  At the Dodger game, Daniel had been nothing but charming. He’d distracted her with funny stories from the world of motocross. He’d stuffed her with hot dogs, peanuts and beer and had reminded her to put on sunscreen. Before they’d left, he’d insisted on buying her an official Dodger T-shirt and baseball cap. She’d gone from wary to grateful. At this point, she didn’t much care if she was his good deed project for the year. Daniel was a good man and he was determined to help her. Only a fool would say no to that.