17. Chapter Seventeen
And the hostess at the door texts her friend, “Christina Malloy is here alone. I wonder where her eye candy is.”
* * *
I arrived on time. Of course, I arrived on time. My mother sent a car for me. However, it is one-thirty before she makes her grand entrance.
I stand from my seat as she nears. She’s wearing a red dress with a matching red jacket, a pearl choker, and a large pair of black Chanel sunglasses, which she hasn’t taken off even though she’s inside the restaurant.
Her blonde hair must have extensions clipped in because it’s a few inches longer than it was the other day at her grand opening.
“I’ll have to make lunch quick,” she says, air kissing both of my cheeks so that her red lipstick doesn’t leave any marks.
Before she sits, she scans a look over me. I’m in a sundress, which is comfortable, and a cute pair of sandals. My sweater hangs on the back of my chair.
“Don’t you have a nice suit or dress you could wear?” she asks as we sit.
“This is nice,” I say, looking down at what I have on.
“It’s casual.”
I thought lunch was casual, so I don’t comment.
“And you should wear your hair down more often,” she continues her assessment of my look. “You’re not twelve.”
At least she knows that.
The server comes to the table and my mother rattles off an order for the both of us. I don’t mention that I had wanted the salmon. Now I just have a bed of lettuce coming my way.
“I thought Graham Crowley was going to join us,” she says, using his full name as she takes her sunglasses off, finally.
“He had other plans.”
She crosses her legs and lays her napkin in her lap. “I would think he’d make time for you.”
“He’s busy,” I say, a bit more curtly.
“I don’t like seeing you in the tabloids like that.”
“I don’t think it was in a tabloid.”
“Internet,” she says, waving a hand in the air. “Same thing.”
I agree with that. “Well, we didn’t know we were being watched.”
“Oh, honey, we’re always being watched.”
Her nostrils flare, and I know what she’s thinking.
My father has been linked to two different women over the years. The thought makes me sick, but I’m not alone in knowing my parents aren’t perfect. You’re not raised in Hollywood without something like this happening.
In my father’s case, it was real.
But leave it to my attention-seeking parents to use the publicity for good. Somehow, they managed through it all and have kept their marriage intact. Though, I don’t have any false notion that they are in a happy marriage. That’s something I’ve never been around either.
“How serious are you and this guy?” she asks as the server returns with her water and lemon.
I wait until the server walks away.
“We’ve worked together for years. Now we’re feeling out a relationship.”
“Feeling it out?”
“I’m not running off and marrying him. Is that better?”
“Oh, Christina, really now.” She seems offended.
“He’s a nice guy. I’m getting to know him.”
My mother sips her drink, holding her glass so that her bracelet dangles daintily and her manicure is featured.
“You’re still working, right?”
I pick up my water and take a sip. I don’t have my mother’s flair to make it look elegant, and to be honest, I’ll be lucky not to choke on my water. Did she really just ask me if I was still working? Does this woman pay any attention to the things that I do?
“Yes. We start production in two weeks,” I say.
“Something new, or another one of those rom-com things?”
Rom-com things?
“It’s a streaming television movie,” I correct her, and she nods as the server brings out our salads and sets them down.
“Whatever. You’re much too talented to be just making the same movie over and over.”
Obviously, she doesn’t know the fandom behind these rom-com things.
“Sal says there is some interest in me for a Penelope Mondragon movie,” I say and that has my mother lifting her eyes from her salad to me.
“That’s a big deal.”
“I think so.”
“Do you think you can handle it?”
For every good feeling I get, it’s quickly wiped away.
I stab at my salad and shove a forkful into my mouth. I can see her mortification at me doing so, but at this moment, I just don’t care.
I wonder if Graham has a dog just so he always has a friend. Maybe that’s what I need. I need a dog. Someone who will be home for me. Someone who will listen to me and not judge me. Someone who doesn’t care who I kiss on the beach.
The thought makes me laugh. I raise my napkin to my mouth and finish my bite.
“What’s so funny?” my mother asks as she looks at her phone and scrolls with one finger. She’s not too worried about what I’m laughing about.
“Do you know who Loki is?”
She turns her head to look at me and lifts a brow. “Loki?”
“Yes. Do you know who he is?”
“Should I? Are you seeing him too? Really, Christina...”
She doesn’t even finish her thought before she picks up her phone and begins to text.
I pick up my phone and click on Graham’s contact.
What kind of dog is Loki?I ask.
Chocolate lab,he quickly replies. Why?
I was just thinking I needed a dog.
A moment later my phone buzzes with a picture of Loki laying in a patch of sun in the yard.
He’s beautiful,I add. And I know who Loki is now, btw.
My mother pushes her half-eaten salad away and takes another sip of her water. “Darling, I really have to go. The new spa has some VIPs coming in, and I need to be there to greet them. They’re worth their weight in gold if they review the spa.”
I watch as she stands and leans to air kiss my cheeks again.
“Lunch is taken care of. You can stay and finish. Bye.”
I watch her hurry toward the door, where her assistant waits for her.
I’m alone, in a restaurant, and I want to cry.
I’m glad I have fans who want to see me all the time on their TV, because it appears that no one else wants to spend time with me.
Batting my eyes, I ward off tears that want to fall.
I text the driver my mother had sent and tell him I’m ready to be picked up. He lets me know he’ll be in front of the restaurant in three minutes.
I leave an extra twenty on the table for the server, and hope that my mother took care of the bill as she said she had.
Then I head for the front door with my shoulders pushed back and my sweater and purse hanging from my arm.
I can’t help but wonder if I called Graham to come over, he would. Right at this moment, I’m feeling extremely lonely, and even his company would be welcome.