“Explain that,” he says.
“The starfish story,” I say. “At least, I think it’s a well-known story. I heard it on an NFL commercial once. There are thousands of starfish washed up on the shore of a rocky beach, and a small boy walks along, throwing starfish back into the ocean. A man sees him, goes up to him, and says, ‘What are you doing? There are too many starfish. You can’t possibly make a difference.’ The boy throws another starfish back into the ocean. ‘I made a difference to that one.’”
Garry nods. “Touché,” he says. He turns to the camera. “And we’ll be right back.”
I think I’m going to have time to catch my breath during the commercial break, maybe process a thing or two, but it feels like I have barely twenty seconds.
“We’re back,” Garry booms, then looks at me. “Okay, Lisa, despite your altruistic intentions, there remain many unanswered questions about your recent behavior.”
The video of pixilated me plays on the monitor again.
“Why strip for the cameras?” Garry asks.
Deep breath. “Because,” I say, “when it comes to the bare-naked truth about me, I’m not ashamed. I have nothing to hide.”
“
Nothing
to hide?”
“There are things I wouldn’t necessarily choose to discuss with the world,” I concede. “Like how I wet the bed in fifth grade. But that was revealed while I was in a coma, so I had no control over that. This,” I look at my nude video, “I had control over.”
“Do you feel the Media has been unfair to you?”
I smile with what I hope is nonchalant elegance. “The media has been
wrong
about me.”
“Have they?” Garry asks. He shuffles through papers on his desk as though he’s getting ready to incinerate me with verified facts.
“Not about everything, certainly. But I’m not brain damaged or mentally impaired, for instance. I’m not a fraud. I’m not a con artist.”
“So, you deny what Alan Stewart said?”
“Alan Stewart reported what he saw accurately. But the conclusions he drew are incorrect.”
“So you
were
naked in Jack Hawkins’ office.”
“A bra and a skirt,” I correct. “And stockings and shoes,” I add.
“But you contend you’re not having sex with Jack Hawkins?”
I give a little laugh. “Not right this minute.”
Garry laughs. “
Have
you had sex with him?”
“Yes,” I answer seriously. “But not in his office, not for money, and not to seduce him into pulling off any cons with me.”
“Then why?”
I look at Garry and blink. “Because he’s really hot.” Duh.
Garry lets out one wheezy, smokery bark of laughter. “And?”
“And…” I can’t keep the smile from my lips. “It was great.”
Garry’s chuckle sounds like he's sawing through plywood. “But is there anything more to your relationship?”
The lights beat down on me as I sit there in my gilded trap. I asked to be on the show, yet I cannot say anything of my deal with Jack, or Jack’s new line of gear.
But HEYA is saved. That’s all that matters.
I turn to Garry to answer him point blank about what else there is to my relationship with Jack. “Not much,” I say. “We played Trivial Pursuit once.”
“So it’s just a fling that has nothing to do with anything? That’s a little hard to believe, in light of recent events.”
“It makes perfect sense ‘in light of recent events,’” I counter. “Sex with Jack is part of my sucking every drop of pleasure out of life that I can. Garry, I almost died a few months ago. For good, lights out. So you better believe that now, when a guy like Jack comes into my life, I’m going to go after him.”
“What do you mean, a guy like Jack?”
I make my voice low and kind of dreamy-raspy, like just thinking about Jack is enough to make me come. “A guy who’s gorgeous, kick-ass, quiet…and he’s got a good soul. He’s the kind of guy women fantasize about.” I look right at Garry’s craggy face, dream over. “But in the words of Billy Joel, it’s just a fantasy.”
“Jack Hawkins. Just a sex fantasy in your life. So you don’t think it’s odd that he hasn’t come forward and said anything during all of this?”
Yes I do
!
How could he be such a jerk
?
Such a heartbreaker
?
“No, Garry,” I say, “I don’t. Because Jack had nothing to do with my efforts to save HEYA.”
“But what about just defending you? Both of you, against these allegations?”
“I don’t need him to defend me. He’s not my keeper.” I lean forward. “Garry, others trumped up this story and got it wrong. It’s not incumbent upon anyone smeared to respond.”
“You did.”
“Because I needed to save HEYA.”
“Fair enough. Now that HEYA’s saved, what next?”
“RPM,” I say. “Rescue Project Money. It’s a foundation I’m starting to help people who are behind the eight ball, but trying to help themselves. I’m going to use my Burger Barn Money to make more money to help people and organizations get started in saving themselves. The email address is [email protected].”
The sawing laugh again. “One starfish at a time, Lisa?”
“Exactly.”
* * * * *
I unlock the front door, triumphant with Chinese take-out in my left hand. I doubt there’ll be the phone calls and accolades like there were in eighth grade when I won The Constitution State's Constitutional Trivia Challenge. But still, the glow of success feels sweet and warm.
But wait. Where are my adoring minions?
As I back through the door, pushing it open with my butt, I look around for the dogs that should be snuffling at me and the cats who should be darting by. I mean, I have Chinese food.
I look around and drop the bag.
Jack.
He walks out of the kitchen, proffering an ice cold Coke.
No. I’m not ready for this yet. I’m not ready.
“I saw your interview.”
I pick up my moo-shoo and put it on the hall table. “Really?” I take the Coke, step out of my heels.
“You were amazing,” he says.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” I chug down half the can of Coke.
“That’s because—”
“Fuck you.” I slam the can onto the hall table next to the take-out. I keep my voice level. “Fuck you to hell and back. And get out of my house.”
Jack gives me that same Frodo look I got from Keith when he dumped me in the hospital. Desperate, terrified, resolved.
“I know I let you down,” he says. “But you didn’t need me to save you, Lisa. You did it all by yourself.”
“You want me to believe your abandoning me was just another bravery challenge? Is that how you’re spinning it? Well, guess what? I didn’t want you to save me.” A barren chill sweeps across my skin.
“Lisa.”
“I wanted you to be
with
me.” I stare a thousand daggers right into him. “I just wanted us to be together.”
“But…”
But I don’t interrupt him this time, and he’s not prepared to go on. He slumps onto the couch. “I wish…” He stops talking.
Oh, God. This is going to be bad. Both barrels in the face, I can feel it coming. I shouldn’t be wearing this get-up. I shouldn’t be wearing some classy suit and stockings while having the most devastating conversation of my life.
“I wish…” His voice is so quiet, but crystal clear. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”
“None of what?”
“Everything,” he says. “The party, the dance, the entire weekend. I wish we could just wipe it all out.”
The hard, spiky frost holding me erect begins to splinter. “The weekend?”
He looks up at me, sad but sure. “All of it.”
I’m going to end it
, I remind myself. I’ve known for hours that I would be perfectly clear and end it for good if I ever saw him again. But hearing him say that he’d rather it all never happened stabs me like a blade in the back, sucking out all the air.
Sensing my weakness, he pounces like a hyena. He’s on his feet, in my space, hands on me.
He kisses me, and I let my body sink into him. I kiss him back, all wet and hungry and willing. I want every last piece of him I can get.
“What’s wrong,” he says, still nipping at me, “with just liking each other and enjoying each other?” More kissing.
I give him one last kiss. I pull back, but not out of his arms. “I want more.”
He kisses me beneath the ear. “Name it,” he rasps.
I pull back further, out of his arms. “Don’t abandon me next time life goes to hell in a hand basket, for starters.”
“Lisa…”
“It won’t work. You don’t have what I want.”
“That’s a lie.”
“A LIE? Are you seriously accusing ME of lying?” I thrust my hands into my hair as though I’m going to tear it out by the fistfuls. “Okay, fine! We’ll forget what a liar
you
are about wanting to be my boyfriend. No more lies, just the truth. How’s this for the brutal truth? I love you, Jack, and it
kills
me that you don’t want to love me back.”
Jack jerks back, as if I pulse out radiation poisoning.
Since I can tell he’s spooked, I lower my voice. “I wanted you to be with me, Jack. Just
with
me. And you wanted nothing to do with me. You didn’t even call.” I meet his flaring eyes.
“You’ve loved before, Jack. You know what it feels like. Just wanting your parents to come home, to
be
home. Not even wanting them to do anything. Just wanting them
with
you. Or, just wanting Luz to be
with
you, no matter who she was married to. You know what I’m talking about.”
He shakes his head. “Come on, Lisa. You love me? After one weekend?”
“No, not after one weekend,” I say, knowing it’s hopeless. He doesn’t love me, and he doesn’t even want me to love him. “It’s been happening all along. I've loved you since…” I sigh. “When it counted, then you weren’t there. Now, you don’t even want to be here.”
He says nothing, makes no move.
“I won’t do this any more,” I say.
“How can you just walk away?” he demands, coming up to me, taking me by the arms. “You know what we have, how good we can be together. Why are you doing this?”
He rips himself away from me, stalks back and forth across the room.
“How can you not want more?” I challenge. “Knowing what we have? How can you not want it all? As much as there is to get?”
He turns to me. “Because I don’t want us to keep messing up until we have nothing left.”
We stare at each other. “But I want someone who loves me
through
all of the mess ups, Jack. Life is full of them and they never stop.”
Jack digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and kicks the couch. “This is so stupid, Lisa.” He looks at me. “Don’t you get it? We both want to be together. Isn’t that all that matters?”
“Then where were you, Jack? Where the
hell
were you? If all that matters is us being together? A few days ago, that was
all
I wanted.”
He looks at me, no answer in his eyes. An unreadable gaze because there’s nothing to read. His hands lift a fraction away from his thighs as his shoulders give the ghost of a shrug.
Ends not with a bang, but a whimper
.
I lie awake and cry into my pillow. Later, I get up to change the pillowcase. Even later, I switch pillows entirely.
What have I done? What what what?
If the world were going to end, wouldn’t I run into Jack’s arms? He
wants
to be with me. I
want
to be with him. But—
But but but but but!
Okay, so he wants it to be on his terms.
Am I strong enough to do that and not lose myself? Am I crazy? Will I ever be happy? Oh God!
When Jack walked out of my house five hours ago, I wish I’d heard a swell of music to tell me I’d done the right, true, brave, strong thing. I wish I could now move with confidence, satisfied in my pain and loneliness, knowing I’ll be the better person for it.
But I heard no music. I know nothing.
Was it all a mistake because I miss him? Or is it better in the long run? Better for whom? What if feelings are really all that matter? But where the HELL are his?
I cry some more. All twelve animals are in the room with me, even Aaron and Christian. Like Cher at the end of
Moonstruck
, I need my family around me. But no lovesick, bread-baking Romeo is going to throw caution to the wind and propose to me right in front of everybody.
Nobody
ever
did that. Just took my side, clearly aligned themselves with me, with everybody watching. Jack wouldn’t even do it in private. He's not for me.
But what if I’m wrong! No wonder Ilsa lets Rick make all the decisions at the end. Love is
hard
when it matters.
No wonder I never dared want anything too badly. Somewhere deep inside, I knew what I was doing when I never went after a career that I craved or a love that I burned for.
I always settled and I never suffered.
God damn it. I was so much smarter before I met Jack Hawkins.
But I am not going to let him engineer my downfall. I am not.
I rip off the covers and jump out of bed. “Gotta get to work,” I say to the dogs and cats. “Rescue Project Money isn’t going to start itself!”
* * * * *
In fact, several people helped get it started. The day after Garry Minor, Mia came over after school to help me set up the RPM office in the second biggest bedroom. Dom, as it turns out, is a tax attorney, and he and Jeffrey invited me to breakfast the next morning so Dom could offer his financial services pro-bono.
A day later, Ethel invited me over for lunch. Ethel opened her front door, ushered me into her kitchen, and sat me down. As I ate my creamed chipped beef on toast, she showed me a gold watch.
“Retirement present,” she stated.
“Oh,” I said, trying to look interested. But I really just wanted to get back to the creamed chipped beef. Eating meat doesn’t count, by the way, when you’re someone’s guest.
“Best secretary the City of Los Angeles ever did see, back in the day before they all became assistants.”
“I bet you were.”
“I’ll start work tomorrow. I’m the best, and I won’t charge RPM a penny.” My mouth was too full, so I just smiled and nodded.
When I got home, a sleek, champagne-colored Lexus was preening in my drive. Edna Hawkins stood on my porch.
“Busy, busy, busy,” she said as I loped up to greet her.
“Come on in,” I said, pretending she was not a scary person in just so many ways. “Can I get you anything?”
But as soon as Edna saw all the animals rush up to greet me, she stepped back, staying securely on her side of the threshold. “No, thank you. This will only take a minute.”
“Okay.” I went back out to the porch.
I sat on the glider, but one dubious glance at the dusty seat had Edna posing by the railing instead.
“Were you surprised that I saved HEYA?” Her question was laced with wolfsbane and I wondered what she wanted with me.
“No,” I said. “It was a smart business move, extricating you from all the rumors and innuendo and effectively ending the matter.”
She tipped her chin to acknowledge my accurate assessment of the situation.
“But,” I continued, “your stipulations did surprise me. That your donation was just that. A donation free and clear and you wanted to be attributed no credit whatsoever.”
“That was Jack,” she said. “All of it was. After Mr. Stewart’s unfortunate suppositions, Jack came to see me. He walked right into my office and told me exactly what I would do.” She laughed, and for the first time, actually looked into my face. “Up until that moment, I always thought of him as such a hippie. But he was so commanding and fierce. A real Hawkins, through and through. He gave me the notebook you’d made up and explained your plan. It was a good one. A way to set up HEYA.” She raised her eyebrows and looked down her nose at me, all bored condescension. “I knew I wasn’t throwing my money away.” Just so I knew, in the end, it really had been
her
doing, and sound business at that.
For a minute I just stood there, taking it all in. After Alan’s TV appearance, Jack went to HEYA and got the notebook.
My green binder.
I must have just missed him that morning. Jack then got his mother to save HEYA. What did he have to give her in return? Or did she do it because she knew that everything was her fault?
“Why are you here?” I asked Edna. “What’s the point in telling me all this?”
“Answer one question for me,” she demanded instead.
“Okay.”
“Did Jack tell you about Luz?”
My mouth fell open. I shut it. Edna was just so creepy.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I knew it!” She clenched both fists as though she was about to play rock, paper, scissors with two fists. “You got to him, Lisa.”
“Did I?” I asked, but without much inflection at all.
“Jack actually came to me demanding my corporate money. Something he swore he would never do. Ever. You broke him, Lisa.”
“Well,” I said, lifting my eyebrows and shrugging, “he left me with a few scratches. I’d say we’re even.” But really, my gut seized up at the thought that I might have made Jack betray himself.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said with a sly smile, “I’m not here to scold you. Quite the opposite. I want to know how you did it.” She gave me a withering look. “I don’t believe Alan Stewart for one second.”
“You want to break Jack? Why?” I stood up from the glider. “Why would you want to do that?”
She pulled herself up to look taller, more imposing. “Not break him completely. We want to be able to work with him, no surprises. To do that, we need to know more about how he ticks, what pushes his buttons.”
“We?”
“Frank and I, primarily.”
I stood there looking at her, breathing hard. Were parents really this diabolical when it came to controlling their kids?
“You have to go now,” I said, ushering her off the porch. “You want to know what pushes his buttons?” I asked as we reached the car. “You do. You’re his
mother
.”
She gave me a skeptical tilt of one eyebrow. “Hm.” She unlocked her car and opened the door. She turned to me. “That’s the best you can do?”
“If you want to know what makes him tick, go to his house for Sunday brunch.”
“Excuse me?”
“It has to be his house. Go to his house the next time he invites you. Accept an invitation from him.”
She got in the car and lowered the window before backing out of the drive.
“I’m very disappointed in you.”
“Too scared to try?” I tossed back.
Without blinking, she put up the window between us and drove off.
* * * * *
Despite Edna’s downer of a visit, the momentum surging through my life didn’t let up. The very next day, in front of TV cameras from news stations all over Los Angeles, a representative from Burger Barn presented me with a $100,000 donation to RPM. The segment got so much airplay you would think I’d exposed at least one boob. But I didn’t embarrass myself at all. The presentation itself comprised good cheer and gratitude.
For the first time since that restaurant fell on me, Media coverage worked in my favor. Everyone was so anxious to get a piece of my limelight that publicly offered donations poured in. I was becoming so famous for taking checks in flashy news segments that studios and producers courted me with ideas for a TV show about RPM and hard luck cases.
This is where Dolly stepped in, acting as my manager. Her arsenal included the wisdom gleaned from working in the industry for forty years, the moxie of an agent, the
noblesse oblige
of age, and a deep sexy voice that’d give Lauren Bacall a run for her money.
Man, is it ever easy to get a lot accomplished when you have nothing left to lose.
Sure, I’m tired all the time and I haven’t turned on the TV in ages, but I don’t miss sleep or TV one bit. No time.
Two weeks since Garry Minor and dumping Jack, and I feel like I’ve done more living than ever before. Embracing my inner publicity slut has been effortless. I’m willing to throw myself out there now, and I don’t care what I’m wearing or how my hair looks because none of it matters.
My high profile can help rescue people who really need help. The more Media coverage I get, the more people who might watch whatever show we cook up. A large viewing audience will see the stories, and they’ll give. That’s what I’m hoping, anyhow.
I stare at the phone. Dolly informed me I’ve just agreed to do
Dancing to the Moon
. Did I really just give America the chance to tell me I suck at dancing? I remind myself that Dolly closed the deal when the show offered a $400,000 donation to RPM.
That’s something, anyway.
Plus, now I probably won’t do the reality show that’ll make me live in a hut in the jungle with some other minor celebrities for a week. Which is good, because I think I’d need shots for that.
Duh nuh nuh nuh
.
Manny with the truckload of turkeys for the mission downtown. The smell of poultry drives the dogs crazy as they scramble across the wooden floor, barking all the way. I’m slipping into my shoes as I swing open the door.
“Hey, Man—” I pull up short.
“Hey, Lisa.” The dogs rush past me to jump all over him. Jump all over Jack.
“Jack.” I let Jack in, and put Fred, Ginger and Pacquito out back with Aaron and Christian. I turn to look at Jack, then head into the hall.
“What do you want?”
“I want to see you.”
I shrug. “I guess you can come back to the office.” I figure this is the safest place, but I’m not sure why. I walk in and sit behind my desk.
Jack stands in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the jamb. He looks so good I feel sick inside. Sick and weak and cold. So cold.
“Haven’t seen you in class in a while,” he says.
I nod and try for a smile. “Yeah, I’ve already talked to USC. Everything’s just happening too fast for me to stop and learn about it. I’m looking into correspondence courses that meet just one weekend a month. Duke has a good one.”
Jack straightens. “Duke?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But that’s farther than I want to go, even if it is just once a month.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t go back to leaning.
“Meanwhile, I guess I’ll hire someone to help me with the money.”
Jack nods, but I don’t think he’s even listening to me. I start shuffling through some papers on my desk.
“My parents are coming to my house for Thanksgiving,” he says.
I look up. “That’s wonderful, Jack. Really.”
Jack nods, looks around the room. Then his eyes settle back on me. “I’d like you to be there, too. Will you come?”
My heart lurches.
Ca-thump
.
“Me? Why?”
He steps into the office. “Because I want us to try again, Lisa.”
Ca-thumpca-thumpca-thumpca-thumpca-thump
.
I can
not
get carried away. I have to be careful. “Try
what
again?”
“I want us to be together. I want you to give me another chance.”
“Another chance to what?” My voice cracks on ‘what’ and I can feel the tears. I push back out of my chair and speed past him out of the room.
He catches me in the living room. He pulls me into him and kisses me.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
I push away from him. “Jack, stop it. Please, just stop it.”
“This is crazy, Lisa. Tell me you don’t miss this.”
I say nothing.
“I think about you all the time.” He moves closer but doesn’t touch me. “I want to be with you.”
“You’re too damn late!” I cry. “Don’t you get it?”
“I want to start over.”
“No! Jack, I can’t just forget that when the world came crashing in, you wanted NOTHING to do with me. Now you want me to just move on like you never did that to me?”
“Lisa, I love you.”
“I… I…I…I….”
He takes me by the shoulders. “Lisa.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“
What
? You think I would lie? About loving you?”
I shake my head. “I…I think you’re saying what you think you need to say.” I try to work it through my brain. “And when you get what you’re after, or when it gets hard, you’ll be gone.”
“How can you think that?”
“How can I
not
?”
“Why can’t we get past this?” Jack asks.
“Because, Jack. You’ve never said you’re sorry.”
He opens his mouth but shuts it without saying anything. I raise my eyebrows, daring him to deny it.
Nothing.
“I think you regret the way things turned out,” I tell him, opening the front door for him. “But I don’t believe for a second that you’re aware of how awful you were to me. And I’m not going to take that from you or anybody.”