One Day at a Time Read online

  “I've never had anything like this happen,” he said, looking embarrassed. “My past relationships have always ended on good terms. I'm friends with all of them. None of them ever wanted to kill me, or at least not that I know of.” He sounded incredulous as he said it.

  “Did you call the police?” He shook his head in answer.

  “I can't. If I do, it will be all over the tabloids and that will make it even worse.”

  “My father had a death threat once, from a crazy client, when I was a little girl. He called the police and they gave him guards around the clock for a while. I was terrified the actor was going to kill him. I had nightmares about it for years,” Coco confessed.

  “Yes, but she probably wasn't an ex-girlfriend. This is the kind of stuff the tabloids love. I don't want to be involved in a mess like that, or cause it. I've got a break between films now. I'd rather just stay away for a while. I might go to New York for a few months. I don't have to work again till October, so I've got time.”

  “She'll probably find out you're there. And my sister and Liz aren't coming back for five or six months. You can stay here while you figure it out, and maybe she'll calm down.”

  “I think it'll take a lobotomy for that to happen. I'm hoping she gets obsessed with someone else. In the meantime, I'm planning to lie low, and she'll never figure out that I'm here. I haven't been to San Francisco in twenty years. I always see Jane in L.A. We worked on a picture together.” Coco remembered that, although she had never met him with Jane before. But she was aware that they were friends.

  “Well, you'll be safe here. And now that Jack is out of your bed, get some sleep,” she said with a friendly smile. It sounded like a nasty story, and he looked shaken up by it.

  Leslie thanked her for rescuing him, and as she headed to her own room, he closed his door. She closed hers too. Both dogs were asleep on her bed, and she put the TV on with the sound low. She dozed off for a while herself, and around eight o'clock she went downstairs to make herself dinner. She took some sushi she had bought out of the fridge and made a salad. She was eating it and reading the Sunday paper when he walked in, looking sleepy, and more rested than he had before. He yawned and stretched as he sat down. They were like two shipwrecked people on a desert island. The house was quiet, and it was easy and pleasant. It was Saturday night, and neither of them had obligations or plans.

  “Would you like some?” She pointed at the sushi, and he nodded as she got up to get more out of the fridge. And he was instantly on his feet to help her.

  “You don't have to wait on me. I'm the interloper here. Thanks for buying food today. I'll get the next round.” They were like two roommates who had wound up sharing a house, and good manners prevailed. He was very English and obviously very nicely brought up. He helped himself to some sushi, and she gave him a plate, and made him a salad, as he thanked her.

  “What part of England are you from?” she asked as they ate their dinner, and Jack sat watching them with interest. Sallie had smelled the fish and gone back to bed.

  “A little town just outside London. I never got to London till I was twelve. My father was a postman, and my mum was a nurse. I had a very middle-class upbringing, and a very normal home life as a kid. My parents were horrified I wanted to be an actor, and embarrassed by it actually, at first anyway. My dad wanted me to be a teacher, or a banker, or a doctor. I faint at the sight of blood. And I thought teaching was too boring. So I took acting lessons and started out doing Shakespeare. I was bloody awful.” He grinned at her. “Good salad. No syrup?” he teased her.

  “I bought more.” She laughed at him. “And waffles.”

  “Perfect. I'll make them tomorrow. And what did you want to be when you grew up?” he asked her, looking as though he cared about the answer.

  “I was never really sure. I just didn't want to be my parents. Or in film like my sister, she was so intense about it. She's that way about everything she does, but it didn't look like a lot of fun. I always hated writing. For about five minutes, I wanted to be an artist. But I don't have a lot of talent. I do watercolors once in a while, but nothing terrific. Just beach scenes and still lifes of flowers and vases. I studied art history in college. I probably would have liked teaching, or research of some kind. And then my father talked me into law. He said it was a good starting point for anything I'd want to do later, like go into his business and be an agent. I didn't want to do that either, and I hated law school. The teachers were mean to everyone, the students were nasty and competitive and neurotic. Everyone was trying to put everyone else down. I was terrified for two whole years and cried all the time. I was scared to death I'd flunk out, and then my father died and I quit.”

  “And then what?”

  “I was relieved.” She smiled at him across the table. “I was living with somebody then. My parents didn't approve of him either. He had dropped out of law school too, in Australia. He loved the outdoors, and he ran a diving school, so we moved to the beach, and I was never happier in my life. I came up with the dog-walking idea, just to tide me over for a while, and three years later I'm still doing it. It works for me. I'm living at the beach, and it's what I want to do for now. My whole house is smaller than this kitchen. My mother calls it a 'shack,' and I love it.”

  “And the Australian with the diving school?” Leslie asked her with interest as he finished his salad, and sat back in his chair, looking at her. She looked like a normal, happy woman, except when she talked about law school. “Is he still around too?”

  “No, he isn't,” she said, shaking her head quietly.

  “That's too bad. Your eyes lit up when you talked about him.”

  “He was a great guy. We lived together for two years, and then he had an accident and died.” Leslie looked at her more intently as she said it. She looked sad about it, but not distraught. She seemed as though she had made her peace with it a long time before. But he was startled by what she'd said, and sorry for her. She didn't look sorry for herself.

  “Car accident?”

  “Hang gliding. A gust of wind blew him into a cliff, and he fell. It was a little over two years ago. It was very hard at first. But I guess those things happen. It was rotten luck for us. We were planning to get married, and go back to Australia to live. I think I would have liked it.”

  “You might.” Leslie nodded. “Sydney looks a lot like San Francisco.”

  “He said that too. That's where he was from. We never got there. I guess we weren't meant to.” She sounded philosophical about it, and he admired her for it. There was nothing maudlin about this girl.

  “Has there been anyone since?” He was curious about her.

  She smiled at Leslie Baxter sitting across the table from her in her sister's kitchen. It was so weird, it made her laugh. Leslie Baxter was asking about her love life. Who would have thought?

  “Just a lot of bad blind dates with boring guys. I tried for a while about a year ago, just so my friends and family would shut up. It just wasn't worth the effort, or maybe I wasn't ready. I've kind of given it a rest for the last six months. It's hard starting again with someone new. We got along really well.”

  “You don't look as though you'd be difficult to get along with,” he said matter-of-factly “I was involved with a woman like that once. She was fantastic.” He looked dreamy as he said it.

  “What happened?”

  “I was stupid, and young. My career was just starting, and I wanted to stay in Hollywood and play for a while. She was in England and she wanted to get married and have babies. By the time I figured out that she was right, she had given up on me and married someone else. She waited for about three years, which was more than I deserved at the time. She has five kids now and lives in Sussex. Nice woman. I had another very good woman in my life. We never married, but we have a daughter. Monica got pregnant around the time the relationship had run out of gas, and she decided to keep the baby. I was pretty leery of the whole idea at the time. As it turned out, she was right. The
relationship was shot, but my daughter Chloe is the best thing that ever happened in my life.”

  “Where is she?” Coco looked surprised. He had a very Hollywood life, with women trying to kill him, broken romances, and a child with a woman he'd never married, but he seemed very normal and down to earth at the same time. Or maybe that was just an act he put on. She had met a lot of crazy actors through her father in her youth. Some of them seemed like normal people, but they weren't. In the end, they were as crazy and narcissistic as the others. Her father had warned her never to go out with an actor. But Leslie seemed different. He seemed real, and for the moment at least, not self-centered or arrogant, or impressed with himself. He seemed very willing to admit to his own mistakes, and wasn't trying to blame anyone else, except for his recent disaster, which didn't sound like it was his fault anyway. Lunatics did happen, particularly in his world.

  “Chloe lives in New York, with her mother,” he explained. “She's a serious actress on Broadway, and a surprisingly good mother. She keeps her out of the limelight, and Chloe comes out to see me two or three times a year. I go to New York to visit her every chance I get. She's six, and the sweetest little elf on earth.” He beamed with pride when he spoke of the child. “Her mother and I are the best of friends. Sometimes I wonder if it would have lasted if we got married. I don't think so though. She's a very serious person and a little dark. She got involved with a married politician after we broke up. Everyone knew about it, but they kept it very quiet. And there have been a number of very rich, powerful men since. I was too boring for her. And too immature at the time. I'm forty-one, and I think I've only just started to grow up. It's embarrassing to admit, but I think that defines late bloomer. I think actors tend to be very immature. We're spoiled.” The way he admitted it so openly touched her.

  “I'm twenty-eight,” she said shyly, “and I still haven't figured out what I want to be when I grow up. I wanted to be an Indian princess when I was a kid, and once I figured out that that wasn't going to happen, I haven't been able to come up with anything else equally appealing since.” She looked faintly disappointed and he laughed. “I enjoy my life the way it is. The dog-walking thing works for now. And even if it doesn't make sense to my family, I'm content the way things are.”

  “That's all that matters,” he said gently. “Does your family pressure you about it?” But knowing Jane and who her mother was, it seemed obvious to him that they would.

  Coco laughed out loud in answer. “Are you kidding? They think I'm a total flop and a disaster. They all have high-powered careers. My sister got her first Oscar nomination at my age. She's been a huge box-office success since she was thirty. My mother's been writing best sellers since she was in diapers. My father founded the agency himself, and represented every major star in Hollywood. And I walk dogs. Can you even imagine what they think of that? My mother got married at twenty-two. She had Jane when she was twenty-three. Jane and Liz have been together since Jane was twenty-nine. And I feel like I'm fifteen years old and in high school. I don't even care if I get invited to the prom. I'm happy living with my dog on the beach.” He didn't remind her that she would have been married by then if Ian hadn't died. And Coco was aware of that too. “I come from a family of overachievers, who knew what they wanted the moment they were born. I swear I was switched at the hospital at birth. Somewhere out there is a nice normal family who lives in a beach community, and would think it's great that I walk dogs, and wouldn't care if I never get married. And they probably wound up with a kid who wants to be a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon or a Hollywood agent, and they don't know what hit them. Meanwhile, every time I'm around my family, or even talk to them, I don't know what hit me.” It was the most honest she had been with another person since Ian, particularly one she had just met, not to mention a movie star, and it worried her a little that Leslie was Jane's friend. He could see it in her eyes.

  “I'm not going to say any of this to Jane, you know. So you don't need to look so worried.” He seemed to be able to read her thoughts, as though he understood.

  “We just have nothing in common,” Coco said with tears in her eyes, and then felt silly about it, and embarrassed. “I get so tired of their telling me everything I do wrong, and everything I'm not. And in a funny way, it works for them. It makes them feel important, and my sister has been using me as her minion all my life. If I had a life, it might actually not be quite as convenient for them. Jane is a good person and I love her, but she's very tough,” Coco explained and he nodded.

  “I know. Maybe you just need to say no,” he said softly, and Coco laughed again and wiped her eyes with her T-shirt, while he tried not to notice her pink bra when she did. She was completely unaware that she had exposed it, and it made him smile. In some ways, she really was a kid, and he liked that about her. She was so honest and so real, so gentle and so kind.

  “I've been trying to say no to them all my life. That's why I moved to Bolinas. At least it puts a bridge between us. But you'll notice who's babysitting the house and the dog.”

  “One of these days you'll surprise yourself and put your foot down,” he said kindly. “You'll do it when it's time and feels right. And Jane's not easy to turn down, even for me. She's a strong woman, and hard in a lot of ways, although I like her a lot, and she's so incredibly smart. Liz is too but she's a much gentler person. She mellows Jane out a lot, or at least she tries.”

  “Jane's a lot like my dad. She's very blunt and direct. My mother is more manipulative to get her way. She cries a lot.” And then Coco laughed at herself as she looked at him across the table. “I guess I do too. I'm sorry. You didn't come here to listen to my sad stories about running away from a famous family in Hollywood to live in a shack at the beach. It's a pretty easy life.”

  “Your stories don't sound so sad to me,” he said honestly “except for your Australian friend. That's sad for him, and for you. But you're young, you've got years and years and years ahead of you, to figure out what you want to do, and find the right person. And it sounds like you have a good time and a good life in the meantime. That's pretty enviable, if you ask me. I think you're doing better than you know. And they don't have to approve of what you do. My parents still worry about me. They think I missed the boat on marriage and kids, and they may be right. They love Chloe, but they'd love to see me married, with four kids, and back in England with all of them, where they think I belong. That's their assessment, not mine. This Hollywood thing comes at a high price. Sometimes you wind up giving up the wrong things. I've figured that much out myself.”

  “It's not too late,” Coco reassured him. “You could still wind up married with ten kids, and probably will. There's no one to set the rules about when that has to happen.”

  “It's a lot more complicated when you're famous,” he said thoughtfully. “The good ones are wary and figure you must be some kind of freak, or a player at best. And the ones that come like moths to a flame are the weirdos and groupies and some really bad people, like the one I'm running away from. Once you're famous, you stand out like a beacon in the darkness to them. And those are the ones that make me run like hell. Although this time, I didn't see this one coming. She hid her game pretty well at first, I thought she was a genuinely nice girl, and I thought maybe it would be easier because she's famous too. Big, big mistake. She turned out to be everything I don't want.”

  “So you'll try again,” Coco said, smiling at him, and then got up to clear the table. She offered him some ice cream, and when he accepted with delight, she handed him a Dove bar from the freezer. She had bought half a dozen flavors for him that afternoon, since she didn't know what he liked. They were in effect strangers, and yet they were sharing their deepest secrets, regrets, and fears with each other, and they both felt comfortable about it.

  “I get tired of trying again sometimes,” he admitted as the ice cream dribbled down his chin, and he looked like a kid himself.

  “I felt that way when people were trying to set me up. Th
at's why I stopped for a while. I figured if it's going to happen, it'll just happen by itself. And if it doesn't, I'm fine the way I am.” He laughed at that.

  “Miss Barrington,” he said formally, “I can assure you that, at twenty-eight, it's not over, and you're not going to wind up alone. It may take you a while to find the one you want. But any man would be fortunate to have you. And I promise you, the right one will come along. Just give it time.”

  She smiled at him then, “I am going to make you the same promise, Mr. Baxter. The right one will come along. I promise. Just give it time,” she repeated his own words back to him. “You're a terrific guy, and if you stay away from the psychos, a nice woman will find you. And that's a promise.” She stuck her graceful hand across the table, and he shook it. They both felt better for having talked to each other, and winding up in Jane's house at that time had turned out to be a blessing for them both. They each felt as though they had a new friend.

  “What happens in this town on a Saturday night?” Leslie asked her with interest, and she laughed.

  “Not much. People go out for dinner, and by ten o'clock everyone is off the streets. This is a small town, not like New York or L.A.”

  “At your age, you should be out having fun on a Saturday night, not sitting around talking to an old fart like me,” he chided her, and she laughed again.