A woman in a white pantsuit comes up to speak to Eve, and Lindy takes my arm and draws me a few steps away. “I heard there’s an opening on your weekend show,” she whispers, her voice low. “Do you know who’s leaving?”
They’re advertising Shelby’s job? I swallow hard, rattled all over again, and smile. It’s how I cope with everything. Smile and pretend to be serene when on the inside I’m all pins and needles. No wonder I have problems sleeping.
Christie saves me from having to answer. She comes up behind me and grabs me by the waist. “Can I steal Tiana?” she asks. “I’ve got somebody I want her to meet.”
Thank you, God.
I say good-bye to Lindy and walk with Christie back inside, whispering on the way, “You saved me, girl. I was dying back there.”
“Too much mom talk?” she guesses, squeezing my hand. She’s mom to three, and I’ve spent plenty of weekends at her house in Laguna Beach attending recitals, birthday parties, and bat mitzvahs. “You’ll get your baby,” she adds with another quick squeeze. “It’ll happen.”
That might have been my concern a week ago, but suddenly babies and my ticking clock are less relevant than keeping my job. “Lindy told me America Tonight is looking for new talent,” I tell her as we approach a young brunette.
“Whose job is on the line?”
“I think it’s mine.”
“What?”
I nod. “We’ll talk later.”
Christie swallows her shock and introduces me to Liv, a pretty woman in her early twenties who has worked for Ashley Judd for the last year as her personal assistant.
“Liv,” Christie says, “Tiana is the best news reporter in this business, and I know she’d be interested in hearing more about Ashley’s involvement with YouthAIDS. I know Ashley’s been the global ambassador since 2002, but I don’t think the rest of the world knows how active Ashley’s been with them. Maybe you can fill Tiana in?”
I look at Christie, and my heart just brims over. This is why I love the girl. She’s always thinking of others, always looking out for me. In a world that can be callous and self-absorbed, Christie is a breath of fresh air. She’s sunny and strong. She’s creative and brave, and she’s the first one to open a door, especially if it’s for another woman, and for Christie I would do anything. For Christie I’d drive three hours in traffic just to watch her youngest dance for three minutes.
Two hours later, the shower winds down and Christie walks me to the lobby. “So, what’s this about your job? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you told me. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. It all just happened Thursday. Glenn pulled me into his office to talk about adding Shelby as a co-host to my show. He said my ratings are down, hers are up, and they’re hoping she can lift my ratings.”
Christie winces. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Is she good? Would she make a good co-host?”
I shrug. “She’s dedicated. She’s already had her eyes done.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Is that scary, or what?” Christie just shakes her head in disgust. “The industry’s soulless.”
“Unfortunately, the execs are proud of her for doing it. I think it’s what they want me to do.”
Understanding dawns. “They’re scaring you into getting a face-lift.”
“I know this happens,” I say as we step outside to give my valet slip to the attendant, “but I just didn’t expect it to happen to me.”
We watch the valet run off to get my car. “I think that’s the problem,” she says after a moment. “We know intellectually we’ll age, but we’re still surprised when it happens to us.”
That’s for sure. I honestly never thought I’d get old. My mother was thirty-eight when she died— my age now— and she’s forever frozen in my mind as young, laughing, beautiful. Most children find their mothers beautiful, but my mom was a true beauty queen who took second place at the international competition behind Miss Venezuela. My mother stopped men in their tracks. But to me, she was always my mother, a mother who smiled, laughed, and chased us about the garden.
“How’s Trevor?” Christie asks as my car appears.
I look at her, but I’m still thinking about my mom and family, and my eyes fill with tears.
Christie sees, and she puts an arm around me. “Oh, hon, no. What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “All this talk about thirty-eight being old hits a little close to home. My mom was my age when she died— ” I break off, look away, bite my lip to get control. “And the studio is making me feel old, but thirty-eight isn’t old. Thirty-eight is still just a beginning.”
Christie’s arm squeezes my shoulders. “Do you want to come to my house for dinner tonight? I’ve got nothing planned. Simon’s working.”
“I have more events. Two more, to be precise.” I reach up to hug her back. “But thank you. I appreciate the offer.”
She looks at me hard. “You need fewer appearances and more downtime. You need a personal life, someone to love you. A good someone. Someone who would appreciate you. Not these ridiculous men you date— ”
“Oh, Christie.”
“It’s true.” Her eyes blaze blue fire. “You want love, need love, but the men you date are the ones you’ll never love, and they’ll never love you back.”
“But at least this way if they die, I won’t mind,” I joke.
“Tiana Irene Tomlinson!”
“I’m kidding,” I answer, giving her a hug and motioning to the valet attendant that I’m on my way.
Christie follows me to the driver’s-side door. “But you’re not kidding. That’s why you date these dingbats, and they’re all the same, handsome but shallow.”
“Trevor’s not shallow— ”
“Then tell me one thing you have in common besides sex.”
I slip the attendant a ten and slide behind the wheel. “He’s fun?”
“My dentist would be fun if I only had to see him now and then.”
“I see Trevor every five or six weeks.”
“And that’s not a relationship. It’s casual sex.”
“You yourself told me sex was beneficial.”
“It’d be even more beneficial if it came with a healthy, happy relationship. Let me introduce you— ”
“No!” I swiftly, firmly close the door but roll down my window. “Don’t even think about another setup. Understand? I love you, but honestly, Christie, I don’t like your taste in men.”
Chapter Four
The fund-raiser’s pre-party is at Steve Lehman’s house, and his five-acre estate is high above the city in elegant, affluent, exclusive Bel Air.
There’s been a breeze all day, which has blown the smog out of the valley, leaving the city glittering like white fairy lights on a Christmas tree.
Cocktail in hand, I walk slowly around Steve’s enormous Grecian-style pool, which glows with a hundred floating votives. An orchestra plays beneath a white canopy as fountains tinkle and beautiful people laugh and talk and mill about while keeping an eye out for someone more important to talk to.
From the corner of my eye, I see Tom and Katie appear and be welcomed to great fanfare. Across the pool, Jessica Biel is talking to Kirsten Dunst. I knew it’d be one of those “who’s who” parties, but I thought I’d find an ally before I felt insignificant.
This is where it gets complicated.
The very fact that I’m here will put plenty of stars’ teeth on edge. If I were a different TV host, I’d work the party, say hello to the famous faces that I’ve interviewed in the past; but I can’t stand it when they give me that little look. The sneer. The half-annoyed, half-pitying glance that says you don’t belong.
I had enough of that at Epworth. Although I was raised in South Africa, I never had a proper South African accent, and I don’t know if that was my dad’s doing since he was American, but the girls at Epworth teased me for sounding
like a Yank, and they made it clear that as a Yank, I was merely tolerated, not accepted.
There were times I was tempted to name-drop. I had impressive connections. The girls would have loved that my mother was a former Miss South Africa, and her mother was Lady Hollingsworth in England but dropped the title when she moved with her new husband, Lord Hollingsworth, to what was then Rhodesia. But I never did. Maybe it was the rebel in me, but I wouldn’t share my past, wouldn’t share my strength, wouldn’t give them access to me.
My father always said I was the secretive one, but I’m not secretive. I’m just reserved. Contained. Willow was the one who wore her heart on her sleeve. She was emotional and tender, just like our mother. But just because I didn’t laugh or cry as easily didn’t mean I didn’t feel.