Roller Coaster Page 5

  She wanted to whoop, but managed to get a grip on her excessive elation by hurriedly sipping from her glass of iced tea. "I think that sounds great," she said, grinning broadly.

  Helen smiled back, her gaze almost searching, before turning to Grace. "If Laura's agreeable, why not go ahead and have her start tomorrow?"

  "I could do that," Laura said. She looked at Grace as well.

  Her face giving nothing away, Grace gazed at a point somewhere between them. "That would certainly get us back to a normal schedule."

  "Great. I fly out tonight on a red-eye," Helen explained, "and report to the theater by five. I'm always in the Wednesday through Saturday performances, and I'll fly home Saturday on a red-eye."

  "That's grueling," Laura remarked.

  "I've learned to sleep on airplanes, easier in first class. The stewards often know me, and that helps. They don't wake me being solicitous and know to bring my first coffee an hour out from landing. And it means I'm home Sunday morning about when the kids are ready to get up. That gives me all day Sunday, Monday and Tuesday with them. With Grace's help, I keep up on their homework, though at their age we're mostly worried about colleges and exams and members of the opposite sex. And when I'm between runs, I'm here all the time, of course. I love New York, but this is home."

  Laura tried to commit the many facts to memory. "So I would be here to cook on Wednesdays through Saturdays. Would you like me to leave the outlines of a meal for Sunday brunch?"

  "Yes, actually. That way we can snack and catch up. Though we sometimes go out to our favorite organic burger joint." She broke off at Laura's expression. "I know. Sounds like an oxymoron, but Julie can eat there. The sweet potato fries are killer."

  Realizing that she would be spending a lot of time with Grace, Laura tried to draw the woman out. "I'd like to inventory the kitchen tomorrow, then, so I can shop. Tomorrow I'll stick with simple food and I can talk to the kids about their likes and dislikes-and yours as well, of course."

  "We'll review the budget and their schedule then," Grace said impassively, then excused herself as a phone in the distance began ringing. She was going to be a tough nut to crack, Laura thought.

  The doorway was blocked by a tall figure. "Mom, excuse me. I was just wondering what the plans are for dinner."

  Helen laughed and gestured at the boy to come into the room. "Your radar is flawless. Justin, this is Laura Izmani, and she's going to be our chef."

  Laura rose-Helen had not exaggerated the height. He towered over her by a full foot, but she definitely had broader shoulders. Long brown hair covered most of his forehead and eyes, but he tossed it back to make brief eye contact as he shook her hand. Then, looking very much like his mother, his expressive gray gaze went directly to the food.

  "Help yourself," Laura said. She could almost hear his stomach echoing hollowly with imminent starvation. "I promise it won't always be this healthy."

  After swallowing a mouthful that obliterated more than half of one slice, Justin said, "This is good. Thanks."

  "Would you get your sister-" As Justin's mouth opened, Helen hastily added, "Don't shout. I can shout. Go up and knock, please. Knock, don't pound."

  Laura saw the protest in his eyes, but at the emphatic tip of the head his mother gave toward the door he gave in.

  "One for the road," Laura suggested, drawing the tray closer to him.

  "Thanks." He moved toward the door at a pace that couldn't be called speedy.

  "Today, please, Justin."

  "I'm going, Mom. You don't want me to spill on the carpet, do you?" With that he shoved the rest of his toast into his mouth and disappeared from sight. The thudding of feet suggested he was taking the stairs two at a time.

  "He's really quite charming when he wants to be."

  "I have no doubt of that," Laura said. "I've worked with a lot of teenagers in the past. I congratulate you on the meeting of his pants with his waist."

  Helen rolled her eyes. "Two years ago I was lucky he wore pants. It was as if they burned or something. Mr. Drama." She laughed. "Okay, don't say it."

  "Say what?" Laura opened her eyes wide. "Apples falling from trees and little distance between them?"

  Whatever Helen might have said in reply was interrupted by the arrival of Julie. She was slender, like her mother, with the same pointed chin and expressive mouth. Laura realized she hadn't ever seen a picture of the late Mr. Browning-both children had his last name and their mother's last name for a middle name. She looked to be Laura's height, right about five-foot-four, and was probably done growing. She'd been blessed with thick, glossy black hair any Goth would envy. Her eyes were brown and more deeply set in her face than either her brother's or mother's, so probably from her father's side of the gene pool. While most of their expressiveness came from their eyes, Julie's countenance was more closed and Laura couldn't decide if the slightly mulish expression was habitual, or a result of having been ordered to the dining room by her brother, or both.

  After introductions, Julie regarded the offer of a snack with suspicion. "Is it okay for me?"

  This was the member of the household that wanted details, Laura realized. She didn't blame the girl one bit. "Yes. The corn is very fresh, and the baker certifies the bread as a true French loaf: flour, water, yeast, salt. That's it. Everything else came from a kitchen I trust. No dyes. All fresh."

  "Cool." She bit into a slice, but not with the same zest for sustenance that her brother had exhibited. "Thank you."

  "You're entirely welcome. I'll be back tomorrow to take some inventory and make dinner. Over dinner I thought you and your brother could tell me about your favorite foods."

  Julie nodded but stopped short of a disinterested shrug. She didn't ask for seconds of the toast and after asking her mother about going over to a friend's after dinner, she left the room.

  Laura caught the look of concern in Helen's eyes.

  "You'll have to cut her some slack," Helen said hastily. "The last chef-I don't know what the deal was. We just got acclimated to a new person in the kitchen and Julie started having attacks. She may not trust you right away."

  "I hope to earn her trust," Laura said. And yours, she added to herself. And just as quickly, the enormity of what she'd done finally penetrated. And what a great start, too, not mentioning that you'd already met.

  She opened her mouth to blurt out, Do you ever ride roller coasters anymore?

  But Helen was saying, "For this first month, could we meet on Tuesdays at five, just like today? For maybe fifteen minutes? That way if you have concerns or questions, we can discuss them. And I can give you feedback the kids might not have shared with you."

  What else was there for her to do but agree and take her leave? She felt like the coaster ride had started without her and she was running to catch up. What had she been thinking? By saying nothing she'd elevated what could have been a minor blip into her personal elephant in the living room. She'd been so thrilled at the idea of being some part of Helen Baynor's life, so star-struck that she'd tripped over one of the basic principles of her sobriety: When you lie about your addiction, you give it power over you.

  She hadn't lied, well, not exactly. She wasn't ethically beholden to tell an employer. It wasn't her intention to harm or defraud Helen Baynor in any way by not mentioning their first meeting. The important distinction was ensuring that nothing she was doing was setting her on a path to a renewal of self-deception and/or a willingness to court temptation. She didn't think anything she had said, or that taking this job for that matter, would in any way jeopardize her sobriety.

  She'd kept silent about that roller coaster ride because she wasn't that young woman any more than Helen was an unknown actress not sure which life to pick.

  She drove most of the way to her residence hotel in a daze. In one part of her mind she was furiously making a shopping list. Another part was reflecting on the personalities that made up the Baynor household, and yet another was trying to decide on the very important first
meal together. But mostly she could hear the sound of the roller coaster launching down the track and her own hysterical screaming as it veered in a direction she couldn't foresee.

  Part Two:

  Fighting Gravity

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "I gave up an hour's sleep for you, so this better be good." Helen Baynor poured another packet of artificial sweetener into her coffee and watched as her long-time agent, Cassidy Winters, dropped into the chair opposite her.

  "Suh-wee-tee," Cass drew out, feigning offense that anyone should consider time with her a waste. "Of course it's good. Would I drag you here if it wasn't?" Cass's gaze traveled the length of the Forty-Seventh and Broadway coffeehouse.

  "So what's the deal?" Hardly private, definitely grimy, the shoebox-sized bistro was nevertheless a good meet-up place convenient to Helen's condo, Cass's office and the theater where Helen was headed next. It was packed, however, with mid-afternoon shoppers and the table had been hard to come by. But for that, she'd have chosen elsewhere-being framed in the street window wasn't her first choice.

  Cass leaned closer and her sweater slipped off one shoulder, showing off her ultrasleek physique. It was a signature style and Helen counted Cass one of the most stylish women in the city. "There's a rumor that a production company has assembled their backing and probably landed a lease on the Lunt and Fontaine Theater for a revival of Picnic. Male star might be Mr. Harry Potter himself."

  Helen let her eyebrows drift up toward her hairline. "As the guy from the wrong side of the tracks who can't catch a break in that hard-bitten little town? That casting is a...stretch. Of course it was a stretch for William Holden in the film. He was in his forties playing twenty."

  She had an even worse thought and gave Cass the evil eye. "Don't you dare suggest that I angle for the part of the hysterical spinster, simpering over anything male in hopes of getting married."

  "It's Tony material," Cass protested. She stirred her coffee, then sipped delicately, leaving bright pink lipstick on the rim of the white cup.

  "Not interested. Not even the tiniest bit. I'll play the mother in Hamlet first-oh wait, I'm already too old for that. Mother roles go to thirty-year-olds who'll play fifty."

  "There's no Lion in Winter on the boards, suh-wee-tee. I'm just trying to keep you employed."

  "I appreciate that, you know I do." There was never any pretense with Cass. To her, a successful actor was a working one, regardless of the role. She only brought up the potential for nice things like awards when she wanted Helen to take a part she knew Helen wouldn't want. "What about the staged version of that Sandra Bullock movie-The Proposal. I'd love that."

  "I've heard they have someone in mind for that."

  "Some twenty-year-old to play forty-five, no doubt."

  Cass's thin brows arched up. "Did you find a gray hair or something this morning?"

  "Just feeling it. On the plane I had a hot flash," she admitted. She had woken up in her seat drenched from the skin out. A sympathetic cabin attendant had brought her a cool, wet cloth.

  "I'm so glad I skipped that whole process. Get the plumbing taken out-it saves a lot of bother."

  In spite of the blasé tone, Helen could see the brief fear in Cass's eyes. The surgery had eradicated the earliest stages of cervical cancer. Cass's model-on-crack silhouette was only just starting to fill out, but her nose and jaw were still overprominent in what was once a pixieish face, and even she admitted that her naturally buoyant boobs seemed ungracefully proportioned. Her current hairstyle, very blond and spiky, wasn't yet as lush as the wig she'd worn during chemo. Every week, though, she saw an improvement in Cass's vitality and it was good to see her body starting to look like the various parts were meant to go together. Cass joked about it, but Helen didn't think any woman really laughed when it came to the C-word.

  "I've always liked Rosalind Russell's work," Helen admitted. "I'd seriously consider anything that suited her, except that caricature of womanhood in Picnic."

  "Tony material," Cass said again. "It's been a while."

  "I'll do a dead body on Law and Order first."

  "You're not for the screen, remember? That's why you dumped Hollywood, which was so their loss."

  "That was twenty years ago and then some. Maybe things have changed. But I've never wanted to be about television. A blockbuster movie with residuals, a superhero's mom, I could do. An instructor at some wizard school? Oh-drats, that's over." Helen stirred her coffee and wished their seats weren't in the window. A couple of kids had spotted her and were conferring just a few feet away on the other side of the glass.

  Cass shrugged. "You have to put it out in the universe if you ever hope to get it back."

  "I know that stuff works for you," Helen began, but Cass cut her off with a stab of her stir stick.

  "It's not stuff. It works. Ever since I started my dream board and spent time meditating on my wishes, my life has changed. And it got me through chemo."

  "I tried-I cut out pictures from a magazine and I taped them to my ceiling," Helen lied. "But according to the universe's clock, I'm still fifty."

  Cass gave her a tired look. "Maybe if something were actually happening in your bed you wouldn't be feeling fifty."

  "Those parts have atrophied." Helen shrugged. "You know my deal. I have no time for another person in my life. I don't need the complication. I'm really very happy-"

  "I know you're happy. You're also the loneliest person I know." Cass gave her a serious look. "When was the last time you were ecstatic? Transported?"

  "Last week," Helen answered seriously. "The last time the curtain went up. Why is it so hard to believe that I find it as exciting and enthralling now as I did the very first time I was on a live stage? And I have two kids I love, and a home I enjoy going to. These are the last two years the kids will be home, so I'm making the most I can of them, too."

  Cass sighed. "How is Julie doing? I'm glad you got rid of that cook."

  "She's gotten really wary of everything. I don't want her to develop an eating disorder, and that does worry me. But the good news is I just hired a new chef-great references and has a skill level that's usually way out of the league of a private chef. She's starting today."

  Cass nodded. "You're sure she can keep Julie steady?"

  "I hope so. She knows her stuff. Seemed avid about organics and clean food. David Connelly gave her a big thumbs up. Said she was the guru of pleasing the customer."

  "Now that's high praise," Cass agreed. "I'll be happy if you don't have to worry about Julie so much."

  "I know. If she can't stay stable she will develop some chronic side effects. It seems like every time she breaks out in skin rashes they take even longer to go away. One of these days maybe they won't, and that scares me."

  "There wasn't anything in her father's family history, either. You've had so little to go on." Cass sipped her coffee and made a face. "I hope the new girl works out."

  "Laura," Helen said. "Hardly a girl, either. She seemed very nice too." She gathered her cup and became aware of a teenager around Julie's age hovering at her elbow.

  "Sure," she said in response to the shy request. She wanted to ask why the girl wasn't in school, but took the proffered book and pen and satisfied herself with writing Life always gets better! before signing her name with a flourish. "You're welcome, sweetie," she said as the girl stammered thanks.

  "Anyway," she said to Cass, "Laura seemed like the kind of person you talked to for a little bit and felt you'd known all your life. Really, really grounded."

  Cass waved at the girl, who was still hovering. "Honey, I'm nobody. Honest." She rolled her eyes at the girl's crestfallen expression. "I'm just the BFF."

  "And then some," Helen said. In the best friend department anyone she'd known as long as Cass had to rate as best friend forever material. Some intern of Cass's publicist was the BFF to the thousands of followers on Twitter.

  The girl still held out her book, and Cass took it, signed and handed it back. Spe
aking to Helen, she asked, "Shall we get a cab? I'll drop you at the theater."

  "I need to walk it," Helen said. "Clear my head, get that New York air in my lungs. Work an airport croissant off my ass." They were on the sidewalk, turning toward downtown, when she asked, "Who were you today in that girl's autograph book?"

  "Bebe Neuwirth," Cass said. "I think she bought it too."

  Helen laughed. "I'll rat you out next time I see Bebe. Now why can't I get a great character part on a sitcom? Why is that, agent of mine? She's still getting residual checks from the reruns of Cheers and Frasier."

  "Seriously? Do you want me to send you out on them?"

  Helen thought about it. Five years ago she wouldn't have considered it. Fifty was looming so large-really, she shouldn't be letting it bother her so much. She wanted her life to stay exactly the way it had been. Her heart knew what it wanted and she listened. "No, of course not."

  She signed more autograph books and assorted hunks of paper as she made her way through Shubert Alley and down Forty-Fourth Street on the way to the stage door of the Olympic. Her current production, Look the Other Way, was a lighthearted comedy based roughly on The Front Page. It wasn't the kind of production to draw promotion by the serious critics, but it had proven to be a real crowd-pleaser, and comedy had always been her first love. The run was projected safely through the fall and holidays, and if Cass didn't come up with a new production for her, she'd sign on for spring dates as well. They hadn't balked at all over her being absent for the two Sunday and one Tuesday performances each week. The rest of the cast was strong and her understudy was garnering consistent praise so ticket sales dipped only slightly for those shows.

  Her character, Moxie Taylor, was a mature woman of indeterminate years. The cast was ten in all, plus understudies and a few nonspeaking crowd members in the finale, and she was enjoying the feeling of being in a smaller production, and one where both of her feet were on the ground. She'd conquered her fear of heights well enough to do a balcony scene, but flying around a stage on a wire was never going to work for her.