“Okay, well, do you want to eat here or go somewhere else for breakfast? There’s a place I like just a few blocks—”
“Marin, there’s something I want to discuss with you.” His expression was serious. Stern.
Marin’s first thought was How did he find out that I’m seeing someone at my firm? The law world was a small one, especially in the New York, Philadelphia, Boston triad. Oh, he must be disappointed in her. So unprofessional!
She was afraid to meet his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Your mother and I are divorcing.”
Chapter Four
Traffic heading east on LA’s Freeway 10 was bumper-to-bumper.
After five minutes of not moving an inch, Rachel Moscowitz leaned on her horn. Not very Zen of her, but even mindful breathing wasn’t helping today. She was out of a job. Again! And this time, it wasn’t even her fault.
Her phone rang, and she put it on speaker.
“Rach, it’s Fran,” her mother said.
“This isn’t the best time. I’m in crazy traffic.”
“This will just take a sec; can you swing by my house after work and pick up Hugo? I’m in Joshua Tree and I forgot to board him.”
“What? Now?”
“It’s been a few days and he’s probably out of food.”
Un-fucking-believable. Her mother shouldn’t even have a houseplant, let alone a cat.
“Fran, I am having a really bad day. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Where’s Tad?” Tad, her mother’s boyfriend du jour. Just a few years older than Rachel.
“We broke up weeks ago. Didn’t I tell you?”
No, she had not told her. Because she called Rachel only when she needed something. The thing was, her mother’s house in Brentwood gave Rachel a place to stop on her way home and wait out the worst of the traffic.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll feed Hugo. When are you coming back?”
“I’ll text you.”
The call ended before Rachel could tell her that she’d lost the job she’d been sure was finally the start of a career.
Oh, she’d been so excited to land it. One of her mother’s Reiki clients (yes, her mother was a certified Reiki master; she was also an ordained nondenominational minister and a licensed real estate agent) was a producer on the reality show Celebrity Family Tree. Post–Reiki session, the woman mentioned she needed a research assistant. And Fran, in a rare display of helpfulness, got Rachel an interview. The producer didn’t seem to mind that Rachel’s résumé featured only two years of credits from UC Berkeley, a brief stint waiting tables at an organic café, a few months as a salesgirl at a vintage shop on Melrose, and sporadic turns as a dog walker.
“I like your energy,” the producer had said. And Rachel did have good energy! She worked at it. If there was any useful lesson her mother had imparted to her, it was the power of positive thinking.
But then, the emergency staff meeting. Her boss, Judy, gathered them in the conference room and delivered the news: Production was halted indefinitely.
She would try not to let her new unemployed status get her too down. Or the traffic. Or the fact that the extra key to her mother’s house was missing from underneath the potted plant next to the front door.
Rachel sat on the front steps, the midday sun beating down on her.
Where was the damn key? She had one at her apartment, but it was all the way across town in Silver Lake, and that wasn’t going to do her much good at the moment. She dialed her mother, and it went straight to voice mail.
Unbelievable!
Her mother had a way of disappearing, going completely off the grid for months at a time. Fortunately, she also had a way of leaving her windows unlocked. And since the last thing Rachel wanted to do was get back into her car, she walked through unkempt grass to the supply shed in the backyard. She dragged a metal ladder to the house, propped it against the area closest to her mother’s bedroom window, and climbed up, cursing. Positive thinking, positive thinking, she told herself.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She ignored it, trying not to look down as she climbed to the second floor. She reached the window and pushed the sash up and open. Success! After heaving it higher, she leaned inside and eased her body to a safe landing on top of her mother’s desk. It was covered with piles of papers and books and loose change, much of which went flying, displaced by Rachel’s body.
A sharp cry made her look up, lose her balance, and roll off the desk onto the floor.
“Hugo, you startled me.”
Hugo, her mother’s two-year-old tabby, meowed again, rubbing his body against Rachel’s. The cat, usually more circumspect, must have been attention-starved. Or just starved.
Rachel took the stairs down to the kitchen, and sure enough, the cat-food bowl was empty. The water bowl was also empty. And it had to be ninety degrees in there.
“Oh, Hugo. I’m sorry.” Rachel found a bag of Iams under the sink, poured a generous heap into the metal bowl, filled the water dish, and sat at the kitchen table. Now that she was there, she was in no rush to get back to her own apartment. She would have to tell her roommate that she had lost yet another job. She’d have to move out. Maybe even move back in with Fran.
Her phone rang, startling her. She looked at the incoming number: Judy Ross, head of research. Her boss. Or, as of this morning, former boss.
“Hi, Rachel—I know you’re probably not even home yet but I’m already getting some calls from the press. I doubt anyone would call you but if they get stonewalled by the higher-ups, you never know…”
“I won’t say anything. But between you and me, I just can’t believe he ruined our show.” And yes, even though she was just a research assistant, she felt invested enough in the production to think of it as her show too.