Hooray for Hollyweird

 A porn producer. My sister had been dating a porn producer. This was a new low, even for Felicity.

“She hasn’t,” I began. “I mean, she hasn’t been working for him, has she?”

Syn and Mel both looked uncomfortable, but Syn shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Like I said, they’ve been sort of dating, but Felicity’s not into that sort of thing.”

“Small favors,” I muttered.

“So, are we done here?” Mel asked. “I mean, sorry and all, Francie, but I’ve still gotta clock another couple of hours.”

“Yeah, Mel, thanks.” I shook her hand and turned to leave with Syn. “You’ll call us if you see her again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Syn and I made our way back to her old VW beetle and began the long slog through LA, back to Venice.

“Why didn’t you tell me Rob Bennet is a porn producer?” I asked, staring glumly out the window.

“Honestly, Francie? I didn’t want to mention that unless I had to.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Well, his office is at Vivid. But I don’t know that you want to go there.”

“If he knows where Felicity is, I have to talk to him.” I couldn’t believe that I was having this conversation - that I was actually considering confronting a porn king. I had seen Larry Flynt once at a restaurant in Beverly Hills when I was visiting Felicity during one of her more flush times. It felt creepy just being in the same dining room. I didn’t much feel like talking to someone like him.

“Francie, I don’t think that such a good idea,” Syn insisted,  and I could hear the concern in her voice.

“It’s a terrible idea,” I acknowledged. But it’s the only idea I have at the moment. You don’t need to go with me.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not sending the Vestal Virgin into the lion’s den alone!”

“I’m not—“

“You know what I mean. You’re not used to scumbags like him. I’ll go with you, but not tonight.”

“But—“

“Look, Francie, it’s getting late. Rob’s probably not even at the office anymore. He likes to party and he’s not the type to let work get in the way of a good time.” Syn shrugged. “Unless, of course, work is that good time.”

“That’s disgusting,” I said.

“So’s he. And tomorrow is soon enough for us to be disgusted by Rob Bennet. Let’s just go home, grab a bite and relax.”

I passed a pretty restless night in Felicity’s room that night. So many times since our mother had died, I wished that she could see all that I had accomplished. Now, all I could think of was how hurt and disappointed she would be if she could see how far Felicity had fallen. For the first time since her death, I nearly wished she weren’t watching over us. Nevertheless, as I finally nodded off just before dawn, I sent a quick prayer to my mother to keep Felicity safe, and to forgive her, as I was trying to find the strength to do (if, of course, I didn’t kill her first).

The next morning, I struggled to eat some breakfast, and I forced a somewhat reluctant Syn out the door as soon as I thought Rob Bennet would be at his office. I was glad she was coming with me. Not only did I need the moral support, but I also had no idea how to get there. In the handful of times I had been to LA, I had never managed to master the intricacies of the freeway system. As we wound through the streets, I thought (based on my Siri directions) that we’d be hopping on the 10 to get to the 405 to the 101. But Syn just laughed at that idea, muttered the word, “traffic,” and began to follow the most convoluted network of streets I think I’d ever seen. Despite my elevated stress levels, I chuckled a bit at the thought that I’d somehow stumbled into an episode of Saturday Night Live’s “The Californians.”

When we pulled up to the office building on Cahuenga Blvd, I was a little surprised. I’m not sure what I expected a porn headquarters to look like, but this sedate office park was not it. Syn noticed my quizzical expression and smiled. “Looks pretty legit, doesn’t it?” she asked. “No outward signs of depravity.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I mean, I know it’s a business and all, but—“

“But it still makes your skin crawl.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, let’s get in and out fast,” Syn remarked.

“Wonder if that’s the corporate motto?” I couldn’t help myself. The comment just escaped. But, it had the effect of setting us both off into a spurt of genuine laughter that relieved some of the tension.

As we entered the building, I thought at first that we would be denied entry.  When we were ushered into Rob Bennet’s front office right away, I figured it was because of Syn’s looks. When the assistant buzzed Rob and said, “Ms. Fellowes is here to see you,” it didn’t register that we had not given our names.  Rob came out of a back room, and I was surprised that he did not look nearly as sleazy as I thought he would. I had high hopes he would be a helpful ally in finding Felicity.

Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed the moment he said, “So, Felicty, you changed your mind after all? And you talked the roommate into it too? Excellent.”

“You’re a pig, Rob,” Syn muttered.

“So, what, then, Syn? You just here as a groupie? By the way, Felicity, you clean up good.”

“I’m not Felicity,” I said, struggling to maintain my cool. “My name is Frances Fellowes, I’m Felicity’s sister. I’m looking for her and I hoped you could help.”

Rob sat down at his desk and grinned. “Felicity never mentioned she had a sister. Twins?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a lot of money in twins, you know.”

Outraged, I opened my mouth to tell Rob Bennet exactly what I thought of him, but Syn put a hand on my arm, and I held back.

“Do you know where Felicity is or not, Rob?” Syn asked.

“No clue. Haven’t seen her since that party in the Hills. Said she was low on cash. Offered her a job. She got all uppity.”

“Well, I’m glad she still has some standards,” I muttered.

“Not many,” Rob shot back. “Not much she won’t do. Just won’t do it on camera.”

“You are a disgusting man,” I said.

“So they tell me,” Rob replied, unconcerned.

I turned and stalked from the room, Syn close behind me. When we reached the  parking lot, I finally let loose a guttural scream. Syn just waited as I paced back and forth in front of her car. I finally stopped and turned to Syn.

“That man!” was all I could manage to say.

“I’m sorry, Francie,” Syn offered. “I didn’t think he’d be helpful, even if he wanted to be.”

“People like that—“

“Believe me, I know. Let’s just go home.”

We got back into the car and began the video-game like maze back to Venice. Halfway there, my phone rang. Speaking of infuriating men…

“Francie? It’s Michael.”

“Oh, Michael, hi,” I responded, a little flustered for some reason.

“I just wanted to see if you’d had any luck finding your sister.”

“I’m afraid not.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry to hear that. You know, the foundation does a lot of work in LA. I know some people – you know, if you need some help.”

I was touched by the offer, although I couldn’t imagine why he would want to get involved in my family drama. In the end, of course, it didn’t matter. I didn’t want him, or Lila, in any way connected to such a sordid affair.

“No, thank you, Michael. I appreciate it, but I can handle it.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“No. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Well, when you’re ready, call m-my grandmother and we’ll send the jet for you.”

“No, really, that’s OK.”

“Francie, I – I’m sure my grandmother would want to help.”

“Yes, well, I—“ I couldn’t really think of a gracious way to refuse, and I wasn’t even entirely sure why I wanted to refuse anyway. “OK, thank you.”

I hung up the phone, my thoughts and emotions in even more turmoil than when I left Vivid. It took me a moment to realize that Syn was staring at me, while we were stopped at a light.

“What?” I asked.

“Who’s Michael?”

La La Land

The closer I got to Felicity’s apartment, the less I thought about Michael. Of necessity, my mind became fully occupied with wondering where Felicity was this time, and what I was going to have to do to get her out of trouble. I knew Lila was right. I had to cut the cord sometime and let Felicity handle her own problems. But, I just couldn’t bring myself to abandon her. I had looked after her all our lives, and I felt responsible for her. Even if she resented me for it, I felt like I owed it to our parents to make sure she was OK.

After paying the cab driver, I looked in distaste at the somewhat seedy Venice Beach apartment building Felicity had lived in on and off for the last two years. I knew she wasn’t making a ton of money as an actress, and that her primary source of income tended to be her boyfriends, but I still could not understand why she insisted on staying in a place like this. Yes, it was right on the beach, but I wasn’t convinced that location was worth the dirt and potent smell of pot coming from the “pharmacies” located on the boardwalk.

I climbed the stairs to the third floor apartment Felicity shared with her roommate, Synnove, and knocked loudly. When the door swung open, I couldn’t help but be a bit stunned. Despite having met her two or three times before, I am never quite prepared for the wonder that is Synnove Sadler.

At six feet tall, Synnove automatically has a commanding presence. But add her height to obscenely long black hair and a remarkable face and figure and, well, it just doesn’t seem fair that one woman looks like that. Synnove is the daughter of a Norwegian supermodel and a Harvard astrophysicist. And she was blessed with the best of both her parents. She has her dad’s genius IQ and he mother’s runway looks. And, for some reason I never understood, she decided to take all that and pursue a life of rejection in Hollywood. She was mildly more successful than Felicity – at least able to afford the rent on this apartment whenever Felicity flaked on her – but despite her unique appearance (or perhaps because of it), she had not yet found her big break.

“Francie, hi!” Synnove gushed as she quickly embraced me and pulled me into the apartment. “It’s so good to see you! How’ve you been?”

I couldn’t help but smile. Synnove had such an open and cheerful personality that she quickly put everyone at ease around her. “Hi, Syn,” I said. “I’m good. No word?”

Synnove shrugged as she led the way to the sofa. Syn’s choice to live in this rundown building made even less sense to me than Felicity’s because Syn had pretty high standards for herself. But Syn loved the beach. And at least the apartment itself was immaculate, although I noticed the door to what I remembered to be Felicity’s room closed tight. 

“Her majesty has yet to grace us mere mortals with her presence,” Syn said. “But my friend Melanie thought she might have seen Felicity at a party in the Hills two nights ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But Mel said she was with Rob Bennet, and Felicity and Rob have been seeing each other on and off over the past year.”

“I thought she was seeing that Lance guy.”

“Him too.”

I shook my head at the thought of my sister’s habit of moving from man to man, getting what she wanted from each of them. How had she and I turned out so differently? “Did Mel talk to her?”

“No. Just saw her across the room. Say, you want to take a walk?”

“Sure.” I grinned. Despite the slightly seedy atmosphere, Venice Beach did have a certain eclectic flair, and I always did enjoy a stroll down the boardwalk.

As we made our way past pharmacy after pharmacy, and through jugglers, guitar players and acrobats, I came to a decision. “This is the last time,” I said, stopping to look at a pair of sunglasses at a small booth.

Syn smiled her dazzling smile and shook her head. “You say that every year.”

“I know I do, but this time I mean it.”

Syn stopped smiling as she looked directly at me. “Huh – you do don’t you?”

“Yeah. Enough is enough. Felicity is a grown woman. She needs to take responsibility for her life. I can’t keep coming to her rescue.”

Syn smiled again. “Congratulations, Francie. It’s about time.”

“I guess so. What about you? You’ve had to put up with more of Felicity’s issues than I have over the last couple of years.”

“Well, you know, Felicity has her good points - when she’s not being a selfish bitch.” Syn shrugged. “But, I’m thinking of making some changes myself.”

“Really? Like what?” We came upon a small café and decided to stop for a drink. “Are you quitting acting?”

“Hah! You can’t quit something that you barely do!”

“But I thought you loved it.”

Leaning back in her chair, Syn gazed out over the beach. “I love LA. I love the beach. I don’t love cattle calls and casting couches.”

At that, I did a classic spit-take and stared at Syn. “Casting couch?” I managed to utter.

“Whoa! No! I’ve never actually gone that far. But it seems like the only callbacks I get are for sleazeball producers who want to screw me, not cast me.” Syn sighed. “It’s gotten me to thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that I may not be a very good actress.”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that. I’d seen plenty of crappy actors in plenty of crappy films. Syn was better than them! I resorted to this lame response: “You’re beautiful, Syn. You just need to keep at it. Don’t give up on your dream.”

Syn shook her head. “I’ve been at it for six years, and all I have is a couple of guest spots and some commercials. But, I have to tell you, Francie, I don’t feel like I’m giving up on a dream. I don’t think acting has ever been my dream.”

“Then why did you pursue it?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like a bit of a self-centered bitch myself, look at me. I spent my whole life with people telling me, ‘Be a model.’ Or ‘Be an actress.’ So I figured why not. I was bored at school. Hollywood seemed like a fun idea. But I think I’m over it. At least, as an actress.”

“Are you going back to school?” I knew Syn had dropped out of Harvard in her sophomore year, much to her father’s dismay. He’d probably be thrilled to have her go back to academia.

“No. Actually, I had a very different idea.” Syn grinned at me and leaned forward. “Actually, I’m really glad you’re here, Francie. You’re probably the only one who won’t think I’m totally crazy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you started your own, um, ‘unique’ business and didn’t care what anybody thought.”

I think that was a compliment. “You want to start a business?”

“Actually, I’ve already gotten started. I even had a mock up done of a flyer. Check it out.” With that, Syn reached in the pocket of her denim shorts, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. I opened it and read:

SYN’S CELEBRITY SAFARI

TOURS OF THE REAL HOLLYWOOD

SEE THE STARS IN THEIR NATURAL HABITAT!

All of this was set against a jungle background, featuring a Jeep with a leopard print paint job. Driving the Jeep was Syn herself, looking very, well…

“It’s very ‘Sheena, Queen of the Jungle’, don’t you think?”

Syn shrugged. “Hey, people have been exploiting my looks for years. It’s my turn. Besides, I won’t actually wear that. I’m thinking khaki shorts and button down top with, you know, a few strategic buttons undone. “ She settled back in her chair and stretched her long arms over her head. “Sex sells, Francie. You know that.”

“Not in my business,” I commented. “In my business, it’ll get you arrested.”

We both laughed so loud that anyone who wasn’t already ogling Syn looked our way. “Seriously,” Syn pressed, more quietly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Aren’t there a million celebrity tours out there?”

“Sure, but this one will be different. We won’t be looking at a bunch of walled estates. We’ll be roaming the jungle of the streets of Hollywood and Beverly Hills, looking for celebrities.”

“Isn’t that what the TMZ Tour does?”

“Yeah, but they don’t have tour guides that look like me. Like I said, it’s time for me to exploit my looks for once. And I have one secret weapon.”

“What’s that?”

“I know a lot of actors. A lot of unemployed or underemployed actors. Some of them are even mildly recognizable. The plan is to have surprise guest guides on some of the tours. And, for an extra fee, guests can go to lunch or dinner with a ‘star’.”

“I assume you’re using that term loosely?” I asked.

“Of course. But, everything’s relative, right? People know they aren’t going to meet George Clooney or Channing Tatum. But if I say, ‘Meet Joe. He was a background dancer in Magic Mike,’ little Sally Smith from Cornhusk, Nebraska, is going to be thrilled! And she’ll go home telling everyone she had lunch with a movie star.”

I shook my head. “It’s clever. A bit cynical, but clever.”

“Cynical Syn, that’s me. You know I got the whole idea from you.”

“From me?” I didn’t see how that was possible. Syn and I barely knew each other.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re amazing, Francie. You were left with nothing and you didn’t let it defeat you. And, you didn’t turn to rich boyfriends to bail you out either, like some people. You reinvented yourself. I really admire that. That’s what I want to do.”

I could tell Syn meant it, and I was honestly touched. “Thanks, Syn,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

“Well it’s true.” Syn flashed that brilliant smile of hers again. “I was especially inspired by your use of professional mourners. That’s what made me think of hiring my actor friends for these gigs.”

“You know,” I offered, a sudden thought striking me. “If you don’t mind some unsolicited advice - You may want to consider hiring some of your actor friends to position themselves on the tour route. Then you still have people to point out, even if you don’t spot any really famous people. After all, no one likes a safari when the animals don’t show up!”

“Brilliant! I knew you were the one to talk to.” Syn looked like she was about to say something else, but then her phone rang. I took the chance to check my own phone for emails, but looked up quickly when she said, “Where?” and “Keep her there. We’re on our way.”

“Is it Felicity?” I asked.

“Yeah. That was Mel. She said Felicity’s busking down on Hollywood Boulevard.”

“Are you serious?”

“Afraid so. Let’s go.”

It took us over an hour in typical LA traffic to get to the Chinese Theatre from Venice Beach, and I knew in my gut that Felicity would be gone. As Syn and I pushed our way through the crowds of tourists and celebrity impersonators, there was no sight of my sister. I trailed slightly behind Syn, who seemed to be heading for a Marilyn Monroe impersonator, and couldn’t help but think that this place was more than a world away from my comfort zone.

“Hey, Mel,” Syn said to Marilyn. “Where is she?”

“Sorry, Syn,” Mel said. “She was singing and taking pictures by The Carpenters’ star, but she left about twenty minutes ago.”

“You didn’t stop her?” I demanded. Mel just looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, sorry, Mel,” Syn said. “This is Felicity’s sister, Francie.”

“No kidding,” Mel replied.

Syn looked confused for a second and then said, “Oh, right. Twins.”

“Sorry, Francie. I tried to convince Felicity to stay but she wasn’t having much luck with the tourists. Guess Karen Carpenter isn’t much of a draw.”

“Well, she is dead,” I pointed out. Mel just stared at me again. “Oh, right,” I said. “Marilyn.”

“Yeah, well, anyway, I didn’t think you wanted me to tell her you were coming. Besides, I didn’t think she’d stay if I told her that anyway.”

“How did she look?” I asked.

“Honestly? Terrible. But from what Syn tells me she’s been on a bender for days, so I guess that’s not really a shock.”

As much as I expected to hear it, it still hurt to know Felicity was doing this to herself. And it was about to get worse. “I don’t suppose you know where she went?” I asked.

“Well, Michael Jackson said he thought she was staying with Captain Jack Sparrow. But I asked him and he said she was hanging out with the Scream guy. He’s not here today.”

“Do you know his real name?”

Mel snorted. “Babe, I don’t know the real names of any of these people. And that’s how I like it.” She stopped to pose for a picture with a young girl and her mother, who gave her ten bucks.  “Listen, I was just waiting for you guys to get here. I should get back to my star. I make a lot more there. And I need to make sure that other skank Marilyn doesn’t take my customers.”

“One more question,” I said.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What do you know about this guy she was with at the party the other day?”

Mel looked at me somewhat strangely, and then exchanged an even stranger look with Syn. “Rob Bennet, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much,” Mel said evasively.

“But you know him, right? You recognized him at the party.”

“Well, everyone knows Rob Bennet.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s a producer.”

“Mel,” Syn said, an edge to her voice.

Mel scowled. “What? It’s not like she couldn’t Google him.”

Now I was getting concerned. “Why? Who is this guy?”

Syn ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “He is a producer. But not, like, you know, a mainstream producer.”

“OK, so what does he produce? Independent films?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Mel interrupted. “Porn, Francie. Rob Bennet produces porn.”

Oh.

Cross Country Confusion

(To any readers still sticking with me - thank you, and welcome back!)

I have to admit, the last person I expected, or wanted, to see was Lauren Dawes. I liked Lauren. I really did. And that, of course, was the problem. I liked Lauren, and I had not done right by her. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on that now because Lauren was being her usual friendly self, and I had to try and act the same.

“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along to the airport, Francie,” Lauren said. “It’s ridiculously sappy of me, but I wanted to see Michael off.”

“It’s not sappy, “I countered. “It’s sweet.”

“Thanks. I thought so. But Michael seemed a bit weirded out by it.”

I looked sideways at Michael, who looked very uncomfortable. “Yeah,” I said. “Well, he doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

Lauren laughed, as I hoped she would, and we managed to maintain a relatively normal, light conversation for the rest of the ride. But, I have to say, when we finally got to the small commuter airport in White Plains, I was relieved. I didn’t know how much longer I could maintain the pretense. It was obvious the strain was taking its toll on Michael too - obvious to me at least.

When we got to the airport, I allowed the driver to help me with my bags as Lauren and Michael said their goodbyes. Of course, I watched out of the corner of my eye – how could I help it? By now I knew I had strong feelings for Michael. I had acted on them once, but I would not do so again. Still, I couldn’t help but spy a little bit.

Their parting was tender, but a bit hurried. They hugged, and Lauren kissed Michael, who still seemed a bit uncomfortable. She waved to me, and I waved back. Then I found myself hustled onto the private Finley Foundation jet.

As a mode of travel, I have to admit, private jets are the way to go. I didn’t have much experience with them personally. My family had been wealthy, but we had used commercial airlines when we traveled, since we only flew a couple of times a year for vacations. Keeping a jet was a needless expense, my mom had always said. Once or twice I’d had the chance to travel with a friend’s family on ski trips and Caribbean getaways. But it had been a very long time since I had traveled this way.

I settled into a swiveling leather chair and waited as Michael spoke with the pilot. He then sat down across from me, studiously avoiding my eyes, as he had done since I’d gotten in the car.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said. “I know it’s out of your way.”

“Not really,” he answered, finally looking at me. “I was going to the left coast anyway.”

“Yeah, but still. It’s an inconvenience. But Lila insisted.”

“Yes, well, that sounds like Grams. Don’t worry about it.”

And that was that. Beyond telling me to help myself to anything in the galley, we sat in total silence for the next two hours. Michael spread some piles of official-looking documents in front of him, and I watched a movie on my iPad. The entire time, though, I felt the specter of Labor Day weekend hovering between us.

“Look,” I said, when I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “This is ridiculous. We need to talk about what happened.”

“Francie—“ Michael began, but I wasn’t going to let him put me off.

“No. We’re not going to pretend it didn’t happen. I like Lauren, and I feel like crap over what we did.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t undo what we did, so what do you want? Besides, we didn’t do much. It was a kiss, that’s all.”

“It was a bit more than just a kiss.”  Wow. Was that really all he thought that was? If so, we had very different memories of Labor Day weekend.

“OK, yeah, it was. But we stopped it before it could go too far, so—“

“I stopped it,” I pointed out. “You were too drunk to stop it yourself.”

Michael winced a bit at that. “I was, and you’re right. I probably would have taken it further had you not stopped it. And I’m grateful for that. Because I would not have been able to forgive myself if it had gone any further.”

“Just out of curiosity, why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why?  Why would you have not been able to forgive yourself?” It was a stupid thing to ask, because I knew the answer would hurt, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

“Because I would have hurt Lauren.” Yep, there it was. “And I would have hurt you.”

OK, I hadn’t expected that. He actually was thinking about me. I knew I couldn’t assign more meaning to that thought than it deserved, but it still felt good that Michael was considering me as well.

“Still,” I said. “What we did would hurt Lauren too.”

“Are you saying you want me to tell her? Clear the air?”

“God, no! That’s the point – it would hurt her. She never needs to know. It was a drunken mistake and won’t be repeated. But I think it’s probably best if we don’t spend too much time together in the future.”

“That’s going to be difficult, with you working with my grandmother,” Michael pointed out.

“Granted, but we should try to keep our meetings to a minimum. I think we both know that we’re attracted to each other. But nothing can come of it. You’re with Lauren.  You’re getting married. And she deserves better from you.”

“You’re right. And I . . . want to do right by Lauren. But, Francie, I have to admit, if what we did hadn’t been so wrong, it would have been really, really right.”

That threw me for a second, and all I could do was stutter, “I – it doesn’t matter. It’s just m-more reason we need to stay away from each other.”

That was pretty much the end of conversation for most of the rest of the long transcontinental flight. Michael buried himself in his work, and I tried to get into a couple of more movies. But I couldn’t concentrate, so I tried to nap. But the conversation kept buzzing through my head and sleep was impossible.  Los Angeles had never seemed so far from New York as it did that day.

A few hours later, I was awakened from a semi-dozing state by a rhythmic tapping sound. I opened my eyes and looked across to where Michael sat, staring out the window, his pen tapping on top of the pile of paperwork. I sat up, glanced at my watch, and realized we must be getting close to LA. I opened my mouth to ask how much longer we had, but closed it again as I noticed an odd expression on Michael’s face. As I watched, he stopped tapping the pen and instead gripped it so tight that his knuckles turned white. Something was wrong here.

“Michael?” I began, a bit hesitantly. Clearly Michael’s thoughts had been very far away because at the sound of my voice, he jumped and the pen snapped in half in his hand. I hurried over with some napkins to wipe up the spilled ink before it could get all over his suit. “I’m sorry!” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Michael shook his head, as he tried to blot a puddle of ink off an official-looking document. He still seemed a bit distracted, but now he also seemed annoyed. But not at me. “It’s fine,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Everything OK?”

‘Yeah.” Michael’s sleeve hit the puddle of ink as he reached over it to grab another napkin. He cursed and threw the napkin and the papers to the floor. Then he sat back and closed his eyes. I returned to my seat and watched him, wondering what I should say. I decided that there was nothing I could really say, since I had no idea what was going on. So, I waited.

After a couple of minutes, Michael opened his eyes and looked over at me, a resigned and somewhat embarrassed expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Francie,” he said. “I’m being stupid.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.” I could tell Michael was struggling with whether or not he should tell me more. “It never leaves this plane,” I offered.

Michael smiled a little at that and the tension in his body relaxed a bit. Another minute or so passed before he said, “You know that my grandmother raised me, don’t you?”

I was a little taken aback at the question, so I hesitated a moment before answering. “Um, yes, Lila told me.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For your loss, I guess.” But I knew I was also apologizing for knowing something so personal about him. And he knew it too.

Michael shrugged. “It was a long time ago. But I still get uptight whenever I fly into the area.”

“I thought it happened up in San Francisco,” I said.

“The accident did, yeah. But they flew into LA first to spend a few days with some friends before Parents’ Weekend.” He shrugged again. “I guess it’s all interconnected in my head. I don’t know.”

Now I felt awful. It was my fault we were here, and these memories were surfacing. “I’m sorry,” I said. “If I had known, I would have never asked for the ride.”

Michael smiled again. “You didn’t ask for the ride. As I recall, Grams practically forced it on you.”

“But why would she if she knew—“

“She doesn’t know.”

“Oh.”

“No one does.”

“Oh. I see.” And I did. Not even Lauren knew about these particular hidden demons of Michael’s. And I was pretty sure I was the last person he wanted to expose them to. “Well, like I said. What happens on the plane, stays on the plane.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Michael stretched as if to shake off the tension enveloping him. “Anyway…”

I knew what that meant, and tactfully turned away. I picked up my iPad and pretended to watch another movie, leaving Michael to whatever thoughts were causing the faraway expression I saw when I snuck a look.

About thirty minutes later, we finally landed at the Burbank Airport. I assured Michael that I didn’t need a ride home, as I wasn’t sure how long I’d need to be in LA. I told him I didn’t want to inconvenience him, but we both knew that I just didn’t want him to have to come back to LA and revisit those difficult memories. After watching the Finley Foundation jet take off again, I grabbed a cab and headed to Felicity’s apartment, not knowing what awaited me when I got there.