Ciao (2 page)

I’m barely in the door at Fran’s apartment
when I realize that Mrs. Bishop is on some kind of tirade. As she lets me in, her cheeks are flushed and she’s all worked up about something. “Come in, come in,” she says in an aggravated tone.

“Mother’s been trying to convince me to go home with her,” Fran tells me from the sofa. She’s wearing a forced smile and her eyes look tired.

“Only because it makes perfect sense.” Mrs. Bishop is pacing back and forth between the tiny dining area and the living room. “I could care for you in the convenience of my own home and—”

“It would be convenient for you, Mother. Not for me.” Fran is pushing herself to her feet, and I can tell she’s struggling. I rush over to help, giving her my arm to pull herself up.

“We have excellent doctors and medical facilities in Boston.” Mrs. Bishop stops walking, staring at us as I’m guiding Fran toward her room.

“I think Fran might need to go to bed,” I say.

“Yes. Fine.” Mrs. Bishop waves her hand in the way a queen might dismiss a servant. Then she follows as I slowly walk Fran down the short hallway. “But I want you to listen to me, Fran. There is nothing you have here in Los Angeles, well except for this stinking heat, that we don’t have in Boston.”

“Boston can get hot—”

“It’s not hot now. I just spoke to your father and he says it’s in the midseventies and there’s a nice breeze—”

“Yes, Mother, and I’m glad the weather is nice there. But the point is, my doctors are
here.
And I’m scheduled to—”

“We have the finest doctors in the world in Boston, Francis Marie, and you know it.”

We’ve arrive in Fran’s bedroom, and I’m hoping that Mrs. Bishop will back off, but she doesn’t. Whether it’s the LA heat or her Bostonian stubbornness, this woman is relentless tonight. Finally, with Fran sitting breathlessly on the edge of her bed, I turn to Mrs. Bishop. “I know you love your daughter, but right now Fran needs some rest. So maybe you could have this conversation with her another time—when she’s stronger.”

Mrs. Bishop’s brows arch, but fortunately she takes the hint and leaves the room. “Sorry,” I say to Fran as I help her lie down, “I didn’t mean to sound so bossy, but—”

“Bossy?” Fran lets out a weary chuckle as she leans back. “Who are you kidding? My mom wrote the book on bossy.”

“Well, I just thought you needed a break.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “I did. Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Just some water and my pills over there on the dresser.” “How about something to go along with the pill?” I ask as she puts one in her mouth. I know how irritated her stomach
has been since starting chemo again. “A little toast and yogurt maybe?”

She shrugs then washes the pill down with a sip of water.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say as she sets the water glass on her bedside stand. Then I return to the living room, where Mrs. Bishop has resumed her pacing. She reminds me of a bird. Not a dainty sort of bird—more like a chicken, with her rounded body and thin legs. And the jerky way she moves about, almost as if she’s pecking, is kind of hen-like too.

“I’m getting Fran a snack,” I tell her.

“She already had dinner.”

“Great.” I nod. “But it’s good for her stomach to have a little food with her medicine.” “I suppose.”

As I wait for the bread to turn to toast, I attempt to talk some sense into Mrs. Bishop. “You know, Fran is comfortable here in her apartment … and with her doctors and Cedars-Sinai, and I don’t think it would be in her best interest to move her just now.”

“How old are you?” Mrs. Bishop demands out of the blue.

I blink. “Nineteen.”

She laughs. “You’re nineteen, with a role in a kids’ reality show? What makes you think you’re an expert on how to make my daughter well?”

Just then the toast pops up, and I distract myself by applying a very thin layer of butter, the way Fran likes it. I cut it into fourths and set it on a small plate. Then with the yogurt in one hand and the toast in the other, I face this outspoken woman. “It’s true, I’m young. And I’m not an expert,” I say evenly. “But I really do care about your daughter.”

“Humph.” She gives me a skeptical look. “I’m guessing
you care more about your job and that Fran is your meal ticket than you do—”

“Excuse
me.” I lock eyes with her, ready to hurl some facts at her. But instead I walk away. I take Fran’s snack into her room, closing the door a little too loudly behind me.

“Let me guess,” Fran says in a weary voice. “Mother is setting her sights on you now.”

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry.”

“Just eat what you can,” I say as I arrange the food on the tray and set it on her bed. I sit down and give her the update on Paige and Dylan. Naturally, I pad the story, making it seem more pleasant and hopeful than it really is. I suspect Fran knows there’s more to it, but I decide perhaps this is a game we both have agreed to play … the Pollyanna game. At least until she’s better. I just hope that she
will
get better. I’m praying (and asking everyone else to pray too) that the transplant will work and turn things around for her. Because I have a feeling if things don’t turn around, Fran won’t last too long. I wonder if Fran’s mom thinks about that.

When I’m sure that Fran’s asleep I tiptoe out and find, to my relief, that Mrs. Bishop is not around. I suspect by the sound of the television that she’s retired to the guest room for the evening. I let myself out, locking the door behind me. Then as I’m walking to my car I hit speed dial, finally returning Blake’s call from earlier this evening.

“Hey, Erin.” Blake’s tone is warm and friendly.

I tell him where I am and what I’ve been doing, and he invites me to meet him for coffee on my way home. “Maybe an iced coffee,” I say as I get into my Jeep.

“Great. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

I tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. As I’m driving, I get curious. What is it that he wants to talk to me about? It’s not like we don’t talk a lot these days. In fact, since I got home from the Bahamas, we’ve been in closer contact than ever. I realize it’s partly the result of the letter I wrote him, apologizing and confessing that I have some fears and inhibitions when it comes to relationships. It’s like when I opened up to him, it opened a new door in our friendship. And now he wants to specifically talk about something.

It seems only natural to suppose that he wants to talk about us. Before I broke it off with him, he’d wanted to elevate our relationship to the next level. I’m curious if that’s what he wants now. In some ways, I think I’d be open to committing to an exclusive relationship with him now. In fact, that might actually simplify life a bit. Like I’d know he was there for me, and I’d be there for him. No more playing games and guessing. Really, I’m thinking as I pull into a parking spot near Starbucks, that might be pretty cool.

“Hey, there you are!” Blake hugs me, kissing me on the cheek.

“How was work?” I ask as we go inside and get in line. Blake’s been working this summer for an uncle with a landscaping business.

“Hot and grueling,” he admits.

“But look at that tan,” I say as I touch his cheek. “Hopefully you’re using sunscreen.”

He nods. “Yeah, my mom’s been all over me about that.”

We order our iced mochas then go sit down. Blake is grinning like he’s got a sweet secret and I’m dying of curiosity, but I don’t want to be pushy. Instead, I tell him about Fran’s pushy mother. “She actually thought I was being nice to Fran
just to secure my job. She said Fran was my meal ticket. Can you believe that?”

He laughs. “That just shows you how wrong the poor woman is.”

“I guess.” I smile at him. I’m not sure if it’s just me or his tan or the fact that his hair is longer than usual, but it seems like Blake gets more handsome each day. I’m about to mention this when our mochas are ready and Blake goes to get them.

As he’s walking back, I decide that if he is about to ask me to be in an exclusive relationship with him, I will definitely, absolutely, say yes!

“Here you go, my lady.” He sets my drink in front of me and sits down.

I take a sip. “Mmm … delish. Thanks!”

“And I’ll bet you’re wondering why I asked you here tonight.”

“Yeah.” I give him a hopeful smile and wait.

“Well, Ben called me this afternoon.”

I blink. “Ben? Benjamin Kross?”

He smiles. “Yeah. Who else?”

I shrug and try not to show my disappointment, which is twofold. One part is that I suspect this conversation is not going to be about our relationship after all, and another part is that I really wish Blake and Ben would go their separate ways. It was sweet that Blake befriended Ben at first—back when Paige and Ben were dating, and when Ben needed a friend after Mia Renwick — Ben’s reality show co-star—died. But when I saw him in France, it seemed that Ben was intent on returning to his selfish, shallow ways, and I can’t imagine how Blake has any positive influence on him.

“Anyway …” Blake smiles broadly. “Ben’s in on the ground floor of a new reality show.”

“A new reality show … just what this world needs,” I say in a cynical tone that I instantly regret.

His smile fades. “So, it’s okay for you and Paige to have a reality show, but no one else?”

“Sorry. That was just my exhaustion showing.” I force a smile.

“Okay.” He nods. “So anyway, Ben and his producer have been pitching this new show and it sounds like this one network is really interested, and—guess what?”

“I have no idea.”

“Ben’s invited me to be part of it.” Blake is beaming now. “Can you believe that?”

I’m trying to wrap my head around all this. Ben wants Blake to be part of his reality show? “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It would be so cool, Erin. For starters, I could quit working for my uncle—talk about slave labor. Do you know how miserable it is to do yard work in this heat? Plus, I’ll be able to make enough money to go to film school. I mean, later on, after the TV show ends.”

I nod. I know how unhappy Blake’s been with his dad’s pressure to get a “real” degree. And how disappointing his first year of college was. Going to film school was Blake’s dream even before it became mine. It seems that both our dreams got put on hold last year.

“Wow.” I try to make a genuine-looking smile. “That’s cool, Blake. Tell me about the show.” It takes all my self-control not to rain on this parade, or jump to negative conclusions, or to point out that party-boy Benjamin Kross’s show will probably end up a train wreck.

“It’s called
Celebrity Blind Date.”

“Celebrity Blind Date?”

“Yeah. There’ll be an ongoing cast of guys and girls who are semi-known, you know, kinda celebrities — like B-listers.” He chuckles. “Actually they’re more like C- or D-listers. And with the aid of a computer dating service, which will be one of the show’s sponsors, they’ll go on blind dates.”

“Real blind dates?”

“Well, as real as anything can be in reality TV. Naturally, the cameras will be around, but Ben wants them to be sort of incognito. And at the beginning and ending of each episode the daters—”

“The daters?”

“You know, the regular cast — the pseudocelebs. Anyway, they’ll gather somewhere, like a restaurant or club, and they’ll discuss the dates—like what went wrong or right or whatever.”

“It actually sounds like an interesting premise.” “It is!” His face lights up.

“And so did you tell Ben you would do this—for sure?” I’m hoping there’s still a chance for Blake to escape the crazy world of reality TV.

“I told him I wanted to think about it.”

“And what
do
you think?” It’s a silly question, because I can tell by his expression that he’s already on board.

“It’s a huge opportunity, Erin. I think I want a piece of the action.” He gets a thoughtful look. “But I’m curious … what do
you
think about it?”

“Really?”

“Sure, you’re my best friend, Erin. I want your opinion.”

“Well …” I pause to consider my words. I don’t want to ruin this for him. “You know how a reality show can mess with your life, Blake. You’ve seen the kinds of trials Paige and
I have gone through. And that being in the spotlight comes with a price.”

“I know.” He nods. “I’ve had a front row seat, Erin. I’m well aware of the downside of the business. I’d be going in with my eyes wide open.”

“Well, at least as wide open as possible,” I caution. “But you never know what’s around the next corner, Blake. I mean, even this thing with Paige and Dylan—it’s really a by-product of our show.”

“Are you saying Paige wouldn’t have gotten her heart broken if you guys weren’t doing the show?” He studies me closely.

“Hmm … good point.”

“Life is life, Erin. Whether it’s on film or on the streets, it happens. And this blind date show —well, I’ll admit it’s not going to save the planet, but I still think it’ll be good fun. And it will look great on my résumé for film school.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

“So anyway. I think I’ll call Ben and tell him to count me in.”

“What will your dad say about this?”

Blake frowns. “Oh, you know, he’ll give me his free lecture about the real world and how I need a real job—but I’m sure he’ll back off once he sees my mind is set.”

Seeing his mind
is
set, I decide not to point out any more potential pitfalls to his plan. “So when do you think it’ll go into production?”

“Assuming the network gives him the thumbs-up, Ben said he wants to get it rolling as soon as possible. He’s worried that someone else might try to snatch his idea.”

“I’m curious, Blake. How do you see your faith playing into the whole thing?”

“My faith is part of who I am, Erin. And Ben actually appreciates that too. He said he wants me to be up front with it. It’ll provide some interesting contrast within the show.”

“Like you’ll be the angelic boy amidst all the little devils?”

He chuckles. “Maybe not quite like that. But Ben wants to have a diverse cast.”

“Meaning it won’t just be a bunch of the old
Malibu Beach
kids—the ones who’ve outgrown that show?”