Hello, Hollywood! (3 page)

Lovely. I wasn’t sure which made me more nervous—being named after a virgin saint or the aunt everyone hated.

Mama signed for the letter and held it to her chest for a moment, her eyes closed. My father took the opportunity to extend the welcome mat to the postman, offering him a free gyro and a cup of Greek coffee. Within a minute, the frazzled fellow was seated at one of the little tables in the corner, a contented look on his face.

“Mama, come. Sit.” I ushered her to a small table, away from the growing crowd in the shop. She took a seat on the tiny wooden chair, her ample frame causing the chair to creak. Extending my hand, I offered to open the envelope for her.

“Would you?” she asked, her hands shaking. “With so many relatives left in the old country, I’m a nervous wreck at times like these. Heaven only knows what kind of news this letter holds.” Mama’s lips began to move, and I could tell she was praying. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she drew her hands to her chest. “Read it, Athena. I can take it, whatever it is.”

“If it’s bad, you would have received a call,” I reminded her. “One of the cousins would have phoned you, for sure.” Never one to show much patience, I yanked open the flap on the envelope.

My mother’s eyes popped open, and suddenly she was all business again. “Careful!” She gestured dramatically with her hands. “Don’t tear the stamps. I like to keep them for old times’ sake.” She went off on a tangent about how precious the stamps from the old country were to her, what significance they held.

“Okay, okay.” I did my best to avoid the large, colorful stamps as I pulled out the letter. It appeared to be several pages thick. Unfolding it, I took a look at the handwritten message . . . all in Greek. Hmm. I could speak the language. Mostly. But reading it was another thing altogether. Unlike most good Greek girls, I hadn’t gone to Greek school as a kid. What I’d learned about the language had come directly from my parents and other relatives.

“I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.” Mama reached for the letter with a trembling hand. “Mean-Athena.” She shivered and clutched the note to her chest, then whispered, “She torments me even from the grave.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Read it.”

Mama’s eyes scanned the note, and the hard expression softened a bit as she turned the page. By the time she finished reading, my mother had tears in her eyes. “Oh, praise the Lord. The old girl must’ve softened near the end. It’s a miracle.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Mama sniffled. “This is a wonderful letter.” She passed it my way, pointing to a certain line near the bottom of the second page. “And look. She’s sending me a gift.”

“From heaven?” I asked.

“No.” Mama giggled. “It’s obviously something she arranged before she died.” I watched as my mother skimmed the final page, then folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. She dabbed her eyes. “This is God’s grace and mercy on our household,” she said in Greek. “He revisits us with kindness to repay all of the evil Athena bestowed during my childhood. God rest her soul.”

Okay. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I had to know. “What was the deal with Aunt Athena not liking you, anyway? What was her problem?”

Mama’s eyes brimmed over. “When my parents came to America to open this shop, they didn’t have money for all of us to travel, so they left me with Aunt Athena. I was just eleven at the time and still in school, so it made sense to leave me behind, I suppose. It was only for a season, and people did that all the time back then. It was perfectly normal.”

“Why would that make her despise you?” I asked.

Mama shrugged. “My father always said the man she loved didn’t care for the idea of a child in the mix. He left her not too long after she took me in. I think she blamed me for the breakup. Maybe he would’ve stuck around if not for me. I guess we’ll never know. But I’ve always felt guilty for something I had no control over.”

“Unrequited love.” I sighed, knowing all too well what
that
felt like. Still, how could my aunt turn against my mother? “You were just a child at the time. And you weren’t going to be there forever. Only until your parents could afford to bring you to the States. Right?”

“Yes, but I always felt bad that—”

Unfortunately, Mama never made it any further into the conversation. I heard someone call out, “Athena!” and I looked up to discover my best friend, Kat, had arrived. So had her elderly grandmother, Lenora Worth Henderson, who sported a rhinestone-studded ball gown. Not unusual for the eccentric seventy-something, but a little out of place at Super-Gyros.

Mama’s eyes grew wide and I whispered, “I’ll explain later.”

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m coming along, Athena,” Lenora called out in her singsong voice. “It’s been simply ages since I had my nails done.” She held out a shaky, wrinkled hand to show off her bare nails. “The last time, Doris and I went together. Oh, we had such a wonderful time.”

“Doris?” my mother asked.

“Doris Day, of course,” Lenora said. “She’s making movies now, you know.” Off she went on a tangent, talking about Doris Day’s supposed upcoming movie with Rock Hudson, one that was bound to delight viewers.

Mama’s eyes grew wider, and she whispered into my ear, “Hope she doesn’t scare the customers.”

I did notice a few people looking Lenora’s way. A couple seemed to recognize her—she was a regular on
Stars Collide
, after all—but a few just looked puzzled. I would’ve taken them aside to explain, but how did one go about explaining Lenora Worth Henderson, anyway?
Aging Hollywood star. Beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. Married to Rex Henderson, our show’s producer.
My smile never wavered as Lenora carried on about her friendship with Doris Day. By the time she finished the story, she had us all—family and customers—believing Doris and Rock had just wrapped up filming on
Pillow Talk
.

“Remarkable,” my mother said, looking as if she bought every word. “I predict it’s going to be a big hit.” She gave me a little wink, and I nodded in agreement.

“Oh, I hope so! Doris deserves it. She’s a lovely lady, and has such great morals too. Quite an example for the young people of today.” Lenora giggled and turned to Kat. “Well, girlie, we’d better get this show on the road. I promised Lucy and Desi that Rex and I would swing by their house tonight for appetizers. Desi makes the most wonderful gazpacho soup. You’ve never tasted anything like it. Very Cuban.” Off she went on another tangent, giving us details about the meal she planned to share with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.

“Sounds wonderful,” my mother said, still playing along. “You’ll have to get the recipe so we can carry it in the store.” I almost bought the convincing smile that followed.

Thank you, Mama, for being so good to her.
Not everyone would have taken the time to treat Lenora with such care, but my mother, God bless her, had a knack.

“Exquisite idea.” Lenora clasped her hands together and looked around Super-Gyros. “What a lovely setting you have for a romance here,” she said, turning to me with a playful wink. “I always say there’s nothing more powerful than good food to spawn a romance.”

“Amen to that,” my mother and sister echoed.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the words
spawn
,
food
, and
romance
being used in the same sentence. Made me a little queasy. So did the stares from all of the married folks. They seemed to be boring holes through me as the word
romance
was spoken.
Okay, people. Enough already. I’ll fall in love again. Someday. With someone who isn’t a jerk. In the meantime, please trust that God has everything in my life under control.

“Athena says she’s happy single.” My father approached and drew me into his arms, then planted a kiss on my forehead. “So leave her be, everyone.”

I’d never seen a group of people deflate so quickly.

He leaned over and whispered “
Gnothi seauton
” into my ear. I knew the English translation—“Know yourself”—but had a feeling he was trying to share something a little more than that. With a hoarse whisper, my father conveyed his real meaning. “Just be yourself, Athena. Don’t worry about what others think. When you stand before God, he won’t be asking for the opinions of those around you.”

I nodded and gave him a kiss on the cheek. We said our goodbyes and headed to the door. As we did, Kat drew near and whispered, “What’s with that ‘Athena is happy single’ line? Are you telling me you wouldn’t jump at the chance to fall in love? I don’t believe that for a moment.”

“Oh, well, I . . .” I couldn’t seem to finish my sentence because, in that very moment, the handsomest man I’d ever seen brushed past me in the doorway, interrupting my thoughts. He was tall, dark, and definitely superhero material, right down to the broad shoulders and confident stride.

For a moment our eyes met and we both paused. Well, I paused. I think maybe he stopped because I stepped on his foot. Regardless, he hesitated long enough for me to get another look at those rich brown eyes and that hint of a dimple on the left side of his gorgeous lips. He raked a hand through those thick dark waves and flashed a smile so bright it nearly blinded me. Okay, maybe it was the glare coming from the reflection of the sun against the glass pane in the door, but still . . .

“I’m so sorry.” I pulled my foot back.

“No problem.” His smooth voice captivated me at once. So did the dimples, now clearly visible.

Wow. Maybe I would have to reconsider my stance on men. Or better yet . . . figure out some way to write this modern-day Adonis into my life story. Not that I was actually the one writing my life story, of course.
Snap out of it, Athena. Focus.

“Come along, pretty girls!” Lenora’s voice rang out, and she gave me a little nudge. “We’ve got places to go, people to see.”

“O-okay.” Honestly, the only person I wanted to see was my story’s potential hero, but he’d just disappeared into the mob of people inside my parents’ store. With life—and Lenora—pressing me forward, any romantic scenes I might’ve written slipped right out of my head. Oh well. There would be plenty of time to pencil in a hero later. I hoped. In the meantime, I’d stick with the line that I didn’t need a man in my life. Everyone seemed to be buying it, anyway.

Well, everyone but Kat. She gave me a look that said, “I saw that, Athena,” before stepping through the door. Yep, she was definitely on to me. Oh well. What were best friends for, if not to see into your heart?

I flashed a smile and dove into a senseless conversation, first about the weather, then about Lenora’s beautiful pink convertible parked at the curb. Kat continued to give me that “I’m not buying it” look, but I did my best to ignore her.

After climbing into the backseat, I turned once more toward the shop and released a lingering sigh as I realized something—or someone—wonderful might have just slipped through my fingers.

So long, Adonis. Great meeting you . . . even if it was only for a moment.

On Monday morning I arrived at the studio with my arms loaded. Mama had insisted upon sending goodies from the shop, as always. Not that I minded. Bob and Paul had taken to calling Monday Feed the Starving Writers Day. Bringing the food made for a lovely way to kick off the week, and it also gave my parents the opportunity to pass off unsold products to hungry souls in need. Not that Bob and Paul were in need, necessarily, but they did always seem to be hungry.

I found the office door wide open. Stepping inside, I made my usual Monday morning proclamation: “I come bearing gifts!” Then I waved the bags so they could see just how much I loved them.

I did love them, of course. They were crazy and had stinky-boy feet, and they drove me nuts at times, but we were family. And family events always focused on food. Well, at least my family events.

“Mmm. Thought you’d never get here.” Bob rose from the sofa, placed his laptop on the coffee table, and headed my way. “What did you bring this time, Athena? Sandwiches? And more of those olives, I hope. They’re great.”

“And that Greek salad I love?” Paul asked, reaching for the bags. “The one with the feta cheese and red onions? Hope you didn’t forget that.”

“Yep. Got it all.” Passing off the bags, I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted. “We’ve got a busy week ahead of us, guys. I need you to be well fed and happy.”

“Busier than usual?” Bob’s brow wrinkled as he placed a bag on the coffee table and began to dig inside. He came out with a jar of kalamatas, which he promptly opened. “What’s up?” He popped an olive in his mouth. Then a second. “Something happen we need to know about?” he said with a full mouth.

“Have you heard something from the man upstairs?” Paul asked, the creases between his eyes deepening.

“Man upstairs?” I had to wonder if Paul had finally had that religious experience I’d been praying for.

He pointed up to the ceiling. “Rex just moved into the office above ours this morning, remember?”

“Ah.” I wanted to laugh at the image that presented, but I found myself distracted. The funny stuff would have to wait until after I shared the latest news with the guys. I reached to close the door, in case any of the cast or crew happened by, then turned to face the guys head-on. “We have a lot to talk about. I spent Saturday with Kat.”

“Oh?” Bob glanced my way and shrugged. “What’s up?”

“Well, she shared a few things with me. Personal stuff. I asked if she minded if I told you guys and she said no.”

“Spill the beans, Athena,” Paul said.

“She said that Rex is going through a really anxious spell right now. So much so that she’s worried about his blood pressure.”

“What’s he so anxious about?” Paul asked as he unloaded the bag with the large salad container. “The show?”

“Yes. Ratings have slipped a little.”

“Again?” Paul groaned.

“Yes. He’s worked up about Lenora too. The doctor had to up her Alzheimer’s meds. So according to Kat, Rex is feeling pretty frazzled right now.” I released a slow breath, determined to make the most of this rough situation. “I think we need to give him the best possible script this week. He loved the variety show bit in the last script, but we’ve got to do better than that. Got to move the plot along. Maybe do something daring.”

“Daring, huh?” Paul sank into a chair and opened the salad container. He reached for an onion and popped it in his mouth.

“I thought of something that will help us get inspired,” I said. “We should watch some old
Dick Van Dyke
episodes.”

“Great idea,” Bob said. “I know my favorite, but what’s yours?”

I thought about that for a moment before answering. There were so many to choose from, after all.

“I love that one where Rob finds out Laura lied to him about her age when they got married. Classic. By the end of it, you found yourself rooting for both of them. That’s the goal, really, to pull the viewers into the story and somehow get them to empathize with both the hero and the heroine. If you can do that, you’ve got a great show on your hands.”

“My favorite is that one where Laura thinks her romance with Rob is fading, so she dyes her hair blonde.” Paul slapped his knee. “Did you see that one?”

“Of course,” Bob said. “And what about the walnut one? Was there ever a better one than that? No way.”

We all started laughing at the memory of Rob Petrie opening his coat closet and being swallowed alive by thousands of walnuts.

“Talk about a great show. It not only lasted for countless seasons, it’s still being enjoyed today,” I said. “That’s what we’re looking for with
Stars Collide
—something that will stand the test of time.”

“I’ve got the perfect idea,” Bob said with a twinkle in his eye. “Been thinking about it a while. You’re gonna love it, and I really think it will help the show go down in history.”

“Oh?” Paul and I both said. I was always interested in a great idea.

Bob popped another olive in his mouth, then spoke around it. “Jack and Angie should have a baby.”

“How can they have a baby?” I argued as I dropped into my usual spot on the chair next to the sofa. “They’ve only been married a couple of months. It’s too soon for her to have a baby.”

“No, I mean they find out they’re going to have a baby,” he said. “I know it hasn’t been long since the honeymoon ended, but adding a baby to the mix ups the ante on several levels, and that’s what we need right now. Tension. Conflict.”

“Good point. Good stories are built on conflict,” Paul chimed in from the chair behind the desk. He took a bite of the salad—using his fingers, naturally—and a look of pure bliss settled over him. I rose and handed him a fork, which he took with a grunt. If the guy was going to gulp down a Greek salad for breakfast, he needed to do it with a utensil, at the very least.

“Babies add a
lot
of conflict to our lives.” Bob spoke the words as if he’d experienced this firsthand.

“Well, yes,” I managed. “But . . .”
A baby?

“If we introduce the pregnancy near the beginning of the season, we could rush things along and she could actually have the baby before the season ends.”

“You really have given this some thought.”

“Yep. I think it’s a great idea. And can you even imagine the fun we could have when we get to that scene where she’s ready to have the baby? It could be hysterical.”

Obviously you’ve never had a baby.

I thought about his idea as I settled back into my chair. It might work, but how would Kat take the news that she’d have to spend this season wearing a faux baby bump under her clothes? And how would the viewers respond to the news that the couple had transitioned from “just married” to “married with children” in such a short time? Would they buy it?

I didn’t have much time to think through my concerns. With the ideas ping-ponging back and forth between the two guys, I felt like I’d been caught up in the middle of a Pac-Man game gone berserk. Someone needed to stop this train of thought before we completely derailed the show.

“Guys, I—”

“Oh, what about this,” Paul interrupted, his eyes widening. “We can set up the ‘Angie’s Having a Baby’ episode just like the old
I Love Lucy
one, where Lucy tried a hundred different ways to tell Ricky she was expecting. Remember? Something always went wrong.”

“Yes, but—”

“In the end, she went to the Copa Cabana and gave him the news in the middle of his performance.” Paul wiped his mouth on the edge of his sleeve. “That was one of the highest-rated episodes in television history, by the way. Maybe we can match it. Really push the ratings up for our show in the process. Our sponsors would love that.” He began to carry on about the sponsors, but he lost me after a couple of minutes.

“There’s no Copa Cabana in our sitcom,” I said. “So I don’t follow.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point. Angie’s news about the pregnancy just needs to be revealed in a public setting. That’s all I meant. Someplace where Jack is caught off guard. Comedy is always better when the characters—and the viewers—are caught off guard.”

“Well, I know, but—”

“Great idea.” Bob rose and began to pace the room, olive jar in hand. “Let’s think it through. Maybe they’re in a restaurant—Cuban, so the viewers will make the connection—and the bandleader sings ‘We’re Having a Baby,’ the song that Ricky sang to Lucy when he got the news.” Bob swallowed another kalamata whole.

“Ooo, better idea,” Paul said. “The children they represent through the talent agency can all be there, hiding in the wings. They can sing the song to Jack.”

I shook my head. “How will Jack know the song is a message to him from Angie? Besides, it’s too creepy to imagine a group of children singing ‘We’re Having a Baby.’” A shiver ran down my spine at the very idea.

Paul sighed. “Okay, fine.”

Bob pursed his lips for a moment. “Maybe Angie can give Jack the news—minus the kids—and then the bandleader calls him up to the stage to sing the song.”

“Who do we get to play the bandleader?” I asked, almost caught up in the idea. “It’s got to be someone who can look, act, and sing like Desi Arnaz if we stand a shot at pulling this off.”

Not that I think we can pull this off, just for the record. But I’ll play along if it will make you two happy.

Bob snapped his fingers. “I know! George Lopez.”

“George Lopez the comedian?” I asked. “Does he sing?”

“Who cares?” Bob said. “He’ll only have to sing a line or two, then he’ll call Jack up onto the stage to finish the song. He’s going to be perfect.”

“I’m still not sure about this,” I said. “Besides, if we use a recorded song, we’ll have to pay royalties. That’s problematic.”

“We use recorded music all the time.” Paul gave me a pensive look. “Besides, advertisers pay for all that stuff. So what’s the big deal?”

“You don’t like this idea, Athena?” Bob asked.

I shrugged, unsure of how I felt right now. With so much coming at me so fast, maybe I just needed time to process it. If we threw Angie into a pregnancy, it would change absolutely everything about the dynamics of the show. Did we want to do that? All to bring the ratings up? Would it even work, or would it backfire on us?

“I think we need to slow down a minute,” I said after thinking things through. “I’m not sure the time is right to add a pregnancy this season. It’s not settling well with me, and I’ll bet it won’t go over well with Rex either.” I could only imagine the look on his face if we tried to pass on this news to him. We could very well throw him into a panic. Then again, he was the one who’d pushed to get Angie and Jack hitched last season. Maybe he’d love this idea.

“Have some olives.” Bob passed the jar my way. “Nothing like a kalamata to break down your defenses so we can talk you into this.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “It’s a brilliant idea, Athena. Admit it. Solves so many problems and increases our opportunity ten times over. Maybe a hundred.”

The two guys rambled on and on about Kat—er, Angie’s—baby. A boy. Somewhere along the way Bob started calling him “Little Ricky.”

I sat in my chair, mouth closed, completely zoned out. I somehow managed to finish off the jar of olives—well, all but one—along with three cookies. Okay, four. But who would notice? The guys were off in sitcom land, rewriting the old black-and-white television shows from days gone by. Me? I just wanted to keep this modern-day show alive. And I wasn’t sure that impregnating the sitcom’s female lead was the way to go about it. Not that I had any better ideas.

At some point Bob took a seat on the sofa next to me and kicked off his shoes. His stinky, sock-covered feet landed on the coffee table just inches from where I sat. From the look—and smell—of things, those socks hadn’t been changed in a couple of days. Disgusting. Who could think with that sort of distraction?

I squeezed my eyes shut, ready to focus on a plan of action, one we could all live with. Strange, I could only see Kat—er, Angie—with a baby bump. She would kill me if we went through with this. And no telling what Lenora would do. In her current state of mind, she would probably think Kat was really pregnant. Did we want to stir up that kind of drama? My mind reeled as I contemplated the complications this plot twist could cause.

“Athena? You still with us?” Paul drew near and knelt at my side. “You haven’t said anything for the last several minutes.”

Thank goodness I didn’t have to answer. The phone rang, startling me. I picked it up and recognized Rex’s voice.

“Athena, I’m headed down to your office in a few minutes,” he said. “Lots going on, so we need to talk. Gather the troops.”

“Talk? About what?” My heart began to race.

“Big news from network execs,” he said. “It’s important that we get some things settled, okay?”

“O-okay.” I hung up the phone, more unnerved than ever.

“Who was that?” Bob asked.

I managed only three words: “The man upstairs.” My thoughts gravitated to our sitcom characters, Angie and Jack. What sort of parents would they be? Would they offer their children the ideal home environment, like my mom and dad had, or would they argue and fight over every little thing?