The Starfish Sisters: A Novel(65)
Oops, my parents are back! It’s our last night, and we’re going to dinner.
Love,
Phoebe Later— I am crying so hard I can hardly see to write this, and I want to call you, but my parents won’t let me.
THEY ARE GETTING DIVORCED!!! My mom is moving to LA and wants me to live there with her, but I won’t move. I swear I will not move. My dad is staying in Portland because he has a job there, but he won’t keep the house because it’s too expensive for one person to pay for.
I feel so mad! So betrayed! Why did we have to have this big fun trip if it was only going to end like this? They’ve been getting along so well, so why not give it another try? They said they’ve been trying and it’s not working, and they will give me the summer with my grandmother to figure things out.
But I don’t want to figure things out! I want them to stay together and live in Portland and keep my beautiful bedroom. I don’t want things to change like this. I’m SO SO SO SO SO MAD! I wish you were here.
Love,
Phoebe
CURRENT DAY
Chapter Eighteen
Suze
When I return home, it’s only Maui and me. Walking up to the house I’ve previously loved, I try to talk myself into feeling safe. It’s the scorpion problem. When we filmed in Mexico, I loved the landscape, the villa, but once I found a scorpion in the bathroom, and forever after, that room was ruined.
The squirrel, the raving guy at the Pig ’N Pancake, and the paint on my house are like the scorpion. They’ve ruined my fragile peace of mind. With Maui at my side, we round the exterior of the house, and then, inside, we make a map of the rooms, looking in closets and under beds, checking locks. Yul Brynner joins us, tail high and fluffy.
When it is established that the house is secure, I give both animals a treat, then wash my sandy feet and brush my hair. It’s still very long, longer than is fashionable for sure, but I’ve let it start to gray and I love the way the blonde and gray weave together. I rummage around the cupboards and fridge for something I can eat, and there’s little. At home in LA, I order food most of the time, but there’s also a woman who comes to cook for me three times a week, leaving healthy, prepared meals in the fridge.
Here, there’s less. A few slices of pizza are left over, but their cold, congealed tops are not in the slightest bit appealing. There’s a half gallon of milk, some boxes of pasta, three chunks of cheese in various states of decay. One is pretty solid—I only have to slice mold off the very edges, skim a slice on the top and bottom, and it’s good as new. Cheese is meant to mold, after all.
I never cook because I grew so tired of it when I was the main food preparer in my father’s house, but every so often I do get a yen. Right now, rather than call for another pizza, I can make one of my cornerstone favorites, baked macaroni and cheese. It will make me feel loved.
It was a specialty of mine, once upon a time. Baked mac and cheese is a great potluck favorite, and I made mine with a recipe Beryl showed me. It freezes well, so I make the full casserole and stick it in the oven. Outside, the sun has been overtaken by heavy clouds, and it’s raining hard, sideways rain driven by a wind that whips up the waves, tossing spray high into the air. Birds huddle together in the shelter of various rocks.
On the speakers is a playlist made of my favorite soundtracks. One is from my fourth movie, a romantic spy thriller set during the Cold War, in which I played an American in love with a suspected double agent. Another is from my first picture, A Woman for the Ages, and both suit the mood of the night, moody and quietly dramatic. I sip tonic water over ice and think about that girl, the one who made the movie.
It was such an exciting period, the excitement of being plucked out of a crowd in a waiting area in New York, the nausea of getting myself to LA for a screen test all on my own. I was terrified it was all a big lie, that I’d get to Hollywood and find a weaselly guy waiting, no movie.
Instead I auditioned in front of a big director and one of the stars who’d already been cast, and the woman who’d written the screenplay. Auditioning was the easy part—stepping into the role, donning it like a cloak. I knew the story inside out because Phoebe and I had read it with zeal only two years before, and discussed it half to death. Wildly romantic, with forbidden love and sex and all kinds of tortures and setbacks. We adored it, and especially loved the happy ending.
They loved me, and I was cast the next day, which led to phone calls to Phoebe and Beryl and the people I knew in NYC. I found an agent who negotiated a dazzling amount of money, and I was launched into the madness of Hollywood. When the movie was critically acclaimed, especially for my portrayal of Sarah, my career was made.
That started the whirl. For a solid two decades, I mostly worked. I made movies and promoted them. I lived in hotel rooms and on planes and in cars sent to pick me up early in the morning in strange locations. I suffered food poisoning and smoked heavily and dabbled with addictions to various substances and had too many lovers, which was a favored tabloid subject.
I fervently hoped my father saw all of it. Every single bit.
Phoebe and I drifted apart somewhat during those years. How could we not? She was raising Stephanie, supporting Derek as he tried to make a name for himself in the art world. She wasn’t painting much, and I know it bothered her, but I was careful never to say anything.