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  “Not until you tell me why. You went to the dentist, didn’t you? I told you not to cancel that appointment, but did you listen? No! You have an abscess and he wants to take off your caps? It’s not the end of the world, Ariel. Come on now, you’re an actress. Prove it. Your friends have worked night and day to get you to this point. They’re excited for you and for themselves. You can’t let them down. Are you listening to me, Ariel?”

  “I didn’t go to the dentist, I went to a doctor. These . . . things on my face aren’t from an abscessed tooth. They’re growths, and Doctor Davis wants to operate on them as soon as possible. I have to have a biopsy tomorrow morning. I’m scared, Dolly. I could have . . . I mean I really could have . . . Oh, God!”

  “What else did he say?” Dolly demanded. “Tell me everything he said. And don’t tell me you don’t remember. You can memorize an entire script so I know you can tell me verbatim what he said.”

  “He said I was a fool to wait so long to make an appointment. He doesn’t think they’re malignant, but surgery is required. He wants a biopsy. He’s going to have a plastic surgeon there tomorrow when they do it. I asked him if I’d be disfigured and he said there was a possibility and that’s why he wants the plastic surgeon there. That’s all he said, Dolly.”

  “Okay. We know what to expect now. We’ll deal with it. Get out of that car and start acting. We aren’t going to fall apart here. There’s too much at stake. We’re thinking positive. That’s an order, Ariel. A doctor wouldn’t commit to saying he thinks your bumps are benign if he didn’t think so. Come on, you’re in perfect health. If you don’t get out of that car right now, I’m quitting. For good. I mean it. I want to see that famous smile of yours. You can do this, Ariel.” Her tone of voice was so forceful that Ariel climbed from the car.

  “We’re canceling the party,” she said.

  “Okay by me. You have to stop being so damn vain, Ariel. And remember something else. God never gives you more than you can handle. Okay, let’s go,” Dolly said as she held open the door leading to the kitchen.

  “What would I do without you, Dolly?”

  “You’d do just fine.”

  It was one of Ariel’s best acting jobs. When she said good-by to the last guest, she flopped down on the couch and lit a cigarette. “By God, I did it.”

  “Yes, you did. I can’t believe Ken raised five million in just a few weeks. Somebody has confidence in you. Now, all you need is a good script and actors who can put you over the top. People are standing in line to go on your payroll. You’re on a roll, Ariel. I’m going to make us a quick dinner and then I’ll get on the invitations. I think I’ll just say due to a family emergency we’re canceling till after the first of the year. It’ll be a one, two, three thing. I can have them in the mail first thing in the morning. By the way, I logged in another 44 scripts this morning. That brings your total to 611. You have to hire some readers, Ariel, and you can’t put it off any longer. Carla took a batch home with her. I told her you’d pay her by the script. Was that okay?”

  “Sure. You probably should have written her a check.”

  “I did. I even gave her some extra. I entered it in the checkbook. She ate like a wolf. I gave her a pie, a jug of cider, and those two chickens I roasted for dinner. We’re having scrambled eggs since I don’t have time to cook now.”

  “You’re a good person, Dolly.”

  “That’s because I had a good teacher. What time is your appointment tomorrow?”

  “Eight A.M.”

  “I’ll drive you. Okay, let’s do something about these scripts. I’ll make us some coffee and we’ll work until dinner. You’re going to be really surprised at some of the names on those scripts. Fast track, big money writers. They must think you have something going here. I’m impressed, Ariel. I mean that.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. Dolly, look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Do you think I’ll come .out of this okay?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Okay, get the coffee.”

  Ariel pushed the thickly padded chair to the farthest corner in the room where she sat down to wait for Dolly. God, she would be so glad to get out of here. All she wanted was to go home and suck her thumb. She should have gone home four days ago, but she’d run a low grade fever that prevented the doctor from discharging her. Now, after three weeks and three operations, she was fit to be sent home.

  The doctors and nurses were upset with her because she refused to look in the mirror. Well, guess what, Ariel thought. I don’t care if you’re upset with me or not. I want to be in the privacy of my own bathroom, with all that glorious lighting, when I see myself for the first time. If I fall apart I don’t want anyone to see me. God, what did I ever do to deserve this? Why me? Why now?

  Next week her face would be plastered all over the tabloids. Before and after pictures that they would peddle for money. Maybe I’m flattering myself, she thought glumly.

  I wish . . . Maybe . . . She closed her eyes and tried to think and remember all the decisions she’d made while lying in her hospital bed. So many of them. One after the other. Give up on the production company. Or, turn it over to Carla, but that probably wouldn’t work. Tell Ken Lamantia to return the money to her backers. Send back all the scripts. Close up shop and . . . do what? Put a notice in all the trade papers that she was retiring and moving away? Where? Back to Chula Vista. The only place that ever truly felt like home. And do what? Who knows. She’d be just a person there, not a has-been movie star. She’d buy a house, get a few pets, argue and fight with Dolly, do some gardening, get a library card, shop in Wal-Mart, go back to church. I’ll write my memoirs, she told herself, put all my scrapbooks in a trunk in the attic. Maybe I can become Agnes Bixby again. Good old Aggie. I’ll take long walks with my two dogs, do good deeds. And when I’m done doing that, what will I do? Exist. Try not to think about the past. Maybe I’ll learn to cook. Dolly will teach me. Two dogs will keep me busy.

  She cried then, because she didn’t know what else to do. She thought about the good old days everyone talked about. But, were they really the good old days? Did working like a Trojan six days a week for over thirty years with vacations so few and far apart that she could barely remember them, count as good old days? Did starving herself so the extra pounds wouldn’t show up on the camera constitute good old days? Did being so tired at the end of the day with no time for a social life, count? Good old days, my ass.

  She thought about Max Winters, her first husband. He was happily married now with three children. They were friends. He called often to see how she was. Max had wanted children, but she didn’t. She hadn’t really loved him, either. She’d tried. It didn’t work. He’d been more than generous with his divorce settlement. She hadn’t wanted anything, but he’d settled two million dollars on her and even told her how to invest it for the best return. Every year at Christmastime she sent champagne and poinsettias to Max and his wife, and toys for the children. He’d sent so many yellow roses, her favorite flower, after her operation, she’d been dizzy with the scent. Every day he sent a card and he called first thing in the morning and again before he retired. Keep your chin up, kiddo. Nothing’s as bad as it seems at first. Just hang in there and if there’s anything you want or need, call me.

  “Give me back my old face,” she blubbered into a wad of tissues.

  And then there was her second husband, Adam Jessup. Adam was an actor—and prettier than she was. A fine man who didn’t know the first thing about being a husband. That was okay, too, because she didn’t know much about being a wife. Still, they’d stayed married for seven years, and mutually agreed to the divorce. He’d been generous, too, giving her the Malibu beach house, the Bentley, the ski chalet in Aspen, and a cool million dollars. He’d even paid her legal bills. She’d just wanted to walk away and pretend she’d never been married, but Adam said it would look terrible if he wasn’t generous. I have an image to protect, Ariel. You have to take it. So, she’d taken it and asked Max the best way to invest
it. He told her to sell the chalet and the beach house and bank the money. Keep the Bentley—it’ll be worth a lot one of these days. She was a very wealthy woman. And look at me now. What good is money when you have to hide so people don’t see you? She was crying again, and angry with herself for doing it.

  Ariel paced the hospital room, her eyes deliberately avoiding the mirror over the dresser. “C’mon, Dolly, where are you? I want to get out of here.” The moment the words were out of her mouth the door to her room opened. Dolly and Carla Simmons walked in, pushing a wheelchair.

  “I know you don’t need this, but hospital rules say you have to ride in it down to the door and then through the door to the car. Hop on, Ariel,” Dolly said.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Ariel demanded.

  “Yep. The turkey’s all ready to go in the oven. I just have to stuff it in the morning. I made cranberry sauce and three pies. We’re having turnips, candied sweet potatoes, string beans almandine, fresh peas that look like little emeralds, and homemade dinner rolls from scratch. Plum brandy for us and Diet Pepsi for Carla. I got this great White Russian coffee the woman in the store said is all the rage. That’s it. Well, we’re ready if you are.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it, Dolly.”

  “Oh, no, Ariel. If you want to know how you look, there’s a mirror behind you. We’ll wait. We have all the time in the world.”

  “I can’t,” Ariel whispered.

  “Yes, you can. All you have to do is turn around. It’s not a big mirror. You have to do it sometime, why not now so you can get it over with? Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. Think about how much you have to be grateful for. Stop being so selfish. It all worked out for you. You don’t have that deadly disease you were so worried about. You had plastic surgery and now it’s all over. You’re going to get on with your life and life is going to be beautiful. Believe that and you’re home free.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ariel snapped. “Carla, how bad is it?”

  “You’re as beautiful as you ever were. Beauty, Ariel, is in the eye of the beholder. You tell me that three times a week. If you were giving me a snow job I’m going to be mighty upset. You’re a kind, generous, caring human being and it shows. Be glad you’re alive and well. Think about the people that aren’t so lucky. God smiled on you, Ariel, so don’t be a shit now. Turn around—let’s get it over with so we can go home. And get that damn hair off your face. You look like Cousin It.”

  “I’ll do it . . . look . . . when I get home.”

  “No. You need to do it now. Do it, Ariel, or I quit and you can make that turkey by yourself. You can get yourself home, too.”

  “Why are you doing this to me? Don’t you have any compassion? I’m firing you as soon as we get home.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Either you look now or you get home on your own. I quit yesterday so you can’t fire me. I’m here now out of the goodness of my heart. I’m leaving right after Thanksgiving. To answer your question, I have bushels of compassion. So does Carla. Do it, Ariel.”

  “All right!”

  Ariel turned, using both hands as she did so, to grasp her thick hair to pull it back from her face. Her gasp was so loud the two women watching her shuddered. When she started to wail they clasped hands, but didn’t move.

  “So you have a little hole in your forehead,” Dolly said. “Bangs will cover it. That little droop by your left eye can be camouflaged with makeup. The one in the middle of your chin can be called a cleft. Actually, it’s kind of cute. The hole in your cheek can be considered a rather large dimple. The surgeon said the droop at the corner of your mouth will disappear in about six weeks. The scars will fade in time. You’re alive, Ariel. You have so much. Be thankful this is as bad as it gets.”

  They were right and she knew it. They cared about her. She was being selfish. She knew that, too. It was all going to take some getting used to. She turned around and smiled. She wasn’t acting when she said, “I never knew how much you two meant to me until this very minute. Thanks for being here for me. I probably wouldn’t have made it without you. I’m sorry about . . . being such a . . . ”

  “Snot’s the word you’re looking for,” Dolly said and grinned.

  “It’s as good as any I can come up with. C’mon, let’s go home and get that turkey ready. Are you really making dinner rolls from scratch, Carla? I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”

  “I don’t. It’s going to be a first. They’ll probably come out like hockey pucks.”

  “Who cares?”

  Ariel sat down on the edge of the bed, weary beyond belief. The performance she’d given for Dolly and Carla’s benefit during the preceding hours was worthy of an Oscar. She rolled over and snuggled with her pillow. She was alone now, in her own room, with the door locked. Now she could beat the walls, smash things, howl, swear and curse, do whatever she damn well pleased. Well, it pleased her to cry. Not just for what she was experiencing, but for all the negatives in her life. She could allow herself the luxury of tears now because it didn’t matter if her eyes got red and puffy. There would be no cameras tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. There would never be cameras again. I wish . . . She was off the bed in a flash. She reached for the pencil hanging on a string next to the batch of wish lists. She-scribbled furiously. I wish I was still married to Felix. I wish I could find Felix. I wish he would remember me, still love me, come looking for me so he can tell me none of this matters. I wish I could recapture those wonderful, special feelings I felt that day when I was sixteen and we got married in secrecy in Tijuana. I wish . . . Oh, Felix, where are you?

  Ariel stared at the only entry on her wish list. One entry in thirty years. How was that possible? Why did she ever begin the wish list in the first place? So I would never forget Felix, that’s why. He’d promised to start his own wish list. She wished she knew if he’d followed through.

  Ariel slammed the door of the louvered closet with a bang. She was crying again. The only time you think about Felix Sanchez is when things aren’t going right for you and you wonder what would have happened if . . . If. It’s always if. Track it, Ariel, track it to the present. If you have the guts. Make a list, number it. I dare you. Then get the guts to add it to the wish list. Go ahead, Ariel. That’s why you want to go back to Chula Vista. It’s not that home thing, it’s that Felix thing. Admit it. Make the damn list, Ariel. Now.

  1. I am Agnes Bixby. Agnes crossed the border and married Felix Sanchez in a secret ceremony thirty years ago.

  2. Two days later Daddy got transferred to Germany. There was no time to cross the border to find Felix. The navy packed us up and we left in thirty-six hours. I left a note in the mailbox.

  3. When I got to Germany I wrote to the school, I wrote to everyone I could think of. I wrote letters to Felix in care of General Delivery. I did everything I could.

  4. I dated other boys when I was in Germany. I almost forgot about Felix until I returned to California four years later.

  5. I tried to find Felix. I spent months trying to track him down. I went to a lawyer. He did a search. He said there was no marriage license. He said Felix tricked me to get in my pants. He told me to grow up. I think now he hated Felix. He said I was never married. Never, ever.

  6. I finished college, majoring in drama. I changed my name from Agnes Bixby to Ariel Hart. I became a movie star. I changed the color of my eyes and my hair as easily as I changed my name. I had my teeth capped. The day of my first screen test Agnes Bixby retired and was never heard from again.

  7. After I became a movie star I never tried to find Felix. I would have been dead in the water if I pursued that relationship. I guess he never tried to find me, either.

  8. I loved Felix. He’s still in my heart somewhere. I dream about him from time to time. It’s true. I often think, what if . . . what if . . .

  9. I was only sixteen. My parents said Felix wasn’t good enough for me. I tried. Germany was so far away. I wrote hundreds
of letters. Most of them came back.

  10. I’m sorry, Felix. So very sorry.

  Ariel walked back to the closet, removed the sheaf of papers, and added the list she’d just finished to the back of the thick pile. She tacked it back up, stared at it a minute, and then closed the door.

  Why was she doing this? Because . . . because . . . Felix was always so comforting. Just thinking about him makes me feel calm. Okay, now that you’ve calmed down, do what you have to do. Go in the bathroom, stare at yourself, and get ready for bed. Tomorrow is another day. A new day. It’s going to be whatever you make it.

  Never one to follow her own advice, Ariel flopped down on the bed and was asleep within minutes. Her dreams were invaded by a tall, slender, black-eyed boy with a halo of ebony curls and the sweetest smile in the world.

  “Don’t be scared, Aggie. He’s just going to say some words. They’re going to be in Spanish. I’ll whisper the meaning as he goes along. I have the ring. I made it from fishing wire. I braided it. I made one for me, too. You have to put it on my finger just the way I have to put it on yours. Someday when I’m rich and famous, I’ll buy you one that’s full of diamonds. What kind will you buy me?”

  “A thick, fat, gold one, maybe with a design on it. Our initials on the inside and the date. How long will we have to keep our marriage a secret, Felix?”

  “Until your parents start to like me. Maybe that will be soon. How long do you think it will be, Aggie?”

  “I don’t know, Felix. I think we might have to wait until I’m twenty-one. Then I can do whatever I want. They won’t be able to say anything. It makes me mad that my mother used to let your mother clean our house, but says you aren’t good enough for me. I wish my father didn’t hate you. He’s not tolerant at all. He doesn’t even care that you have a dual citizenship. I wish your mother hadn’t told my mother that you were born on her employer’s kitchen floor. I heard my mother talking to my father. She said you told her that after she cleaned you up, she continued to clean the kitchen. She knew she wouldn’t get paid if she didn’t finish out the day. I cried when I heard her say that.”