Chapter 6

Thursday was a late day; I took a stroll around the hospital to see how the evening clinics were running. They’re surprisingly popular with people needing routine monitoring or annual healthchecks, but either not wanting their boss or work colleagues to know about it, or too busy making money to take an hour or two off work. All was well, so I headed for home.

Even better, Max wasn’t too upset with me that I was home late. He’s a lot more forgiving than Marsha ever was. Okay, so I fed him before I fed myself; no point in stressing our relationship more than necessary. After all, he’d be on his own most of tomorrow evening. Speaking of which, I messaged Mel to confirm that I was still on for our second date and was very much looking forward to seeing her again. That earned me a line of smiley emoticons, so I went to sleep with a happy grin on my face.

Friday, I left work in plenty of time, found a parking space without too much trouble, and entered the bar with ten minutes to spare. I settled into a quiet booth to one side of the place, five minutes later spotted her arrival, and stood up to attract her attention.

She looked tired and subdued as she walked up to me; her smile wasn’t as bright as I remembered. She kissed me on the cheek. I asked her if she was okay. She grimaced as she sat down opposite me. “I’m real sorry, Mike, it’s that time, started this morning, dammit, and I’m not going to be the greatest company tonight, but I still wanted to see you.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault, no need to apologize. As long as you don’t turn into a knife-wielding ballbusting man-hating bitch, I’m fine. Marsha used to make a theatrical performance out of PMT; that’s when we had most of our fights, when I hid the throwing axes and the kitchen knives. If you want to cut it short tonight, just say so. I’ll understand, and I’ll still want to see you again. Speaking of which...”

I had kept the Kokopelli earrings in my pocket as a possibility; I left them there for the moment. When a woman’s unused egg is busy dismantling her uterus with a jack-hammer, it is certainly not a good idea to give her something featuring the Hopi God of Fertility symbol. Helga had yet again steered me out of danger.

I did pull out the two TracFones. “I remembered what you said about losing your privacy and being frightened of stalkers. I want to be able to call you, and I think I’ve found a way around that, but it will still be your choice as to whether you approve. I bought two burner cellphones with ten hours of calls prepaid on them; I’d like to be able to hear your voice, and that way you don’t have to give me your real number until you are completely ready to do so. I’ve programmed the numbers in.”

I passed one over the table, she picked it up and smiled, some life coming back into her face. “Awww, that is SO sweet of you. I’m sorry that I have such issues; my trust has been betrayed too many times. I only have three or four real male friends and they’re all in the business; my agent and some directors I’ve worked with often, but I don’t like to vent on them. We get to setting the world to rights waiting for the scene changes, and you talk about all sorts of things, actually get to know each other as people. Most other guys I come across are too busy trying to hit on me, or say they can make me rich, when they mean themselves.”

I nodded in sympathy, “It’s part of the LA lifestyle. This drive to succeed, to get a piece of the action, there are a whole lot of people who’d push their grandmother under a truck if it helped them get ahead. I hate that attitude. What can that person do for me, or I’m not even going to bother being polite. I see that, I want that, I’m going to get that. Me, me, me.”

“Exactly. Some of them would drive the truck themselves if they were the beneficiaries of the insurance policy. Not everybody is like that, but I come across it all too often, especially from guys who think they’re entitled. I guess as a woman I almost come to expect it. When I’m talking business, I want to be treated as a professional rather than a female who therefore, by definition, has to be propositioned.”

I grunted. “Yeah, that’s part of Hollywood that I could sure live without. These casting couch allegations that keep surfacing, it sounds like the tip of the iceberg. You shouldn’t have to put up with it, nobody should. My predecessor got fired for harassment, and I have to keep a close eye on things like that at work; it’s not right that a woman has to deal with those pressures as well. Anyway, let’s not get ourselves depressed. Can I get you a drink?”

“You hungry?”

“Only if you are. I can get something later.”

She made a brave face. “I didn’t feel like it earlier, but I guess I’ll try. I missed lunch, and a girl’s gotta eat, especially now, don’t want to get anemic.”

“What’s good here?”

“The seared salmon is what I normally have. I’ve had the house burger a few times too; the sweet pepper relish is incredible. It’s all simple food, but cooked well, which is why I come back here.”

That’s what we ate; she had a mineral water rather than wine as she’d just taken some Advil. I enjoyed my burger very much, though she picked at her plate and didn’t nearly finish it. I refrained from comment when she pulled out some pills, I guessed from the red-brown color that they were an iron supplement or a multivitamin.

We chatted, but I had to make most of the conversation; after half an hour Mel was clearly flagging. Eventually she sat back in her chair. “I’ve had it. Sorry. Thanks for putting up with me, Mike. Can we do this again, sometime when I’m not feeling quite so beat up and nauseous?”