Scatter the Stars, page 27
Should she ask Michael to go with her? He could wait outside the door. No. This was her choice, her decision to go it alone. She couldn’t start looking for male support even before step one.
Michael put on jeans and a plain T-shirt. Not one with a slogan, for he sensed whatever it said, be it a brand name, anything currently politically correct, funny or plain silly, it might not be to Shana’s taste. God, he was as nervous as if he were going on a first date.
The phone rang and he jumped, hesitating to answer it. Maybe it was Shana cancelling their lunch. He picked it up, attempting a cheerful hello.
‘Michael, it’s me. Have a great day with Shana.’
‘Hey, thanks Janie. I can’t believe I’m so nervous.’
‘Listen, a word of advice to a friend – don’t buy her stuff. Don’t spend lots of money on an outfit or something. Don’t fall back into that trap. Lunch is it. Maybe an ice cream. A secondhand book. That’s it.’
‘Okay, boss. You’re right. Thanks for the reminder. It’s how it’s always been. Money and stuff instead of talking.’
‘Let me know how it goes.’
He parked outside his former home, casting a critical eye over the garden and house. Carlos must still be doing the garden, everything looked pruned and polished. Nothing had changed. Well, it had only been a few months since he’d moved out. Barbara had always kept – or hired others – to keep the place immaculate. He remembered the glossy magazines on the glass coffee table, always in a perfect fan, nothing was ever allowed to be out of place. It was like House and Garden magazine were about to arrive to photograph the place. He’d finally rebelled at the constant perfection and banned her from his den, allowing Carmella the housekeeper to clean – not tidy anything – once a week.
As he sat there, he realised this was not his home any more, yet he had none of his previous feelings of estrangement. It was a place that was intimately familiar but the emotional tie had loosened. He drew a deep breath as the front door opened and Shana hurried down the path. He got out of the car and opened the passenger door. ‘Hi, sweetie.’ He leaned down and kissed her cheek as she scrambled into the seat, not pausing for his kiss. He got into the driver’s seat and clicked his belt. She took a handful of CDs from her canvas bag.
‘Why did you tell me to bring music? Just how far are we going for lunch?’ She didn’t add it had pleased her, they wouldn’t have to talk so much. She knew using her portable CD player and her headset while he drove would not be viewed kindly. This was a viable alternative.
‘Ojai. It’s cute, nice shops and restaurants and I have friends around there. It’s only twenty minutes from my beach house.’ He pulled away from the curb. ‘Ever been there?’
‘No.’ She didn’t sound displeased at the idea. ‘Though there’s a girl just started at our high school who came from Ojai. Who do you know there?’
‘I met a guy called Randy Storm in the bookshop. Randy used to be a film star in the fifties and sixties. I’m putting together a story on him. Janie, a friend of mine, is also talking to him about doing a TV show.’
‘Is Janie a girlfriend?’ Her mouth was tight.
‘No. She’s a friend. A real friend. I’ve never had a female best friend before. No romantic involvement, just a good friend, you’d like her.’
‘She married, got kids?’
‘You asking how old she is?’ he asked with a slight smile. She didn’t answer and he knew he was right. She’d been thinking of Beanie. ‘She’s not married. Thirty-something. She wants to have kids but hasn’t been able to find the right guy, so she’s decided to go ahead on her own.’
‘Adopt one?’
‘No. She’s using a sperm donor. No-one she knows. There are special clinics, sperm banks.’
‘I know about that stuff.’
‘You do? How come?’
‘Sex education at school. One day we did sperm and egg donors, surrogacy, adoption and abortion.’
‘In one session? And that covered it? Seems a pretty big issue to me. It’s a big decision for Janie.’
‘How come she told you?’
‘That’s a good question. I’m discovering you can share stuff with a good friend that you trust.’ Then seeing his daughter’s face harden, he quickly added, ‘Of course your mom and I shared stuff. It’s a new experience with an outsider.’
She seemed satisfied and pushed a CD into the player. Michael adjusted the sound. ‘So, what else did you do in sex ed? They’ve covered everything by the sound of it. Unless you have any questions . . . ?’ He gave a grin and raised his eyebrows and she squirmed.
‘Dad, puleeese. I know all that stuff.’
He was tempted to ask if she had put it to any use yet but stopped himself. God, she was only fifteen. He’d been so shy at fifteen, despite the raging hormones.
Bonnie Raitt sang for a few minutes. Then Shana changed the CD and asked, ‘Do you mind this?’ The remark touched Michael. She was making an effort.
‘No, I don’t mind. What are they called?’
‘The Wallflowers. They’re really big. And I like a girl from Australia, Natalie Imbruglia.’ She talked enthusiastically about the bands and singers she liked, her keenness for music obvious. The atmosphere in the car was relaxed, even cheerful. When the CD finished, she fished around for another. ‘This is more mellow. You might like this.’
‘Honey, save it for the trip home. This is Highway 33, we’re nearly in Ojai.’ It was warm and clear, the hills around the township etched against the blue sky. They parked in the main street and started walking past the cute cottage-style stores. They dawdled, peering in the windows, making comments on the displays, sometimes even exchanging a little joke.
Michael was happy to let the morning flow. Time wasn’t an issue and he was really enjoying the unaccustomed companionship of his daughter.
‘If you want to browse, go ahead. We have time. Looking for anything in particular?’
‘Well, I do have to buy a gift for my girlfriend’s birthday. It’s so hard to find her stuff.’
He trailed into a craft shop behind her. ‘Why’s that, what kind of stuff are you looking for?’
Shana picked up a hand-painted musical toilet paper holder and they both laughed. ‘Oh, anything really. She’s very rich so she has everything.’
‘Tough. Being rich.’
She gave him a pained look. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
Michael burst out laughing. ‘Touché, sweetheart.’
She was surprised her dig at him hadn’t provoked a snapped reply. She gave a shrug. ‘Mom says I’ll have to find a mega rich husband.’
‘Crap. Make your own money. What are you going to do, be, by the way? Given it much thought?’
‘Sort of. Advertising, I guess.’
‘Advertising! Well, if you’re good you can earn big bucks. How satisfying is that, do you think? Selling unnecessary material goods to a population already saddled with too much stuff.’
‘There’s more to advertising than just that, Dad,’ she said with a hint of reprimand as they left the shop. ‘Mom thinks I’d be good in public relations.’
It sounded like Barbara. ‘For what? A hotel, a TV station, a big corporation, or something worthy and boring?’
‘I haven’t made up my mind and you’re starting to sound heavy, Dad.’ She stomped ahead and picked through clothes on a sidewalk rack, holding up a top. ‘I like this.’
Michael glanced at the price tag. ‘Wow. Expensive. Can you afford this?’ She hung it back on the rack and flounced into the shop. The sales lady glared at Michael. ‘But I like this. What do you think, Shana?’
She turned around, still looking cross, but her face twitched and she giggled. ‘It looks stupid. Not your style at all.’
Michael took off the broad-brimmed straw sunhat festooned with a giant sunflower.
The shop lady was giving Michael a second glance, as women did when they spied a handsome man without a wife in tow. She smiled. ‘I thought it looked kinda cute.’
Shana turned to her. ‘He can’t afford it.’ And to soften the remark took his arm. ‘He’s buying me lunch instead.’
‘Let’s make a detour on the way.’
He called into Bart’s Bookshop and they separated, heading for sections that interested them.
They met at the cash register. Both were holding books and laughed.
‘What did you find?’ Michael held up his. ‘I found a book I thought Janie would like. And a book on advertising for you. You can open it when you get home. What have you got?’
She was evasive. ‘Oh, just some art books.’ She reached for her wallet, but Michael touched her arm. ‘Let me treat you. I’ll put them on my credit card.’ He assumed her books were a present for her girlfriend.
She loved the old-style Ranch House restaurant. For once they found conversation easy. He told her what was happening behind the scenes on the soaps at his network and some general gossip. He’d rung his secretary and asked her to find out if this trivia as he knew it would interest Shana.
She told him about a school prom, the intrigues of the cheerleaders and casting of the school musical. She didn’t mention the skiing trip.
Michael watched her push her empty plate to one side. ‘They have good desserts here.’
‘Not after that salad, it was huge. And good. This place would do well in LA.’
‘Nah. It’s an Ojai institution. Home cooking and groovy, famous and alternative people come here. All the old-time movie stars like Marlon Brando come here. Look at these people – I bet they’re all from LA.’
She glanced around, but being a baby of Los Angeles, stars didn’t overly impress her. Music stars were another matter.
Tell you what, let’s get one of those apple pies and take it over to Randy’s,’ suggested Michael.
‘Why are we going there?’ She didn’t seem pleased with the suggestion.
‘I need to pick up some books he’s lending me.’
Randy opened the door and staggered, clasping his heart. ‘Sweet Jesus, Michael. You didn’t tell me!’
‘That we were coming by? Rubbish, I rang last night.’
‘No. That you had such a stunner of a daughter. Must be your daughter. Looks like you.’ Randy opened out his arms and hugged her. ‘You’re a little beauty. Come on in.’
Shana was taken aback but couldn’t help being flattered at his over-the-top welcome. Michael winked at her as they followed Randy towards the patio. Shana hung back as they went past the paintings. ‘These are lovely.’
‘Yeah. They’re okay. Like, pretty great,’ said Randy off-handedly. ‘Take a good look if you like, we’re on the patio.’
Michael glanced at her in surprise. He’d never known Shana to admire a picture before unless it was a poster of a rock star or movie star. He left Shana before the wall of paintings and followed Randy.
‘I see why you like the paintings.’ Shana spun around to face a smiling Sibyl. ‘You must be Michael’s daughter.’
‘I’m Shana.’
‘And I’m Sibyl.’
The smiling soft eyes trapped Shana in their stare until she looked back at the paintings.
‘Whose paintings are these?’ asked Shana shyly. She particularly liked a vivid picture of a Mexican woman holding a baby.
‘Some are by Rudolf Gorman, the Navajo painter. He’s a wonderful character. And these,’ she pointed at the simple but startling earth-toned shapes outlined in white dots, ‘these are Australian Aboriginal paintings – Rover Thomas, Freddy Timms, Queenie McKenzie. Very esteemed artists. It takes a while to understand the levels within them.’
Shana cocked her head and squinted at the paintings. ‘It’s like an optical illusion, the more you look into them, the more you see. And these?’ She moved on to the lavishly framed watercolours.
‘These are by Talia, a close friend of Randy’s who died a long time ago. They’re New Guinea scenes.’
‘And that one? And that?’ Shana pointed to a brilliant abstract and a finely detailed pencil sketch of an old tree. Neither of them heard Michael come back into the room.
‘They’re Randy’s.’ She smiled at Shana. ‘What do you paint?’
Shana looked down and seemed uncomfortable. ‘Oh, nothing much.’
‘But Shana, you’re an artist. Or should be.’
‘She’s going to be a marketing advertising PR whiz, she tells me,’ said Michael cheerfully. His smile faded as Shana still continued to look abashed, avoiding Michael’s eyes.
Sibyl took her hand and turned it over and glanced at her palm. ‘Hmm. It says artist. You should do graphic design. Or something artistic but something that will pay the rent.’
Randy strode back into the house. ‘Hey, you guys, come on out here. Sibyl, you’re not palm reading already. Shana just got here.’ Randy strode forward, took Shana by the hand and led her out to the patio where he introduced her to a middle-aged couple – Daniel and Trudy – and a hippy-looking fellow in his early thirties called Brad. And Beanie.
With a shock, Shana recognised the young woman she’d seen clinging to her father in the House of Blues. Why was she here? Her good feelings of the day disappeared. She studied Beanie who was dressed in yellow jeans, a tie-dyed T-shirt, her woolly knitted beanie as always on the back of her head. ‘Yo, Mike!’ she called.
‘Hey, Beanie! Great to see you.’ Michael turned to Shana who avoided his eyes as she found a seat next to Trudy. Maria had gone to church and left a tray of snacks. Sibyl took orders for drinks, an activity that allowed Shana’s discomfort to go unnoticed.
Randy squeezed into the large padded saucer chair next to Beanie who spread her legs across his lap.
‘So did you guys go to Bart’s, check out downtown Ojai?’ asked Beanie.
Shana nodded, watching Beanie and Randy intently. ‘We had lunch, checked out the stores.’
‘She was looking for a gift for a girlfriend,’ Michael explained.
‘You still looking?’ Beanie asked.
‘I guess so,’ she answered. Michael glanced at Shana, wondering about the art books.
Drinks were handed around and there was general chat as a group of strangers tried to find common ground. Shana continued to watch Beanie. Once she glanced at Sibyl and found her staring at her. Shana looked away and focused on Beanie who was hugging Randy. ‘Man, I think we should check out the markets. You want to come, Brad?’
‘Sure.’ The hippy made no effort to move. Beanie kissed Randy on the nose. ‘Hooroo, as you Aussies say.’ She leapt up and yanked her beanie forward on her head. ‘We could busk while Shana checks it out.’
Shana looked nervous. ‘What’s this?’
Beanie squatted in front of Shana. ‘It’s a pretty groovy market every second Sunday. People make stuff and sell stuff. Lots of musos, wild arts and crafts, some tourists, but it’s mostly locals. You’ll like it. Come with us.’
Her bubbly enthusiasm, uncomplicated manner and friendliness thawed Shana’s stiff manner. ‘I guess so.’
Michael glanced at Sibyl who gave him a reassuring look.
Randy leaned back in the cushions of the huge chair. ‘Babe, that’s a great idea. Don’t you lead this young chicken here astray or Michael will have your gizzards for breakfast.’
Beanie held out her hand to Shana. ‘Let’s go.’ She turned to Michael. ‘Don’t worry Daddy-O, we’ll look after her.’
‘Okay.’ He tapped his watch and Shana nodded, understanding the time signal. ‘Have fun, honey.’ He smiled at her.
‘You gals want some mad money?’ Randy reached for his wallet.
Beanie held up her hand. ‘No way. We’ll busk.’ She turned to Shana. ‘I sing. Brad plays guitar. Can you tap dance?’
Shana shook her head and Beanie laughed. ‘Just joshin’. You get to pass the beanie. See you guys.’
Shana was virtually pulled from the patio by Beanie who gave a wave and linked an arm through Shana’s as they disappeared into the house.
Michael took a breath and glanced at Sibyl, then at Randy. ‘Is that a good idea?’
‘The best,’ said Randy. ‘Beanie is just what she needs. This afternoon, anyway.’
Michael looked at Sibyl. ‘Sibyl, the art thing? She’s never shown any interest in art.’
‘Not to you or her mother, I would guess,’ said Sibyl calmly. ‘It’s written all over her.’
‘She’s never said anything about it. In a serious way, I mean . . . it’s probably just a passing thing.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Michael. I recognise the symptoms too well,’ said Randy gently. ‘Just let her be.’
Michael glanced again at Sibyl, his face questioning. She was non-judgemental and merely commented, ‘If she’d said she wanted to study art, be an artist, what would you have said to her? You and her mother, that is?’
Michael was quiet for a moment then bit his lip. ‘Probably have told her to get a good day job to fall back on first. It’s as insecure as being an actress. Unless you’re in the more mundane practical art fields.’ He knew how this was sounding and he looked at Randy. ‘I’m being honest. I don’t know what I’d say to her today.’
‘Anyone who is a dedicated artist doesn’t like the restrictions of sensible art and prescribed day jobs,’ said Randy.
The older couple, Daniel and Trudy, had listened politely not wanting to intrude but now Trudy spoke. ‘Most of the girls I went to school with ended up working in a department store or restaurant, or becoming a nurse or teacher until they got married. Dan here was expected to follow his father into the bank. Thank God we were rebels. We travelled, doing any work we could find, and then we both decided to go to college. I ended up a botanist and Daniel’s a physiotherapist. I shudder at the thought that we could have missed our callings.’ Trudy put her hand on Michael’s arm. ‘Let her do what she’s interested in.’
‘It’s hard enough for young people today to get any sort of job unless it’s something to do with computers,’ agreed her husband. ‘Not like in our day. There was always some sort of a job for anyone willing to work.’
