Hello, Hollywood! (8 page)

“Not sure how you guys are going to keep this show going without me, frankly.” He flashed a crooked grin and closed the cookie container. “I’m the brains of this operation, you know.”

I couldn’t help the snort that followed. Still, I had to agree that things would be tougher without him. We’d always worked like a well-oiled machine.

“Can you stay a while today and work?” I asked. “Stephen came up with an idea to incorporate some older cast members into the show this season.”

“Older?” Bob plopped down in the chair next to the divan. “Like who?”

Stephen named several well-known stars in their seventies and eighties. “Most were icons back in their day,” he said. “I think it would be fun to give them a second chance.”

“Second chances are good.” Bob nodded. “So, what are you thinking? How would we use them? And what happened to the pregnancy idea? Did we nix that?”

“Just postponed it,” Stephen said. He went on to explain his idea, and Bob seemed receptive. The more I heard, the better it sounded to me too. I could almost see it now—the kids playing jokes on the older cast members and vice versa. Plenty of opportunity for antics. And the whole thing would add plenty of stress—conflict—to Jack and Angie’s relationship. Perfect, since comedy was built on conflict.

The ideas started pouring out, and before long we’d written the first five pages of the next episode. Maybe working with this new guy wouldn’t be so tough after all. And I really liked all of his ideas related to Jack and Angie’s marriage.

“All of this craziness will challenge their skills as a new bride and groom,” he said. “But that will be half the fun. We’ll stretch them in every area.” The oddest look came over him for a second.

“You okay, man?” Bob asked.

“Oh.” He paused, and for a moment I thought I saw something that looked like pain in his eyes. Just as quickly he shook it off. “Just thinking about that whole marriage thing. My parents . . .” He shook his head. “Well, they had a horrible marriage. It didn’t last. And I already told you my story. My wife took off when Brooke was young. No one in my family has a very good track record when it comes to marital vows.”

“Mine either,” Bob said. “My parents split when I was three. Barely knew my dad.”

“We’ll have to lean on Paul, for sure,” Stephen said. “Maybe he can advise us.”

“Think again.” Bob snorted. “He’s been married three times and has sworn off women altogether since his last divorce. If you’re wanting information on how to keep a marriage strong, he’s the very last person you want to talk to.”

Both of the guys turned and looked at me.

“Well, you’re it, then,” Stephen said. “I happen to know firsthand that your parents have a great marriage.”

“You could tell that after hanging out with them just one afternoon?”

“I could tell that within five minutes of meeting them.” He smiled. “They’re crazy about each other. How long have they been married? Forever, right?”

I shrugged. “Thirty-seven years. And you’re right—they’re still crazy about each other.” I couldn’t help smiling. Though my parents bickered like every good Greek couple, their love for each other was unquestionable.

“Maybe we can interview them or something,” Stephen said. “Get their take on how Jack and Angie’s marriage will be affected by all of the changes they’re facing. Your parents are the ideal choice, since they work together and all.”

“Oh, wow. Never made that connection before.” My parents did work together, just like Jack and Angie. Yes, surely they would know how to make it through the challenges of a family-run business. Who better to give us advice for our characters? Why hadn’t I thought of this? Brilliant.

Minutes later, we dove into the script once more, laughter resonating across the room. As we hit on a particularly funny scene, the office phone rang. I answered it, still chuckling. “H-hello?”

“Athena?” I recognized my mother’s voice right away. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, we’re in the middle of writing a wacky scene. Ironically, one that might end up involving you and Babbas.” I paused. “Wait. Why did you call on the office phone? You never do that.”

“I tried your cell six times and you didn’t answer. Do you have the ringer turned off or something?”

“Oh, maybe.” I stuck my hand in my purse, fishing around the gum wrappers, receipts, and lipstick, until I finally pulled out the phone. Glancing at it, I sighed. “Yes. Sorry. What’s up?”

“It’s that dog of yours. Zeus.”

“
My
dog?” Surely I’d heard wrong. Just because I carried Aunt Athena’s name didn’t mean she’d left the dog to me. No, Zeus belonged to my mother first, and then the rest of us. Whether we wanted him to or not.

“Yes.” Mama’s voice grew more strained. “You’ve got to come home and do something about him. Soon. Before my last nerve is shot.”

“What has he done this time? Could you be specific? Or is he just annoying in every respect?”

She began to reel off something in Greek, but she was speaking so fast I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Finally she switched to English.

“Before I left for the shop this morning, he’d chewed up the wood posts on my bed. And then I caught him shredding one of the pillows from the living room sofa. I . . .” A catch in her throat caught me off guard. “I can’t take it, Athena. Something has to be done or the whole house will be destroyed.”

“But, Mama, I’m a half hour away and won’t be home for hours. Can’t you think of something to calm him down?”

“I’ve tried everything.” She sighed. “I went to the store as usual. Closed him in the bathroom. When I came back to check on him . . .” She began to cry. “Remember that beautiful rug I bought at the import store when you were in junior high? The green one with the pretty edging?”

“Of course.”

“He . . . he . . .” She choked out the words. “He ate it.”

“He ate the rug? Seriously?”

From across the room, Bob and Stephen gave me curious looks.

“Well, just the corner section,” Mama explained, “but what good is a six-hundred-dollar rug if it’s missing a piece? It’s worthless now. And all because of a stupid dog that your great-aunt Athena made us take.”

“She was your aunt too, Mama,” I reminded her. “And dogs will be dogs. Maybe we just need to admit we don’t know the first thing about animals and find someone else to take him. I think it’s the only solution.”

“You don’t think that would be dishonoring her memory?” Mama asked through her sniffles. “Really?”

“I don’t. It’s good to know when to admit defeat. And clearly we’re not meant to have a dog. At least, not this dog.”

Stephen waved his hand to get my attention and mouthed the words, “I’ll take him.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded, and mouthed back, “Are you sure?”

When he nodded, I turned back to the phone. “Mama, the solution to this problem might be closer than we think. Just let me go for a few minutes and I’ll see if I can work something out, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“In the meantime, don’t panic. What else can a dog do in just a few hours? It will be fine.”

“I’ll try putting him in the backyard,” she said. “I just hope he doesn’t jump in the pool again.”

“Let him jump in,” I said. “Might cool him down.”

“Last time he came into the house soaking wet and shook off all over my clean tile floor.” She sighed. “My luck, he’ll eat the hibiscus plants in my garden if I put him in the backyard. Anyway, if you say we have a solution, I’m happy to hear it. I’ll leave things in your hands. See you tonight, baby.”

“Love you, Mama. Stay calm.”

“Too risky.” Her voice changed, and I could tell she’d started scolding the dog. Seconds later, she clicked off.

“Everything okay on the home front?” Bob’s eyes showed his concern.

“No.” I groaned. “My dead aunt sent us a present, and he’s wreaking havoc in our home.”

“Wait. Let’s back up a bit.” He shook his head. “Would you mind telling me how your dead aunt sent you a gift?”

“Long story.” I sighed. “Just trust me when I say that our lives have been turned upside down.” I turned to Stephen, hopefulness setting in. “Were you serious about what you said? You want to take Zeus off our hands? If so, why? And how?”

He rose and took a few steps in my direction. “I think it’s a great idea. Brooke has been really lonely this summer. She hasn’t made any friends yet. And the rental house we’re in allows pets, so why not? We’ve been talking about it for days now. She’s dying for a pet.”

“Pets?” Bob scratched his head. “Your dead aunt sent you a pet?”

“A dog,” Stephen and I said in unison.

“Ah. I thought maybe she’d FedExed a painting of her heavenly mansion or something. Maybe a nugget from the streets of gold.” He paused. “Heaven’s streets are supposed to be made of gold, right? I remember hearing that.”

“Yes.” I nodded. Though I couldn’t imagine Mean-Athena walking along them, from all the stories I’d been told about her. More likely she was hurling chunks of gold at the angels, just to be spiteful.
Slow down. You never really knew her. And remember what Milo said. There were extenuating circumstances.

I released a slow breath, ready to admit I should stop passing judgment on a woman I’d never even met, then turned back to Stephen. “I can’t believe you’re offering to do this for us. You do remember which dog we’re talking about, right? The one who jumped me and ate half of the salami in my family’s store?”

“He’ll be fine. And Brooke could use a friend. She’s been . . .” He shrugged. “Out of sorts.”

“If you’re sure.” I paused, deep in thought. “So, how am I going to get the dog to you?”

“Bring him here tomorrow,” Stephen said. “We’ll crate him, and I’ll take him home after work. That’s the best solution, I think.”

“Bring that demon-possessed dog to the studio? No way.”

“Yes. Bring his crate too. I’ll teach you a few tricks of the trade. I’ve had a few dogs over the years.”

When Stephen winked, my heart went into overdrive. Ugh. How dare this guy—this handsome, funny, practically-perfect-in-every-way guy—wink at me? Did he really think he could win me over with his charm?

Maybe. But he’d have to throw in a great script for next week’s show too.

“Just to clarify, you’re saying I should bring a dog with ADD to a television studio loaded with expensive equipment?” I asked.

“Sure. He won’t be a bother.”

You’re nuts.
“Before or after he chews up the cables that are strung across the floor in the studio and eats holes in the costumes? And what if he bites one of the kids? I can’t take that risk.” I shuddered, just thinking about it. Would the SPCA intervene? “He could hurt someone.”

“He won’t. The Greek Domestic is a docile breed. They don’t bite.”

“Wanna bet?” I held out my arm to show him Evidence A. “See that spot right there?” I pointed to the inside of my arm. “There’s the proof. Teeth marks. Ask me what I did to deserve it. Go on. Ask me.”

“What did you do to deserve it?” Stephen asked.

“Nothing. I was sound asleep in my bed, and that mutt jumped up there and tore into me in the middle of the night like I’d somehow threatened him.”

“Wait. Was that the night it stormed?” Stephen asked. “Maybe he was scared.”

“Hmm. Could be.” I shrugged. “Still, I don’t think bringing him to the studio is the best idea. The risk is too great, especially with little ones around.”

“Just give me your address and I’ll come by your house tonight after work.” He smiled. “I’ll bring Brooke with me. That way she and the dog can get to know one another in the car on the ride back. Trust me, by tomorrow at this time, everything will be fine.”

I had to admit, meeting his daughter did sound good. I’d been dying to know what this eleven-year-old looked and acted like. Was she really the challenge he’d made her out to be?

We made our plans and then dove back into our work. As the hours passed, I felt more settled about, well, pretty much everything. Hopefully that feeling would stick.

That evening I arrived home to pure chaos. Zeus had somehow slipped out the front door and sprinted away. My father followed him, leash in hand, calling his name. I could only imagine what sort of trouble the dog could cause while on the run.

Babbas finally returned, looking winded and frazzled. The mutt squirmed and whimpered in his arms. He looked almost as exhausted.

“Babbas?” I looked at the wrinkles in his brow. “You okay?”

Zeus jumped down, and my father leaned against the stair railing, taking a few deep breaths. “Nothing,” he huffed, “an . . . extra dose of”—he paused for a breath—“blood pressure meds . . . won’t cure.” The rosy color in his cheeks made me nervous. By now the dog was circling us like a buzzard. Hopefully he wouldn’t swoop in for the kill. “He made it twelve blocks . . . and approximately forty houses . . . before I caught up with him.”

“Man. He’s fast on his feet.”

“Must be all the demons driving him.” My father gave a woeful smile.

“No doubt.”

The doorbell rang and I headed to the door to greet Stephen and Brooke, more than a little curious. After the big buildup, I had to wonder about the infamous preteen. Was she really as moody as he’d let on? If so, I’d better prepare myself.

My mother reached the door first. I stepped behind her, noticing the beautiful young woman with the curly brunette hair standing behind Stephen. She was petite with gorgeous brown eyes—eyes that stood in direct contrast to the unhappy look on her face.

Other than the expression, nothing about her stood out or seemed unusual. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Attila the Hun? A gothic-looking kid dressed in black? Instead, I found a typical-looking preteen, maybe a little small for her age, who seemed shy at best. And that beautiful dark hair. Wow! She could do shampoo commercials with hair like that.

“You must be Brooke.” My mama swept the young woman into her arms and began to murmur her welcome in Greek. “Oh, you sweet, sweet girl!”

Brooke seemed to freeze up in my mother’s embrace. Obviously her tongue was frozen too. She didn’t say a word, though her wide eyes spoke volumes. So did the glare that followed when my mother squeezed her tighter.

Mama never seemed to notice, thankfully. She took Brooke by the arm and led her into the living room, babbling on and on, half in English, half in Greek.

I kept a watchful eye on Stephen, whose gaze shifted from my mother to me to the various paintings of Greece on the walls, then back to me.

“Feels like home here,” he said at last. “Smells like it too.” He closed his eyes and appeared to be breathing in the scent.

“My dad’s in the kitchen, cooking,” I said. “He’s going to ask you to stay for dinner, so prepare yourself. He loves to cook for people. No one is a stranger in his kitchen.”

“I would think he’d get his fill at the shop.”

“Oh no. My dad’s a whiz at the stove. I think he would’ve done really well as a chef. Full Greek cuisine, I mean. Not just sandwiches.”

A satisfied look came over Stephen. “I get hungry just thinking about all the foods my grandmother used to make. I lived with her for a few years when I was in elementary school and got an education that no public school could top. She was the best cook I’ve ever known.”

Interesting. I wanted to ask more about that but never got the chance. Off in the distance, Zeus began to bark. For the first time, a hint of a smile lit Brooke’s face.

“Is that our dog?” she asked.

“It is.” I turned to face the girl, dazzled by the genuine sweetness in her smile as Zeus came running into the room. “He’s a Greek Domestic Dog.”

“A Greek Domestic Dog?” She knelt on the floor and began to tickle the mongrel’s tummy. “Never heard of that breed. I’ll have to look it up on the internet.” She rolled her eyes. “But it figures. With my dad, everything is better if it’s Greek.” Her attention shifted back to the dog.

Mama turned to Stephen and grinned. “A good Greek boy.” Her gaze traveled back and forth between Stephen and me, and I could hear her unspoken words:
Perhaps my daughter won’t be a spinster after all!

Thankfully, Stephen couldn’t read her thoughts like I could. His attention remained fixed on his daughter. They seemed to have an unspoken conversation going on too. Funny how that worked. Parents and children just had a knack for speaking without words.

“Hey now,” he said. “Nothing wrong with appreciating your heritage.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “I just have to hear about it all the time. And besides, you’ve never even been to Greece, Dad.”

“I’ll get there someday,” he said. “It’s only a dream so far, but I know it’s going to happen. Wait and see.”

Me too.

I knelt on the floor next to Brooke and petted Zeus. “I’d never heard of this breed either,” I admitted. “Had to look it up myself. I know your dad said he’s supposed to be a calm breed, but I’ve witnessed just the opposite. He’s a real challenge. Do you think you’re up for the task?”

“Yeah.” Her expression grew serious. “I’m good with animals. They like me. I helped my friend Mandy train her dog to do tricks. He learned how to sit and stay and roll over. And he used to bark all the time, but I taught him not to.” She grinned. “I watch
The Dog Whisperer
.”

“She records every episode,” Stephen said. “I think she’s memorized Cesar Millan’s tricks of the trade.”

“It’s so easy.” She shrugged. “You just have to show him who’s the pack leader.”

“And that would be . . . ?” I looked at her and shrugged.

She pointed to herself. “Me. And he’s going to know it too.”

Five minutes later, with Zeus snoozing in her lap, I had to admit she hadn’t exaggerated. She was good with animals. Her father appeared to be good with them too. The one or two times Zeus tried to make a move in the wrong direction, Stephen made a shushing noise that stopped the dog in his tracks.

As we sat together in the living room, Brooke opened up and talked about all sorts of things related to the dog. She commented on his beautiful black and brown coat and the texture of his ears. She let me know that he needed to have his nails clipped and could stand to take off a couple of pounds. From there, she shifted into a story about how she hoped to be a vet when she grew up.

I could tell two things from the expression on Stephen’s face as he listened to this conversation. One, she rarely talked this much. And two, he’d had no idea she wanted to be a vet. Still, he didn’t interrupt her as she carried on about her hopes and dreams for the future. Instead, the sweetest fatherly smile lit his face.

I watched it all, the oddest sensation gripping my heart. His love for her was almost palpable. I could feel it. And suddenly I wondered what it would feel like to have a daughter this age. What would it be like to have a daughter at all? Sure, I’d walked my sister through the births of her little girls—and then her son—but to have a daughter I could call my own? What would that be like?

I looked back and forth between Stephen and Brooke, my focus narrowing. They had the same eyes and similar noses. Her hair was a couple of shades lighter, and a teensy bit of preteen chubbiness had set in, so I couldn’t really tell if she had inherited his overall physique. Still, when she smiled—which turned out to be more than I’d imagined—she looked just like him. In other words, I found her to be quite a stunner.

Two more thoughts occurred to me. One, her mother—whoever and wherever she was—was missing out on the most beautiful daughter in the world. And two, Brooke and her daddy were lucky to have each other. Thinking about this got me a little misty. It also made me angry that her mother had walked away. What kind of woman would do something like that?

Mama looked my way. “You okay, Athena?”

“Yes.” I drew in a deep breath, doing my best to look composed. “Getting hungry, though. That food smells delicious.”

“I agree.” Stephen looked for a moment like he might leap from the couch in search of the kitchen. Thank goodness he didn’t have to.

“Did I hear someone say they were hungry?” My father entered the room, still wearing his Super-Gyros apron. “I’ve prepared a feast fit for a king. Hope everyone likes lamb. Oh, and I have the most beautiful vegetable dish. Can’t wait for you to taste it.”

Brooke turned up her nose, but I could almost see Stephen salivating. “You don’t mind if we stay for dinner?”

“Of course not. You are our guests. We’ll have dinner and visit. And then you’ll stay for dessert. Hope you like baklava. Athena’s is the best.”

Stephen turned to look at me with a narrowed gaze. “I think I remember someone saying we might end up holding a duel to see about that.”

“You bake too?” my father asked.

“He’s the baklava king,” Brooke said with a confident smile. “Nobody makes it like my dad.”

Wow. That was the first time I’d actually heard her say something nice about her father, and it had to do with cooking? Interesting.

“Really.” My father looked back and forth between us. “Maybe we’ll have the two of you duke it out at the restaurant someday. How does that sound to you, Stephen? Ready for a Greek Iron Chef challenge?”

“I’m always up for a challenge, trust me.”

Ugh. He had to say that. Those words reminded me that his latest challenge could very well be to take over my job.

Deep breath, Athena. No point in worrying about that tonight.

After putting Zeus in the backyard, we sent Brooke to the restroom to wash her hands. I took advantage of the opportunity to share my thoughts.

“She’s a beautiful girl, Stephen,” I said once she was out of earshot. “And a real sweetheart too. Not quite what I pictured, from your description.”

A sad expression registered in his eyes. “I feel like a real heel for sharing all of her negative traits before telling you how precious she is to me. It’s just that you never know what you’re going to get with her, so I always like to warn people. I don’t want anyone to take her sour attitude personally.”

“Haven’t really seen that side. I’d expected her to be moodier, based on your description.”

“I know. It’s so weird. One minute she’s pouncing like a lion, the next she’s as gentle as a lamb. So confusing.” He scratched his head. “There’s no place for me to go to get a degree in mothering. You know? I can only teach her what I can teach her, which ain’t much.”

I reached to pat his arm, once again caught off guard by those impressive biceps. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve taught her a lot. It’s clear she’s her father’s daughter.”

“You think?” As he spoke the words, his eyes brimmed with tears.

“I do. And I see a lot of potential there. Maybe she really will grow up to be a vet. Or maybe she’ll be a comic like her dad. Or maybe a combination of both—a vet with a sense of humor.”

“Now,
that
I can’t picture.” He grinned. “But I’d love it.” Another sad look passed over him as he whispered, “Honestly, I’d just like to see her smile more. She’s been so . . . down.”

“Bring her around here more,” I said. “We’re a laugh-a-minute bunch. I think we’ll loosen her up.”

“I might just take you up on that.” The look that followed was so tender it pricked my heart. For a moment there, I could almost envision Stephen and Brooke coming over for dinner. Hanging out with the fam. Playing with my sister’s kids. Spending time with the cousins. Eating baklava.

Brooke came out of the bathroom, took one look at the two of us standing so close together, and gave us a knowing look. “Someone has a crush.”

“Oh?” Right away, I realized I still had my hand on Stephen’s arm. I pulled it back. “We were just talking.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Come,” my father hollered from the dining room. “The lamb is getting cold.”

As I led the way to the dining room, I tried to push aside the embarrassment that had risen at Brooke’s proclamation that I had a crush on her father.

Or did she mean that he had a crush on me?

Either way, the idea left me feeling discombobulated. Thankfully, my family didn’t pick up on my embarrassment. They entered the dining room in their usual boisterous way, loading up the table with all sorts of yummy delights.

We sat, my parents on opposite ends, my brother and I on one side, Stephen and Brooke on the other. As my father bowed his head to say grace, Brooke stared, wide-eyed. Not that I was looking, of course. After the prayer ended, she shook her head.

“What is it, honey?” I asked.

“You’re just . . .” She shook her head.

“Just what?”

“Like a TV family. Ya know?”

My father snorted. “Hardly.”

“No, really.” She gestured to the large oak table and the china cabinet that sat nearby. “Do you know how many people would kill to have a real dining room table in their house? And people sitting around the table talking about dumb stuff?”

“How do you know we’re going to talk about dumb stuff?” my brother challenged her as he sliced the lamb. “Maybe I have something brilliant to say.”

She rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time. “Because TV families always talk about dumb stuff. They sit around and talk about things that don’t matter, but that’s what makes it all so . . .” She sighed.