seemed like a good idea to her, Walt, or Peter. It seemed stupid to her now. She was going to Hollywood to write a screenplay, where she would be alone and miserable for nearly a year, and at home in Ross she had the perfect life.
“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” Tanya promised. “Give Meg and Dad my love, and a big squishy hug to you.”
“You too, Mom,” Molly said, and hung up, as Tanya sat in the limo, heading south. Thinking about them, she just stared out the window, too sad to cry.
Chapter 4
I t was nearly seven o'clock in the evening as Tanya's limo drove up to the Beverly Hills Hotel, and stopped at the covered entrance. A doorman immediately appeared to take her bags, and greeted her with decorum as she emerged. Her blue jeans, T-shirt, and sandals seemed underdressed here somehow. There were beautiful girls who looked like models drifting by in shorts and high-heeled sandals, with perfect pedicures and masses of blond hair. Tanya was wearing hers in a braid, which made her feel oddly out of place, and embarrassingly plain. Her Marin Mom look seemed far too understated here. Even half-dressed in halter tops or see-through shirts, everyone looked glamorous and like a star to her. She looked and felt as though she had just crawled out of her backyard in Ross. And after the emotions of saying goodbye to Peter and her children, she felt like she'd been hit by a bus, or dragged through a bush backward, as the English said. It was an expression she loved using in her scripts for the soaps. It seemed so apt, and just how she felt now. Mugged. Sad. Lonely. Lost. Alone.
A bellman whisked her bags away, and gave her a claim check to turn in at the desk. Once there, she stood cautiously behind a Japanese couple, and some people from New York, as what appeared to her to be Hollywood types wandered through the lobby. She was so distracted when it was her turn that she didn't even notice that the assistant manager at the front desk was waiting for her.
“Oh … sorry …” she apologized. She felt like a total tourist as she looked around. The lobby had been magnificently redone. She had had lunch here once or twice, when she came down for the day and met with the producers of her most lucrative soap.
“Will you be staying with us for long?” the young man asked, when she gave her name. She almost burst into tears when he asked.
“Nine months,” she said, looking grim, “or something like that.” He asked her for her name again, and then apologized instantly when he realized who she was.
“Of course, Miss Harris, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you. We have Bungalow 2 waiting for you.”
“Mrs. Harris,” she corrected, looking bereft.
“Certainly. I'll make a note of that. Do you have a claim check for your bags?” She handed him the stub, and he came around the desk to take her to the bungalow. She didn't know why, but she dreaded seeing it. She didn't want to be there. All she wanted to do was go home. She felt like a kid who had been sent to camp. She wondered if Jason was feeling that way in his dorm room, but she suspected that he didn't. He was probably having a terrific time with the other kids. She felt like a new kid at school, too, probably far more than he did. She thought about him as she followed the assistant manager over a little walkway through a profusion of vegetation, and she found herself in front of the bungalow that was going to be her home until postproduction was over, whenever that was, at worst next June. Nine months away. An absolute eternity to her, without Peter and her children. Waiting nine months for her babies had been a lot more fun. Now she was going to have to give birth to a script.
She walked into the living room of the suite, and immediately noticed a vase of flowers nearly as tall as she was. She had never seen anything like it. There were roses, lilies, orchids, and gigantic flowers she didn't even recognize. It was the most beautiful arrangement she'd ever
“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” Tanya promised. “Give Meg and Dad my love, and a big squishy hug to you.”
“You too, Mom,” Molly said, and hung up, as Tanya sat in the limo, heading south. Thinking about them, she just stared out the window, too sad to cry.
Chapter 4
I t was nearly seven o'clock in the evening as Tanya's limo drove up to the Beverly Hills Hotel, and stopped at the covered entrance. A doorman immediately appeared to take her bags, and greeted her with decorum as she emerged. Her blue jeans, T-shirt, and sandals seemed underdressed here somehow. There were beautiful girls who looked like models drifting by in shorts and high-heeled sandals, with perfect pedicures and masses of blond hair. Tanya was wearing hers in a braid, which made her feel oddly out of place, and embarrassingly plain. Her Marin Mom look seemed far too understated here. Even half-dressed in halter tops or see-through shirts, everyone looked glamorous and like a star to her. She looked and felt as though she had just crawled out of her backyard in Ross. And after the emotions of saying goodbye to Peter and her children, she felt like she'd been hit by a bus, or dragged through a bush backward, as the English said. It was an expression she loved using in her scripts for the soaps. It seemed so apt, and just how she felt now. Mugged. Sad. Lonely. Lost. Alone.
A bellman whisked her bags away, and gave her a claim check to turn in at the desk. Once there, she stood cautiously behind a Japanese couple, and some people from New York, as what appeared to her to be Hollywood types wandered through the lobby. She was so distracted when it was her turn that she didn't even notice that the assistant manager at the front desk was waiting for her.
“Oh … sorry …” she apologized. She felt like a total tourist as she looked around. The lobby had been magnificently redone. She had had lunch here once or twice, when she came down for the day and met with the producers of her most lucrative soap.
“Will you be staying with us for long?” the young man asked, when she gave her name. She almost burst into tears when he asked.
“Nine months,” she said, looking grim, “or something like that.” He asked her for her name again, and then apologized instantly when he realized who she was.
“Of course, Miss Harris, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you. We have Bungalow 2 waiting for you.”
“Mrs. Harris,” she corrected, looking bereft.
“Certainly. I'll make a note of that. Do you have a claim check for your bags?” She handed him the stub, and he came around the desk to take her to the bungalow. She didn't know why, but she dreaded seeing it. She didn't want to be there. All she wanted to do was go home. She felt like a kid who had been sent to camp. She wondered if Jason was feeling that way in his dorm room, but she suspected that he didn't. He was probably having a terrific time with the other kids. She felt like a new kid at school, too, probably far more than he did. She thought about him as she followed the assistant manager over a little walkway through a profusion of vegetation, and she found herself in front of the bungalow that was going to be her home until postproduction was over, whenever that was, at worst next June. Nine months away. An absolute eternity to her, without Peter and her children. Waiting nine months for her babies had been a lot more fun. Now she was going to have to give birth to a script.
She walked into the living room of the suite, and immediately noticed a vase of flowers nearly as tall as she was. She had never seen anything like it. There were roses, lilies, orchids, and gigantic flowers she didn't even recognize. It was the most beautiful arrangement she'd ever
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