Cheating at Solitaire (24 page)

—from 707
Ways
to Cheat at
Solitaire

" If this is supposed to be a welcome-home banner made I by Cassie, then why isn't Cassie making it?" Julia asked as she peeled layers of glittery glue from the ends of her fingers.

"Because it has to look nice, but like it was made by an actual five-year-old—that's why you're doing it and not Nina," Caroline said.

Julia studied the crude puffy letters and runny strips of glue and realized that if she were a five-year-old, she would never see the first grade based on her creation. She craned her head, hoping the banner might improve with distance, but no.
WELCOME HOME AUNT ROSEMARY
was still crooked on the long strip of yellow paper, the a-r-y of Rosemary still squished together and disproportionately small in relation to the w-e-1 of welcome. She looked across Caroline's massive dining-room table, at the glitter and errant marker doodles covering the newspaper they'd laid out to protect the wood, and felt certain that Cassie herself would have been neater.

She started to pick up pieces of the newspaper and slide the glitter into nice, uniform piles.

Caroline stared at her blankly as she worked.

"Hey, Caroline, it's okay to breathe. Ro-Ro's hired nurses, and she's going to her own apartment when she leaves the rehab center, remember? We talked her out of coming here or to Mom and Dad's. You don't have to take care of Ro-Ro!" But that newsflash didn't make Caroline smile. Instead, she was looking around her own formal dining room as if she were a buyer at an open house.

"We
never
use this room," she said finally. "Did you know that? We've eaten in here maybe twice in eight months. Twice." Caroline reached under the table and came back up with an extendible duster, which she used to reach the corners of the twelve-foot ceiling. "Doesn't stop it from getting dirty, though, does it?"

"Caroline," Julia started, but her sister cut her off.

"Did you know we have five bathrooms? Five?" Caroline faced Julia. "Four people, one of whom is in diapers, live in a house with five bathrooms." Caroline turned and began parading through her home.

"Have you seen our formal living room?"
she
asked, arms outstretched as she walked and Julia followed. "It's very nice. It's the room we walk through on our way to the family room, which is the room we walk through to get to the kitchen, which is the room the family actually lives in."

"Caroline"—Julia grew firm—"sit down." She wrestled her sister onto one of the barstools at the granite-covered kitchen island. "Tell me what's going on."

"Oh, I hate to say it," Caroline whimpered, burying her head in her hands, "but I think Ro-Ro's right. This house is too big for us. All Steve does is work because he's worried about the mortgage. All I do is clean. We don't even see each other most days. The only way I know he's living here is because I'm still doing his laundry." Caroline was crying, but she kept talking in sharp little gasps of breath. "And we can't sell because no one wants to live in an unfinished development." She paused.
"Next to Myrtle!"

"You'll pay down the mortgage," Julia comforted her. "And it'll get better. I can help."

Caroline looked at her, shocked. "You mean give us money?"

"We could call it a loan if that makes any difference."

"No." Caroline shook her head vigorously.

"Why not?" Julia asked. "I've got more than I'll ever need."

"Julia, we're not taking your money. Steve and I made a grown-up decision when we bought this place, and we're going to deal with it like grown-ups."

Grown-ups.
Julia remembered the last time she'd heard that term. "It's Nick and Cassie's inheritance," Julia said bluntly. "You saw Mom. You saw the way she worried these last few weeks, spending every day at the hospital or at the rehab center because she's Ro-Ro's only family. Well, that's me, Caroline. Someday, Nick and Cassie are going to have to take care of me because I'm not going to have any kids of my own to do it. So let me help you out now."

"Julia," Caroline cried in disbelief. "You don't honestly believe that!"

"Of course I do. You know that."

"You're
nothing
like Ro-Ro," Caroline exclaimed, but Julia wasn't so sure. They were both stubborn and full of themselves, set in their ways, and growing older. She thought about Lance, the way he'd always said that Ro-Ro reminded him of someone he knew, and only then did she realize that he was talking about her.

"Caroline," Julia said slowly, "let's face it. Ro-Ro is me with better jewelry." She'd said it to be funny, but the truth hit Julia hard. When Caroline didn't laugh, Julia focused on the problem at hand. "How much would bring your payment down to a manageable level?"

Caroline didn't offer her a figure. Instead, she asked, "Have you heard from Lance?"

"Lance and I aren't pen pals, Caroline. We've gone back to our own lives like we were supposed to. Besides," Julia added, "I'm leaving for Europe in three weeks. You know how hectic book tours are, and . . . " She broke off.

"Oh, Julia."

"Caroline, it's okay. I'm going to be so busy, you wouldn't believe it. I've got to do press, and Abby wants to put out a new book really quickly, so I've got to do that. I've got to, work. This is what I do, remember?"

"Yes," Caroline admitted. "It's what you do."

Julia looked down at the half-eaten pizza slice that rested on the molded plastic seat beside her in the airport waiting area. "I guess you found lunch without me," Abby was saying, her voice clear through Julia's cellular phone.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Abby. I won't starve," Julia said before taking a sip of her full-calorie Coke.

Damn Lance Collins.
He had left an entire case of the stuff, and Julia couldn't bear to throw it out. Now she was addicted. Between that and the whole milk she'd been drinking, she was glad to be going on tour. She needed to drop a few pounds, and more than a couple of Lance's bad habits, to distance herself from all the parts of Lance that remained long after he was gone.

Abby carried on. "Well, I'm heartbroken I couldn't see you while you were in town, but you know how it is."

Julia looked at the notebook peeking out of her bag and reassured her editor. "That's fine, Abby. I'll see you on my way back through. Maybe I'll have a draft ready for you by then."

"Jules," Abby protested, "I know you're good, but you're not Wonder Woman. No one can finish a book and travel and do press at the same time. Just enjoy the trip. And sell lots of books!"

'I will. Thanks, Abby."

"Oh, hey, while I've got you on the line, I should fill you in on some sad news." A tremor of dread rippled down Julia's spine. "Turns out our friend Richard Stone hasn't paid income taxes in seven years."

Julia felt like the jets that were taking off outside. "Really?"

"Really. He's left town completely. I think we've heard the last of Richard Stone."

"Oh, Abby." Julia gathered herself. "That's great. I don't know how to thank you."

"I told you," Abby joked. "Sell lots of books!"

"Okay." Julia laughed. "I'll get right on that."

She hung up the phone, checked the board behind the airline counter, and saw that her layover had been extended by two hours.
Great,
Julia thought.
I'm behind before I even get started.

She reached for her notebook, knowing that she needed to write, especially if she wanted to truly impress Abby and have an early draft when she came back through New York. But Julia didn't feel like writing. For the first time in her career, she had writer's block. She'd told herself that once she started traveling, the inspiration would flow, but so far all she'd felt had been jet lag and turbulence. Inspiration was like lost luggage, and she traveled on, hoping it would turn up somewhere along the way.

She fumbled in her purse for a pen, but found her deck of cards instead, and couldn't resist laying out a hand of solitaire. The cards fell beautifully into place, so she Hew through them, her hands moving without the benefit of her mind, her entire existence on cruise control. Then, as soon as the easy moves < disappeared, she heard the words that had been echoing in her head for weeks:
Keep on playing solitaire. . . . Keep on laying out those cards, and then ask
yourself when you're Ro-Ro's age i f it would have been so awful to put that painting someplace.

She shook her head, looked away from the cards, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of Lance Collins.

WAY #96: Let go of your baggage.

Life is going to be very long and difficult if you insisting items that are better left behind. No
matter if it is a nasty breakup or bad job interview, or anything in between, don't let those
things drag you down.

—from
101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire

Julia thought for a second that her mind was playing tricks on her. But no, there they were. In the lower-right-hand corner of the magazine, staring her in the face, were large, bold letters that read:
LANCE COLLINS—NOT JUST A PASSING FAD!

"Ma'am," Julia said as she moved and sat next to the older woman across the aisle.

"Yes, dear?" the woman said in a beautiful Irish lilt. "May I. . . ?" Julia gestured to the magazine, completely unable to finish her sentence, certainly incapable of walking twenty feet to a newsstand to buy her own copy.

"Why, certainly, dear," the woman said, and handed the magazine to Julia, who felt her breath catch as she looked down at the black-and-white photo on the cover.

She ripped through the pages until she saw his face again. She looked at the smile that he used to give to her and realized that he was now giving it to America. A pang of jealousy ripped through her, and she began to read.

LANCE COLLINS: NOT JUST A PASSING FAD

In an al -night bakery in TriBeCa, Lance Col ins looks like a lot of other men. Look closer. You
might notice his smile first; most people do. Or maybe his gray eyes and dark brown hair.

Maybe his large hands and firm grip as he stands and welcomes you to the table. You think
you've seen him before, but you just can't put your finger on where. Wel , don't worry. In
seven months, when the first of his three new blockbuster films hits theaters, his wil be a
face you won't be able to forget. For now, you remember the pictures of him with a certain
self-help diva who shal remain nameless, and you think, again, that he reminds you of
someone you maybe had a crush on once. Guess what? You're probably right.

When I met Hol ywood's latest "It" boy, a few blocks from where he's just begun shooting a
new movie, I had to do a double take myself.

FAD: Thanks for making the time to meet with me. Our readers are dying to learn more about
you.

LC: Oh, thanks. It's real y no trouble. Glad to do it.

FAD: So, I'm just going to lay this out there. What is your relationship with Julia James?

LC: (laughs) She's a friend. A wonderful person. I wish her al the best.

FAD: Is it true that your relationship was fabricated to boost her sales and launch your
career?

LC: That would be kind of hard, considering we never had a relationship and neither one of us
ever claimed to. Look, people can believe what they want, what they read, if they're gul ible
enough. But there's no way a guy like me deserves a woman like that.

FAD: Our female readers wil find that hard to believe.

LC: Don't worry, your male readers wil know exactly what I'm talking about.

FAD: You're working with A-list people on an A-list project now. How does that feel?

LC: I'm eating better than I have in years, and I'm not tending bar anymore, (smiles) But al
joking aside, it feels great. This is what I do. I act. It's great to be acting, period. If you get to
do it with the best in the business, al the better.

FAD: What about fame?

LC: (sips his coffee) What about it?

FAD: You saw it growing up with your dad. Academy Award Winner Robert Wel s, but you're
not using his last name now. Your former agent released that fact to the press, that you come
from acting royalty and yet have chosen to use Col ins, your mother's maiden name. Why?

LC: (he smirks—ladies, watch out for that) I changed my name. My dad is pretty famous.

Okay, We look a lot alike, but we're not clone
The
nepotism in life, in any career, especial y
good show or bad. I wanted to make it, but I wanted to own merit. That's why the Julia thing
never ( ? )
.
Why would I do that to her, put her through that, My Iast was a famous name? I
had that to begin with.

FAD: You're just friends?

LC: (takes a slow drink of coffee) Yeah.

( ? ) Lance Col ins might have had two stble at <«m« th#
«»»t
way and turned them down, but
as the sun ri
««t
ant
M»«> tan, I look at the eyes and smile he inherited from his father and I
realize that like it or not, when AmufnJ y> close look at Lance Col ins, fame is probably ■
i i
Unlike the barrage of reality-show sti , ,i . generation wannabes, this "It" boy is de-.tn .

i.« % ,■< , but just another fad. ( ? )

Julia dropped the magazine. The woman looked at her
th
en at Lance's picture on the cover.

"He's handsome,
UH dear?" the woman asked.

"I know him," Julia mumbled.

"Oh, do you now? Tell me." The
woman Irritate assuming
( ? ) the posture of a confidant. "How well you know him?"