Rosie dug her toes into the sand and watched the seagulls skim the waves. It was late afternoon and the tide was coming in. Families had packed up their coolers and gone back to their hotels to nurse their sunburns. A few swimmers paddled close to shore and a line of surfers waited at the break. The weather was cooling off and goose bumps crawled up Rosie’s skin.
Rosie had been at Butterfly Beach since early morning. She woke up ashamed of her behavior. Angelica wasn’t to blame for Ben’s defection, and Angelica idolized Grace Kelly. She could reel off the titles of her movies, her charities in Monaco, the dates of her marriage and her death. Rosie should have thanked Angelica for turning down the role in To Catch a Thief instead of fleeing to the cottage.
In the morning, Rosie couldn’t face Angelica and Dirk over poached eggs and bacon. She slipped on shorts and flip-flops and drove to the beach. A run would clear her head, and then she would go back and apologize. She’d force herself to eat lunch with Angelica and Dirk without cringing at the way he flipped his hair or pronounced his vowels.
But once Rosie felt the spray of the ocean and saw the beauty of the coastline, she couldn’t drag herself away. The peace settled over her like a fog. Angelica had left her a message but she’d answer it when she got home. All she wanted to do was walk the beach and watch crabs bury themselves in the sand. The sun touched the water and the horizon stretched out like a silk ribbon.
Rosie couldn’t understand how Ben moved on so quickly. When she thought about his new production company she couldn’t breathe. She felt foolish for thinking Ben’s tryst was a single mistake. Rosie had made the mistake of believing they could make it work.
Perhaps she should get a job in community theater like Ben and Angelica suggested. She’d be the assistant stage manager at the Montecito Playhouse. She’d stand in the back and recognize some faces from Hollywood. Actors often came to Montecito to do summer stock. But producers who left Hollywood didn’t go back. They were replaced by an eager crop of film school graduates faster than one could make the froth on a cappuccino.
Maybe Rosie could be a professional dog walker, lead German shepherds and Labradoodles along the beach. Or she’d get one of those telemarketing jobs where you worked in sweatpants and watched All My Children on mute. She considered sending her resume to other studios in Hollywood and her stomach lurched. Everyone in town would know Ben Ford brushed off his college sweetheart.
Rosie wished she had brought a sweater, but she didn’t want to leave until the sun set. A surfer dragged his board onto the sand and peeled off his wet suit. He shook the water out of his hair and walked towards the parking lot.
“I’d ask you to watch my board but you might let a horse run over it.” The surfer smiled. His blond curls stuck to his ears and his knees had cuts and bruises.
“I didn’t know horses were allowed on the beach,” Rosie replied.
“They are, actually.” Josh crouched on the sand next to her. “Riding on the beach at sunset is awesome.”
“I’ve been here since sunrise,” Rosie admitted, running her fingers through the sand. “It’s so peaceful.”
“You picked a great day.” Josh nodded and perched on his surfboard. “No breeze, just enough of a swell.”
Rosie sat awkwardly beside him. She wanted to apologize for running out of the garage, but she wasn’t sure what to say.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Josh turned to her.
“I was about to say that!” Rosie exclaimed.
“Apologize for what?” Josh asked.
“For running out of the garage. Last night I ran away from Angelica before dinner. She and her new boyfriend came up for the weekend. I’m not behaving well in social situations.” Rosie sighed.
“That’s why I come to the beach.” Josh chuckled. “It’s hard to mess up when it’s just you and the waves.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Rosie squinted into the late-afternoon sun. “I was angry but I’m beginning to understand.”
“Understand?” Josh repeated.
“How you can have been burned so badly that you never want to start another fire.”
“I was going to say I’m sorry for eating your fish tacos. I found them in the kitchen last night. Morris told me you made them after I ate the whole plate.”
“We sound like Abbott and Costello.” Rosie grinned, remembered the hours she and Ben spent doubled over with laughter watching Abbott and Costello movies. “I’m glad you liked them.”
“They were amazing.” Josh nodded. “I’ve taken surfing trips to Mexico where we lived on fish tacos for days. I’ve never tasted any that were so good. You should go pro.”
“It might be my only talent,” Rosie lamented. “I’ve been wondering if I should become a children’s party planner or a dog walker.”
“Dog walking would be dangerous.” Josh shook his head. “You might run over a Shih Tzu.”
“I didn’t mean to run over your board.” Rosie flinched. “And I did offer to pay to fix it.”
“I was trying to make you laugh.” Josh touched her arm.
“I got some bad news yesterday.” Rosie stared at the waves. “Ben started a new production company with Mary Beth Chase.”
Josh looked at Rosie. “Is she the woman in your bed?”
“Hair like Rapunzel, fake breasts, and lips of a blowfish.” Rosie nodded. “Did I mention she has an MBA from Stanford, and more movie successes than any female producer in the twenty-first century? She’s the woman with the golden fingernails.”
“Sounds frightening.” Josh’s brows knit together.
“She’s Ben’s ticket to Space Mountain.” Rosie dug her toes into the sand. “He’s launched into the stratosphere.”
“You two aren’t going to work it out?” he asked.
“Ben can’t separate the bedroom from the office.” She sighed. “He wants a woman who can do everything.”
“You’ll find someone else,” Josh assured her.
“I thought you didn’t believe in love.” Rosie frowned.
“It may not be right for me.” He shrugged. “But it is for most people.”
Rosie wrapped her arms around her chest and turned to Josh. “Tell me about the time you got your heart broken.”
“I met Sally in a Political Science class at UC Santa Barbara. She was smart and loved the ocean. We surfed every day. We got serious senior year, moved in together, planned a trip to Thailand. One day I came home and she had signed us both up for the LSAT. She had written out a list of law schools. Michigan for Christ’s sake! And New Orleans. I explained I didn’t want to be a lawyer and I couldn’t live away from the beach.” Josh gazed at the ocean. “We had a huge fight and I offered to compromise. We could live in LA. She’d go to law school and I’d figure out what I wanted to do.”
“What happened?” Rosie wondered aloud.
“She started surfing less and spending more time in the library. One afternoon I came home and there were two study guides in the kitchen. Sally admitted she was falling in love with a pre-law student in her Economics section.” He paused. “They both got accepted to Northwestern and now they practice law in Chicago. They just got engaged; she sent me a wedding invitation.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosie murmured, remembering the pain of Angelica saying that Ben and Mary Beth started their own production company.
Josh blinked, turning to Rosie. “I’m starving. Want to grab a burger? I’m buying.”
All she’d eaten since this morning was a bag of pita chips and an apple. “I’d love to, but you don’t have to pay.” She stood up, brushing the sand off her legs.
“Sure I do.” Josh grinned. “I ate your fish tacos.”
* * *
Rosie followed Josh’s car into the village. They parked under an oak tree and strolled along the sidewalk. Josh wore a Billabong t-shirt and leather flip-flops. The hair on his arms was blond and a narrow scar ran up his leg.
“When I was a kid I used to walk into every store with a quarter.” Josh waved at the shopwindows. “I’d ask each shopkeeper what I could buy and they thought I was so cute they gave me something for free.” He stopped in front of a diner with striped awnings. “Then I had a growth spurt and it didn’t work anymore.”
“I didn’t know you grew up here.” Rosie followed him inside. The floor was black and white squares of tile and there were red vinyl booths. An old-fashioned cash register stood on the counter and there was a glass case filled with tubs of ice cream.
“Just down the road.” Josh nodded, sliding into a booth.
“Do your parents still live in Montecito?” Rosie sat opposite him.
Josh scanned the menu and set it on the table. He looked up and his eyes darkened. “They’re both dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Rosie’s cheeks flushed and she put her napkin in her lap.
“We apologize a lot for two people who barely know each other.” He smiled, changing the subject. “Montecito is a great town. You should stay here for a while.”
“And do what, become a beekeeper?” Rosie glanced at her menu.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a beekeeper,” he answered. “You don’t have to be a neurosurgeon or a rocket scientist to be happy.”
“My parents are rocket scientists at Kennedy Space Center.” Rosie grinned. “They didn’t approve of my major, but they were happy when Ben and I won the award at Sundance.”
“They’re not going to stop being proud of you because you change careers.” He signaled for the waitress.
“I don’t really have a career. I assisted the casting director and the location scout. I consulted with craft services and sat in on budget meetings. I didn’t have anything of my own.”
Josh ordered a double cheeseburger and a chocolate shake and Rosie asked for a Cobb salad and a lemonade. They talked about Josh’s sister who was an artist in San Francisco and Rosie’s brother who taught economics in Japan.
“I was the only one in the family who watched movies or read novels.” Rosie sipped her lemonade. “At dinner my brother solved logarithms, and my parents discussed landing feasibility of the space shuttle.”
“My sister and I were really close.” Josh stirred his milk shake. “Every summer we’d have lemonade stands and build fortresses in the garden.”
“Is she married?” Rosie asked.
“A long string of boyfriends.” Josh waited while the waitress placed a burger and fries in front of him. “But she doesn’t want to settle down. I keep telling her to hurry up and choose the right guy so I can be an uncle.”
“Marriage is okay for everyone but you?” Rosie asked, pouring dressing on her salad.
“Yvette is a little complicated. She has that nomad’s heart and fiery personality,” he mused. “She’s always the heartbreaker in the relationship.”
“I’m surprised you eat burgers.” Rosie thought about Ben and Mary Beth and suddenly wanted to change the subject. “I thought surfers subsisted on tofu and wheatgrass.”
“I burn so many calories I have to eat nonstop.” Josh wiped his mouth. “When my buddies and I go on surfari we can eat three dozen eggs and two pounds of bacon in one sitting.” He added relish and mustard to his burger. “There’s a taco stand in Encinitas that makes the best enchiladas. Nothing beats coming in from the waves and chowing down with your mates.”
Rosie ate silently, wondering what she was doing sitting with a guy wearing board shorts and flip-flops at a vintage diner in Montecito. She was used to eating a Whole Foods salad on the set. Sometimes she and Ben slipped out to the Coffee Company and sipped iced frappuccinos. If they ordered a burger at one of the outdoor cafes in Santa Monica it came with organic beef and artisan cheese and a kale salad.
“I have an idea!” Josh put down his burger. “You could open a fish taco shop in town. You’d have a line out the door, like at the cookie store or the gelato place.”
“I’m not a chef.” Rosie shook her head.
“They were the best fish tacos I ever tasted,” Josh insisted. “What’s your secret?”
Rosie blushed, picking at crumbling blue cheese. “I use a few special ingredients in the guacamole.”
“It would be a blast to have your own shop.” Josh dipped his fries in ketchup. “I’m saving to buy the Classic Car Showroom when my boss retires.”
“I wouldn’t be good at it,” Rosie answered. “I’ve never been my own boss. I’m better at taking commands than giving them.”
“It beats dog walking.” Josh ate a mouthful of French fries. “Or hiding out in the Pullmans’ guest cottage.”
“I’m not hiding,” she bristled. “I’m taking a break and figuring out what to do.”
“You’re smart and young and have a college degree. You can do anything.” Josh finished his burger.
“Everyone wants to give me advice: Ben, Angelica, Estelle. I don’t need more advice.” Rosie rose unsteadily to her feet.
Josh stood up and put his hand on Rosie’s. His hands were bigger than Ben’s, and his fingernails were perfect half-moons.
“I’m sorry.” He smiled. “Sit down and finish your salad.”
“I hate salads.” Rosie’s mouth trembled. “All I ate in LA was salads: spinach salad, goat cheese salad, chicken Caesar salad.”
“Excuse me,” Josh called the waitress. “Could you take these plates away and bring us a banana split with two spoons.”
“I haven’t eaten a banana split since I was twelve.” Rosie sank back into the booth.
Josh sat down and smiled. “Then you have a lot of catching up to do.”
* * *
Rosie pulled into the Pullmans’ driveway and noticed Dirk’s Aston Martin parked by the steps. It was almost seven p.m. and Rosie would be late for dinner. The lights were on in the living room and she heard Dirk’s British accent and Estelle’s high, clear voice. There were the sounds of glasses clinking and music playing on the stereo. She parked by the garage and ran to the cottage. She couldn’t join them wearing shorts and flip-flops. Estelle believed in dressing in the evening, even if it was just her and Oscar at the long dining room table.
Rosie thought about Josh as she searched her closet for a pair of slacks and a sweater. She had never met someone so comfortable in his own skin. At Kenyon everyone wanted to get PhDs or become artists or writers. In Hollywood people were obsessed with fame and climbing the entertainment industry ladder. Even those who worked on indie films had two mantras: “Sundance” and “Cannes.”
Rosie glanced at her face in the mirror. She had new freckles on her nose and sun streaks in her hair. She couldn’t remember ever not having a serious goal. In high school she was determined to get into a great college. At Kenyon she worked hard to get good grades. When she met Ben she stopped thinking about the future: all they had to do was keep moving forward. Now she was like a train that fell off its tracks; she didn’t know how to get back on the rails.
“There you are!” Estelle greeted Rosie as she entered the living room. “Angelica was telling me about the lovely dinner you made last night.”
Rosie glanced at Angelica to see if she was angry with her. Angelica wore a pleated linen skirt and a ruffled blouse. She sat on a chintz love seat next to Dirk, sipping a glass of white wine.
“The fish tacos were delicious.” Angelica nodded. “We were hoping you’d make some for lunch but you disappeared.”
“I went to the beach early.” Rosie accepted a glass from Oscar and stood by the fireplace. “I was only going for a run, but I stayed all day.”
“You must be starving,” Estelle said. “When I walk the dogs on the beach, I could eat a whole box of donuts.”
“Mother.” Angelica rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen you eat a donut in my life.”
“I wanted to set a good example.” Estelle’s brown eyes sparkled mischievously. “But I keep a box of Dunkin’ Donuts in the bottom drawer of the pantry.”
“Dad, is she telling the truth?” Angelica turned to her father.
“Your mother has hidden talents and desires.” Oscar smiled affectionately. “She’s on the verge of inventing a new rose.”
“That’s fascinating.” Dirk beamed. “I spent a lot of time at Vita Sackville-West’s garden at Sissinghurst when I was performing at the Old Vic.”
“I haven’t invented a rose,” Estelle scoffed. “I’m experimenting with a couple of varieties. I want a perfect peach rose, it would look so pretty in the drawing room.”
Rosie listened to the conversation as if it was a symphony. The voices rose and fell; Estelle laughed, Angelica giggled, Oscar’s voice boomed like a drum. Even Dirk chimed in now and then, reeling off facts about British theater. Rosie felt herself shrinking against the fireplace. There was nothing she could add to the discussion. She didn’t want to talk about Hollywood and she didn’t know anything else.
“What do you think of Montecito village?” Estelle turned to Rosie. “Morris said you did some shopping.”
“It’s like a stage set. The storefronts are quaint and the sidewalks are perfectly scrubbed,” Rosie said, and bit her tongue. She’d have to stop thinking in Hollywood lingo. “I ate at a diner that looked straight out of Grease.”
“Sam’s Shake Shack?” Angelica inquired. “We used to get milk shakes there after school.”
“I ordered a lemonade, but Josh’s chocolate shake looked delicious.”
“Josh?” Estelle asked curiously.
“The guy who takes care of Oscar’s car collection. We are sort of friends. I ran over his surfboard the day I arrived.” Rosie blushed.
“Josh Fellows is still here!” Angelica exclaimed, tracing the rim of her wineglass.
“Josh is a good worker,” Oscar broke in. “He treats my cars like priceless works of art.”
“I thought he’d have moved on by now.” Angelica shrugged and fiddled with her wineglass. “No one stays in Montecito their whole life.”
“There’s nothing wrong with staying in Montecito. I was born in this house.” Estelle gave Angelica a sharp look.
“You’re different, Mother,” Angelica said patiently. “You’re a Montecito institution. You have a gorgeous estate and award-winning roses. Josh stayed in Santa Barbara for college.”
“How long have you known Josh?” Rosie turned to Angelica, curious why she had never mentioned him.
“He started working for Daddy when I was a freshman at USC,” Angelica remembered. “I teased him that he was the only mechanic I knew who was born and raised in Montecito.”
“Angelica,” Estelle said pointedly over her wineglass. “There’s nothing wrong with being a mechanic or a chauffeur if you love cars.”
“Daddy, I’m sorry. I always forget your father was the chauffeur.” Angelica blushed and looked at her father. “Gosh, I’m hungry. Can we take this conversation into the dining room?”
“Daddy and I are very proud of your success as an actress,” Estelle continued tersely. “But we would be proud of anything you did if it made you happy.”
“Okay, Mom, I understand.” Angelica dropped her eyes to the floor. “Peg made Yorkshire pudding, let’s eat.”
Oscar led the party into the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table. Rosie was placed beside Dirk, and Angelica sat across from him. Rosie kept glancing at Angelica, wanting to drag her into the kitchen and talk about last night. She felt like she was in a play production of Remains of the Day and she didn’t know how to get her best friend off the stage.
Morris served stuffed Cornish hens and glazed yams. There was Yorkshire pudding and raspberry pie with whipped cream. Rosie noticed Morris’ British accent was more pronounced and he bowed every time he approached the table.
“What’s your Fourth of July theme this year, Mother?” Angelica ate a forkful of pie. “I’ve told Dirk about your legendary parties: tennis matches and croquet on the lawn and music that plays all night.”
The Yorkshire pudding stuck in Rosie’s throat. She had pictured being with Ben on July 4th. She would wear her new red dress and gold Manolo sandals. Now she dreaded seeing him. What if he brought Mary Beth to Montecito and she ran into them in the village. And she couldn’t bear listening to Ben talk about his and Mary Beth’s new production company. It was better if she skipped the party altogether.
“It’s going to be 1920s theme,” Estelle said excitedly. “We’re going to have a sixteen-piece band that plays Cole Porter and Louis Armstrong. Men will wear white tie and tails and women will wear those wonderful flapper dresses. I thought about hiring a juggler and maybe even a fortune-teller. It always makes people feel good to believe they have wonderful events coming in their future.”
“You should ask Rosie to make her fish tacos,” Angelica suggested.
“I couldn’t cook for so many people,” Rosie protested. “I haven’t made the recipe in years.”
“Of course you could if you wanted to. It would be fun,” Estelle said to Rosie. “Peg can help you.”
“Actually, I wasn’t sure I’d go to the party,” Rosie confessed, examining her fork. “You and Oscar will be so busy with your guests, I don’t want you worrying if I’m having fun. I might stay in the cottage or there’s a play at the Montecito Playhouse starring some actors I know. Maybe I’ll go see it.”
She had seen a flyer in the village, but she never considered seeing a show. But anything would be better than standing on the lawn with a cocktail and watching Ben’s eyes light up if someone mentioned he was going to direct To Catch a Thief.
“You didn’t want to have anything to do with local theater,” Angelica reminded her. “Or is it a date? Are you going with Josh?”
“Josh and I are just friends,” Rosie snapped. She put her fork down and took a gulp of wine.
“He is cute, if you’re attracted to blond surfer types,” Angelica said casually.
“I’m not attracted to anyone.” Rosie glared at Angelica. “I just thought it might be a good idea. I don’t want to be a burden and you’re the one who said I should get involved in local theater.”
“Don’t be silly. We don’t expect you to be the life of the party, but you must meet all our friends. And you can see a play anytime,” Estelle said severely. “All of Oscar’s wonderful music people will be there. You’ll meet Ryan Addams and Colby Young.”
“Colby Young! Well, that is great news. He’s my favorite artist.” Angelica beamed. “We can’t wait.”
* * *
Rosie sat silently at the dining room table while Morris served coffee. Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. For the last week she had felt at home, but with Angelica and Dirk in the house, she was reminded she was a visitor. Angelica told her parents tales from pre-production of The Philadelphia Story; they talked about her brother, Sam, in Vermont, and their Irish setters, Rollo and Portia.
“Rosie,” Estelle said when everyone finished their coffee. “Will you join me in the library, I want to show you something.”
Angelica and Dirk went with Oscar to the garage to see his classic car collection. Rosie followed Estelle to a room with paneled walls and thick oriental rugs. A piano stood in one corner and two velvet armchairs faced the fireplace.
“You didn’t look very happy at dinner,” Estelle began, pouring two shots of cognac and handing one to Rosie.
“It’s great to see Angelica,” Rosie replied brightly. She took the cognac and stared at the amber liquid.
“Angelica told me about her dinner with Ben at the Beverly Wilshire,” Estelle began.
Rosie glanced at Estelle, trying to keep her voice steady. “You mean the dinner with Ben and Mary Beth, the head of his new production company.”
“I think it’s time to immerse yourself in something new,” Estelle continued, sipping her cognac.
“I am thinking.” Rosie sighed. “I sat at the beach all day trying to figure out what to do.”
“And?” Estelle perched on a velvet ottoman.
“Dog walker, telemarketer, children’s party planner.” Rosie slumped into an armchair opposite her. “Josh suggested I open a fish taco stand.”
Estelle studied the flower arrangement on the piano. “A fish taco stand! That’s very interesting. Not a stand, that’s tacky, but a proper shop in the village.”
“I could never do that. I’m not a chef.” Rosie shook her head.
“Nonsense, don’t say never. Angelica raved about your tacos. Even Morris said they were delicious. I’ve always thought owning one’s own shop would be great fun.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start. I haven’t done anything like that,” Rosie argued.
“It can’t be harder than running a movie set,” Estelle suggested. “It would be a wonderful way to channel your energy.”
“You mean it would be a way to stop thinking about Ben.” Rosie grimaced.
“I know you don’t want to go back to Hollywood.” Estelle crossed to the window and looked out on the lawn. It was dark and the outdoor lights glimmered like fireflies. “I like having you here in Montecito. I’d be sad if you left.”
“I’m just in Montecito for the summer,” Rosie reminded her.
“You can stay in the cottage as long as you like.” Estelle turned to Rosie. “But you need to occupy yourself, and you need to do something you love.”
“I met a young woman who owns a chocolate shop,” Rosie ruminated. “I could ask her how she got started.”
“Gold’s Chocolates?” Estelle inquired. “I adore her chocolate truffles. If you open a store, I’ll be your first customer and I’ll bring my garden club.”
“I should go find Angelica.” Rosie stood up. She wasn’t ready to start planning a new venture. “I haven’t been able to drag her away from Dirk all night.”
“They do seem quite attached,” Estelle said meditatively. “I really do think a fish taco store is a good idea. I can picture it: ROSIE’S FISH TACOS in red and white letters.”
“I’ll think about it,” Rosie promised. “You wanted to show me something?”
Estelle smiled like a cat basking in the sun. “I did.”
* * *
Rosie walked towards the garage. The farther she got from the library the more far-fetched Estelle’s idea seemed. Rosie didn’t know anything about running a store.
But she pictured the village of Montecito, the cobblestone streets and the oak trees hanging into the middle of the road. She would wear a red-and-white apron and there would be a line of sunburned tourists at the counter. When the shop closed she’d chat with the other shopkeepers, and when she went home she’d be too tired to think about Ben.
“There you are!” Angelica exclaimed as Rosie opened the garage door. “You keep disappearing.”
“Your mother wanted to show me something,” Rosie explained.
“Let’s get out of here. Daddy has a 1963 Aston Martin Dirk is crazy about.” Angelica strode towards the porch. “If he calls the car ‘darling’ one more time I’ll be jealous.”
Rosie followed Angelica to the back porch and they sat on a swing facing the lake. Crickets chirped in the dark and the stars were diamonds on a bolt of black velvet. The sprinklers came on and filled the air with a soft, white noise.
“I’m sorry I ran off last night,” Rosie said, breathing in the scent of damp grass and flowers.
“I didn’t mean to drop the atom bomb about Ben and Mary Beth,” Angelica answered and leaned back in the swing.
“Ben seemed so happy to hear from me when I called him the other day.” Rosie remembered his voice on the phone when she invited him to the party.
“I’m sure he was happy to hear from you. He has always loved you, Rosie, he just can’t see straight.” Angelica adjusted the ruffles on her blouse. “He’s moving so fast climbing the Hollywood ladder. He’s like a racehorse with blinders on.”
“I don’t want to think about Ben now.” Rosie swung her legs in front of her. “I’m sorry I ragged on you about Dirk. He might be the greatest British export since Smarties.”
“Dirk is gorgeous,” Angelica giggled. “Sometimes I just want to sit and stare at his profile.”
“He does look like Ewan McGregor,” Rosie admitted. “And that cleft on his chin is dreamy.”
“And he’s so sophisticated,” Angelica continued. “Matthew’s idea of dressing up was putting on a clean t-shirt. Dirk wears linen blazers and shoes with tassels.”
“Ben always wore the same pair of loafers,” Rosie remembered. “He probably has a whole wardrobe of shoes now made of every kind of reptile.”
“Rosie, you have to stop.”
“I know you’re right. I told you I didn’t want to think about him.” Rosie nodded. “I considered going to BA.”
“BA?” Angelica asked.
“Ben Anonymous,” Rosie joked. “Estelle wants me to decide what I’m going to do next and she’s right; limbo is lonely.”
“Dirk’s place has an extra bedroom,” Angelica offered. “It’s the size of a broom closet, but it’s yours if you want it.”
“I’m actually considering not going back to LA.” Rosie leaned back against the cushions.
“What are you talking about?” Angelica rocked back and forth on the swing. “Of course you’re coming back! Los Angeles is a big city and Ben is one guy. You’ll meet a new man the first night we go for cocktails at Chateau Marmont.”
“I don’t want to meet someone new,” Rosie insisted. “And I don’t want to work at a production company.”
“What else would you do?” Angelica asked.
“Josh suggested I open a fish taco shop,” Rosie said tentatively. “Your mother thought it was a good idea.”
“In Montecito?” Angelica raised her eyebrows.
“Why not?” Rosie answered more stridently than she felt. “Estelle said I could stay in the cottage. There’s plenty of money in our joint account. I could lease a space in the village, serve fish tacos, maybe lemonade and fruit drinks.”
“Open a store in Santa Monica until you find a new film project,” Angelica suggested. “Set it up and have some struggling actor run it when you go back to the studio.”
“I don’t want to hang out in Santa Monica or Venice or West Hollywood,” Rosie insisted. “I like Montecito. Butterfly Beach is so peaceful: I’m not afraid of being run over by skateboarders or people on rollerblades, it’s just waves and sand.”
“You’re thirty not fifty!” Angelica exclaimed. “You’ll never meet anyone to date here. The tourists come in pairs and the men who live here have wives who’d demand big alimony if they got divorced.”
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend or a husband,” Rosie said, the idea of a fish taco shop becoming more real. She could smell cod sizzling on an industrial stove and see tacos wrapped in silver paper with her name scrawled in red letters.
“You’re going to sink your time and money into tacos,” Angelica challenged her. “All you’ll end up with are calluses on your hands and the smell of fish in your clothes.”
“I’ll wear perfume,” Rosie suggested. “And I’ll lather my hands with skin cream at night.”
“You promise you won’t start wearing surfer t-shirts and flip-flops all the time?”
“Scout’s honor.” Rosie crossed her hands over her chest.
“My best friend is becoming a fishmonger and it’s my fault,” Angelica moaned.
“Maybe I’ll be the next Casey’s Cupcakes,” Rosie offered. “She made a fortune on cupcakes and was featured on television.”
“Casey sold cupcakes with flavors like amaretto truffle and chocolate velvet. Her stores were all pink and white and the cupcakes were presented in gorgeously decorated boxes.”
“Then I’ll be the Casey of fish tacos. Everyone loves fish tacos, it’s bound to be a success,” Rosie said with a lot more confidence than she felt.
* * *
Rosie searched the kitchen for a pen and paper. She wanted to write her to-do list while it was fresh in her mind. In the morning she would visit Rachel and ask if she knew any storefronts for rent. She felt like she was jumping off a high-dive board, but the rush was strangely exhilarating.
“I thought I heard someone in here.” Morris came in from the hallway. “Angelica’s boy toy asked for some Earl Grey tea.”
“Dirk’s not a boy toy,” Rosie admonished him. “He’s a Shakespearean actor.”
“I’d like to get a look at his passport to see if he’s really British.” Morris sniffed. “I bet the closest he’s come to performing Shakespeare is a high school stage in middle America.” Morris took out the silver tea set. He found a tea towel and polished the teapot.
“Estelle said you tried my fish tacos.” Rosie looked up from her notepad.
“I’m a big fan of tacos. Every night Peg makes me sausage rolls or meat pies.” Morris filled the kettle with water. “She thinks I still miss British food. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’d rather have a piece of salmon with steamed vegetables or a taco with guacamole and grated American cheese.”
“Do you really think they were good?” Rosie asked anxiously.
“Best Mexican food I’ve had since the two days I spent in Puerto Vallarta.” He nodded. He took silver dessert spoons out of the drawer and rubbed them with the tea towel.
“I’m thinking of opening a fish taco shop in the village,” she said. “Estelle thinks it’s a great idea. Angelica is positive I’m committing myself to a manless purgatory.”
Morris waited for the kettle to boil. He put two cups and a jug of whole cream on the tray.
“Would I have been happier if I joined another boy band instead of becoming a butler?” He placed tea bags in the cups. “There were British bands arriving at LAX every day. Oscar could have fixed me up and I’d still be living the high life: Beverly Hills mansions, screaming fans, male models. Maybe I would have found a nice guy and settled down: an entertainment lawyer with blue eyes and curly black hair,” Morris mused.
“You think I should go back to LA?” Rosie asked.
“I think there are no guarantees.” He added a bowl of sugar to the tray. “But when I take Mr. Pullman his afternoon cocktail and he thanks me for keeping his day running smoothly, I’m happy. When I see a closet of shirts I’ve pressed and a drawer of shoes I’ve shined, I’m proud. When the Pullmans greet dinner guests and I know the table is set so perfectly they could entertain the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, I’ve done a good job.”
“You are a wonderful butler,” Rosie agreed. “The Pullmans are the lucky ones; they are fortunate to have you.”
“And when I make a pretty girl smile”—Morris picked up the tray and looked at Rosie—“I’m the King of England.”
Rosie waited till Morris went upstairs. She poured herself a cup of tea and studied the sheet of paper. She wrote Rosie’s Fish Tacos in large flowery letters and numbered the items on her to-do list.