“So better for me to be alone so I can focus?”
Bernie’s lower lip trembled. “Zennie, I’m sorry. I’m saying everything all wrong.”
Zennie shook her head and hugged her friend. “No, you’re not. It’s me. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” She started to laugh. “I think it was hormones.”
“Really?”
“Aren’t I your most levelheaded friend?”
“You are.” Bernie clutched her arms. “You’re really having our baby.”
“I really am.” She opened the front door. “I love you, now go celebrate with your husband. I’ll see you two later.”
“I’ll text the time. Love you bunches. Bye.”
Zennie closed the door behind her friend, then sat on the sofa. Pregnant. She was well and truly pregnant and had no idea what to do with the information. She had so many people to tell. Her mother for one, and her dad. She was going to keep quiet at work as long as possible. Ali knew about the procedure but not the results.
Zennie got her phone and quickly texted her sister, then sat back and tried to wrap her mind around the information. Pregnant.
I’m super excited for you, Ali texted back. Congrats.
Zennie smiled. She scrolled through the contacts list, hesitating when she saw Clark’s name. No way, she told herself. She didn’t want to tell him. Besides, it would be a little too weird to text him to let him know she was pregnant. Jeez—what a crazy idea. Why on earth would she be thinking...
She flopped back on the sofa and grinned. Oh, yeah, she was pregnant and it was going to be a heck of a ride.
Chapter Seventeen
Post-show fan greetings were a tradition on the show. Those who wanted to meet Finola stayed after for a quick meet and greet. Finola usually enjoyed spending time with her viewers but ever since the news had hit, she’d been reluctant to have any one-on-one time. Even smiling and shaking hands seemed risky, and she’d kept Rochelle close to whisk her away if necessary. But it had been more than a week and no one had said anything, so she was more relaxed as she worked her way through the line of fans, and Rochelle had retreated to the dressing room.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, shaking hands with an older couple. “I appreciate it. Are you locals?”
“Yes, we live in Huntington Beach,” the gray-haired man said. “Bought our first house there nearly forty years ago.”
Finola chuckled. “And it’s worth a whole lot more now.”
“It is.” He winked at her. “You’re sure pretty. Just as pretty in person.”
“Oh, Martin, you’re such a flirt.” Martin’s wife rolled her eyes. “As if she’d been interested in an old coot like you.” Her tone was teasing, her smile friendly.
“You’re charming, Martin,” Finola said, chuckling before turning to the next guests. “Hello. Thanks so much for coming to the show.”
The next couple was what looked like a mother-daughter pair, with the mother in her midforties and the daughter college age.
The daughter smiled. “Your clothes are great. I try to get my mom to dress better, but she won’t listen to me. Do you do your own hair, or does someone do it for you?”
Before Finola could answer, her mother narrowed her gaze. “I don’t understand why you’d want to air all your dirty laundry out in public like that. What’s the payoff to you? Are you that hungry for attention? Is that why Nigel left?”
Finola felt the judgment and slap all the way down to her soul. She wanted to run away but there was no escape and no one to protect her. She looked around, but most of the crew had disappeared and the other guests had left. These were the last two.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Finola said before she could stop herself. She knew there was no point, that she should simply thank them for coming and walk away, but she couldn’t seem to move. “Not the affair or the publicity. There are photographers stalking me. They found out where I live and they chase me in their cars, making me feel scared and unsafe. It’s a nightmare and it’s humiliating.”
She was saying too much but she couldn’t seem to stop. She wanted this woman to know that it was all Nigel. All him and that whore Treasure. Finola was the innocent party. She’d done nothing wrong.
She opened her mouth to say that, then shook her head. She was a fool. Whatever this woman thought of her was her business.
Finola forced herself to smile pleasantly at both of them. “Thank you so much for coming. I hope you enjoyed the show.” Then she turned and walked away, heading for the hallway where there would be people to make sure that awful woman didn’t follow her.
Behind her she heard the daughter saying, “Mo-om, why’d you say that? It was really rude.”
“She thinks she’s all that because she’s on TV.”
“She’s doing her job.”
“She chose this.”
Finola turned another corner and the words were lost. She made her way to her dressing room and went inside. Once the door was closed behind her, she leaned against it, as if keeping out everyone else.
Rochelle looked up from her laptop. “You okay?”
“Yes, of course. Just dealing with fans. You know how they can be.”
Rochelle’s gaze sharpened. “Did someone say something?”
Finola used her hand to flick away the question. “Do we have the segments for next week’s shows?”
“So that’s a yes.”
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no way to keep this sort of thing from happening. Everyone has an opinion, even if they don’t actually care about me or Nigel or even Treasure. Right now we’re interesting. Next week everyone will tune in to watch a surfing dog.”
“Do you know how many views you’ve had?” Rochelle asked softly. “Of that segment with Treasure?”
“Tell me.”
“Over two million.”
Finola collapsed on the sofa. “We’re just not that interesting. How can anyone care?”
She didn’t expect an answer and Rochelle didn’t say anything. Finola closed her eyes. “Isn’t it enough that we’ve had meetings discussing what segments we can and can’t do on the show? My agent yelled at me when she found out. She reminded me that when anything like this happened, she was my first call. The producers all huddle together and stop talking when I walk by.” She opened her eyes and stared at her assistant. “I’m not the bad guy.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Let me get you some tea.”
Because Finola couldn’t go home yet. She had fittings for the next quarter’s wardrobe and after that she had to work out for two hours to stay thin enough to be on TV and be attractive so people wouldn’t think Nigel had cheated on her because she was a hag.
“Thanks,” she said gratefully. “I swear I’ll get this figured out and quit whining.”
“You’re not whining,” Rochelle told her as she stood. “Finola, you’ve been through a lot. You’re dealing and it’s damned impressive.”
“Thank you.”
Finola told herself she would hang on to the kind words of support. She would stay strong and get through this, whatever it took. And when things were sorted out, she would—
Honest to God, she had no idea what she would do, but she was determined to be stronger than she had been. Honed by fire or whatever the phrase was. Because she was so tired of feeling broken.
* * *
Midmorning Ali finished the semiannual inventory of Mustang parts. The process controls she’d suggested a few months ago had turned out to make a big difference. She had a few more ideas she was going to discuss with Paul once she got her thoughts down in writing. As she made a few notes to review later, she thought about the possibility of going to college.
She hadn’t—after Finola and Zennie had gone, her parents had told her there wasn’t any money. She didn’t have a burning ambition to do anything specific, so she hadn’t really minded. Now it occurred to her she should have protested a little more than she had. Both her sisters had four-year degrees and she had nothing. They both had well-paying careers and she worked in an auto-parts warehouse. Yes, she’d moved up, from stocking to shipping to inventory control, but did she want to do this for the rest of her life? Didn’t she want to grow and be challenged and maybe contribute more than making sure there were plenty of headlights in stock? Not that she didn’t pride herself in her work, but was this where she saw herself in twenty years?
She knew her restlessness was as much about her breakup as her job. She was in transition and that was never easy. Even good change was stressful. So fine, if she didn’t have direction, she would figure it out. In the meantime, she could go to community college and start taking her general education classes. At least she would be moving forward instead of standing still.
She entered her inventory results into the computer, then went to the shared printer to pick up the paperwork. On her way, she saw Ray. Instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt, he had on black pants, a dress shirt and sports jacket.
“Ray, what’s going on? Hot lunch date?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Ali. I have a date.” He tugged at his collar. “Man, I hate dressing like this, but it’s for a good cause, right?”