DEL AND FELICIA CLINKED miniature porcelain cups at a Japanese restaurant in West Hollywood. Sizzles and pops surrounded them as grills filled the room with the aroma of fresh meat and vegetables cooking. In the middle of the restaurant was a rectangular area similar to a bar, its perimeter enclosed by a high counter and elevated chairs. In the center of it, a chef in a crisp, white uniform and a tall, white hat prepared entrées in a made-to-order fashion.
Throughout the dining room, patrons sipped sake as another chef rolled a small cooking station to each table and prepared meals from scratch. Aside from the crackling grills, the clink of cooking utensils, and the murmur of private conversations, the room was tranquil.
As usual, nobody recognized Del. He had re-entered the public’s consciousness mere weeks ago. That would soon change, he knew; but for now, at least in subdued environments like this, he and Felicia still had their privacy.
The classic Japanese music playing overhead reminded Del of a James Clavell novel he’d read once. Del adored Far Eastern cultures. He could picture himself sitting in a quaint restaurant buried in the Pacific Rim, where calligraphy accented the décor, watching candlelight dance upon the face of this intriguing minister, a woman whose smile disarmed and inspired him.
Del updated Felicia on the details of his meeting with Bernie Schulman and the other producers and executives with whom he and Arnie had met that week. He felt refreshed, like a teenager with a new car and newfound freedom. Freedom to roam. Freedom to dream again. His whole countenance felt alight.
“I’m happy for you,” Felicia said. “You’ve waited a long time for this.”
“After I sign the deal, I’m going to take you to Bora Bora, just for fun!”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Just the two of us? I’m a minister, Del! How would that look?”
With a merry heart, Del grabbed the sake flask and poured Felicia another serving. “Fine, we’ll get separate rooms.”
Felicia laughed at that.
Each moment Del spent with her, he grew fonder of her company. He was serious about Bora Bora. And he didn’t want to stop there. He wanted to show her the world.
Madrid! Tokyo! Rio!
He took her hand and cradled it in his.
“Once this deal happens, we’ll be set for life. You and me. I’ll work when I want to. We can do whatever we want, Felicia,” he promised. “You’ll never need to think about money again.”
Something changed in the way she looked at him. A distance in her eyes, as though they had shrunken back and she’d begun to erect a wall of caution. Her glance darted to her plate.
Del stopped short.
“Whoa, what happened?” he asked, her hand still in his. “Aren’t you excited about this?”
“I’m thrilled for you, Del.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…” Her voice trailed off.
“Talk to me. You should be excited! I want to take you along for this ride!”
Felicia shrugged and seemed a tad shy. “The whole wealth and fame thing, material stuff…I don’t know, I’ve never considered those things important, I guess.”
“And I love that about you,” Del said, his heart sincere. Her genuine nature had always drawn him to her. “But you have to admit, material possessions are nice. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Do you?”
“I don’t disagree. At the same time, though, it’s all so…”
He leaned toward her. “Yes?”
“Temporary.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. Had she grown uncomfortable?
“Temporary?” prompted Del.
“In terms of the bigger picture. Eternity. The fame and money—you can’t take it with you when this life ends, right? I think of those Egyptian mummies, buried amid all that wealth—and what did it do for them? It stayed behind when they died. So wealth isn’t really a factor to me.”
“But it’s not a bad thing to have.”
“Of course it isn’t. But it also isn’t a source of joy.”
The chef’s arrival interrupted them. He confirmed their orders and prepared their meals.
Del lifted his cup and sipped his drink. The sake went down smooth and warm. He pondered what Felicia had said. Of course he couldn’t take anything with him when he died. He knew that. But he didn’t feel as though she had judged him; rather, when she spoke, she widened Del’s perspectives on life. He loved that about her. Del had lived a life of luxury; Felicia hadn’t. And yet, Felicia seemed more content than he was. It was one reason he wanted to know her more.
When the chef departed, Del invited Felicia to speak a blessing over their meal, then they began to partake. Del added a dash of soy sauce and savored each bite. He could live on Japanese cuisine alone.
“Speaking of the script deal,” Del said, “people seem to have their sights on Nora as the lead.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
Del’s mind returned to his lingering nervousness about the young actress, then remembered his conversation with Tristan, and the career coincidence that seemed too close for comfort.
He tried to wrap words around his thoughts in a way that wouldn’t come across as overbearing.
“They’re right,” Del replied, his hesitancy intact. “The part is ideal for her. But…”
Felicia squinted. Del recognized that look. She had entered scrutiny mode.
“But what?” she coaxed.
“I don’t know,” Del hedged, “maybe this project isn’t right for her. Not at this time, anyway.”
Felicia laid down her chopsticks and gave him her sole focus. “What do you mean, ‘at this time?’”
Should he say more? What if he was paranoid? He had no evidence to suggest Nora was in trouble. At this point, it was pure speculation.
“You know I’ve never been much of a religious guy. I’m not opposed to it, but my background—it hasn’t been part of my life since childhood. So I don’t know much about it. But you’re a minister, so you know about giving guidance and advice, right?”
“Here and there, the best I can.”
Wincing, Del sighed, still feeling foolish. “She told me she’s talking to a wellness coach. But I think there could be more to it than needing advice.”
“Such as?”
“Well, this is nothing more than guesswork, but do you ever get a sense that somebody is in trouble, even though, on the surface, all appears normal?”
“Sometimes. And you’re saying you sense that about Nora?”
“Perhaps.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure…” Del didn’t want to raise an alarm for no reason and didn’t want to make Nora look bad. But the past had planted in him seeds of fear about the future when it came to those rare individuals he treasured in his heart, and for whatever reason, Nora had captured a piece of his heart. “It’s a strange feeling I get about something she said.”
“What did she say? Are you allowed to talk about it?”
“I don’t think she would mind,” Del replied. “She mentioned the pressure she’s facing with all the media attention. That’s normal; we all go through it.” He paused. “It wasn’t so much what she said, but the—I guess you could call it melancholy—that I picked up underneath what she said. It’s nagged at me ever since.”
Felicia nodded. “Has she done anything unusual?”
“I haven’t known her long, so I don’t know what’s usual or unusual. The melancholy, though—”
“Yes?”
“It reminds me of Marilyn Monroe’s final months before her death. You could sense in her demeanor that something was off, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. You don’t know how to mention it, other than to ask if everything is okay. And of course they’ll tell you all is fine,” he explained. “But what concerns me further is that she’s talking anonymously to a wellness coach who doesn’t know what’s going on with her. What kind of advice could he be giving her? What if he steers her wrong?”
“Nora’s a smart woman. Do you think she would follow bad advice?”
“Perhaps not,” Del replied. “But there’s more to my suspicions about this coach.”
“Have you checked him out?”
“Yes, and he appears legitimate. As far as you can determine from a website, anyway.”
Felicia’s eyes narrowed. “But you suspect there’s more to the story?”
Grimacing, Del surrendered. “I think her coach is Tristan.”
“Her friend? The one we met at your house?”
“Yes.”
“Del—”
“Hear me out,” he said. “How long has she known the guy?”
“She said they met at a coffee shop a while back. Two months, maybe?”
“So there’s a lot she doesn’t know about him.”
“Tristan says he’s an entrepreneur. He runs an online business.”
“Entirely online,” hinted Del. “I asked him about his business the other day, and he shed more light on it. Get this: He’s a wellness coach.”
“What!”
“I kid you not. When I asked him more about it, he described the same approach Nora described, down to the detail.” Del leaned forward, willing her to believe him. “And he mentioned one of his most recent clients is a celebrity who keeps herself anonymous. Around the same time Nora mentions the whole thing on her side.”
Felicia’s countenance softened, and Del knew she’d begun to give merit to his suspicions.
“But the Internet is worldwide, Del. This coach could be anywhere.”
“His website says he’s based in L.A. It shows a picture of some guy who claims to be this coach, but for all we know, it could be a catalog photo. And as far as I’m aware, neither Tristan nor Nora has mentioned the coaching thing to each other. So think about it: She keeps it quiet because she’s embarrassed; meanwhile, he keeps his client interactions confidential, so he never talks about his business.”
“Nonetheless, it would be a substantial coincidence.”
“The world is much smaller than we tend to think.”
“And you haven’t mentioned this to either of them?”
He shook his head. “Tristan himself might even not suspect Nora is his client. Like I said, they probably haven’t talked about it. After all, they haven’t been friends long.” Del paused. “Tristan’s a nice kid, but would you want to take advice from him?”
“Where does he get his answers?”
“He says he doesn’t need any. It’s all a matter of affirmation or reaffirmation or whatever he considered it. Telling people what they want to hear and letting them believe they’ve taken a step forward. He looks at it as meeting a demand. I don’t think he intends to take advantage of anyone; if anything, he strikes me as naïve.”
Felicia shook her head. From the way she pursed her lips, Del read not only that she agreed with his suspicions, but now she felt the same awkwardness he did: the helpless feeling of sensing truth but possessing no proof.
“Maybe you should mention something to him, Del. Keep it casual. No need to confront him.”
“I agree.”
They returned to their meal, which, by now, had cooled to lukewarm. Nevertheless, Del held no regrets about focusing on the discussion at hand. Whether his misgivings were accurate or faulty, at least he had company.
“How’s the home search coming along?” Felicia asked.
“Ugh, I haven’t had a chance to research. Things got busy, as you know. At least we wrote the extra months into the contract for me to rent the house in the meantime.” What he wouldn’t have given to take back his decision to move. He finally heeds his accountant’s advice, and now this happens. Of all the times for a home to sell with lightning speed! “This script deal would have enabled me to keep my home for the rest of my life. I wish I hadn’t sold it.”
“Has the sale closed yet?”
“Not yet.”
Felicia regarded him a moment, then said, “Would the buyer be willing to reconsider?”
Del hadn’t thought of that. It was worth a try.