Chapter 2

Surf hits played on the bright and enticing jukebox in the corner of the 1950s diner that somehow had all of the modern amenities of a touristy restaurant. Nadia took in the harmonizing vocals of the Wilson brothers while gazing out of the window. The restaurant was only a short walk away from her hotel right on Zuma Beach, and she wondered what this view looked like sixty years ago when the surf craze was out in full force in this part of the world.

"What's this?" Her niece, Abigail, pointed to the tray of jams and jellies pressed against the wall. "Can I eat it?"

"You've never seen those before?" Nadia plucked a tiny package of blackberry jam from the basket. It was the same brand she saw as a child in rural America. "They're jam. You put them on your toast."

"You get toast here?"

"Sure. It's a breakfast platter staple, isn't it?"

Her niece looked at her as if she had no idea what those words meant. Abigail was one of the cleverest kids her age that Nadia had ever met, but when a girl only knew billionaire privilege, some things completely eluded her. Like what showed up in American diners.

They came here for lunch while Eva discussed whatever she had to say with her mother. Nadia hated the plan the moment she heard it. For one thing, she didn't trust Isabella within an inch of her life, and the thought of Abigail staying with her unsupervised? Blech. That was why Nadia volunteered to take her niece wherever she needed to go while they stayed in Malibu. It wasn't babysitting when a girl was as well-behaved as Abigail Warren.

Still, Nadia had her work cut out for her. She was used to either having Abigail's mother or nanny around, and neither was within a three-thousand-mile radius at the moment.

Nadia looked around the half-empty diner. While it was a bit late for lunch, she was surprised that so few people were there, besides what looked like locals and one other tourist typing away on his laptop. There were two chefs in the kitchen filling to-go orders that delivery drivers picked up with alacrity, but there had been no waitress, and the only sign of one had been a young woman Nadia saw when they came in and were told to sit "wherever."

"Who's this?" Abigail pointed to a large black and white portrait trapped beneath the plastic laminate of the table. "He's got a lot of stuff in his hair."

"That's Elvis," Nadia said. "You know. Elvis Presley. We saw a lot of his merchandise in Hawaii earlier this year."

"Was he the guy with the funny voice and outfits?"

"Probably. He was known for his look."

A shadow moved in the corner of Nadia's eye. Soon, the waitress in a black uniform and apron appeared with a tablet in her hand.

"Okay!" she said with fake bravado. "Sorry about the wait, ladies." She finally looked up from her tablet, making brief contact with Nadia before settling her gaze on Abigail. "Well, who's this sweetheart?" Did Nadia detect a rural accent? Not an East Coast one she had grown up around. Certainly not Southern or Midwestern. Yet it was distinct. Like this woman had stepped off a Greyhound bus from the Rocky Mountains. "You look new to Malibu! Are you enjoying yourself?"

Abigail instantly lit up to have a stranger talking to her. "Yeah! It's nice outside."

Nadia felt the need to explain that. "We've been roasting over on the East Coast this summer," she said.

"How old are you, sweetie?"

Abigail held up both hands. She had been so excited when she needed more than five fingers to display her age to people, and Nadia still found it utterly charming to see the niece who already knew how to read most basic books counting on her fingers. "Seven."

Nadia laughed. "Not quite, huh? You've got a few months."

"I'm in first grade next week. I am going to Winsesstah Academy."

"Winchester," Nadia corrected because she knew how particular the people at the private school were. "She doesn't know where that is, honey."

"Winchester Academy? My cousin went there!" The waitress slammed a fist on her hip as bullshit spewed from her mouth. "Tell her hi for me, huh? Her name is Courtney. Do you know Courtney?"

Abigail shook her head with a big grin.

"So, what will you have? What looks good, ladies? I have to say, Derrick back there grills up a pretty mean hamburger."

"I want pancakes," Abigail said.

"She'll have the kid's breakfast platter." Nadia pointed to it on the back of the menu. "Scrambled eggs with fresh fruit instead of bacon." When her niece gave her a stinky face, Nadia reminded her that was the deal if Abigail wanted the "real" syrup for her pancakes and not sugar-free. "As for me… I can't decide between the avocado toast with bacon or the loaded hashbrowns. Which is your favorite?"

The waitress was momentarily taken aback that someone had asked her opinion. "This might sound sacrilegious," she said, accent gone, "but I'm not big on avocado. The loaded hashbrowns are excellent, though. We use locally sourced sausage and top it with house-made sour cream if you're into that."

"Ooh. Think I'll do that." Nadia handed the waitress her menu. "Better than ketchup."

"I hate ketchup," Abigail added.

"You dislike sour cream even more." Nadia passed the kid's menu to the waitress as well. "Don't think I haven't forgotten what happened when the Taco Bell messed up your order." Although Nadia already had dinner, she was on the hook for three supreme tacos that had to be eaten that night. Learned a lesson. When it came to small children, there was never being specific enough with instructions.

"I like whipped cream…"

"Not the same thing."

"Hey, if you like whipped cream…" The waitress leaned down toward Abigail. "I can have them put a little on your pancakes. How about that, eh?"

Abigail clapped her hands together and gave Nadia such an expectant look that her aunt couldn't say no. "Why not?" Nadia sighed. "We're on vacation."

With a wink, the young waitress walked their orders to a POS station. Abigail kicked the table in excitement now that she knew she was getting "dessert" for lunch.

"Aren't you a spoiled kid?" Nadia checked for texts on her phone. Sure enough, there was one from Eva. "Don't tell your grandma, huh? She'd be mad."

"I don't tell Grandma anything."

"Smart kid," Nadia muttered. She opened her wife's texts and saw, "I've left the rental. Where are you guys? I want out of here."

Nadia typed the name and address of the diner. When she put her phone down again, she said, "Your Aunt Eva might join us soon. Should I order her some avocado toast? Extra crispy bacon, the way she likes it?"

"Only if I get some too."

Nadia laughed. "You really are a Warren, kid. Negotiating like one already."

Abigail gave two thumbs up. Nadia decided to not encourage that any more than she had.

image-placeholder

Eva walked from her mother's rental to the diner that was supposedly only fifteen minutes away. As she walked along the busy highway with her nose half-buried in her phone, she attempted to dissociate from everything her mother stuffed down her throat.

I could be a parent in a few years… The thought still didn't quite sink into Eva's skull, which remained permanently convinced that she was only twenty-five and fresh out of graduate school. Never mind she had fallen in love and gotten married since then. Hell, she had watched her brother fall in love and procreate since then!

Eva focused on the pounding of the surf to her left. Cars whizzed by. The September sun was gentle on her skin, although she had lathered herself in sunscreen, much to her mother's relief. Didn't do it for her. Did it for me. That was what Eva's therapist would want to know she thought. Everything filtered from her mother had to be reworded to suit Eva's prerogative.

All she forgot was a hat. As a woman who loathed things on her head, she always forgot the strip of her scalp exposed to the summer sun. Oh, well. She'd have to hope for the best.

The kitschy diner wasn't hard to spot once she turned the corner. A light-up neon sign pointed its arrow right to the 1950s Astro-esque diner that mimicked being made of tin instead of plywood. Big windows overlooked the beach, where surfers departed and landed on the surf and dogs ran for all their might. A marquee beneath the diner's arrow read EST 1948 – NOW SERVING BEYOND MEAT. Everything about it was delightfully silly, and Eva wondered if she was getting a milkshake. She didn't even really like milkshakes, but what else was she supposed to want when she heard The Everly Brothers blasting from the outdoor speakers?

She was about to go inside when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Eva stepped to the side of the building as she read a text from her brother. She'd answer it later. Eva's stomach grumbled.

"You have got to be kidding me!" squealed an anxious voice from behind the dumpsters that reeked of sunbaked leftovers. "You promised me a call back this summer, Louie!"

Eva's interest was piqued by the damsel in furious distress. She peered around the dumpster, catching sight of a young woman in a waitress's uniform as she stomped her foot and shouted into her phone. Well, well. Trouble in paradise?

"No, you're the scam artist, Lou! It's been three freakin' years! My time is runnin' out! If I don't get something besides a local jeans commercial soon, my ass is back on the bus to Pocatello! You know what my daddy's gonna do if I come crawlin' back to him? He's gonna make me get a job at the university cleaning dorm toilets!"

Eva stepped back before she was noticed. Yet the girl's wrath only mounted, absolutely ruining the 1950's beach bum vibes.

"I don't care if I sound like a hysterical bitch, Louie. Get me a gig, any decent-paying gig, before I'm another statistic in this god-forsaken city. I made a promise to my mama's grave that I'd make it in Hollywood. Didn't have to be flashy or fancy or even make me a million bucks, but I wanna be in a pilot before I'm thirty. Or get me in one of those rappers' music videos. I see ‘em being shot all the time around my apartment in Thousand Oaks. Yeah, the one that smells like cat piss, Louie!"

The ensuing silence implied the waitress hung up. She turned around and caught Eva peering at her from around the corner.

"Oh…" High cheeks instantly flushed an embarrassing shade of pink. "I'm… I'm sorry."

That fire was gone now. All that was left behind was a discombobulated waitress on the shores of Malibu.

"Bad day?" Eva quipped.

"Some bad news from…" The waitress's voice dropped to a timid squeak. "My agent. He ain't much of one, though."

A slight twang accompanied those words. Eva had also heard it when this girl was raging on the phone. "Where are you from? Can't place that accent."

The young woman looked away. "You wouldn't have heard of it."

"Pocatello?" Eva leaned against the restaurant's gray wall, careful to not step in something that had fallen out of the dumpster. "That's Idaho, right?" Eva grinned. "You guys had the ‘Worst Flag in America' for a time. I remember that TED talk."

"It's also the home of the University of Idaho, thank you!"

"Oh, sorry. Of course."

The woman calmed down again. "Sorry. I'm a bit jumpy. Are you… a customer?"

"I don't mean to interrupt your break. I'm here to meet someone inside."

"I've gotta get back inside, anyway. I only stepped out to take a call from my agent." She blushed again. "God, that sounds so lame. He ain't a good agent. I was a fool to sign with him."

With a sympathetic nod, Eva turned the corner and headed inside, where she instantly saw the back of her wife's red head and a plate of avocado toast in the empty spot beside her.

"If it isn't my two favorite ladies." Eva slid right in next to Nadia, who slightly jumped at her wife's sudden presence. "What are we having for lunch today, Abigail?"

She wasn't surprised to see whipped cream on pancakes. Nor was she put out that her (crispy) bacon had been pulled onto everyone else's plate. Eva wasn't as hungry as her stomach purported, anyway. She was fine with the toast and said as much when Nadia apologized for stealing the bacon.

Soon after Eva settled in, the waitress came inside and resumed her shift. One of the chefs in the kitchen asked her something before laughing his head off. The waitress was miffed enough as she sorted through the till that Eva assumed he was making fun of her for having a shoddy agent.

Everyone here has an agent. Eva glanced at a woman in a sundress who walked in to pick up a to-go order. Her aloofness and perfect skin care regimen suggested she had an agent. Even the guy on his laptop typing away at some script probably had an agent. If Eva stared out the window long enough, she'd spot surfing champions who all had agents booking them modeling gigs and endorsements.

That's how the veneer fell apart for her. People could be insufferable in New England if given a chance, but out here in Southern California, where the houses were millions of dollars, and everyone wanted something from everyone else? Eva preferred to stick to her hotel suite and spend time with the people she already had in her life. Everything else was too stressful.