Stars Collide

  “And the cooking and the shopping and the counseling. So don’t put yourself down. We couldn’t make it without you. I wouldn’t trust tonight’s dinner to anyone but you, by the way. You’re the best cook this side of Hollywood, and we’re blessed to have you.”

  Carolina glanced at her watch and startled to attention. “Oh no. Three o’clock? Scott’s parents are coming at six, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’d better get busy. Your grandmother’s been working on this menu for days. She’s pulling out all the stops.”

  “Oh?” Anything would be better than steak and eggs with ketchup.

  “She wants to start with a cheese platter, like she always does. She spent ages in Whole Foods choosing different ones.”

  “Yum. Hope she got the Havarti.”

  “Yep.” Carolina nodded. “I’m making shrimp ceviche—minus the tequila, of course. Baby arugula salad, blackened salmon, haricot verts, and bananas Foster.”

  “Wow.” My mouth started watering. “That sounds amazing.” It also sounded a bit over the top for the fine folks from Alma, Arkansas. Still, I couldn’t fault my grandmother for trying. She wanted to make a good impression, after all.

  Carolina started talking about the recipe for the ceviche, and I smiled as I listened to her exuberant presentation.

  I paused to touch her arm when she finished. “Carolina, I don’t say this often enough, but thank you for your hard work. You didn’t have to spend your Saturday with Grandma, but you chose to. And now you’re cooking on your day off. How can I thank you for that?”

  “Thank me?” Carolina shook her head. “Girl, did you hear my story a few minutes ago about my ex-husband?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, listen closely. Twenty years ago when I tossed him out on his ear, I was working part-time at the same studio where your grandmother happened to be filming one of her later movies. She was reaching the end of her career by then.”

  “Wait. You worked at a studio?”

  “Housekeeping, honey. But here’s my point—when Lenora found out my husband was gone and he’d taken the checking account with him, she flew into action. Told me she had a little house behind Worth Manor where I could stay. Offered me the housekeeping position without any references or background check.”

  “Sounds like Grandma.”

  “When I moved into that little house back there, it became my home. And I’m keenly aware of the fact that it’s a home I don’t have to pay a penny for. All of my debts are covered by your grandmother.”

  “Sounds like a spiritual message of sorts.”

  “It is.” Carolina nodded. “And trust me, the Lord has used it to remind me that my past is truly behind me.”

  “A lesson for us all,” I whispered.

  “I live in Beverly Hills,” Carolina said. “And I have access to anything my heart could ever want. I’m fully aware that Lenora Worth has made all of this possible for me. With the Lord’s help, mind you. So I don’t mind a bit working on Saturdays, as long as I get to go on hanging out with you two lovely ladies.”

  “Thank you.” I gave her a hug and quickly apologized for my earlier behavior. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed it.

  Carolina headed to the kitchen and I spent a little more time on the internet, searching for clues about my grandfather. I had his name, of course: Jonathan Billings. And the date of his obituary. Surely I could find something.

  An hour of searching for information left me frustrated. Looked like I’d have to do a little more digging later. Right now I had to get ready for company.

  At exactly six o’clock, Scott pulled up to the gate with his parents in the car. I raced down the stairs, wearing my favorite white peasant blouse and summery skirt. I’d decided to forego the sandals, leaving my feet bare.

  The tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen nearly stopped me. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I was met by my grandmother, fully decked out in a black evening gown. She took one look at my bare feet and clucked her tongue.

  “What?” I asked, feigning innocence. “Can’t a girl be comfortable in her own home?”

  “Well, sure.” She shrugged. “You know what I always say: ‘Take your shoes off.’ ” A knowing look followed. I picked up on the hidden clues and joined her for the rest of the line: “Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

  We both chuckled and spoke in unison: “The Beverly Hillbillies! Closing credits.”

  “You’re good, girl.” Grandma patted me on the back. “Very good. And if Jack doesn’t love you in your bare feet, then he’s not the man for you.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Well, c’mon, tiger. Let’s go get ’im.”

  The laughter that followed lifted my spirits. For a moment I saw my grandmother as a younger woman, waiting at the door for her beau to enter.

  Hmm. Her beau. Would that be my grandfather . . . or Rex Henderson?

  I didn’t have time to ponder the question, thank goodness. Grandma threw back the door and walked out to the driveway, chattering a mile a minute. She rushed Nancy’s way with arms extended, gathering her in a warm embrace. Nothing like kicking back and making people feel welcome. I tagged along behind, giving everyone a shy wave. Scott took in my appearance, apparently liking my off-the-shoulder blouse. I tried not to blush.

  “Wow.” His eyes grew wide. “You look . . . wow.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered, then gave him a little kiss on the cheek.

  Nancy stared at the house, her eyes wide. “Oh my. This is certainly bigger than I thought it would be. In fact, all of the houses out here are, well, they’re just huge.”

  “Our place back home is 1,400 square feet. That’s plenty of room for the two of us,” Scott’s father quipped.

  “Dad did a lot of renovations on the house in Alma,” Scott added. “He’s quite a handyman. Even updated the kitchen last year for my mom.”

  “Yes, he’s great with construction,” Nancy said, a look of pride in her eyes.

  I turned to Scott’s father. “How was the hardware convention?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was fabulous,” Nancy interjected. “You wouldn’t believe all of the new inventions they’ve got out this year. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” She began to talk about all sorts of things I’d never heard of, and I enjoyed the sparkle in her eyes. Apparently the woman knew her hardware.

  “Find any good things for your store?” I asked.

  Charles’s gaze shifted. “Not really. I guess we’re doing okay without all that fancy stuff, anyway. This trip was really more about seeing the kids than investing in new products.”

  “We did see some pretty remarkable things, though,” Nancy said. “I spent nearly an hour just looking at kitchen faucets. Can you imagine? Why, they’ve got faucets so fancy it would make your head spin.”

  “Oh, speaking of faucets, I can’t wait to show you the kitchen. Carolina’s been cooking all afternoon.” Grandma took Nancy by the hand and began to pull her toward the house.

  Scott pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Think you can handle this, Kat?”

  “Of course,” I whispered back, then giggled. “Might give us some great material for a future episode of Stars Collide.”

  “No doubt.” He winked.

  Nancy kept chattering the whole way. “I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t get to go to the wax museum,” she said. “And I had my heart set on seeing the Hollywood sign up close and personal. And a trip to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre would have been nice.”

  “Guess that means you’ll just have to come back,” Grandma said. “In the meantime, come into the kitchen. We’ll pretend we’re looking at that faucet. But we’ll really be sneaking a few nibbles of Carolina’s food while we’re in there.”

  “I’m starved.” Charles rubbed his belly.

  “Me too,” Scott said with a nod.

  “Carolina’s got some great things prepared,” I said. “Just wait till you see.”
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  Grandma led the procession through the front door. “I just love having guests. It’s been so long since we’ve had a party here, but back in the day this used to be the place where the most spectacular events in the Hills were held.” She smiled. “Oh, the fun we used to have. I remember one time when Marlon Brando came. Oh, that boy was in a mood. But I cheered him right up by tossing him in the cement pond!” Grandma had a good laugh at that one.

  Nancy drew near. “Kat,” she whispered, “sometimes I can’t tell if your grandmother’s stories are real or imagined.”

  “Same here.” I sighed. “But just about the time you think she’s making something up, you’ll stumble across a picture to prove it.”

  “I guess we’ll have to assume Marlon Brando really got tossed into your pool then,” Nancy said with a shrug.

  “Stranger things have happened,” I said.

  We tagged along on Grandma’s heels into the foyer.

  “Great hardware on this door.” Charles paused, giving it a closer look. “I haven’t seen latches like this since I was a kid. My pop used to have some of these in a box in the barn.”

  “Really?” I smiled. “My grandmother likes to keep things the way they were.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Scott said.

  “The latches are made really well,” Charles said. “That’s a plus. The reason these things are still around is because they’re still working. So many of the products out today are cheap. They fall apart. I wouldn’t mind going back to days gone by myself, if it meant putting out decent products.”

  “Actually, this latch is coming loose,” Grandma said. “I’ve been thinking of replacing it. I’ve been telling Kat we should renovate the house for the wedding. What with so many people coming for the reception and all, I might give some thought to changing out a few things.” She looped her arm through his. “What would you recommend, Charles?”

  Praise the Lord and pass the hardware. She had him from that point on. As for her wedding comment, I noticed the “I won’t say a word” look from Nancy and breathed a sigh of relief. Looked like she would play along, for my grandmother’s sake.

  The look on Nancy’s face as she walked through the great room was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Always gracious, she complimented Grandma right and left. But what struck me as sweet were the many times she paused in front of photos to reflect on all of the movies she’d seen starring this person or that person.

  “I saw Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in The Taming of the Shrew at the Bijou,” she said, standing in front of a photograph of the two stars with Grandma between them. “I’ll never forget it. I was just a little thing, but my mama let me stay up late to go.” She turned to us with a frown. “I can’t even imagine meeting that duo in person.”

  “Well, they were quite a pair, let me tell you.” Grandma’s eyes took on that faraway look I’d noticed so much lately. “And talk about popular. Why, they were the cat’s meow . . . for a season, anyway.”

  Charles grunted. “Movie stars put their pants on one leg at a time, just like us.”

  “Well, all but Liz,” Grandma said. “She was never one for wearing pants. If you noticed, she was usually in a dress. And what a brilliant collection of gowns she had. Unequaled in her day, to be sure.”

  “Don’t know why everyone out here has to work so hard to become someone they’re not,” Charles said. “I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.” His words were spoken with a familiar cartoonish accent.

  Scott smiled, but I thought I noticed a hint of a sigh. Had his father’s words struck a nerve?

  “Alma is the spinach capital of the world,” Nancy explained. “We even have a statue of Popeye on Main Street. So trust me when I say we all have the show memorized.”

  “Impressive,” I said. And the fact that Alma was known for its spinach certainly explained Scott’s muscular physique.

  As if reading my thoughts, he flexed his arm and grinned. “I ate more spinach when I was growing up than any kid should be allowed to by law.”

  “That explains it then.” I winked and his cheeks turned red.

  We were just about to head to the kitchen to sneak a peek at Carolina’s yummy foods when she called us in to dinner. We made our way to the formal dining room—a place that rarely saw any action these days—and gathered around the huge mahogany table, where I glanced down at the beautiful cheese tray in the center. Scott reached down and grabbed a piece. His dad quickly followed suit.

  We clustered around one end of the large table to make things more comfortable, everyone now nibbling on cheese. I could see Charles scoping out the room, and I couldn’t help but notice that his nose wrinkled when he glanced down at the little plates of salad.

  Carolina must’ve noticed too. “Baby arugula salad with artichokes,” she explained.

  We all took our seats and Scott offered to pray. As I listened to his voice lifted in prayer, my heart felt like bursting into a worship song. I still couldn’t get over the fact that the Lord had brought him all the way from Alma, Arkansas, the spinach capital of the world. Even the boy’s prayers were powerful.

  When the prayer ended, we dove into the salad. I noticed Charles ate every bite and had a satisfied look on his face at the end, though he never said a word. Nancy more than made up for it, however. She couldn’t seem to say enough. Thankfully Carolina heard every word as she entered the room with the next course in hand. I could see her cheeks turn pink and wondered if this sort of flattery was embarrassing to her. She placed the glasses of ceviche down in front of each of us, ending with Scott’s dad.

  He pushed the martini glass away. “I’m not a drinker, thanks.”

  I stifled a laugh. “It’s shrimp ceviche.”

  “Shrimp what?” He picked up the glass and examined it more closely, even giving it a sniff. “Never heard of such a thing.”

  “Oh, I saw this one on the Food Network,” Nancy said. She took a little nibble and her eyes grew wide. “That’s really good.”

  “It’s kind of like salsa, only with shrimp in it,” Carolina said. “And I promise, no tequila. I used orange juice instead.”

  “What do I do with it?” He stared down at the glass, clearly perplexed.

  I pointed to the triangular tortilla chips Carolina had pressed into the side of the yummy mixture. “Scoop it up with the chip.”

  “Hmm.” He took a bite, his eyes widening.

  Nancy used her chip to scoop up a generous portion. “I want to have this for dinner every night!” she said between bites.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Charles said. “But it is good.” He finished his up in a hurry.

  Next came the main course. Carolina obviously felt an explanation was in order as she plopped the plate down in front of Scott’s dad.

  “Blackened salmon and haricot verts,” she said.

  Nancy’s brow wrinkled as she looked down. “They look like green beans to me.”

  Grandma chuckled. “They are. Haricot verts is French for ‘green beans.’ ”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Charles asked. He gave the blackened salmon a curious look. “This stuff looks scorched. I’m a fried catfish man myself.”

  “It’s a shame you’re not staying longer then,” I said. “There’s a great place in Dana Point that specializes in fried fish. I think you’d like it.”

  “I love catfish too,” Grandma said. “But I think you’ll like the salmon if you give it a chance, Charles.”

  To my surprise, the tension in his face released after he took a cautious bite. “Spicy. I think I like it.”

  And with those words, my fate was sealed. Scott’s father liked the blackened salmon. That meant Scott’s father would learn to like me as well. At least, I hoped so. He certainly loved the bananas Foster that followed, even though Carolina set off the smoke alarm when she lit the luscious dessert on fire. He didn’t even argue about the rum that she poured on top to use as fuel.

  By the e
nd of the meal, the Beverly Hills crowd and the Arkansas crowd had come to an understanding. We were a perfect fit. They were a little bit Southern. We were a little bit West Coast. No problem! Any lingering issues had been settled over a martini glass of shrimp ceviche and a plateful of blackened salmon. Next time we’d have the fried catfish and a big helping of spinach. But this time it was L.A. all the way.

  15

  L.A. Heat

  As we ate our dessert, the conversation shifted a thousand different directions. I learned that the city of Alma, Arkansas, got its water supply from Lake Alma, and that the city hosted a spinach festival every year.

  “You’ll have to come and check it out,” Nancy said to my grandmother. “We have such a wonderful time. And if you come, you’ll get to see our water towers.” She practically beamed with pride at this announcement.

  “Water towers?” Grandma looked perplexed at that one.

  “Oh yes. They’re famous,” Nancy said. “They’re painted green, and one of them has the Popeye-brand spinach label painted on it.”

  “They’re known for miles as the largest cans of spinach in the world!” Charles laughed then slapped his knee.

  “I’ve never been a big spinach fan,” I confessed.

  Everyone at the table turned to me, totally aghast.

  “I like it in quiche,” I quickly added. “But that’s about it.”

  “Oh, honey, you’ve got to come to Alma and let me cook up a pot of spinach that you won’t soon forget.” Nancy fanned herself. “It will change your mind in a hurry.”

  “She is the best spinach cook in town,” Scott said with a nod. “No one cooks it like my mama.”

  “Oh yes. I do a spinach soufflé, creamed spinach, and a spinach dip that’s out of this world, if I do say so myself.”

  Hmm. Now that would be something to compete with. If I married Scott, would I have to learn to cook spinach like his mama? He might have to toss me aside based on that technicality alone.

  The conversation shifted gears again, and I happened to glance out of the window, catching the reflection of the setting sun off of the swimming pool. Must still be early. I glanced at the clock, stunned to see we’d been sitting here for two hours. Eight o’clock? Really? Funny how easy, comfortable conversation caused the time to fly. Seemed like we’d all just taken our seats a few minutes ago.