“It’s so good to see you, honey,” her dad said. She noticed that he was almost done with his soup, despite his pretense. “You look good. But how are you doing, really? And then, how is ‘Anna Gardiner’?”
She laughed. Her parents always said that name in quotes, like “Anna Gardiner” was some completely different person than their daughter, Anna Rose. And while there was some truth in that—Anna Gardiner never would have put sour cream in her black bean soup, for example—increasingly it was hard to know where Anna Rose ended and Anna Gardiner began.
“Both of us are good, Daddy,” she said, holding tight to his hand. “Working hard these days. Just trying to make you proud.”
He scoffed.
“Like I could ever be anything other than proud of you, sweetheart. But really. These past few years have been hard.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. He didn’t have to. “Are you happy in this Hollywood life?”
Anna leaned back in the deck chair and looked out at her parents’ small, but cozy backyard. When she and Chris had been younger, there had been a kiddie pool out here—now there was a big grill and her mom’s ever-growing garden.
“Getting there,” she finally said, in response to his question. “I’m not unhappy, at least, not anymore. I’m taking care of myself, I promise I am.” She looked pointedly at him. “Are you?”
He laughed.
“I’m fine! Stop worrying about me! Your mother takes care of me, and I’m happy to stay busy with the church.” He put his spoon down in his empty bowl. “Speaking of that—no, don’t sigh like that, young lady, I’m not going to tell you to go to church; you’re an adult, that’s your own decision. But I am going to ask you what else you’re doing, to help people who aren’t as fortunate as you.”
Anna folded her napkin and avoided his eyes.
“Daddy, I’m doing a lot—I give money to charities up here whenever you guys or Chris ask me to, and there are a bunch of charities in L.A. that I give to as well.”
He brushed that aside, like she knew he would.
“Money is wonderful, honey, and I’m glad you’re in a position to give, but you know that’s not what I asked. We raised you to be hands-on about this kind of work, you know that.”
She sighed again. She should have been prepared for this.
“I know. But I’m still getting back on my feet; trying not to overdo it. Like you should be, by the way.”
He patted her on the hand.
“Sometimes looking outside of ourselves can help, you know.” He stood up. “I’m getting more of this soup; tell our daughter to stop worrying about me,” he said to her mom.
As soon as he walked back into the house, Anna turned to her mom. She had that familiar kind-but-no-nonsense look on her face.
“He’s okay,” her mom said without her having to ask. “He has a doctor’s appointment in a few weeks, and I’ll let you know how that goes. He’s still doing his exercising, and we eat well at home, but I can’t watch him all the time, Anna, and I don’t want to. He does lots of visits, and you know, people like to give him food; sometimes he drives around all day, and I have to pretend I don’t see the fast-food wrappers in his car. But I said I want him to still be around for our retirement, and he’d better be taking that seriously.”
Anna was glad her mom had given her this opening.
“Okay, so maybe that could be—”
Her mom laughed.
“Oh, Anna, no, I never should have said that. Please don’t start on me again about wanting us to retire early. We are taking more time, though—I’ve convinced your father to take some time off for my birthday. We’re going to go to some national parks in Southern California—we can relax and do some hiking but still stay somewhere nice. I’m even taking a few days off work, during the semester, can you believe it?”
She couldn’t believe it, actually. Maybe her parents were closer to retirement than she’d thought.
“Oh, that’s great to hear. Just . . . keep me posted. You know I worry.”
Her mom just looked at her, and then the two of them burst out laughing.
“Yes, Anna,” her mom finally said. “I know you worry.”
On the way back to the airport, she called her manager.
“Anna!” Simon picked up the phone right away. “How did your power move today go?”
She laughed. Simon had been very amused when she’d told him she wanted to make a surprise drop-in to the advertising pitches. He’d been her manager since she’d first started in Hollywood: they’d both been young and hungry when they started off and had grown and blossomed—and made a lot of money—together. And hopefully would make a great deal more.
“Very well, actually. They shouldn’t have invited me if they didn’t want me to come. Oh, and about that—can you pass along a message that I want it to be Legendary, but they have to put Ben Stephens in charge? I told them that today, but you’re good at reinforcing my messages.”
That put it mildly. Simon was very well dressed and seemed relaxed on the surface, but he was a tiger on her behalf. She trusted him completely.
He was also one of the few people outside of her family and her closest friends to know about Anna’s paralyzing struggle with anxiety the year before. She was a lot better now; she hadn’t lied to her parents about that. She almost felt like the old Anna was back. Almost.
“Will do. Who’s this Ben Stephens and why him? Someone you know?”
It was very Hollywood of Simon to assume she wanted Ben in charge because she knew him.
“No, but I could tell he’s excellent at his job, and he understands what I’m looking for, which is huge. Plus, he was the only Black person who presented all day. The other two firms both had someone sitting there, but it seemed like they weren’t allowed to speak. I know it’s all smoke and mirrors, but I trusted him as much as you can trust someone from an ad agency. But the ad campaign isn’t the main reason why I’m calling.”
Simon laughed.
“I’m all ears, but just a warning: I’m going to have to get off soon; I’m driving to a lunch right now.”
Of course he was.
“Two things,” Anna said. “First: What the hell is going on with Vigilantes? Have you heard anything? Is it even going to be ready for the premiere? Am I even going to be in the final cut? I barely showed up in the trailer, and there hasn’t been a peep from them about wanting me to do press. I’m getting stressed about this, Simon. I don’t even know if I lived or died! This uncertainty is killing me, no pun intended!”