“What now?” Goldie loved their easy banter. She wondered if she would be able to fit back in to keep up. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than this.
“Oh yes, Hope bought one of the cottages at the end of Orchard Beach and Cottage Drive, and her neighbor is the town lawman.”
“Lawman, you make it sound like we live in Deadwood.”
Hope turned to Goldie and boxed out J.J. and Libby.
“Greg is a retired Detroit detective. The town hires him to freelance to keep an eye on the rampant crime.”
“Crime’s rampant?”
“Ha, no, that’s why he likes it. He’s got precious little to do, but make sure I don’t get into a screaming match with my ex-husband.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. We’re happily divorced, or well, we’re working on the happy part. It’s all pretty new. Anyway, Greg is my neighbor, my friend. Don’t listen to these two.”
“Her neighbor who can’t take his eyes off of her,” J.J.said.
“And you’re married to, uh, Dean, right?”
“Yep, he was a fixer-upper, but I’ve got him just the way I like him now,” J.J. said.
“Don’t listen to her now. Dean is the best man on the planet. Saved my plans a million times over with fixing up Irish Hills, and now with the hotel.”
“On that, so Joe is there to do what, exactly?” Goldie was woefully under-informed. She’d flown here with one thought and that was to hide. Maybe get some rest after the stress of fighting the Hollywood machine while fitting into her super suit.
“Let’s sit, have some food, some uh, green juice, and catch up on all of it.” Libby was a consummate hostess. She was gracious, in control, and still looked like she’d be just as at home having lunch with the Queen of England as she did on waterskis.
“I have to admit, I am starving.” Goldie didn’t know how to cook. She didn’t have her personal chef here and, in the last few days, had not eaten. She knew this was a cycle that could get her into trouble. It was one thing to blame the roles she had to play for skipping meals. It was another to let it be how she dealt with stress. Controlling the one thing she could, food, had messed with her health more than once.
Having a balanced attitude toward food was something she fought hard for, and it was precarious. Hope handed her a plate. It was an antique, clearly, probably from Aunt Emma’s collection. Goldie began to fill the plate with the lovely crackers, the creamy dip, the cheeses, and a sprig of grapes.
“This is lovely, Hope.”
“This woman is so talented; I mean, we used to be her sous chefs for cookie baking, but it did not wear off on me. I can’t cook, not a lick. Well, I do mix a great cocktail. But that’s a whole different skill set.”
Goldie remembered taking Hope’s orders in the kitchen, everything from lemonade to chocolate chip cookies.
Goldie sank her teeth into the cracker. The cheese melted inher mouth, and the seasoning was better than anything she’d sampled at the poshest places in Beverly Hills.
“Hope, this is sooo good.”
A bit of cheese slopped out of the corner of her mouth. She quickly used her finger to pop it in. She didn’t want to waste a morsel.
“Thank you, all local ingredients. That’s my schtick.”
“Wow, we’ve come a long way from Pop Tarts,” Goldie said.
“But here we are, back again,” J.J. said. “So, fill us in. You’re a movie star, we all know you’ve dated just about every People’s Sexy Man cover boy since the nineties, you have an Oscar, but in my opinion, you should have two. I got all the Goldie Hayes headlines, but fill us in.”
“Two, eh?”
“Yes,Tenured, you should have been nominated for best actress, not supporting, and you should have won.”
“Studio thought I had a better shot at supporting. Kim Basinger swooped in and won the thing.”
“Yeah, I’m still bitter about it,” J.J. said.
