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Nadia yells as I watch a silver-haired older familiar-looking woman step out of the house. The butler-maid steps aside, wearing a shining smile as she watches the grandmother and granddaughter share a tight, long embrace. They rock back and forth and plant kisses on each other’s cheeks.
“Please, sir! Come on in with your son.” The maid-butler gestures.
Adam clings to my hand excitedly, awakening a bit of anxiety that I didn’t know I was carrying.
Nadia’s grandmother pulls from Nadia and sizes me up with her familiar cat-looking eyes. It feels as if I should know this woman.
“Joaquin, right?” Her voice is sharp and confident, something she passed along to Nadia.
“Yes.”
“I’m Delores. Please, come on in and have some tea. And I won’t take no for an answer. My god, you’re a looker!”
I wasn’t expecting that, but why am I not surprised. I can’t say no to this woman. Nadia gives me a flirtatious smile as Adam drops my hand and scurries close to her. Sometimes I don’t know who’s fallen for Nadia the most, me or my son.
“I’m Adam!” He peers up at Ms. Delores.
“Aren’t you a handsome young man? Do you happen to like pie?” Delores’ eyes get even wider.
Adam nods his head fervently.
“Great! Now, come! Let’s get inside.”
As soon as we do, I’m stunned by the black and white framed photographs hung on the wall. They are from Hollywood, late 1960s, some early 1970s. These squeaky clean white walls hold abundant proof of where Nadia comes from. She’s not anyone from Los Angeles. She’s not just an exotic California beauty. Nadia is a descendant of Hollywood. Her grandmother is Delores Vitale.
You gotta be kidding me. All this time?
I’ve heard of Delores Vitale. Her name is often muttered when people discuss any famous people from our town. I can’t say I’ve seen any of her movies, but I recall my grandparents occasionally mentioning her name. It was almost in a hush-hush way too. I’m unsure why, but I know she was controversial in Hollywood. She was a sex goddess of some sort, and by how she greeted me, it seemed like she still had a bit of this with her, even at this old age.
“Wow! Are you famous, Ms. Delores?”
The way that Adam says her name makes us all chuckle. However, my laughter is rooted in nerves. I’m not intimidated often, but the radiance and energy of this home stifles me. I’m sure it’s more related to the fact that I wasn’t expecting this. I was expecting wealth but not fame. I’m now learning that fame gives me the jitters.
“Wasfamous,” Delores laughs.
She leads us into a white tea room with wall-length windows facing her backyard. Evergreen’s best trees encase her backyard, blessing her with natural fencing.
“That’s one stunning backyard you have,” I report.
She nods, “I love Evergreen. I know a few neighbors have asked me why I would choose to move back here when there’s so much beauty California has to offer. I get it. California is magnificent, but I can’t let go of the Midwest. I’m stubborn in that way. I love the four seasons; they remind me how complex we are.” Delores shrugs and pulls out a dainty white chair.
The tea is already prepped for us, even with Adam in mind. Nadia must’ve communicated this.
“Something tells me you’re writing your grandmother’s memoir, huh?” I have to ask.
Nadia purses her lips out, mimicking an “Oops” face. This woman’s beauty is as mammoth as this house. I’m unsure why she chose to make love to an aging single dad who runs a coffee shop in Evergreen, Missouri. She clearly has the world as her oyster. Stunning, in great shape, and talented enough to be asked to write the memoir of a controversial Hollywood actress at the age of twenty-eight. No wonder why she’s not settled down. She’s the type of woman that marries her career.
What the hell am I doing falling so quickly for her?
I take a sip of the peppermint and lavender blended tea. In the depth of my heart, I know this is probably the last time I’ll see this beauty sitting across from me. It was one crazy, hyper-sexual event to store in my memory; a hot short story in my book of life.
“She is a wonderful journalist. Always wanted to soar in fact-based stories. Not much of the imagination gets her going, but she read so much growing up. Right, Nadia?”
“Oh, yea.”
“And, she didn’t want to go the acting route which many folks told me I should put her in, but she told me she wanted a career where she could have a family. And, now…she doesn’t want a family.”
I turn my neck to both sides to crack it and clear my throat. Too bad I didn’t meet that version of Nadia.
