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Back The Work Wife Save as PDF
Chapters (38)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Dedication
  5. Invitation
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. Acknowledgments
  38. Why I Wrote The Work Wife by Alison B. Hart

“Lunchtime,” she said.

13

Phoebe

Phoebe stood in the parking lot of the Sea Breeze, feeling like a refugee from a bridal store. She was wearing the dress. With both hands, she held the gold chain of the purse Umma had loaned her. Umma had bought it at May Company the year before Phoebe was born. Phoebe used to sneak it out of her mother’s dresser and stuff it with gumballs and pencil nubs and the pennies from Apa’s coin dish. Loose change, gum, pencils—all the things she could reliably find in Malcolm’s pockets now. She checked her phone. The Lyft was three minutes away.

Rona had told Phoebe to meet her at the Stabler estate at three thirty and then she’d get her in. Phoebe didn’t know how. Would it be a problem that she’d changed into the gown? Would it have been better to blend in? Phoebe wished she had more information, but there was only her gut, and her gut had been wrong before. She wanted reassurance, just as she had that afternoon so long ago, when she got ready for her meeting with Jerry Silver.

Phoebe had stood in the bedroom of the house in Van Nuys in her good luck dress, the black crepe she’d worn underneath her robe on graduation day. Shag carpet under her toes, the mirror she and Ted had found at the swap meet vouching for her, gold paint chipping off the ornate frame that surrounded her. She looked nice, but she wasn’t going for nice. Her meeting was in an hour.

Phoebe had met Jerry before, casually. Just before The Starfighter was released, he’d come to the house to see Ted and she’d answered the door. They’d seen each other again at the film’s premiere, and again at the People’s Choice Awards. She was used to him ogling her, mouth open like a goldfish, but the last time he’d gone further, reaching around her waist and pulling her in for a quick kiss on the lips. How quickly the shock and humiliation had turned to grim acceptance. Of course, he’d kissed her. Where did she think she was? Of course, Hollywood was sleazy. Sleazy people still made good movies, and she had a good movie to make.

She squared up to the mirror and said, “It’s Mulan meets Run, Lola, Run.”

She put one hand on her hip and pointed at her reflection with the other. “Jerry, the Starfighter films wouldn’t have happened without me. You know I get shit done.”

Speaking of Ted, she imagined him saying, why come to me and not him?

She glanced at the bedroom door to make sure it was closed.