get upset, but anyway, that’s not the point. The point is none of these witty, urbane, caring men were her dad. Her dad was just some guy who sounded like a total phallus.
Phil pointed out that the sins of the fathers are not the sins of the child, and Nina replied that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, then they both fell asleep on the sofa. It had been a difficult day.
Seven
In which Nina meets a brother.
As was often the case, Liz got hung up on the details.
“You’re the love child that’s going to derail the whole plot of their lives?”
Nina nodded. “I’m afraid so. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Of course not, but how often does one get a chance to be Jon Snow?”
“Does that mean I know nothing?”
“I think that was always the case; your illegitimacy has no bearing.” She smiled. “But maybe you’ll inherit a million bucks and we’ll be able to pay off Mephistopheles.” She pointed her finger at Nina. “You could be like Little Lord Fauntleroy. Characters in books are always inheriting a fortune.”
“It doesn’t usually end well. Think of Charlie Kane in Citizen Kane. Or Isabel Archer in The Portrait of a Lady.”
Liz shrugged. “You’re forgetting the greatest family of inheritors ever, the Beverly Hillbillies. Elly May Clampett’s life was filled with joy. Joy and plenty of gingham.” She looked Nina up and down. “You could totally pull it off.”
Nina asked, “Do we actually owe Mr. Meffo a million bucks?” She hoped not; she loved her job at the store. Loved everything about the store, in fact.
Liz shook her head. “No, it just feels like it.”
It was still pretty early. The store was open, but the only customer they had was a guy who lived nearby and had some kind of developmental disability. His name was Jim, and he had the sweetest smile and often hung out in the natural history section for hours looking at pictures of animals. Everyone knew him on the boulevard, and watched out for him and said hi, and as far as Nina knew, he thought he was a prince occasionally visiting his fiefdom to check on the peasants.
The door to the store opened and Polly came in. Liz turned and frowned at her.
“Good afternoon, Polly.”
Polly grinned. “Liz, it’s nine thirty. There’s no one in the store except you two and Jim, and Jim’s here often enough that if there had been a rush—which there never, ever is—he could have filled in for me.”
Liz clicked her tongue but let Polly come over and hug her extravagantly, then went away hiding a smile. Polly was the other spinster of this parish who worked at Knight’s, although spinster wasn’t as accurate a description of her as it was of Nina. Polly was an actress. She worked at Knight’s as a way to actually support her passion for movies, both being in them and watching them.
Polly had come to LA when she was nineteen, a beautiful and hopeful girl with lots of charisma and even more talent, and then spent ten years nearly making it. If she’d never gotten anywhere she might have given up and been content to have given it a shot. However, in common with thousands of others, Polly would occasionally get a part in a commercial, or a pilot. She was always auditioning and getting called back, and would be frequently “on avail” (meaning that she was short-listed for something and had to keep her schedule free for a day or so while they made a final choice between two or three girls). It’s this occasional hit of success that makes for a real addict. The breakthrough was always imminent; there was always something about to happen. In the dim interstices between flashes of hope you make your life.
Polly had been working at Knight’s for a little over a year, and she and Nina had become friends, despite the fact that Polly never read books and only knew about plots from movies. For example, in the Harry Potter series, she had no idea Peeves the poltergeist even existed, or that Ludo Bagman wasn’t a luggage outlet, because those characters were totally cut out of the films. Being a lover of drama, Polly was deeply amused by Nina’s sudden family situation.
“Oh my God, you should write a screenplay!” She laughed out loud. “Not that anyone would share screen time with so many other people. You’d have to pare down the cast.”
“The whole point is the numerousness of