mode, and you know I’m worthless when that happens.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to show up. Sounds as if you’re getting way too involved with your family, girl. You need a break.”
“That’s the plan. Sand, beach, sun and men. No family. Want to come to Maui with me? I leave Sunday night.”
“Can’t. I’m signing in Chinatown that day. My relatives from San Diego are coming in.”
“The flight doesn’t leave until ten-thirty. We haven’t been on a trip together in a long time.”
“Actually,” she said, leaning on one foot, pushing out a hip. “I do need to go to Maui for research. I’m doing a guide on how to survive on an island.”
“Maui doesn’t seem like an island that requires survival techniques.”
“Oh? Think spring break, plucky young chicks and eager young studs. Lethal combination. I’m teaching these women how to survive raging hormones, not how to build a fire, although, come to think about it . . . ”
She pulled out a tiny digital recorder and made a verbal note to herself on bonfires on the beach.
Lisa seemed to have an idea a minute, and all of them were of the high concept variety that publishers gobbled up.
“I’ve got some of those raging hormones of my own,” I said.
“My mother can hook you up.”
“I’d rather take a cold shower.”
“Try a vibrator. It’s a lot more pleasant.”
We laughed and hugged again. This time Lisa put her drink down on a table to get in for a tight one.
She and I grew up in San Francisco together. I lived in North Beach surrounded by my Italian family, and she lived three blocks away in Chinatown surrounded by her Chinese family. We used to do everything together, even drinking. Thing was, Lisa knew when to stop. I didn’t. But ever since I started working for my mom, we rarely saw each other. She was busy writing, and I was busy keeping my family honest.
When we pulled apart she said, “I brought you my latest book. It’s up on your desk. I know how you never lock your door, so I let myself in.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you ever read my books?”
“Of course I do,” I lied.
She raised an eyebrow, an endearing habit, but one I knew well. Whenever that eyebrow went up, she knew what you were saying was total bullshit.
Truth was I simply never had time to read, not that I was ever a reader. Even in school she would write all my book reports and term papers. Hell, I hardly watched TV, and lately I didn’t even date. I didn’t do much of anything. Our business and my family sucked up every spare moment.
I was truly pathetic.
Lisa, on the other hand, was on her third best-selling book, The Girly Girl’s Guide to Bad Boy Survival. Her first and second books in the Girly Girl Survival series, Country Survival, and City Survival had made her a very wealthy woman, much to the chagrin of most of my family. Anyone who potentially generated more money than they could, posed a threat. I didn’t exactly know what kind of threat, but in my family those little details were irrelevant.
“You really should read them. I put a lot of research into those babies and who knows, you might need to use one of my tips someday.”
As if. . .
“Absolutely. I’ll read one tonight.” In all honesty, I had every intention of reading her books that very night, but, what was that saying about some road being paved with good intentions?
“Liar.” She knew me too well. “You hate to read. It’s the only reason I don’t take it personally.”
“Okay, but if you come with me to Maui, I promise I’ll read one on the plane.”
“Do you even remember how to read?” She took a couple sips of her wine. I watched, remembering the taste on my tongue. I was partial to an Italian red rather than one from Napa. Not that I didn’t think there were some fabulous California wines, but wines from the Basilicata region in Italy were my absolute favorite. “I mean, maybe you should take a refresher course first. Reading one-oh-one.”
“Don’t get snide. Just come with me, and I promise to read an entire Girly Girl book of your choice. If I don’t, I’ll pay for your trip. Deal?”
Not that I had that kind of money lying around. But certainly I could get through one of her books—I mean, what were friends for if not to support each other’s creative endeavors?
She shrugged. “What the hell. Maybe