That might have been the end of it, but I bumped into him again at a bakery and he asked me out then. I dumped the actor. Raul and I didn’t talk shop on our date. We just talked, ignoring the live jazz band that we’d agreed to go see. We ate three meals over the course of the sixteen hours we spent together on our first date, and that was that.

Raul was an unknown, a struggling actor who baked bread at a Los Feliz coffee shop. His shifts started early, so our dates after that were interrupted by his three A.M. wakeup calls. On the positive side, his workdays ended early enough that he could quickly wipe the flour off his forearms and attend auditions while still smelling like fresh bread. And to boot, he was perfect with Soleil.

The soap opera role came a little later, and while it’s difficult to become a breakout star in an ensemble cast as large as a soap’s, somehow his character made an impression. And there we were. I sold my Malibu house and together we bought a place closer to the heart of the city. I was happy to make some sacrifices to be with him. Wasn’t that what love was about? Doing what you think is best for someone else, because their well-being is important to you?

“What are you thinking, my love?” he said to me, busily slicing cantaloupe into thin pieces and setting them on a white plate. He had such a beautiful accent. Rich and decadent, like when you let full-fat ice cream melt in your mouth.

I considered mentioning what Soleil had done, but decided not to ruin the moment. I popped another coffee pod in the machine, but then remembered how many I’d had and didn’t push the button. I spun to look at him. “How much I love you.”

“Ah, but how much do you love me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he set the plate in front of me. He knew how much I liked to snack while he made the main course of anything. I saw his array of ingredients laid out in front of him and hoped for an omelet.

“So much that I feel bad for asking if you want to go to a funeral with me.”

“Your friend?”

“Yes. It’s probably next week, once her family makes arrangements. Wednesday? I am going to have Emily make the flight arrangements but wanted to check with your schedule first.”

“Hmm, I wish I could be with you, but the schedule is too tight.”

“I thought as much. I’m going to bring Sunny with me.” And keep an eye on her, I added to myself.

“So I will be a bachelor for a few days? How will I behave myself?” He began slicing vegetables quickly and easily, not even looking, the knife gleaming and his knuckles acting as a guide for the blade.

“Hopefully work will keep you out of mischief.” I grinned at him. He smiled back. I felt a small cushion of contentment. It was a nice change after the past few days of feeling a sense of reeling.

I still remember the way that Cassidy gained her first boyfriend. It was completely out of the blue: one day she was unattached, the next moment they were together. Alex. He’d known her for years, was one of her best friends, encouraged her to try out for Sing It. Out of all her close-knit friends, he was the only one who really kept in touch with her when she moved to L.A. to be a part of the group. Familiarity begets flirtation—or something like that.

She’d told him about our television appearance on The Sunrise Show, and though he didn’t even live close to New York, he surprised her with a custom sign and stood in the crowd while we performed. We were ushered back inside, where he couldn’t follow. Somehow he got a hold of Ian and shared a handful of photos of him and Cass when they were in school together. Ian—good guy that he is—begrudgingly allowed contact while he contended with the intense matter of me flashing a live audience. I’d stormed out of the dressing room and nearly mowed Alex over, but that didn’t stop Cassidy from nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw him. They hugged and he spun her around in a circle, like they were in a movie. “Alex! I thought that was you! What are you doing here?”

Something in her voice made me turn around and look. She had never sounded like that, not the entire time I’d been living with her and working alongside her. Cassidy’s voice was tinged with wonder, dipped in gold: she sounded happy.

I had a clear view of his face, and he looked at her like he thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. With both of his hands clasped on her thin shoulders, he asked her if she wanted to grab lunch or take a walk or something.

I’d only ever seen that kind of face on a guy when he was trying to build up the courage to ask a girl out on a date, to the prom. My cousin Kasey’s boyfriend proposed to her at one of our Thanksgivings, and his earnest expression mirrored Alex’s. Lord, the girl needed some happiness and companionship besides the rest of us, but Ian, ever the killjoy, said no. “We have a schedule,” he said. Alex’s excited face fell away, and he dropped his hands to his jeans pockets.

“But . . . but Cass, you have to eat some time, right?” Alex coaxed.

“She gets to eat from twelve-thirty to one.”

“Oh, give her a break,” I griped to Ian. I blame myself for what happened next. All the months of happiness don’t make up for the ensuing years of turmoil. I will always remember that I helped start this. “Let her grab something at the café with her old friend and then she can join us at the hotel before we have to go.”

Ian paused, glanced at his watch, at his PalmPilot, and I knew he was considering the length of my fuse after the jumpsuit fiasco. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “Meet us in the hotel lobby no later than one o’clock.”

Rose added, “Cassy, remember there’s a photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow. Try not to pick anything that will bloat you.”

Cassidy nodded. She turned her face back toward her friend and he held out his hand. She took it and they didn’t walk off, they skipped away, like kindergarteners on a school field trip to the zoo. We watched them go. I remember being glad for them.

I regret it all. It’s terrible, what happened to that boy.

11.

May 2001

Northern Leg of the Tour

Cassidy

The ground floor and basement of 30 Rockefeller Plaza is a concourse of food and shops, an air-conditioned mall of sorts. I’d changed out of my catsuit and dabbed off my lipstick with a tissue. Alex was waiting for me outside the dressing room and I reflexively grabbed at his hand, as if touching him would bring together the strange two halves of my old self and my new self. Now, we walked hand in hand through the underground levels, taking in the gilded walls advertising coffee and sandwiches.

Hungry as I was, my more pressing concern was uncovering why Alex was in Manhattan and had been holding a sign bearing my name.

I twisted his hand and tugged it closer to get his attention. He’d slowed down to look at a pasted menu but refocused on me. I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you, dummy!”

“No note, no call, you just decided, Oh, let’s go see Cassy in New York?”

“Here, want something? I’ll buy.” He led me into the shop and told the woman at the order counter, “Two pastramis on rye.”

“No,” I chimed in quickly. “Spinach salad for me, please.”

We sat at a small table with our bottled waters. “You don’t have to listen to that Rose all the time, you know,” he teased. “You can eat my sandwich if you want.”