{"product_id":"welcome-to-the-great-mysterious-isbn-9780345442741","title":"Welcome to the Great Mysterious","description":"\u003cb\u003e“[A] sweet, funny story . . . as good as \u003ci\u003ePatty Jane’s House of Curl\u003c\/i\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003eMinneapolis Star Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMegastar of stage, screen, and television, Geneva Jordan now has a command performance   in Minnesota, where she agrees to look after her thirteen-year-old nephew, a boy   with Down’s syndrome, while his parents take a long-overdue vacation. Though Geneva   and her sister, Ann, are as different as night and day (“I being night, of course,   dark and dramatic”), Geneva remembers she had a family before she had a star on her   door. But so accustomed is she to playing the lead, finding herself a supporting   actress in someone else’s life is strange and unexplored territory. Then the discovery   of an old scrapbook that she and her sister created long ago starts her thinking   of things beyond fame. For \u003ci\u003eThe Great Mysterious\u003c\/i\u003e is a collection of thoughts and feelings   dedicated to answering life’s \u003ci\u003ebig\u003c\/i\u003e questions—far outside the spotlight’s glow. . .   .“[A] charming and successful novel . . . served up with grace and goodness.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eMinneapolis Star-Tribune\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“Funny, heartwarming . . . Admirably captures the ups   and downs of a small town from the humorous perspective of a big-city star.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublishers   Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“Geneva is a lovable star who grows in surprising ways.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eOrlando Sentinel\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“Characters. And character. That’s what Landvik writes best. Humor and humanity   are the two elements that run through all of Lorna Landvik’s novels.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Gazette\u003c\/i\u003e (Colorado Springs)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “[A] winning tale.”\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eLorna Landvik\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of the bestselling novels \u003ci\u003ePatty Jane's House of Curl\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eYour Oasis on Flame Lake\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Tall Pine Polka\u003c\/i\u003e. She is also an actor, playwright, and proud hockey mom.All right, so I'm a diva. There are worse things--a\u003cbr\u003emass murderer, a bigot, a telephone solicitor.\u003cbr\u003eI'm surprised my sister even uses the word as an\u003cbr\u003einsult. Why should I be offended by the truth? My\u003cbr\u003edictionary defines \u003ci\u003ediva\u003c\/i\u003e as \"a distinguished female singer.\" I certainly\u003cbr\u003eam that.The word, however, is cross-referenced with\u003ci\u003e prima\u003cbr\u003edonna\u003c\/i\u003e, defined as \"a temperamental person; a person who takes\u003cbr\u003eadulation and privileged treatment as a right and reacts with petulance\u003cbr\u003eto criticism or inconvenience.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, I might ask, who likes criticism or inconvenience? And\u003cbr\u003ewhy shouldn't one take privileged treatment as a right? A little\u003cbr\u003eself-esteem is not a bad thing. Ann, for instance, could use a serious\u003cbr\u003einfusion of it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThroughout my life I have heard the question, \"Are you \u003ci\u003ereally\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003etwins?\" It's an understandable query; Ann and I are as different as\u003cbr\u003ethe proverbial night and day. Ann once elaborated on that analogy\u003cbr\u003ein an interview, describing me as being night--dark and dramatic,\u003cbr\u003eliving among stars--and herself as light and plain and\u003cbr\u003eabout as exciting as an afternoon nap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe're fraternal twins, obviously, and don't share that spooky,\u003cbr\u003eESPy you're-my-other-half thing identical twins do. Ann and I\u003cbr\u003eare more like sisters who could have been born years apart if\u003cbr\u003eMom hadn't been such an industrious egg layer.We're very close\u003cbr\u003eand have shared everything from chicken pox to clothes to deep\u003cbr\u003esecrets, but when I look at Ann face-to-face, I don't see my mirror\u003cbr\u003eimage. In fact, if I looked at Ann right now, what I'd see is a\u003cbr\u003ebig pest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor those of you who don't know me (where the hell have you\u003cbr\u003ebeen living, in a cave with no TV or cable access?) I am Geneva\u003cbr\u003eJordan, star of stage, screen (unfortunately, my theatrical schedule\u003cbr\u003ehasn't allowed me to do hardly any of the movies I've been offered),\u003cbr\u003eand television (if you didn't see me accept my Tony award,\u003cbr\u003eI'm sure you've heard my voice singing the Aromati-Cat cat litter\u003cbr\u003eand Chef Mustachio Frozen Pizza jingles). Recently I just ended a\u003cbr\u003eyear and a half's run in the title role of \u003ci\u003eMona!\u003c\/i\u003e, a musical about\u003cbr\u003eDaVinci's mysterious model.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eShe's a gal with a crazy half smile, she's Mona Lisa!\u003cbr\u003eOh,what I wouldn't do to get a piece a . . . that Mona Lisa!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou'll have to trust me that the music is so catchy, the lyrics actually\u003cbr\u003ework.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy role as Mona Lisa brought me my second Tony, a cover story\u003cbr\u003ein \u003ci\u003eNew York\u003c\/i\u003e magazine, and a relationship with Trevor Waite, my\u003cbr\u003ecostar. My role as Mona Lisa and its resulting dividends, \u003ci\u003eespecially\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003emy relationship with Trevor Waite, is also what brought me close\u003cbr\u003eto mental and physical collapse. Which made my sister's request\u003cbr\u003eall the more preposterous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Please,\" she begged over the phone, changing her tack from\u003cbr\u003einsulter to supplicant. \"Riley and I need this time together.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm not arguing that, Ann. It's where I come in as baby-sitter\u003cbr\u003ethat I'm objecting to.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're Rich's godmother.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm aware of that, Ann. But godmother does not mean rescuer.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then what does it mean?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked at my watch. I didn't have to be anywhere for another\u003cbr\u003ehour, but she didn't have to know that. \"I have to run, Ann. I've\u003cbr\u003egot a hair appointment.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"What does it mean?\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Listen, Ann, I don't--\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Quit calling me Ann.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's your name, isn't it?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes, but whenever you're in one of your I'm-right-and-you're-\u003cbr\u003ewrong modes, you overuse my name. Like a cranky old\u003cbr\u003eschoolmarm or something.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"First I'm a diva and now I'm a cranky old schoolmarm. Nice\u003cbr\u003etalking to you too, Ann.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI could hear her protests as I hung--okay, slammed--the receiver\u003cbr\u003eback in its cradle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe called back immediately, not grasping the concept of a dramatic\u003cbr\u003eexit. I let my machine pick it up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Geneva,\" she said, \"please. I'm sorry. I don't know where else\u003cbr\u003eto turn. Please pick up....Please help me, Dee.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh, that was low. Dee was a reference to the childhood nicknames\u003cbr\u003ebestowed on us by our Grandma Hjordis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's Tweedledee and Tweedledum!\" she used to say in her Norwegian\u003cbr\u003eaccent, \"my favorite twin grandchildren in the world!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe were her \u003ci\u003eonly\u003c\/i\u003e twin grandchildren, but she made us feel that\u003cbr\u003ewe couldn't have been surpassed by quintuplets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe lived next door to us, and her home was a cinnamon-roll-smelling\u003cbr\u003ehaven for my sister and me, a place where she played\u003cbr\u003eendless games of Hangman and War with us and let us upend all\u003cbr\u003eher furniture cushions to make elaborate igloos (when we played\u003cbr\u003eRoald Amundsen discovering the South Pole) or wigwams (when\u003cbr\u003ewe played Leif Eriksson discovering America). She had a canoe in\u003cbr\u003ethe backyard that we'd pretend was the \u003ci\u003eKon-Tiki\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGrandma Hjordis was a Norwegian nationalist to the core and\u003cbr\u003enever let an opportunity pass to indoctrinate her granddaughters\u003cbr\u003ein the robust history of her homeland and its explorers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Try not to be afraid of new things,\" she advised. \"The world is\u003cbr\u003emore fun if you're not a scaredy-cat.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen she died suddenly, breaking our fourteen-year-old hearts,\u003cbr\u003ewe buried her nicknames for us with her, and only brought them\u003cbr\u003eout in moments of crisis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI picked up the phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"All right,\" I said, my voice a concentrate of exasperation. \"You\u003cbr\u003ehave a one-minute extension. Don't think I'm saying yes. I'm just\u003cbr\u003esaying I'll listen to you--\u003ci\u003efor one more minute\u003c\/i\u003e.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay,\" said Ann eagerly, like a game show contestant heading\u003cbr\u003efor the bonus round. She took a deep breath. \"You know how hard\u003cbr\u003eRiley works--my gosh, you don't get to be chair of the English\u003cbr\u003edepartment without working hard--\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're not telling me anything new, Ann.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your interruptions don't cut into my time, do they?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sighed. \"Get to the point,Ann.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay, okay. Anyway, this is a chance for us to be together--\u003cbr\u003ealone--for the first time since Rich was born, Geneva. Thirteen\u003cbr\u003eyears! And in Italy, Geneva--Italy!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sighed again. \"Can't Mom fly up?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You know her hip is still bothering her. And how can she leave\u003cbr\u003eDad?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter a lifetime of good health, our parents, now living in a retirement\u003cbr\u003ecommunity in Arizona, had finally drawn the sorry-you-lose\u003cbr\u003ecards. Mom had had hip-replacement surgery the previous\u003cbr\u003esummer, and Dad was recuperating from a mild stroke that affected\u003cbr\u003ehis balance and sometimes his memory. These old-age infirmities\u003cbr\u003ewere certainly no fun for them. Still, didn't they realize\u003cbr\u003etheir problems were a big inconvenience for the rest of us? (Don't\u003cbr\u003esic AARP on me--I'm just joking.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"All right, all right.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You mean all right as in you'll do it?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laughed--inappropriately, I suppose. \"God, no. I meant all\u003cbr\u003eright as in don't talk anymore.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My minute's up?\" Sometimes my sister is far too literal for her\u003cbr\u003eown good.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ann, I'll get back to you by the weekend, okay?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With an answer?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, with an Ole and Lena joke.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnn ignored my sarcasm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Thanks, Geneva.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I haven't said yes yet,\" I reminded her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I know, but thanks anyway.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hung up quickly; her gratitude actually seemed to have heat,\u003cbr\u003eand my ear burned from it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grabbed my cashmere coat--one of the presents Trevor had\u003cbr\u003egiven me that he hadn't repossessed.When we had broken up, I\u003cbr\u003ethrew my engagement ring at him, never thinking for a minute\u003cbr\u003ethat the tightwad wouldn't give it back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI guess he wasn't really cheap--he did spend a lot of money on\u003cbr\u003eme--but he often tainted the gift-giving experience by telling me\u003cbr\u003ewhat wildly expensive thing he was \u003ci\u003egoing\u003c\/i\u003e to get me before presenting\u003cbr\u003eme with a less expensive substitute that somehow \"said Geneva\u003cbr\u003elouder.\" Cashmere said Geneva louder than mink.A picnic in Central\u003cbr\u003ePark said Geneva louder than lunch at the Four Seasons. Once\u003cbr\u003ewe were browsing through a rare-book store, and the first edition\u003cbr\u003eof \u003ci\u003eMarjorie Morningsta\u003c\/i\u003er said Geneva louder than the first edition of\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Great Gatsby\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're so much more Marjorie than Daisy,\" he had said, taking\u003cbr\u003eout his credit card to pay for the book, which conveniently happened\u003cbr\u003eto be about three hundred dollars less than the one I\u003cbr\u003ewanted. I suppose I sound ungrateful, but really, it hurt my feelings\u003cbr\u003ethat everything that said Geneva was second-best.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOutside the air was brisk and everyone was moving in the usual\u003cbr\u003eout-of-my-way-or-I'll-trample-you pace I love so well. Autumn\u003cbr\u003ein New York--my favorite time of year in the city. You can see\u003cbr\u003ewhy they wrote a song about it. On that day it was as if all of Manhattan\u003cbr\u003ewas still in the back-to-school state of mind that had begun\u003cbr\u003ein September, busy and energized and full of big plans and bigger\u003cbr\u003eideas. A person's senses were cranked up: colors seemed sharper,\u003cbr\u003enoises louder, and smells from hot dog and pretzel vendors' carts\u003cbr\u003epositively aromatic. And yet in the midst of all this a slight melancholia\u003cbr\u003eseemed to filter through the city skies, making everything\u003cbr\u003eseem . . . I don't know, somehow \u003ci\u003etender\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA fan stopped me outside of Tiffany's.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Geneva Jordan!\" she said in that surprised tone that made me\u003cbr\u003efeel I was less a human than an apparition.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI fluttered my fingers in a wave, hoping that was enough for her.\u003cbr\u003eIt wasn't.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Will you sign my--\" She looked at her armload of packages\u003cbr\u003efor something to write on. \"My Tiffany's bag?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Only if I can keep what's inside.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe looked stricken for a moment, until I reassured her I was\u003cbr\u003eonly joking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI always have pens in my coat pockets; it speeds up the process.\u003cbr\u003eShe handed me the bag, and for a minute I thought about running\u003cbr\u003eoff with it and giving her a really good scare, but instead I politely\u003cbr\u003easked her name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Beth,\" she said. \"I read about you leaving Mona!, which, by the\u003cbr\u003eway, I loved you in. Not as much as I loved you in \u003ci\u003eSunny Skies\u003c\/i\u003e or\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Wench of Wellsmore\u003c\/i\u003e, but still, those scenes between you and\u003cbr\u003eTrevor Waite--\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How kind of you to say so,\" I said, capping my pen and giving\u003cbr\u003eher back her Tiffany's bag. \"Now I must run--nice talking to you!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI raced off as quickly as I could on my three-inch-heel boots.\u003cbr\u003eThese fans will stand around and yak all day if you let them, telling\u003cbr\u003eyou what they've liked about your career and what they haven't--\u003cbr\u003eas if you've been waiting all your professional life for their critique.\u003cbr\u003eDon't get me wrong--I'm not above my fans. I just like\u003cbr\u003ethem a whole lot better when they stick to flattery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Miss Jordan!\" said Wendy the receptionist, as if I'd caught her\u003cbr\u003edoing something she shouldn't have been doing. \"We didn't expect\u003cbr\u003eyou until two-thirty!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I had to get out of the house,\" I said, draping my coat over the\u003cbr\u003efaux leopard couch. \"Can Benny take me early?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Of course I can, darling,\" said Benny, picking up his cue far\u003cbr\u003ebetter than some actors I've worked with.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe rushed over to me, giving me a big smooch on the lips. \"I\u003cbr\u003ejust kicked Claudette Pehl out of my chair. I told her, 'Darling, I\u003cbr\u003edon't care if your hair's still wet--I've got more important clients\u003cbr\u003eto attend to.' \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sure you did, Benny,\" I said. Claudette Pehl was only the fashion\u003cbr\u003emodel of the moment, all seventeen years and sixty-eight\u003cbr\u003epounds of her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Coffee?\" he asked, taking me by the hand and leading me into\u003cbr\u003ethe salon, \"with a dash of Bailey's?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A \u003ci\u003ebig \u003c\/i\u003edash.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLou Reed was blasting through the salon's sound system--\u003cbr\u003eat Hair by Benny, nothing was done in baby steps. Each chair\u003cbr\u003ewas upholstered in some faux jungle animal skin and most often\u003cbr\u003eoccupied by somebody recognizable. Polly York, the PBS news\u003cbr\u003ecommentator, was getting foiled in Martin's chair, and over in\u003cbr\u003eAndre's, Gina Bell, the ice skater, was getting one of her signature\u003cbr\u003epixie cuts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter I changed into a cotton smock printed with tiger stripes\u003cbr\u003e(every smock matches its chair; kitschy, but what the hell, that\u003cbr\u003ewas part of the fun of Benny's) and got shampooed by one of those\u003cbr\u003esullen girls whose mental health you can't help but worry about, I\u003cbr\u003esat down in Benny's chair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Looking at you, the word \u003ci\u003erough\u003c\/i\u003e comes to mind,\" he said, handing\u003cbr\u003eme a mug that smelled more of booze than coffee.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, Benny, don't mince words with me.\" I took a sip of the enhanced\u003cbr\u003ecoffee and made a face. \"I said a dash, not half a bottle.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInstead of making apologies and scurrying back to the coffee\u003cbr\u003emachine, Benny flicked the end of his comb against my shoulder\u003cbr\u003eblade.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Shut up and drink it,\" he said. \"You know you could use it.\"\u003cbr\u003eI could and I did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ahh,\" I said after chugging it down.\"Things are looking better\u003cbr\u003ealready.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI knew\u003ci\u003e I\u003c\/i\u003e was. Benny wasn't one of the top hair stylists in Manhattan\u003cbr\u003eby chance; he knew how to cut hair and, most important,\u003cbr\u003ehow to make his clients look good while he did.The lighting was\u003cbr\u003ewarm and mellow, fading out lines and wrinkles and large pores\u003cbr\u003eand everything else that conspired to make you look like the\u003cbr\u003ewicked stepmother when you still felt like Cinderella.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked great . . . for forty-eight. I could easily pass for forty,\u003cbr\u003ewhich I had been doing until my sister was interviewed by a feature\u003cbr\u003ewriter for \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and blabbed our real age--as if\u003cbr\u003eshe hadn't been schooled enough on this particular topic. Still,\u003cbr\u003elooking forty isn't exactly a plus in show business, although it is\u003cbr\u003eeasier to age in the theater than it is in the movies, where they\u003cbr\u003estart casting you as the mother in\u003ci\u003e Little Women\u003c\/i\u003e when you feel you'd\u003cbr\u003ebe perfect for Jo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI do have a lovely nose (my own, thank you very much), pretty\u003cbr\u003eteeth (mostly my own), and good hair (the natural waves are\u003cbr\u003emine, the Red Flame color--Benny's marvelous idea and for ten\u003cbr\u003eyears my signature--is not), but I'm called gorgeous primarily\u003cbr\u003ebecause I'm a star.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt's not undue humility (in my case, all humility would be undue)\u003cbr\u003ethat makes me say that; I turn heads, first and foremost, because\u003cbr\u003eof who I am and not what I look like.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Benny, what do you think about short hair?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe both watched in the mirror as he held out a rippled strand\u003cbr\u003eof my hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not for you, darling.Your hair is so dramatic . . . so free. You'd\u003cbr\u003elook like a computer saleswoman with short hair. Or a drill\u003cbr\u003esergeant.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laughed. Benny was one of the few people who wasn't afraid\u003cbr\u003eto tell me what he really thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"All right, then. Just take off the split ends.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs Benny snipped and sniped in his jungle lair (his gossip was\u003cbr\u003ealmost as good as his styling), I closed my eyes and tried to think\u003cbr\u003eof more excuses why I couldn't possibly help my sister out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs they say, timing is everything, and this timing was bad. I hadn't\u003cbr\u003eleft Mona! just for the fun of it. I wasn't burned out on the show yet;\u003cbr\u003ewhat had made me not renew my contract was a doublehitter--\u003cbr\u003eheartbreak and menopause, neither of which I'd admit to the world\u003cbr\u003eat large. My press release merely mentioned my gratitude for being\u003cbr\u003ewith such a fine production and my wish to explore other creative\u003cbr\u003eavenues.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat I really needed time for was to practice my three R's--\u003cbr\u003erelax, replenish, and rassle my screaming hormones to the floor. I\u003cbr\u003ewanted to putter around the city, have late-afternoon teas at the\u003cbr\u003eCarlyle or the Pierre, see the shows I hadn't been able to see because\u003cbr\u003eof my own, and spend my free weekends at the various\u003cbr\u003ecountry homes friends had invited me to. I needed time to spoil\u003cbr\u003emyself rotten.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Earth to Geneva,\" whispered Benny in my ear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI opened my eyes, startled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sorry I was boring you,\" he said with exaggerated nonchalance.\u003cbr\u003e\"Believe me, there are plenty of women who'd \u003ci\u003epay\u003c\/i\u003e to sit\u003cbr\u003ewhere you are and listen to me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laughed. \"I do pay you, Benny, remember?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBenny shrugged and with his fingers fanned out my hair. It was\u003cbr\u003elong and wavy--\"hippie hair with an uptown attitude,\" as Benny\u003cbr\u003edescribed it. (I follow the Dick Clark secret of youth--never\u003cbr\u003echange your hairstyle.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So how does it feel to be an out-of-work actor?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTears welled up in my eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Geneva, darling! I didn't mean anything by that--I was only\u003cbr\u003etrying to be funny.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"It's not that,\" I said, waving my hand. \"It's my sister.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the mirror, I saw concern pinch the features of Benny's\u003cbr\u003eround face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"She's not ill, is she?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shook my head. \"Nothing like that. She and her husband have\u003cbr\u003ethis opportunity through the college to go to Italy.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hmm,\" said Benny, checking to see if my ends were even. \"I\u003cbr\u003eguess I'm not quite grasping the dilemma.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"They want me to baby-sit!\" I said, and seeing the ice skater\u003cbr\u003elook over at me with interest, I lowered my voice. \"They've got\u003cbr\u003ea thirteen-year-old son they don't want to take out of school.\u003cbr\u003eRichard--Rich, that's his name. My godson.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBenny poured something delicious-smelling onto his hands and\u003cbr\u003emassaged it into my scalp. \"And you don't want to baby-sit this\u003cbr\u003eRich because ...?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Because I'm on vacation!\" I said, and again my raised voice\u003cbr\u003emade the snoopy skater with her stupid pixie cut look over. \"Because\u003cbr\u003emy doctor says I'm overstressed and overworked and I need\u003cbr\u003eto take it easy!\" I whispered. \"And besides, I need to get over . . .\u003cbr\u003ethings.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That cad,\" said Benny. It was his Pavlovian response; whenever\u003cbr\u003eI mentioned anything that might directly or indirectly have to do\u003cbr\u003ewith Trevor, he said, \"That cad.\" It was for this sort of thing that I\u003cbr\u003etipped him so well.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But doesn't your sister live on a pond or something in\u003cbr\u003eIndianapolis?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A lake,\" I said. \"She lives on a lake outside Minneapolis.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBenny shrugged; to the transplanted Australian, it was all\u003cbr\u003ethe same.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But mightn't that be peaceful?\" he suggested. \"Sitting by the\u003cbr\u003elake out in the middle of nowhere?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The lake'll probably be frozen,\" I said. \"And even if it isn't, I'd\u003cbr\u003ebe sitting with a thirteen-year-old.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right, the kid. He's that bad, huh?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy tears, which seemed to be on double overtime, welled up\u003cbr\u003eagain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, Benny!\" I said, and then, in a move far more fluid than any\u003cbr\u003edouble axel Gina Bell ever performed, I swiveled my chair, shielding\u003cbr\u003emyself and my tears from the prying eyes of that nosy little ice\u003cbr\u003enymph.Ballantine Reader's Circle\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302513889509,"sku":"NP9780345442741","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345442741.jpg?v=1767743762","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/welcome-to-the-great-mysterious-isbn-9780345442741","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}