Page 52 of The Summer You Were Mine
At least she wouldn’t have to wonder what she was going to do with her time once she got back to Los Angeles.
She knew that she needed structure to feel good and therefore one of Ellie’s most important conversations on the drive west was with Dean Huey Kim of Santa Monica College.
She applied to teach Intro to Psychology and Intro to Statistics at SMC the night before, while dining on a combination of pickle-flavored popcorn and turkey jerky in her hotel room in Utah, so she was surprised to receive the call so quickly.
She tried not to wince when he told her that, at first, he wasn’t sure if she was serious or attempting some kind of comedic bit for her show.
It was probably not the first time she would have to convince people to trust her sincerity, so she knew she’d better get good at it.
By the end of the call, she had the job and a schedule, plus now she knew she’d have time to dig in on researching a plan to get back into the match for clinical internship.
Her shoulders dropped at least two inches during the drive from Sulphurdale all the way to San Bernardino.
The only thing left to do was settle in with her mom.
Aside from the obvious moving-back-home-over-thirty agony, liv ing with her newly single mom had few hiccups.
It did take Ellie three weeks to convince her mother that she was not required to make dinner for her, despite her attempts to treat Ellie like she was a guest at a hybrid Airbnb and spa.
Peggy had been going through an exploration of her personal dietary preferences in the absence of someone else’s tastes and was currently revisiting the nouvelle gastronomy known as 1980s Weight Watchers cuisine.
Ellie quickly opted out of that journey.
No matter how much love it was prepared with, no food was going to be made more palatable by shoving it into a hollowed-out raw tomato.
One afternoon in August, Ellie’s phone rang from somewhere in her bag as she pulled into the driveway and parked under the Meyer lemon tree. She found the phone—it was Omar—and swiped the screen to answer while maneuvering her tote bag out of the passenger seat.
“Hey, you! I am so glad you called! Tell me everything,” she said.
Omar had just begun producing another show for a top podcast network, and Ellie was dying to know how it was going.
The show’s host was a former ultrarunner who interviewed athletes from all over the world, no added snark or psychoanalyzing.
He lived in Italy and all sessions were remote, which was a different way of doing things than Omar was used to.
“It’s actually pretty great. The host is one of the nicest guys in the business, seriously. I mean, it’s only been a couple of days, but so far, so good. He’s smart and professional. And he listens, which is a plus, you know?” He laughed.
“Are you trying to suggest that some of your old colleagues struggle to take direction? I’m insulted!” Ellie chuckled, but it still felt weird to joke about something that she had only recently been able to sleep through the night over. Now that Omar was okay, she could relax a bit.
“I’m not saying anything of the sort! You’re always going to be my favorite, El. We took Games Over from nothing to top ten on the charts together. Nothing is going to beat that, I don’t care how much they are paying me. And they are overpaying me, seriously.”
“Okay, I was really worried about that.”
“I knew I was in good hands when your boy told me about the gig. He’s good people, too, I’ve decided.”
“Wait, what? What boy?”
“Cris. Conte? Your old friend? The show-destroyer? I thought you’d asked him to hook me up with the job since they knew some of the same people back in Italy. Anyway, Cris is a surprisingly good guy, not at all like I thought he’d be.”
“Sorry, Omar, I think maybe I didn’t eat enough breakfast this morning. You’re telling me Cris Conte got you this job?”
“Yeah, El. Because of you. Or at least, that’s what I thought. Anyway, if you talk to him, tell him thanks again. I can’t imagine you’re pals at this point, but just in case.”
“Yeah, I kind of doubt that we will cross paths.” There was a better chance she would have a conversation with a kinkajou than with Cris at this point.
Despite what she told herself back in New York, it was, in fact, odd knowing that only a few hours’ drive separated them now that they were both in California.
At least, she assumed he was back in the Bay Area.
On a visit over to her dad’s place to drop off mail, she’d heard him talking to the swim coach at Stanford about how he might be able to convince Cris to come back as an assistant coach.
Pfft , she’d practically said out loud. These people had no idea that Cris would sooner pierce his own nostril than get back on the swim deck.
“How are things going with you? Is it weird to be on a college campus again? Do the kids know who you are?” Omar asked.
“It’s not so weird. The freshman kids in the Intro to Psych class I’m teaching are not in the demographic for Games Over , so thankfully none of them have recognized me yet.
Or at least, none of them have said anything to me.
Aside from that, I have a meeting this week with one of the heads of the clinical psychology department at USC who used to be at NYU when I was there.
She pretty much took pity on me and is willing to talk to me about doing a supervised practicum or maybe getting on some kind of path back to redemption.
If any of that works, I can try to get back into the match, but to be honest, it will be a miracle if I can get into an accredited program.
I guess I am not looking to celebrate my success anytime soon.
” She successfully rerouted the rest of the conversation to further congratulating Omar on his new gig and wishing him well.
He promised to keep in touch and threw in one more plea for her to pass on his gratitude to Cris.
Her gut clenched at that last mention of his name, but she told herself it was just because she hadn’t had lunch yet.
She actually was starving and had about an hour before her first review session over Zoom with some of her students. She flipped on the TV in the empty house and made her way over to the refrigerator to pick from her personal stash of non-diet yogurt.
“I’ve seen lots of stories out there about me, but no one has heard my side. No one has heard the truth.”
A part of Ellie’s brain knew that the voice she heard was not coming from inside the room, but that was not the part that freaked her out enough to drop the container of yogurt on the tile floor, cracking it open.
She watched the blob of white ooze out as she listened to the sound of Cris’s voice coming from the TV.
“Cristiano Conte, like you’ve never heard him before,” said a familiar female voice.
“You’ve seen the headlines. You’ve heard there was a scandal.
But was there? I’m Kelly Jones, and I’m talking to professional swimming superstar Cris Conte in an exclusive interview.
Tomorrow. On Good Morning America . Don’t miss it. Eight A.M. , Eastern.”
Ellie’s phone chimed on the counter, snapping her out of the yogurt jar stare-down contest. She picked it up to find a one-line message from Ben:
I need to talk to you.
Cris looked in the mirror on the wall of the greenroom at the ABC studios in Times Square.
It was 7:50 A.M. and his interview was in exactly ten minutes.
A production assistant had already rapped on the door three times to ask if he needed anything and remind him of the schedule.
He was ready, except for one detail. His navy-blue suit and crisp white-and-blue-checked shirt looked perfect. He was only unsure about the tie.
“Are you sure about this? Do I look like a banker?”
“God, no. If you were a banker, you’d probably have on a droopy polo with the sleeves down to your elbows,” said Ben with his nose scrunched. “And then you’d be beyond my help, frankly.”
“Okay. I trust you. I don’t want to look too stuck-up, you know?” Cris flipped up the collar of his shirt and ran the tie behind his neck.
“A professional look is not stuck-up. It’s an equalizer, an even calibration. People may not know what to think of you, but at least in a suit, they are willing to listen. Trust me.”
“I get it, totally. Thank you for doing this, by the way. I know you’re busy, and I know it’s awkward since this interview was supposed to be happening with Ellie.
I can’t believe she’s not here in New York anymore.
” Cris had looped one end of the tie and attempted to feed it back under the bulky lump, but the resulting knot was wide as a dinner roll.
Ben pressed his eyes closed and shook his head gently, then he reached forward, undid the whole knot, and started over.
“She needed a change of scenery, to say the least. And you don’t have to thank me.
We’re friends, Cris. All of us. The full extent of what happened between you and Ellie is not my business, but I do know we all want to see you be a success today.
I’m just helping you do that.” Ben wrapped and knotted the silk fabric into a sharp half Windsor, tucking the tail into the keeper loop on the back of the wider blade.
He stepped back and gave Cris a scrutinizing, full-length look.
“Don’t you dare open that top button,” he said, pointing to Cris’s jacket.