One Day at a Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

been like growing up among “normal” people, like doctors and teachers, or a father who sold insurance. She hadn't had many friends like that growing up in L.A. The parents of most of her friends were famous, or one parent at least. Most of the children she had gone to school with had parents who were producers, directors, actors, studio heads. She had gone to Harvard-Westlake, one of the best schools in L.A., and many of the people she had grown up with were famous now too. It was like living among legends, and a lot to live up to. The majority were high achievers like her sister, although some of the kids she knew then were dead now, from drugs, or car accidents while driving drunk, or suicides. Those things happened to poor people too, but they seemed to happen with greater frequency to the rich and famous. They lived on the fast track and paid a high price for their lifestyles. It had never occurred to her parents when she was growing up that she would refuse to play and simply bow out of the game. It made no sense to them, but it made a lot of sense to her.
    “Maybe now that you're in the city, taking care of Jane's house, you could take some classes, and get ready to transfer down here and go back to school,” her mother suggested, trying to sound casual about it, but Coco had heard that before too, and didn't answer.
    “What kind of classes, Mom?” Coco finally asked, sounding instantly tense. “Piano? Guitar? Macramé? Cooking? Flower arranging? I'm happy with what I'm doing.”
    “You'll look a little foolish walking people's dogs when you're fifty,” her mother said quietly. “You're not married, you don't have children. You can't just fill time for the rest of your life. You need to do something that has some substance. Maybe an art class. You used to like that.” It was pathetic. Why couldn't they just leave her alone to do what she was doing? And why did Ian have to… but there was no point thinking about that either.
    “I don't have your talent, Mom. Or Jane's. I can't write books or make movies. And maybe one day I will have kids. In the meantime, I make a decent living at what I'm doing.”
    “You don't need to make a 'decent living.' And you can't rely on children to fulfill you. They grow up and go off to their own lives. You need something to give you a sense of accomplishment of your own. Children are only temporarily time consuming. And a husband can die or leave you. You need to be someone in your own right, Coco. You'll be a lot happier when you find that out.”
    “I'm happy now. That's why I live here. I'd be miserable in the rat race in L.A.” Her mother sighed as she listened. It was as though they were whispering across the Grand Canyon—neither of them could hear the other, nor wanted to. It was almost funny how Coco being a mere dog-walker made both her mother and Jane feel insecure. It didn't have that effect on Coco at all. Sometimes she felt sorry for them.
    Talking to her mother depressed her. It gave her the feeling that she had never measured up and never would. She didn't care as much about it now, but it still bothered her at times. She thought about it after they hung up, and she ate another egg roll. In Bolinas, she lived on salads, and bought fresh fish at the local market. She was too lazy to go to the supermarket in San Francisco, and her sister's high-tech kitchen, which looked like the inside of a spaceship, intimidated her. It was easier to order out. She was still thinking about her mother when she went upstairs to her bedroom and put a movie on. Jack happily climbed into bed next to her, without waiting to be invited, and put his head down on the pillow, Sallie settled at her feet with a moan of pleasure. By the time the movie started, both dogs were snoring, as Coco snuggled into the comfortable bed to watch her favorite romantic comedy, with her favorite actor and actress. She had seen the movie half a dozen times and never got tired of it.
    She noticed only