Finding Ashley by Danielle Steel (free ebook reader for iphone txt) 📗

She told Michaela she’d get it, without thinking who it might be. She opened the door and found herself looking into the huge blue eyes of an older blond woman, with perfectly cut hair to her shoulders, diamonds on her ears, in brown velvet slacks and a cream satin blouse, high heels, and a huge gold bracelet on one wrist. She had a flawless figure and a perfect smile, and in an instant Melissa registered who it was. It was Marla Moore, who came in drifting a cloud of Chanel No. 5 behind her. She looked Melissa over appraisingly from head to foot, as Melissa felt her knees begin to shake.

“I am very glad to meet you,” Marla said in clipped upper class Eastern tones that Melissa recognized immediately, and she sounded as though she meant it. But she was an actress so it was hard to tell. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you from Michaela. You’re even younger than I thought you’d be. You must have been a baby yourself when you had her.” She got right to the point as they stood in the front hall and didn’t move. Melissa felt frumpy next to her. Everything Marla was wearing was fashionable, flattering, expensive, and chic.

“I was sixteen,” Melissa answered, feeling awkward.

“I’m twenty-four years older than you are,” Marla said and winced. “I was forty when she was born. My husband was sixty-two. We were old enough to be your parents,” she said, as Melissa digested the information. “I’ve been so nervous about meeting you,” she said, and Melissa was stunned to hear it.

“How can you be nervous to meet me? I’m just a woman who lives on a farm in New England. You’re one of the most famous women in the world, and the most glamorous woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Hardly. But thank you. I’ve read your books. I bought them when Michaela told me about you. They’re brilliant. Do you have any new ones in the pipeline?”

“I retired,” Melissa said quietly, touched by the praise.

“That’s ridiculous. Not at your age. I’m seventy-three and I have no intention of retiring until they drag me off the set in a body bag. Retiring kills people. Haven’t you heard?” They walked slowly into the living room then and sat down.

“I ran out of ideas,” Melissa said, feeling lame when she said it. The older woman sitting next to her on the couch was strong and vital and full of energy, and Melissa felt like a loser saying she’d retired.

“I doubt that. Just a hiatus. We all have them. The woman who wrote those books is full of ideas. I’m sure you have another ten or twenty books in you,” she said with another smile with her perfect teeth. She looked like a toothpaste ad, or the cover of Vogue. She looked like a famous movie star from head to toe, and her hands were perfectly manicured. Melissa hadn’t worn nail polish in seven years.

“To be honest, my son got sick and died, so I stopped writing.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sympathetic for a brief instant. “My husband died, and I was on set the day after the funeral to start a movie. You can’t afford to let your guard down for a minute. None of us can. There’s always someone waiting to take our place.” It was how she lived, going at full speed in a highly competitive field. She was a force to be reckoned with, and Melissa could see what Michaela meant now. Marla Moore was not a warm, fuzzy person, she was a human cyclone and a strong woman, and she expected those around her to be strong too.

“You’re probably right. I’ve been working on my home in the Berkshires for the last four years. I’ve done most of the work myself.” She sounded proud as she said it.

“That’s wonderful and it must be beautiful. But you can do that when you’re eighty. The world needs more of your books.” She was emphatic about it, and Melissa smiled as their daughter walked into the room, and smiled at both of them.

“Hi, Marla. So have you told Melissa how to run her life yet?” Michaela teased her. She knew her adoptive mother well, and obviously loved her, from the warm look they exchanged.

“Of course. That’s what I was doing when you walked in. She needs to write more books.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to,” Michaela suggested gently.

“She doesn’t have a choice. She has a talent, she has to use it. That’s the obligation that comes with talent. You can’t put it in a drawer and forget about it.” Which Melissa had for the last seven years, since Robbie got sick.

“Not everyone wants to work as hard as you do,” Michaela reminded her.

“That’s for sure. Well, how does it feel to live in Gomorrah?” she asked her daughter. “Most of my friends are on those lists. The women accusing them are right, of course, and some of them should have been caught and punished years ago. But they got away with it, and now all hell is breaking loose, and they’re getting fired left and right. We haven’t seen the end of it yet.” She turned to Melissa then. “I’m sure you came across it in publishing too. We all do. A lot of women have been badly used. In many cases in Hollywood, if they wanted the good parts, they gave in. It’s a rotten business. Always has been. I came across it a few times, but I’ve been lucky. Most of the producers I worked with are decent men. But many are as rotten as they say. I’m very glad Michaela never went into the business. There’s no question, some of those men ruined a lot of lives, and we all knew about them. Now their victims are coming back with a vengeance to ruin theirs. I have no sympathy for them.” She was strong and sure and clear. Melissa realized that she liked her. Marla was still