Page 92 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

He chuckled at this. It was clear to Ezra why Ricki was drawn to Tuesday. This woman was a force of nature. “I knew I was just seeing one side of you. I could always tell by your performance onReady Freddythat you’re multifaceted. Creativity bends; it contorts.”

“Hold on.” She took a step back and pointed at him. “You watched my show?”

“I never missed an episode!” he said passionately. “I’ve been a TV junkie since the birth of the art form.”

“I keep forgetting you’re an old person.” She shook her head, marveling. “It’s soFreaky Friday. I can’t.”

“You brought such depth to your character. I loved the episode when you auditioned for cheerleading but forgot the routine and ran offstage to the bathroom…”

“And sat on the toilet, crying, and when I stood up, the audience saw the bottom of my skirt had fallen in the toilet.”

“You played it for laughs, but it broke my heart. Your talent’s plumb astounding.”

Slowly, Tuesday’s face brightened under her hat. She rarely heard anything positive about her acting—it was always about her looks, her sexy figure.

She caught herself going soft and rolled her eyes. “That’s a lie from the pit of hell.”

“It’s no lie,” he said. “Lately, I’ve been watching these floral design competition shows, just to understand Ricki’s business. And I learned that moss can hold up to four times its weight in water. Your performances were like that. You were so young, but the emotional weight you took on was greater than your years.”

This time, she allowed her delight to show. She flashed a dazzling smile. “Aw, you just wanted to drop your lil’ moss fact.”

He grinned. “That obvious, huh?”

“You love Ricki. That’s what’s obvious.”

Ezra glanced again at Ricki. “I love her too much.”

“No such thing,” said Tuesday. “Hey. So, uh, not to change the subject, but I’m writing this memoir. It’s so hard. Ihateit, actually. But that was a great line, about my emotional depth. Can you repeat exactly what you said, so I can catch it on my voice recorder app?”

Ezra laughed. “Sure. But why write the memoir if you hate it?”

“To set the record straight about everything I went through in Hollywood. To tell my side of the story. But the deeper I get into it, the less I feel like I owe the world an explanation for a single fucking thing.”

“I reckon you don’t. If you could do anything else besides write it, what would you do?”

“Open a medi-spa,” she blurted out, breathlessly and without hesitation.

“A medi-spa! All right, now.” After a beat, Ezra asked, “And what is that?”

“A medical spa, with aestheticians to provide dermatological procedures. Lasers, facials, steams, Botox, dermaplaning.AthroughZ.”

“Oh, clearly you’ve thought about this.”

“I’m obsessed with skincare. Idreamof complexion perfection. By the way, you’re virtually poreless. Kiehl’s?”

“Curse,” he said with a wink. “Tuesday, forget the memoir. You just lit up talking about this spa. Make yourself happy. Open your business.”

She beamed, radiating nervous excitement. And then it abated. “But I was really leaning into being a memoirist.”

“Maybe youwerea memoirist.” Ezra shrugged. “But identity changes all the time, I’ve found. There’s a few more ‘yous’ you haven’t met yet.”

Tuesday took this in. Then she leaned in and hugged Ezra. She waved to Ricki and bounced out of the shop, excited to begin researching her new endeavor. As he watched her leave, Ezra realized that was the first non-Ricki hug he didn’t hate.

He liked it, actually. Growth had funny timing.

Steadily, the crowd thinned as the day went on. By 5:45 p.m., the last customers left the shop with an armful of delphiniums and snowdrops. Ezra locked the door behind the couple and then drew the blinds, but not before stamping their punch card and offering a courtly “Y’all come back, now.” It was his third night of closing. He was practically an expert.

As soon as the door shut, Ricki sank against her workstation table, depleted. She grabbed a plastic flute of prosecco from the table (she always offered wine to her customers after 4:00 p.m.). With a beleaguered sigh, she downed one flute and then grabbed another.

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