Elli (A Second Chance Novel Book 1)

  Elli

  A Second Chance Novel

  Tina DeSalvo

  Elli , Copyright © 2014 by Tina DeSalvo

  Tina DeSalvo logo design, Copyright © 2014 by Tina DeSalvo

  All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of the author. Please report the unauthorized distribution of this publication by contacting the author at www.tinadesalvo.com

  Elli is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my soulmate and one true love…my handsome and dear husband, Corey. You have been there in the good times and the bad...always with your amazing sense of humor and unconditional love. I’m a blessed gal.

  And

  To my dear children…my sons, Hal and Nicholas. You have filled my heart with pride and love and laughter…and palpitations on occasion.

  This book is also dedicated to…

  My nurses and doctors…You not only cared for me, but truly believed I would beat cancer. Dr. Camille, Dr. Doria, Dr. Stolier, Dr. Gamble, Dr. Long, Dr. King, Jenny, Doe, BJ, Donna and the staff of Mary Bird Perkins Cancer Center (including Sonya who gave the best hugs). You not only administered the medicines and treatments I required but gave me the love and spiritual healing I needed. You all are so very special…My heart is filled with love and gratitude for you each of you.

  And, finally…

  I dedicate this book to my mother…Ann. An inspiration on how to enjoy each and every day no matter what challenges are in your path. I miss you so very much, Momma. I know you are celebrating the debut of this book in heaven, wearing that pretty blue dress you said you would wear to my first book signing...

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book could not have been written without the support, wisdom, inspiration, love, humor, patience and even the occasional threat from some of the wonderful people in my life. Some of them are recognized on this acknowledgements’ page while others are forever remembered in my heart.

  A special thanks to those individuals who helped with the local Cajun language, phrases and nuances that I used in this book including: my Cajun husband, Corey; my children, Hal and Nick; my mother-in-law, Gloria Callais; my friends and other family members. They are the true experts. Without them, Tante Izzy and the Bienvenu family could not have spoken with such Cajun spice and flair, Cher.

  I acknowledge in a heartfelt way, my sister, Jo Ann DeSalvo Mattison, and my brother, Tom DeSalvo. During a difficult time with our aging mother’s failing health, they encouraged me to finish this book. As the three of us took care of Momma, they made sure I had the time and peace-of-mind to write whenever possible. What a gift they gave me! Jo Ann, you gave unconditionally and tirelessly to Momma. Tom, you were dedicated, thoughtful and picked up the burden of practicality. I love you both. Thank you!

  Thank you to my mother-in-law, Gloria, for teaching me how to be strong and faithful when life is tough, real tough. To my daughter-in-law, Kristen D Callais, who had amazing babies with my son, Hal. I thank you for teaching me what young, ambitious and noble women of your generation are like. I thank my sweet, wonderful, dear grandchildren, Molly, Trip and Grey, who make my life happier so I can imagine good and fun things to write about.

  A special thanks to Stella Barcelona, my cousin, my critique partner, my left brain, my friend…We were not born in the usual way sisters are, but we became sisters through our stories and our passion for the creation of them. I would not have had so much fun or maintained my sanity on the journey to publication without you. I adore you. And, I adore your husband, Bob, too. Thank you, Bob, for never, ever complaining and always encouraging us.

  I want to recognize Cherry Adair for her wisdom, encouragement, skills and most of all, friendship. You have made me a better writer and plotter. You get me and totally understand it when I say…if one is good, three is better. You see, I did finish the “Damn Book!”. I thank my dear friend, the late, Kate Duffy for putting us together. I also thank her for encouraging me to continue writing for no other reason than … “you write because you love to write.”

  I acknowledge the talented booksellers, Molly Bolden and Kay Levine. These ladies started me on my journey to publication oh, so many years ago. Thank you for directing me to my very first writers’ conference and to so many amazing authors’ books. You have found ways to inspire me over the years. I am grateful for our friendship that has grown beyond the books.

  My dear friends, Camille, Denise, Cyd, Nancy Q, Julie S. and Plotters Ink-Eileen Dryer, Deborah Leblanc, Rita Clay Estrada, Cherry Adair and Stella Barcelona, as well as, Deborah Richardson of DRE&MS, my Facebook friends and Fans, my family from all the coasts and in between. You all inspire the words churning in me. I look forward to putting those words into more stories in the years to come.

  Prologue

  Los Angeles, California

  Three Years Ago

  “Yes, I understand that dog drool and silk are a fashion disaster.”

  Elli adjusted the cell phone to her ear with her left hand as she finished a text to the caterer on the second cell phone in her right hand. Francois Joseff was Hollywood’s latest fashion sensation and the most sought after red carpet, gown designer of the stars. He was difficult and a bit of a primo-don, but her leading lady had paid Francois handsomely to design a gown for the movie premiere when she hated the one another designer had made for her. Elli had to tread carefully to keep him from abandoning her equally temperamental star the day before the big event.

  As she talked and texted, Elli kept walking, her two assistants following quickly behind her into the conference room for the final logistics meeting for the movie premiere. Each of them carried one of Elli’s other cellphones; one was in a canary yellow case and one was in a black case with the movie logo printed on it.

  Each of Elli’s phones was a different color so she could know to whom or at least to what category the incoming and outgoing calls belonged. Elli always kept the blingy, rhinestone phone for her A-list actors and movie investors. The canary yellow phone was for calls dealing with the director, cinematographer, locations director, editor or for anything having to do with the actual movie production. The avocado green phone was the money phone, for accounting, vendors and all money questions. And, the phone with the movie logo cover was for everything else. It was the phone number she gave to people she wanted her staff to screen and hopefully handle so she didn’t have to add another person or thing to her very long, detailed, delightfully fun list. As crazy as it might seem to most, she loved the controlled chaos of being one of Hollywood’s top producers. She loved owning and using color coded cell phones. She loved wearing designer stilettos and purses that matched those phones on days she felt playful. She loved being followed by assistants, anxious to prove themselves to her. She just loved her life.

  “Your gown will be safe and remain perfect. I have assigned someone to each of the dogs for DDC,” she told Francois, keeping her voice even and friendly. “They will not so much as shed a teardrop of moisture from their over productive bodies.”

  “DDC? What in the world is that?” Francois asked annoyed.

  “Drool Damage Control. That is a very important and necessary job when your co-stars are Newfoundland dogs with overactive salivary glands.” She smiled. “The gown will be protected from the dogs, but I can’t promise that I c
an do anything about the onslaught of fans that will be there drooling over your amazingly fabulous gown.” She laughed. “Gotta run. See you tomorrow night.” She disconnected the phone, sat at the head of the table and looked around. One of her assistants extended the green phone toward her.

  “You need to take this.” Elli shook her head. All the current invoices had been paid. The deposits for the premiere were settled. Nothing was outstanding. The green phone could wait until after the meeting.

  “It’s your doctor with your test results.”

  “On the green phone?” She shook her head again. “Who gave him that number?” Her assistant shrugged her shoulders. “Tell him I’ll call him after the meeting.”

  “He said you told him you would call him after your morning meetings two hours ago. He said he needs to speak to you now.”

  “I will talk to him later.” Elli’s stomach began to knot, the way it had when she heard he was on the office land line earlier. She didn’t have time to talk to him now, or hear whatever he wanted to tell her. “Here are the final assignments,” she said, handing the clipboards to the dozen staff members around the conference table. She began to discuss limo checkpoints, dog photo stations, and red carpet media positions. She couldn’t fully focus on the meeting until her assistant hung up the green phone.

  As soon as she did, the yellow phone began to ring.

  “Elli, you really have to talk to him,” her other assistant told her. “He won’t take no for an answer. He said he has all of the numbers of all of the colored phones and he knows where the next meeting is. He also said if you don’t take his call now, he has the invitation to the premiere you gave him and will bring a huge megaphone there to talk to you.”

  Elli shook her head and grabbed the phone. She had no doubt Dr. Doran would do exactly that. “Hold on,” she snapped at him as she gazed around the table at her staff. Big eyes, small eyes, brown eyes and blue eyes were all staring at her. They didn’t look like people waiting for instructions as she had hoped, they looked like people witnessing an awful traffic accident in the middle of the interstate.

  “Lana, please take over. Review the assignments on the clipboards with everyone. See if there are any questions. Get everyone’s cell phone numbers. You all make sure your phones are charged and the ringers are on. I’m paying for them, so I expect them to be working.”

  “Okay, you have 30 seconds,” Elli told Dr. Doran as she walked out of the room into her private office. She looked at herself in the mirror that hung behind the door as she closed it. She didn’t know why she had, but something told her that it was the face of a woman who would be changed in a matter of moments. In the second that thought rushed through her mind, her face and lips paled lighter than her freshly highlighted long blond hair. Her bright blue eyes dulled. She looked much older than her age. Instead of 31 she could have been 40, her mother’s age when she died.

  Elli had refused to take a needle biopsy of the lump in her right breast she had found a few days ago, because she couldn’t prepare for the premiere with the post procedure limitations of not lifting anything for 48 hours. She had to be at full strength. She agreed to take the one hour PET scan instead.

  “You are going to need to take more than 30 seconds for your health, Elli.” He began, his British accent smooth, but anger tightened his tone. “We should be meeting face-to-face.” He sighed and rushed on, not waiting for her to respond. “I know…no time. If your father were alive he would tell you to make the time.” He cleared his throat. “You are a movie producer, Elli. You take on projects from the very beginning and see them to their conclusion. You have to do this now.”

  Elli held her breath as she walked to her desk on legs she couldn’t feel move beneath her. She dropped into her chair, feeling the room turn white and hollow and loose its air. She knew what was coming. Her ears began to burn. Her heart began to ache. She didn’t want to hear it.

  “Elli, this is the biggest production of your life.” He blew out a breath. His voice gentled. “I’m sorry. You have breast cancer.”

  * * * *

  3 Months later

  All of Elli’s hair had fallen out, except on her legs. She couldn’t help wondering with a bit of humor, where the fairness was in that? Her head was shiny and she didn’t have a single eyelash to put mascara on, but she had to shave her legs. Make-up couldn’t cover her red flushed skin caused from the steroids and other drugs added to her chemotherapy IV, or camouflage the extra puffiness of her face, but since Elli wasn’t working on a new project, she figured it didn’t really matter. She didn’t have to impress or instill confidence in her skills as a producer to investors or A-list actors and directors. All she had to do was focus on fighting the cancer. It was a good thing, too. She couldn’t imagine how so many of the other cancer patients maintained their jobs and chased after their children when they felt like they had a bad flu 24-7.

  The work required to battle the cancer was hard. Dr. Doran had been right about that. It was the most important production of her life. And, it wasn’t the suffering that made it so. The emotional toll, what it did to your soul, was what made getting up and out of bed each day such a chore. Some days were worse than others. Today was one of those days.

  Elli thought it may have been the hardest of all the days fighting the cancer. The side effects of chemo were particularly brutal and loneliness was dismally paralyzing. Yet, it was on this day when she didn’t want to speak or even make eye contact with another soul because she didn’t have the energy to engage another person in any way, that Elli met a wise and very empathetic woman. She was sitting in the chemo infusion lab next to Elli getting what looked like the same red IV cocktail, when she suggested there were other people who felt like Elli did at that very moment. “How would they feel if they knew they weren’t alone?” she asked Elli.

  Elli looked at this beautiful woman, who was as bald as she was and about the same age. No one had accompanied her to the chemo lab for the three hours she received her IV to play cards with her, gossip or to hold her hand. Elli had always come for treatment alone, too. She had convinced herself she preferred it that way even when the fear and loneliness left her trembling. Was it the same for this woman? Elli felt too sick and tired and weak to talk to her, to ask her if she was also alone, scared. She wondered it, though.

  “You know, when I feel sad and woeful,” she said, her voice just loud enough for Elli to hear, “I think of the others like me and you, who are attached from med-ports in their chests to their life-saving or death-delaying IVs and I don’t feel alone.” She smiled, her lips a little blue and dry. “I’m in a weird sort of club.” Her eyes settled on Elli’s very deliberately. “You’re in the club, too and you don’t even realize it.”

  Elli smiled weakly, not wanting to be rude to this woman. “I don’t want to be in the club.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want. Membership doesn’t come by choice.” She began to cough, struggling to catch her breath. One of the nurses came over to check her, placing a stethoscope to her chest and calling another nurse over. Elli could see by the look on their faces, they were concerned about the woman.

  Undeterred, she leaned to the side a little to peer around the nurses and see Elli. “It means something to others that we are going through this,” she managed, when she caught her breath. “It’s why I write a blog.” She began to cough again and handed the nurse something. The nurse gave it to Elli before rushing to the telephone. Elli looked at the piece of paper. It was a hand written blog address and a password. The woman’s blog. She must have written it on the paper before they began speaking.

  Seconds later, a medical team came racing through the lab door with a stretcher. One nurse disconnected the IV from the woman’s port as another placed an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. They then lifted and placed her on the stretcher. One of the oncologists came running into the room from the nearby clinic offices pulling his stethoscope off of his neck.

  The pretty woman wa
s now as white as the sheet on the stretcher, except for her blue lips. She took the oxygen mask off of her face. The nurses tried stop her but when she insisted, they conceded, telling her she could keep it off, but for only a moment. In a voice that was thin but directed at Elli so she could hear her over the voices of the medical staff, she called her by name. “Elli Morenelli. I give you this blog to shepherd and foster as it was given to me so our words and thoughts can live for another day, even if we do not…”

  Elli never learned how the woman knew her name, but her words echoed in Elli’s head long after she was taken from the room, so haunting…frightening…and poignant.

  Elli discovered that the woman had died three days later. Her name was Daisy Wilkinson.

  It was on the day of Daisy’s death that Elli wrote her first blog. It was about an insightful, selfless, beautiful woman who had given her a gift like no one else had. As if Daisy had known exactly what Elli needed. Somehow she had looked into her soul.

  “I don’t know if anyone is reading this. I will trust in the faith of that wondrous woman that someone is, because they need to see my words and I theirs. We should celebrate that we are here today, to write this and read it. Let us be thankful for the people we know, touch, love and hear today…for people like Daisy, who blossom in our lives for but a little while, yet make it so much prettier and better. Let us not worry about tomorrow.”

  Chapter One

  Today is my mother’s birthday. Please say a prayer for her. Her name was Mary Grace. I’ve never told you all this before, my Bosom Blog Buddies, but breast cancer killed her when she was just 40. I miss her so much. I was only 13 at the time, too young to think of things like how awful it had been for her to know she was leaving her only child and beloved husband…I was hurting too much to think of such things. I was aware enough to understand how much my dear, sweet father grieved at the end of my mom’s life and in all the years afterwards. As his daughter, I was a salve for his open wound, but it never healed. I could never make him whole again as much as I tried. He loved her so deeply. Thank God, I am single. I will never know that kind of pain. I will always remain single. I hope that doesn’t offend any of you with families. If I had a family before cancer, I would probably have a different perspective. I’m sorry to sound so morose. I promised you all to keep this blog real from the beginning…good days and bad and all that fall between. BTW, say a prayer for my dad, too. Today is the two year anniversary of his death. It wasn’t cancer that killed him. He had a bad heart. A broken heart. I wish you good health, E.