Fantasyland

By D.J. Starling

Believe in magic. Put a song in your heart. Know the power of love. FANTASYLAND Wont you come on in? Meet all the lonely people. Be there when they discover that dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.

Sandi Shattered by a devastating loss, shes struggling to move beyond her grief as she embarks on a new life. But when a charming stranger elicits a magnetic attraction, unyielding heartache overrides her desires and undermines her chance for happiness.

Rick Teen idol at fourteen, well-polished Hollywood playboy by seventeen, he enjoyed a hedonistic lifestyle into his twenties. Yet hes plagued by gnawing self-doubts and the fears they feed when his world is rocked by the sudden reappearance of a woman he had vowed to forget.

Steve. . . Driven by staunch principles, hes satisfied with the simple, quiet life he leads. He never could have imagined the twists and turns in the path ahead that will change him forever and force him to battle guilt and betrayal in his quest for his hearts desire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475986624

D.J. Starling

D.J. Starling is a penname derived through a combination of a dream, an apparition, and fate. Instinct told Donna to embrace the moniker, and an author was born. Contact me at [e-mail]. Visit my website DJStarling.com. Maybe its because the star I wished on made a certain wish come true. . . . . .

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Winter, 1992

It had been a lovely evening and the young woman was lost in thought as she walked alone across the Beverly Hills street toward her car. Suddenly, two strong hands shoved her from behind. Propelled into thick hedges that lined the curb, she heard screams of terror coming from different directions.

Shaken and confused, she rose from the bushes, brushing her hair from her face. As she turned to see what happened, she noticed an old friend racing toward her.

Are you okay? he asked, his voice breathless and fearful.

The sheer horror she saw in his eyes made her tremble. What happened? she asked, suddenly afraid to hear the answer. Wh… where’s… . ? Her voice choked on mounting terror and her heart pounded.

At that moment, her friend turned away and she followed his gaze.

Oh, my God, she screamed, seeing her worst fears realized just a few feet away. There, lying still in the middle of the street was her beloved husband, the father of her three young children. Spurred by panic, she ran faster than she ever had before.

Sinking to her knees beside his motionless body, she covered her mouth with her hands and began rocking back and forth as an eerie keening sound came from between her fingers. Through tear-filled eyes, she forced herself to look at him, frantic to do something, too afraid to touch. His legs were tangled and his right wrist looked grossly distorted as it hung limply over his abdomen, which she realized for the first time was lifting and falling. Powerful relief filled her. He was alive!

But he remained unconscious as she gazed helplessly at his unmoving frame. She noticed cuts on his left arm and a bloody gash on his chin. And then she saw the pool of blood forming around his head, seeping onto the hem of her dress. She gasped, panting in renewed terror, and her hand shook as she reached out to touch him.

Please wake up, she begged in a tremulous whisper, gently brushing her fingers over his lips, comforted by the warm breath she felt. I need you, she cried. The kids need you. Please wake up.

The same friend who had rushed to her side before reappeared, a grave expression on his face as he knelt down next to her. The paramedics are here, he told her in a gentle, calming voice. Let them take care of him.

No. He needs me, she cried out, covering her husband’s body with her own.

Ignoring her protests, her friend lifted her to her feet and supported her in his arms as a three man, one woman team rushed over. With rapid, practiced movements, they attached machines to the still body, tended his wounds, wrapped a padded metal brace around his neck, and shifted him onto a hard, cold board.

His wife took a deep breath as she watched, craving the bliss of knowing and feeling absolutely nothing, and she said a prayer as she followed the stretcher into the ambulance, shuddering when the door slammed shut behind her with a jarring thud.

With the siren shrieking in the night as they sped to the hospital, she clutched her husband’s uninjured hand, willing him back to her with unrelenting determination. The loving, passion-filled life they shared couldn’t be over already. It wasn’t possible. It wouldn’t be fair. And as she thought of the wondrous, unimaginable beginnings to their fairytale romance, she refused to believe that their happily ever after could end like this.

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday, September 23, 1972

Inside the TWA terminal at Miami International Airport, people were everywhere. Some were hurrying, some strolled leisurely, and some were sitting when they could. Some were quiet, others engaged in animated conversation, while those using the pay phones were straining to be heard over a metallic, multilingual voice incessantly droning announcements of incoming and outgoing flights.

Oblivious to it all, Sandi Golden was fighting back tears as she stood by a window with her older brother, Robby, staring out at the monstrous aircraft that would soon snatch her from the only family she had left. She was just seventeen, and he really was all she had, but before today was over, she’d be three-thousand miles away, about to begin her freshman year in pre-law at UCLA. It was the fulfillment of a long-held dream, but a bittersweet victory.

Her father’s death just eight weeks ago, after a two-year bout with cancer, left a constant ache in her heart, with no room for the joy or satisfaction she might have found in her achievement. After all the years of hoping and planning for this day, she didn’t even want to go. But she made a promise to her father and she couldn’t let him down.

Biting her lip to stifle a sob, she thought about all the love he had shared and all he had given following the tragic loss of his young wife. Sandi had been three, Robby five, and their mother only twenty-seven and happily expecting her third child when she died suddenly from a cerebral hemorrhage. She went to sleep one night and never awakened.

From that day on, Mel Golden devoted himself to his children. Doing everything he could to provide as normal and loving a home life as possible, he worked hard to make sure his son and daughter were strong, independent, and ambitious. His guidance and influence had given them the courage to set lofty goals and the confidence to believe the most impossible of dreams really could come true. And they worked hard to prove it.

But now, on the brink of attaining one of her goals, there was no celebration. Instead, Sandi felt like she was floundering in an emotional abyss as she waited for her flight, hoping it would be cancelled, wishing she could stay with her brother. Missing him already, she leaned her head on his upper arm as her thoughts drifted back to that evening long ago when she first told her family of the idea that brought her here today.

It had been a cold January night in 1966. Eleven-years-old then, Sandi squirmed impatiently in her chair at the dinner table, eager to reveal some news she considered much more exciting than her usual school day report. Finally, the right moment arrived.

Kim and Karen and I decided we’re going to college at UCLA, she announced to her father and brother, her voice filled with youthful exuberance as she spoke of the plans she recently made with her two best friends. And I’m going to be a lawyer just like you, Daddy.

That sounds terrific, sweetheart! Mel’s face beamed with pride. I’m honored. But why UCLA? Why so far away?

Cause that’s where the boys are, Sandi answered.

And the California girls, Robby added.

He did his Groucho Marx impression, bouncing his eyebrows as he tapped an invisible cigar, and brother and sister shared a laugh over a silly family competition. Using appropriate song lyrics to form reasonable responses within the moment’s conversation, they scored imaginary points in a game their father invented and called Lyrical Lingo.

Mel glared at his young daughter with mock indignation. Am I to assume, then, he questioned in his stern litigator voice, that boys have now surpassed education on your list of priorities?

Just one boy… one very special boy named Ricky Stevens. Sandi sighed dreamily as she envisioned the dark-haired, blue-eyed boy she discovered a few months earlier in the teen fan magazines she read religiously. One glance at one grainy photograph and she was in love.

With incredible baby blues and an irresistible smile, Ricky was more handsome than anyone Sandi ever saw. At fourteen, only three years older than she, he was already gaining fame as the lead guitarist for the new rock group, The Persuaders. Adding to his mystique was the fact that he was the son of world-renowned entertainer, Tony Stevens, and was growing up in Beverly Hills, amid the glamour and excitement of the world of show business.

To eternally star-struck Sandi Golden, from Long Island, New York, those were all the ingredients necessary to make Ricky Stevens her equivalent of a real-life Prince Charming. He grew more handsome with each new picture she found, and she spent hours lost in the fantasies of her youthful imagination. As her infatuation intensified, she even vowed to one day go to Los Angeles to find him. Once she realized college was the best way to get there, she convinced her friends to accompany her on the cross-country journey and felt certain she was heading in the right direction.

Her father and brother had listened politely as she explained all this, but her concluding words were muffled by Robby’s cynical laugh.

Do you really think you’re gonna go to L.A. and find this guy, and make him fall madly in love with you? he asked.

Sandi raised her eyebrows and arched her back. It could happen.

Robby laughed again while Mel beamed with approval. You’re right, sweetheart, he assured his young daughter. It could happen to you. Anything you want is possible. You just have to believe. What does the Golden family always say?

Dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. The family of three recited their lyrical motto in unison as Mel reached over and tousled his children’s hair.

The image faded when Sandi heard the announcement that her flight was boarding, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. The vision of that happy family scene had been painfully clear, yet the reminder of her silly childhood dreams almost made her smile. Her crush on Ricky Stevens had run its course long ago. She hadn’t even given him a thought or seen a picture of him in years, yet his influence on her life could still be felt, having prompted a choice of college that never wavered. Los Angeles was still the one city she wanted to live in more than any other, and from everything she’d read, the proximity of UCLA to Beverly Hills made the campus the best starting place she could think of. Yet, now that the day had come and it was time to go, her body trembled and she clutched her brother’s arm as they walked to the gate, more afraid of leaving him than anything else.

Because Robby’s fall semester at the University of Miami commenced a full six weeks earlier than UCLA, it had been agreed beforehand that Sandi should spend that time with her brother, instead of being left alone at home in New York. She had grudgingly gone along with the idea, but when Mel died only two weeks before classes began in Miami—as if he’d deliberately stayed as long as he could without interfering in the plans—she knew it would be for the best. And Robby had made sure it was.

Although both were overwhelmed by grief, he helped her nurture an improving outlook during their weeks in South Florida. Their hours of conversation bolstered her confidence and abated her fears. Even her nagging doubts began to subside.

But just as she was about to step over the threshold at the gate and leave Robby behind, a new wave of trepidation engulfed her. Throwing her arms around his neck, she buried her face in the soft cotton sleeve of his T-shirt. I’m so afraid of being so far away from you, she lamented. I’m going to miss you so much.

Robby wrapped a comforting arm around her and led her aside. You’ll be fine, he assured her, tugging gently on the single braid woven into her long dark hair. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve got the will to move an elephant and the persistence to make whatever you want happen. Besides, he added, we can’t forget Daddy’s dream.

Although Sandi had been twelve or thirteen at the time, in Mel’s dream she had been all grown up, standing near the entrance to Cinderella’s castle in Disneyland. Your face was sparkling with your mother’s smile, Mel had told her, and you said, ‘This is where I belong. I never thought I could be so happy.

"It was only a dream," she whispered hoarsely.

You never convinced Daddy of that. I even remember when you used to believe him yourself when he told you that his dream meant that you were supposed to follow your dream to Los Angeles. Look, Robby went on in his most understanding tone, I know the next few weeks, months, whatever will be really hard for both of us, but life will be easier if we remember everything Dad taught us. He gave us strength and confidence, and made sure we had goals to go after, dreams to fulfill. Don’t stop believing in him now. Remind yourself everyday how often he told us how important it is for us to move forward and seek out the happiness he insisted we’ll both find on the long and winding road of life.

Voicing the familiar, lyric-filled words, Robby sounded so much like their father, it made Sandi shiver. Do you really believe all that?

I have to, he said with quiet emphasis. And so do you.

Sandi gazed at her tall, handsome brother. Although living a thousand miles away when their father’s cancer had been discovered, he worked hard to build the special bond they now shared. That’s the way he was. He had always been there for her, more protective, more compassionate than many big brothers, and she idolized him. Now, she loved him even more for his courage as he tried so hard to hide his own pain.

Renewing her determination to be strong, she tried to smile. You’re right, she quietly agreed. We will make it. We can work it out. We won’t let Daddy down.

No we won’t, little sister.

And we’ll both find the happiness we seek.

You bet. His strong, warm arms encircled her with one last embrace, offering an extra dose of courage and reassurance.

As they moved back toward the gate, Robby handed the ground hostess Sandi’s one-way ticket to a new life and grasped his sister’s shoulders. You’ll be fine, he repeated, looking into her eyes. Enjoy the flight, and call as soon as you get to the dorm. And remember to smile through your fear and sorrow.

You, too, Sandi murmured with a chuckle, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek. I love you, and I’ll miss you. Her last words were muffled by a sob and she walked through the door without turning around.

Finding her seat on the plane, she slid in next to the window and stared out at the sun-drenched South Florida afternoon. Despite the bravado displayed for her brother’s benefit, she was so consumed by grief, loneliness, and fear of the unknown she didn’t even hear the flight attendant’s speech on safety instructions. After the plane took off, she opened the Baedeker’s Guide to Los Angeles that Robby surprised her with that morning and settled back, struggling to move beyond the painful past and concentrate on the possibilities for a brighter future.

*     *     *

In Beverly Hills, Tony Stevens’ English Tudor mansion was visible from the street. A wall of shrubs, four feet high, surrounded the corner property. Heavy iron gates stood at each end of the wide circular driveway with black and white signs posted on either side, warning that intruders would encounter an armed response. The signs, de rigueur in Beverly Hills, were the city’s answer to the welcome mat.

Behind the gates, Japanese gardeners clipped away at the lush landscaping bordering an emerald lawn that could have doubled as a putting green. In the backyard, a groundskeeper swept the tennis court while the poolman skimmed fallen leaves from the shimmering blue surface of the water.

Inside the mansion, Tony’s oldest son sat on a plain wooden stool on the bandstand in the oak-paneled rec room. Cradling his acoustic guitar, Rick stared aimlessly through the large picture window that overlooked the pool and patio area as his thoughts strayed from music. As had happened so often lately, he couldn’t shut out the growing discontent he’d been experiencing ever since a scathing article had appeared in one of the gossip rags a few months back.

At first, he’d laughed off the stinging commentary on his life and denounced the integrity of the writer, whom he had never met. But as he thought about the many women and almost daily partying that filled his time, he began wondering if the exposé was actually based on fact.

Although some men would probably appreciate being referred to as a restless playboy and the uncrowned Prince of young Hollywood’s millionaire jet-set crowd, Rick Stevens found the words offensive. Born into the upper echelon of the entertainment community, he learned early on how to take full advantage of that birthright, but he was more than just another Hollywood brat and was proud of his accomplishments.

Thanks to a short stint as a teenage rock star that had left him more financially independent than most, he’d bought his own house soon after graduating from high school. He spent the next two years attending classes at UCLA, earning high grades while an active member of the school’s NCAA Championship tennis team. But he walked away from it all more than a year ago, having lost interest in structured learning, feeling confined by the rigid schedule.

He preferred living fast and free amid a long list of friends that read like a Who’s Who of show business today. Always on the prowl, indulging his hearty sexual appetite with a steady stream of beautiful, willing women, he liked tooling around town in any one of the five expensive sports cars he owned. In between, he enjoyed spending his days on the tennis court, his evenings at the hottest night spots on Sunset Strip.

What’s wrong with that? Rick asked himself as he packed up his guitar, ready to head back to his house and plan for the evening ahead. He wasn’t hurting anyone. He was merely living the life he’d been given.

But as he walked outside and crossed the driveway to his silver-gray Lamborghini, another wave of uncertainty swept over him. The magazine writer’s snide insinuations that at almost twenty-one-years of age, he lacked direction and was wasting his life seemed to glow like a candle in the dark of night, and the words hurt as much as if he’d been burned. The worst part of it all, he realized as he sped off, was that she had actually spotlighted some ugly truths he didn’t want to see.

*     *     *

Lost in thoughts of her father, her future, and her fears, Sandi was startled when the Fasten Seatbelts sign lit up and the pilot announced the plane’s descent for landing. Her heart began to pound and she peered out the window, her eyes widening as they caught their first close-up glimpse of Southern California.

Majestic mountains rose into the sparse clouds, while down below, scattered neighborhoods of large homes were marked by backyard swimming pools that looked like rows of turquoise mosaic tiles from thousands of feet in the air. Seeing it made Sandi’s mind spin.

So filled with heady anticipation, eager to finally be in Los Angeles, she was also a bundle of nerves. Feeling ill-prepared to meet new people and socialize among them, she was especially wary of having to explain how she’d been orphaned so early in life. She just wasn’t ready to tell that story. She needed more time to ease her pain and escape from under the veil of sadness that was smothering her spirit.

Still, she couldn’t forget her father’s oft-repeated directives of how she should treat today’s milestone.

Smile for me when you arrive in Los Angeles, he had told her, preparing her for this day. Let yourself enjoy a new beginning in the one city you’ve always wanted to see. Know that anything is possible, and believe that dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.

The memory of his sage advice, so filled with loving encouragement, infused Sandi with a burst of confidence and a shiver of excitement coursed through her as she left the plane. I hope you know I made it, she murmured, flashing the smile her father requested. California, here I come, she declared, trying to imagine what the future might hold.

CHAPTER TWO

Sunday, September 24, 1972

With leaves swirling in the air on this cold, blustery Toronto afternoon, twenty-year-old Steve Mirelli had his hands deep inside the pockets of his wool jacket while he watched the crowd disperse after the antiwar rally he helped organize. The turnout had been larger than anyone expected, and he could feel the momentum of the peace movement growing stronger. Proud to be a part of it, gratified by the success of the day’s effort, he picked up a forgotten sign and set out on the short walk to his current home.

He had grown up in Far Rockaway, an oceanfront community in Queens, New York that had everything a growing boy could want. A boardwalk lined with food stands and arcades stretched the length of the beach, providing enough entertainment to keep a boy occupied throughout the summer. During the rest of the year, a blocks-long main street offered a safe environment to enjoy the three movie theaters, various restaurants, and stores of all kinds. He and his friends played stickball, football and hockey in the streets, and basketball in the schoolyard, and created new adventures every day in a hometown any boy would love. And Steve did. But he hated his home life.

An only child marooned in a home where passive indifference was the norm and few signs of caring, warmth, or affection were ever seen, he long hoped to find a way out. Yet, when he grew especially disgruntled during his junior year of high school, he suppressed the urge to run away. Instead, he found a job. Having recognized the necessity to be prepared before he did anything foolish, he hoped to save as much money as he could as he began formulating a plan to make a complete break from the life he’d been given. He just had to wait until he was legally considered an adult to implement his strategy.

First on the list was a name change, and shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he found an attorney he could afford to help him through the proceedings. All he had to do was decide what his new name should be. The decision was finally made with help from a blue-eyed, raven-haired beauty he met in a crowded, smoke-filled bar during an evening in the East Village.

Their eyes met and locked as they drifted toward one another. Barely able to hear each other, he led her outside and into a charming Italian restaurant next door. They talked like old friends over a bottle of Chianti and he eagerly accepted her invitation to continue their evening at her nearby apartment. Then she giggled.

We don’t even know each other’s names, she had said, looking embarrassed. Mine’s Kathy Ashworth. What’s yours?

What do you think it should be? he asked, more open to suggestions than she ever could have imagined.

Kathy giggled again, and studied him thoughtfully. You definitely look like a Steve, she finally concluded with enough authority to convince him, and she smiled proudly when he chuckled. Am I right?

She looked so hopeful, he didn’t want to disappoint her. You got it.

What about your last name? she prompted.

Steve hesitated, glancing at the wine bottles in a nearby display. Mirelli, he answered, reading the name on one of the labels.

Steve Mirelli. She said the name with an approving smile. I like that. It’s sexy. It fits you well, she added with a flirtatious wink.

He liked it too, and, unbeknownst to his parents, that had been his name ever since. He even rented a post office box to have a new mailing address for his new name. Once that was done, he spent much time contemplating his options. But he was willing to bide his time, hoping to have a tidy sum put away before he left. However, his choices of when, and even where to go were greatly diminished by the results of the military draft lottery that was held on August 5, 1971, just a month after his nineteenth birthday.

Four years before that, Steve participated in his first antiwar demonstration. More out of curiosity than political beliefs, he and a friend decided to take the A train into Manhattan to check out the much publicized event and found a scene unlike anything either had ever seen or experienced. Throngs of people from all over the country, some 100,000 strong, converged on Central Park that day. They burned draft cards and listened to impassioned speeches denouncing U.S. policy in Vietnam, then marched through the streets of the city, chanting for peace. There were even Vietnam veterans, marching and speaking out against the war, offering firsthand accounts of the stupidity and senselessness of it all.

Steve listened carefully, remembering his best friend’s older brother who had been killed in ‘Nam less than six months prior to that rally. For the first time, he felt he finally understood what all the controversy was about, and he didn’t like what the new clarity unveiled.

He never gave politics or the war much thought before that day, but by the time he stepped into the subway heading home, he realized he had just spent a life-altering afternoon. An activist was born, with amended philosophies and staunch principles. The older he got, the more he learned, and the more involved he became with the peace movement. He even organized a few rallies on his own during his time in high school and while attending classes at Queens College.

Then, in the summer of ’71, while working as a lifeguard at a beach club near Far Rockaway, life grew more serious on the night of the military draft lottery. At the Selective Service National Headquarters in Washington, D.C., 366 blue plastic capsules were placed in a large glass bowl. Each capsule contained a date for every day of 1952, and they were drawn by hand to assign order-of-call numbers. As soon as Steve learned his number was sixty-one, assuring he’d be drafted into military service if he stayed, he began making the arrangements that eventually led him to Toronto.

Shortly after his summer job ended on Labor Day, he informed his parents of his plans. They called their son a cowardly draft dodger and told him if he went, he would never be welcomed in their house again. Given the circumstances, Steve hadn’t suffered any regrets or remorse when he left a few days later. With the little money he had saved, and only the necessary belongings he could fit into the one large duffel bag he owned, he moved on without looking back, determined to make it on his own, in a new country, with a new identity.

He saw nothing cowardly about that, nor did he perceive himself a coward in any way. That wasn’t why he was leaving. It wasn’t that he was afraid to die. He was smart enough to know that such a fear would follow wherever he went. He wouldn’t even be afraid to die while fighting for something he believed in. That would be honorable. But he made a vow to himself that day in Manhattan that absolutely no one was going to order him to put his life on the line for something senseless. If nothing else, he had his principles and convictions, and that’s what he took with him as he made his way north.

Following trusted advice, Steve headed to the Yorkville Village section of Toronto, a well-known safe haven for draft dodgers and deserters. In his first year there, he found himself meeting new people, making new friends, and getting deeply involved with Laura Chatham, a blonde, blue-eyed beauty who was now sharing his apartment and making him very happy.

When it came time to find employment, his choices were few. Lacking any marketable skills, unsure what he wanted out of life, he remembered his enjoyment of shop class and accepted a job as a carpenter’s apprentice. He quickly discovered an almost natural affinity for the work, finding it surprisingly soothing, and earned his way out of the apprentice tag less than three months after being hired.

That kept him occupied during the week, while his activities in the antiwar movement kept him busy in his spare time. Walking up the path to his building, he felt satisfied with the life he’d made, gratified that he was involved in something meaningful.

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, September 25, 1972

During her first two days in Los Angeles, Sandi had kept to herself as bouts of overwhelming grief and loneliness bound her to her room like shackles. Her pain was still too great to ignore, the prospect of ever being happy again too slight to even consider. But today was the first day of the semester and she was forced to get out and face life. Still, as she strolled across campus to her first class, all she could think about were the drastic changes of the past two years and the suffering she had witnessed.

While Robby prepared to leave home for his freshman year of college in August of 1970, Sandi looked forward to having her father all to herself for a while. She’d been eagerly anticipating her junior year of high school, going to her first prom, and getting her driver’s license. And her countdown was continuing… only two more years until she would get to UCLA, achieving a goal that had come to feel like her personal definition of destiny. She never imagined that anything could block her way west. Then the unspeakable happened.

Less than a month after Robby’s departure, just weeks before her sixteenth birthday, Sandi’s world collapsed. Any chance for happiness had been destroyed by a devastating blow delivered via a doctor’s diagnosis—Mel had inoperable colon cancer. The most favorable prognosis was six months, maybe a year.

An exploding bombshell couldn’t have shattered their lives any more than those horrifying words, but Mel used his invincible inner strength and spirit to get his family through the darkest hours. He reinforced his ideals and prepared his children for a future on their own, remaining insistent that they stay focused on the goals they had set for themselves.

To Robby, a pre-med freshman at the University of Miami, he commanded, You’ll stay where you are and forget about a transfer. You achieved a goal, and you’ve earned the right to enjoy it.

To Sandi, he made a promise born of hope and faith. I’ll be here as long as you need me, he said in those first chilling days. I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re ready to be on your own and accept what is.

And so it was. Robby remained in Florida with numerous phone calls keeping him informed of events at home, and more frequent visits than originally planned. Sandi immersed herself in schoolwork in an effort to block out the horror of what her future had become, and Mel confounded his doctors with an amazing resistance to a deadly disease.

Six months passed, then twelve, then eighteen, and life went on. But as her father’s condition slowly deteriorated, Sandi’s home became the center of her universe. She withdrew from social activities and relinquished all friendships, all hopes and dreams. Even UCLA and the challenge of earning a law degree lost their appeal. She was losing her father and nothing else mattered.

But Mel wouldn’t let her give up on the goals that had been so important for so long. His stubborn insistence was the only reason she sent UCLA an application, and he began exerting unexpected pressure as soon as her acceptance notice arrived.

I’ve raised you to be strong and independent, he said one Sunday morning as they sat across from each other at the breakfast table, picking at the stack of pancakes Sandi made. You have to pursue your dreams. Achieve your goals. I know you can do it and make me proud.

But I… .

No buts, Sandi. Mel rose from his chair and walked to his daughter, pulling her into his arms and hugging her fiercely against his now frail body. Remember life is for the living, he muttered in a choked voice. You have to enjoy every moment you’re granted. Go to Los Angeles with a smile on your face and a song in your heart. Let yourself feel the thrill of fulfilling your dreams. Find the happiness you deserve. I know it’s all waiting for you there.

But you’re here, Dad, Sandi sobbed, and I can’t leave you. I won’t!

You won’t have to. I wish to God I could change things, but we both know I can’t, and we have to accept that I’ll be leaving first. Mel released his embrace and stepped back, using his thumbs to gently wipe the tears from Sandi’s cheeks. I wouldn’t be pushing so hard if I wasn’t so sure that Los Angeles really is for you. Besides, I’ll feel better knowing you have definite plans… that you’re going after what you’ve always wanted. And I promise I’ll be with you in spirit. I’ll always be watching over you. He smoothed her hair and left a soft kiss above her brow. Now it’s your turn, he said, cupping his hand under her chin. It’s your turn to promise me you’ll go to Los Angeles and enjoy the good things life has in store.

I promise I’ll go, Sandi had replied reluctantly. But I can’t promise any more than that.

Thinking of that now as she sat in her first college class, Sandi wiped fresh tears from her eyes. She was in Los Angeles, but she didn’t expect to ever enjoy it. Yet she couldn’t let her time go to waste and she tried to forget the constant ache in her heart. She needed a clear head to concentrate on Professor Knapp’s lengthy dissertation on the purpose and goals of Psych 101.

*     *     *

Having made it through her first two classes of the day, Sandi stood next to an expansive patch of emerald green grass near the center of the bustling campus. For the first time since her arrival, she noticed the beauty of her new surroundings and glanced around in awe at the sprawling grounds, nestled in the foothills of the mountains of Beverly Hills and Bel-Air. Taking it all in, Sandi laughed to herself. There was something charming and ironic in seeing this collegiate environment—complete with bicyclists, skateboarders, and an unassuming dress code—in the middle of some of the most expensive real estate on earth. And then the realization hit. This was just where she always hoped to be at this time of her life. She was actually living a dream come true.

Buoyed by the positive thoughts, she amended her plans for the afternoon in order to satisfy a sudden urge to explore. She’d been considering an invitation to join her roommate, Nadine Kittay from Chicago, and several dorm neighbors for lunch during the three hours before her next class. It was to be a first step toward overcoming her uneasiness with strangers and learning once again how to fit in with others. But the idea of a solitary stroll held much more appeal and she knew just where she wanted to go.

A brochure described Westwood Village as a quaint, four-block triangle of chic boutiques, art galleries, the highest concentration of first run movie theaters in the world, and a large variety of popular restaurants. Located a block south of campus, the village was easily accessible and sounded