Free Aphrodite's Passion by Julie Kenner Page A

bright spot with the stranger, it had been a truly sucky day all around.
    Now, Tracy was camped out in her attic, trying to forget. Her whole life she’d had two favorite places to hide when things weren’t going well—her grandmother’s attic and the ocean. Today, she’d opted for home, and as she sat cross-legged on the floor, a steaming cup of coffee within arm’s reach and boxes of her grandmother’s memorabilia surrounding her, the day’s bad mood started to melt away.
    Missy wandered through the attic, her toenails clicking on the flooring as she sniffed and resniffed each and every box.
    “Those are just for your
nose
, little girl. Don’t go marking any territory up here.”
    Missy whined, but hopefully intended to obey. Not for the first time, Tracy wondered if her grandmother’s death wasn’t as hard on Missy as it was on her. After all, Missy had been Tahlula’s pride and joy. Surely the dog missed her as much as Tracy did.
    Keeping an eye on the little fluffball, Tracy pulled the first box between her legs. She’d promised the curator of the Los Angeles Film Museum that she’d donate some of her grandmother’s souvenirs for an upcoming exhibit called Goddesses of the Silver Screen. Since Tahlula Tannin was one of the first huge Hollywood stars, the curator was hot to get some of her belongings.
    As she opened the lid and dug in, Tracy’s eyes brimmed with tears. A faded color photograph topped the stack. From it, her grandmother’s image smiled at her, along with Tracy’s parents and Tracy herself, a skinny little kid with bony knees and shiny patent leather shoes, decked out in a crinoline dress.
    Her chin quivered, and she swiped the tears away, feeling foolishly melancholy. “Get a grip, Trace.” She put the picture back, firmly closing the box. “It’s not like you haven’t had a great life.” She had. Thoroughly pampered by a grandmother who adored her, doted on by her grandmother’s friends, Tracy’d had a near-idyllic childhood, despite the car wreck that had taken her parents so many years ago.
    And now, at twenty-seven, she owned a fabulous house in one of the most coveted neighborhoods in Beverly Hills. Assuming she could somehow manage to pay the taxes— and that was a big assumption—no one could ever take from her that part of her heritage.
    A sudden rush of tears spilled out and she let herself go, bawling like a baby until her insides were all dried out. As soon as the bout was over, she scrubbed her palms over her face, frowning against the unexpected onslaught of emotion. Considering how much she usually loved to rummage around in her grandmother’s souvenirs, the crying jag had caught her off guard, and she floundered for a reason—air pollution? The sad state of politics in America? PMS?
    Not hardly. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth on the hardwood floor, knowing full well what was wrong. She was all alone in a very big world. Despite her job, despite Mistress Bettina, and despite her friendship with Mel, for the first time in her life, Tracy was really and truly alone. She missed her grandmother, who’d adored her unconditionally.
    Grandma Tahlula had taken care of Tracy since she’d been a little girl, and in Tahlula’s later days, Tracy had taken care of her grandmother. Tracy sniffed, remembering the vibrant, kind woman who’d been a Hollywood staple throughout her life. From silent films, to opulent musicals and, finally, to smaller, grandmotherly parts in sitcoms or made-for-TV movies.
    Tahlula had worked well into her nineties, and she would have kept on working if the cancer hadn’t gotten her. It had drained the woman’s energy, not to mention her bank account, and it had broken Tracy’s heart to watch her grandmother fade away.
    Grandma Tahlula had been gone for a year, and now loneliness pressed closer with each passing day. Even though she’d meant it when she’d told Mel she wanted a fling, Tracy had to wonder if,