Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(84)

Who does that? What kind of person? Amazing how I could decide not to think about something for so long. Maybe I’d put it out of my mind because I’d signed a hundred different pieces of paper I couldn’t understand, and that was just another in the pile. Or maybe I didn’t want to see the letter for what it was. A statement about my fitness as a father and human being. I’d been so worthless that Brenda Garcia would rather be a single mom than let me claim her daughter.

Ken answered the phone.

“Hello?” He sounded as if he’d swallowed a ball of yarn.

“Dude, are you in bed?” I asked from the porch. The block was dark. No streetlights, no floodlights on front porches. LA was never this dark. “It’s midnight there.”

“I’m in bed. Like an adult.”

“You knew about Nicole. You and Paula. You had me sign papers on the way to shoot Everly.”

“Yeah. You got away lucky for five years.”

“You couldn’t remind me?” My heels rocked the porch swing. The hooks in the ceiling groaned same as they did when I was twelve.

“For what? So you could blab to the press that you signed her off? You were on the edge of becoming something or nothing. And that edge? About as thin as net returns. We decided to control the damage.”

“We?”

“Paula. Who do you think?”

“Jesus.”

“Don’t Jesus me.” He seemed more awake. I thought I heard the sound of a refrigerator opening and closing. “She would’ve killed any chance you had. You would’ve moved all the way to Los Angeles to become an out-of-wedlock father. You could’ve stayed in Buttf*ck Alabama and done that.”

“Arkansas.”

“Whatever. It wouldn’t matter, because mother and daughter would be in Los Angeles and you wouldn’t be able to move home. You would’ve been stuck in Hollywood, worse than nothing. With baggage. No time. No energy. Nothing. Brenda Garcia was a saint. She had it under control.”

“How much did you pay her?”

“You paid her fifty grand. On loan. I’ve been taking it out slowly as expenses. Interest-free. You’re welcome.”

“Fifty-f*cking-grand?” The amount seemed inconsequential to the responsibility of taking care of Nicole.

“Fifty large. She was thrilled. She paid off her debts and got a bigger apartment.”

I was playing the part of a father. All the backstory had been taken care of. I was a fraud going through the motions while other people took care of the props.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” I asked.

“That’s the last of it. You’re writing the rest of this story on your own.”

I didn’t know if I hung up first or if he did. I looked at the sky and asked Brenda Garcia for forgiveness. I asked her dimples, her smile, her cheap apartment, her lousy-paying job, her discipline, and her little girl. All the things I knew about her. I’d been stingy with her, and the fact that Ken and Paula had conspired to keep it under wraps was irrelevant. They’d done me the favor they knew I’d want.

The living room was dark. I could hear my father snoring upstairs. My mother had learned to sleep through it. And a few years of public drunkenness. And through his loyalty to the lumberyard. And letting the back of the house go to termites before he did anything about it. She’d forgiven him plenty, but she’d never had to forgive anything like this. He’d never denied his own children.

Before Nicole, before Cara, before I became a man, that wouldn’t have meant anything to me, but now it did, and I didn’t know how to make it right.





CHAPTER 66


CARA


We were leaving for Thailand right from Arkansas. I would be Nicole’s studio teacher and nanny, but she and I would return home when school started. When Brad joined us in LA to do the green screening, we would transition into our new version of normal.

Whatever that was.

“Can I wear my twinkling shoes?”

She still asked even though we never said no.

“Yes,” I said to Nicole, “you can wear your twinkling shoes. Now just put them on please.”

I’d plugged my phone in that morning. It started dinging, bleeping, vibrating when I turned it on as three days’ worth of messages came in.

Nicole sat right on the kitchen floor and got her shoes on. She could tie them herself, but it took forever. I scanned my screen, answered messages. Scanned again.

Laura at West Side. Four e-mails and three texts. One long voice message.

Jobs.

Texted back to postpone until I got back from Thailand.

Blakely.

Texts and voicemails.

Her callback had gone well.

She got a second callback.

Then her happiness turned to concern.

Where are you, Cara? Are you okay?

Quick text back of congratulations, comfort, and a good-bye.

“Miss Cara!”

Nicole yanked my shirt and pointed her toe.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s a perfect bow!”

She smiled coyly. “Double knot!”

“The car’s outside!” Susan called from the front. Milton picked up two suitcases and Brad bounded down from the stairway to take them from him. We were going to Memphis International Airport an hour and change away, too far for his parents to drive.