Indiscreet by Nicole French
11
“Come on, Mama. Time to get up. You have to get to work, and so do I.”
It had been two weeks since I left New York, since Will had boarded a private plane, and I’d driven my old Passat across the country for the third time in two months. Two weeks of phone calls back and forth from California to Newman Lake, snapping at each other when the patchy cell service dropped our calls. Two weeks of trying and failing to ignore the incessant news and gossip columns as America adjusted to one of its favorite sons coming back from the dead. And two weeks for me to be completely forgotten from that narrative.
The last part, I was fine with—except when the Botoxed ladies on E! began speculating on who would end up “Fitz Baker’s next girl.” The only pictures that showed up of him anywhere were the few paparazzi shots people got of him coming in and out of Beauregard studios, but as far as I could tell, no one had figured out where he lived. In all of the photos, he looked grouchy and miserable. Gorgeous, of course, but miserable.
I bunched my hair together and pulled it off my neck for a little fresh air. Late July was already setting records up and down the coast, and a burn ban was in effect for all of Washington. All I wanted was to jump in the water, but instead I needed to go turn down the empty rooms at the Forster Inn, where I’d been hired part-time as a housekeeper until we could start renting out the extra rooms on Mama’s property ourselves.
I shook Mama’s shoulder. “Mama, come on. You have to do Kerryanne Duff’s hair in forty minutes.”
Mama groaned. “Heaven above, Maggie Mae, do you have to shout like that?” She sat up, clenching her temples, and gave me a black look that matched the eyeliner smudged under her eyes.
I sighed, but turned toward the door. She was up and sober. My work here was done. “I left you coffee on the counter, some ibuprofen, and a yogurt. Don’t forget that you have an appointment at one, so no margaritas at lunch, all right?”
“You know, you think you have it all together, Margaret, but you—”
I slammed the bedroom door shut before she could go through her morning ritual of cutting me down a peg. Things between us had been terrible. When I’d come home, instead of welcoming me back with the open arms you’d expect of a good mother, she’d scowled, told me I should be ashamed of myself for leaving in the first place, and finished a fifth of vodka before passing out in front of Anderson Cooper. Lucas and I had tried talking to her about her issues, but it hadn’t done anything but add to her resentment. I’d kept the memory of what was on Theo’s cell phone to myself, not wanting to damage what little dignity she still had. More likely than not, she didn’t even remember it. It was probably better for her sense of self-worth anyway. Especially since she seemed to be continuing to spiral straight downhill.
What a fool I was.
Mama stumbled out of her bedroom, pulling on a tank top before she caught me watching. I turned back to my coffee.
She wrinkled her nose. “I can smell that judgment coming off you like a perfume, Margaret. Kindly douse it with some humility, will you?”
I rolled my eyes and sat down at the counter. “Your breakfast is over here, Mama.”
She came to sit next to me, and I tried to ignore the fact that she still smelled of gin. She’d cover it up with coffee and perfume, and by the time she got to the salon, she’d be more interested in gossiping with her clients than being hung over. But right now, it was hard to ignore how sad she was.
She looked me up and down, taking in my outfit. It wasn’t anything special—an old pair of black pants, a graphic David Bowie t-shirt that had seen better days, and my Converse. Clothes that were good for cleaning and not much else.
“Did you stay here last night?” Mama wondered.
I shook my head and took another bite of my own yogurt. “No, I was at Will’s.”
More and more, I had taken to staying at the big house on the other side of the lake instead of my little shack. Will was all for it—he liked seeing me in his home when we were able to video chat, and being there made me feel closer to him anyway. He didn’t like the fact that I was cleaning guest rooms instead of taking his money, but he understood why I wanted to do it for myself. We weren’t at the point in our relationship where his wealth was mine. Not even close. But sleeping in his house, in a space we had shared…that was a favor I was willing to accept.
The paparazzi had completely disappeared from the lake. No one had discovered which house on it was Will’s, and aside from that fact, they all knew he was in LA now. Benny was under strict orders not to confirm or deny any rumors concerning me to the press, and after two weeks of no more “Figgie” (as the tabloids had annoyingly christened us) sightings, it seemed that they had officially lost interest in me once the production of Green Lantern began.
But staying in Will’s house didn’t make me miss him any less. If anything, it made it worse. The only bright spot was that it was a particular kind of misery that seemed to be inspirational. I’d written four new songs since coming home and had even recorded a few to send to Calliope, just for kicks. I smiled to myself, remembering our final conversation in New York, when Callie had tried again to convince me to stay.
* * *
“You don’t need to hide from Theo anymore,” Calliope said as she stood on the sidewalk, watching me pack the last of my stuff back into the Passat. “He’s not going to do anything—not with his dad putting all this money into the movie.”
Calliope agreed with Will––that in the end, I shouldn’t cave to the del Contes and besmirch my own good name by recanting my statements against Theo. In the end, I’d chosen a compromise—I’d allowed Will to hire a lawyer who would hopefully stop the release of the video and also help me extend the restraining order to include a no-contact clause. But I was also leaving New York instead of staying for the hearing. Callie was right. Will was the real reason I’d stayed anyway.
My phone buzzed. A picture from Will in some kind of ridiculous costume—a green Spandex suit that fit his body like paint. He was sticking his tongue out while a couple of other people in the photo I didn’t recognize were clearly laughing. I smiled and sent a photo back of me in front of the Passat. I didn’t smile, though. For someone who hadn’t had a cell phone for over four years, he had jumped back into selfie culture like a duck in water. I loved seeing his face every day, but I did wonder if he hated it as much as he claimed.
I put the phone in the back pocket of my jeans and turned to give my friend a hug. “I’m not running, Cal. I just need to take care of some things. This…”
I sighed, looking around me. Calliope lived in a relatively residential part of Manhattan—a tree-lined block close to the West Fourth station, where most of the buildings were brownstones and brick walk-ups. But beyond them, the jagged, sharp tops of skyscrapers at Midtown and the Financial District loomed, like a mouthful of broken teeth, threatening to swallow us whole. I shuddered. New York hadn’t felt safe to me for a long time. And now, more than ever, I knew it never really would.
“It’s not where I’m supposed to be,” I finished.
Calliope pursed her lips and folded her arms. She looked as immaculate and attention-seeking as ever in a bright orange mini dress and hair that she’d teased out into a near-afro. A set of gold bangles clattered on her wrist.
“Well, you don’t belong out in the sticks cleaning houses either,” she said. “You’re too talented.”
“Callie—”
“Fine, then. But do me a favor,” she interrupted. “Lover boy said you could use his house, right? Take advantage of the recording studio. That’s all I’m saying. Don’t let your talent go to waste.”
She pulled me close for a hug that squeezed my heart and my ribs. “When you’re ready to come out of the shadows again, I’ll be here to help you shine, babe. That’s a promise.”
* * *
“You knowwhat that makes you, don’t you?” Mama’s cracked voice yanked me out of my daydreams.
I pushed my stool back with a screech and got up. “Mama, let’s don’t start that.”
She hadn’t forgiven Will for what he did, even if I had. Hadn’t forgiven him for being famous, for not telling her, but mostly, I suspected, for not saving her. More than anything, Mama wanted to be saved, preferably by a big, strong man. Never me. Or her friends. And definitely not herself. It had taken me this long, but I was finally coming to see that simple fact.
“His little kept woman,” she sneered. “Looks like the apple don’t fall far from the tree, don’t it, sweetie pie?” She cackled to herself while I washed out my cup.
“You have ten minutes to leave,” I reminded her, ignoring her jeers and irritating smile. I grabbed my keys and turned to the sliding glass door. “I’ll be home later. It would be good if we could finish cleaning the lower cabin today.”
Mama just rolled her eyes, like she was an errant teenager and not my fifty-something mother. But before she could spout another cutting remark, I was gone.
* * *
Four hours,three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a very dirty kitchen later, I was beat, driving back home the long way so I could stop at Will’s to water a few of the plants I’d brought there over the last few weeks.
At least, I told myself it was the plants, and maybe because I wanted to be away from my mother for a little longer. That was it. Really.
It wasn’t because I sometimes wandered into Will’s closet to bury my face in the drawer full of t-shirts that smelled exactly like him.
It wasn’t because I loved jumping off the dock and swimming out to the lily pads off the end where he’d rescued me.
It wasn’t because I liked to sit on his couch, watch the lake ripple down the hill, and pretend that he was there with me, with his characteristic ability to just be. Be quiet.
No. It wasn’t any of that.
I unlocked the door to Will’s hidden cabin with the key he’d given me the morning he left.
“We already started living together here,” he whispered in between kisses that reached my toes. “We’re not going to stop because I’m fifteen hundred miles away for a little while.”
I shut the door behind me for a moment and leaned against it, taking a deep breath of the house that smelled like him, albeit less and less every day. Like pine trees and lake water. Like soap and clean, freshly turned soil. God, I missed him. So, so much.
As if called by my thoughts, my phone buzzed loudly in my pocket. I picked it up and brightened as I saw Will’s name flash across the screen.
“I really am convinced you’re psychic,” I greeted Will as I wandered into the living area and plopped down on the couch. “I was just thinking about you. You got a break today, huh?”
“Sort of.” Will’s voice was gruff, and I could hear a cacophony of voices shouting in the background. “I said back the fuck off!” he shouted, presumably to the onlookers. There was a scuffle, and then the noise quieted a bit. “Sorry about that. I’m in my car now. Word got out about location shots today and the crowds have been insane.”
“Do you, um, want to talk later?”
“Honestly, babe, I can’t later. This is pretty much my only free time today. I was actually planning to leave a message.”
I said nothing and stared at my lap. He didn’t even call to talk? Filming had only just started, and we barely had a minute each day to speak.
“Babe” turned me off too. It’s not that he hadn’t called me that before, but over the last few weeks, I was less and less frequently Lily, never Maggie, and mostly some version of “babe” or “baby.” Will sounded like a caricature of an asshole movie star. I hated it.
“Hold on a second, babe. I’m going to call you back.”
Abruptly, the call was cut off. I stared at the black screen, unsure of what to think. I didn’t even get a goodbye?
Another ringtone came from the FaceTime app. I answered it immediately to a scowling Will.
“Look at this garbage,” he said.
The screen jostled as the camera was turned toward the window, where I could see constant flashes and blurry shapes of uncountable people banging on the car door. Photographers, but also fans. Mostly women. Many of them screaming. One even lifted her shirt. She was definitely not wearing a bra. I cringed.
“Drive, Hakeem. They’ll get out of the way,” Will ordered from out of the frame, and then he turned the camera back to himself. He gave a grim smile, but there was no dimple. He looked thinner in the face than I remembered, but thicker in the neck and shoulders. His hair had been cut again, with a little more style this time.
“You look tired,” I said as the noise of his fans gave way to the hum of the LA freeways.
Will pushed a hand over his face. “I am. The makeup ladies were pissed today. Said I needed to get more sleep.”
I tipped my head. “Were you up late last night?”
“Well, we were filming until almost eleven, and then I had to be back on set at six, but my trainer kept me until twelve doing a bunch of crap,” he said. “So I got maybe five, six hours, max. Not enough to cure the dark circles.”
I stuck out my tongue. That sounded miserable. Will chuckled, then his gaze floated over the screen, like he was taking me in.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, low enough that his driver wouldn’t hear him. “No one should look that good after cleaning all morning. What are you up to now?”
I smiled. “I’m at your place. I hope you don’t mind.”
“For the millionth time, Lil, why would I mind? I gave you a key.”
I shrugged, but the pet name warmed me inside. “I don’t know. Anyway, yeah. I thought I might go for a swim before I go back to the house and finish the lower cabin. I think we can start renting soon if I hustle tonight.”
“A swim, huh?” Will’s mouth twisted, and his eyes brightened with a sudden thought. “Does that mean I get to watch you change? Quick, take your top off for me.”
I froze. Was he joking? His sly smile made me think he was, but he kept waiting, like he thought I was in the mood to strip down in the middle of his living room. My mind flickered back to the woman who had flashed him literally moments before—is that what he wanted me to do?
“Maggie,” Will broke through my thoughts. “I’m joking. I would never ask you to do that.” He quirked an eyebrow. “At least not when I can’t return the favor.”
I exhaled with relief. “Oh. Oh, good.”
“I’m sorry, babe. Being here is making me feel…I don’t know. Jittery, I guess. I’m being an asshole.”
I shrugged. He was, kind of, but saying so wasn’t going to help anything. “You’re always kind of an asshole,” I said.
Will grinned. I told him that all the time now, and it was starting to become a joke.
“How was shooting today?” I asked.
Will sighed. “Shitty. This script is a piece of shit. Some of the dialogue is out-of-this-world terrible.”
“Is the director willing to let you change anything?” I didn’t even know if it was possible, but I knew how much Will loved writing scripts in his own time. There was no way he didn’t have ideas on how to make it better.
“Yeah, Corbyn’s great—we go way back, actually, since he directed The Dwelling, you know. He lets me ad lib sometimes when it’s really bad. For stuff like this, he’s more of a CGI person anyway, so he doesn’t really give a shit what comes out of the actors’ mouths as long as we look good.”
I frowned. That sounded…depressing. “So where are you off to now? Back to the hotel?”
“I wish. I have a call tomorrow at five, so it’s going to be an early night, but that means I have to meet up with Adam tonight instead, and then eat about five thousand calories worth of fish before I go to sleep.”
I nodded. I’d heard a lot about Adam, the trainer provided by the studio to get Will into superhero-level shape. He seemed nice, at least nice enough to take Will’s staunch refusal of any kind of “enhancing” shots to help with his transformation. I didn’t really understand why they needed the transformation to begin with anyway. Will’s body would make anyone drool.
He made a face. “I would really like a big, juicy burger right now. But apparently there are too many simple carbs in a bun. So it’s cod and salad tonight. Again. Did I mention how much ‘fun’ I’m having being an actor?”
I smiled, then pushed a hand over my dirty pants. A burger sounded good, but the lake was calling. I felt grimy and disgusting, and all I wanted to do was get clean and bury myself in Will’s arms. Only one of those things was possible at the moment.
“I miss you, Lil.”
The note of sorrow in his voice immediately made me regret my earlier resentment. The name plucked a chord inside me and made me thrum. Of course he was sad. This was someone who would literally swim a mile in the dark to be next to me. Neither of us was going to enjoy being apart.
I touched a finger to the screen, wishing I could feel the scratch of his stubble. “I miss you too.”
“Call you tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
“It probably won’t be until late. The schedule is psychotic.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. Call me when you get a break.” I hated how needy I sounded asking him that, but I wasn’t sure I could do this without hearing from him daily. Things were hard enough as it was.
“Every chance I get.” Will smiled, a sad smile, but one that lit up the screen nonetheless. “I love you.”
I bit my lip. “I love you too.”
* * *
After coolingoff in the lake, I drove back home and was readying myself for the daily fight to keep Mama in the house when my phone rang again. I pulled it out smugly. He really did mean every chance he got, apparently.
But it wasn’t Will. Instead, it was a different New York number—my new lawyer’s.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hey, Maggie. How’s your day going?” The confident voice of Clay Gronsky echoed through my phone’s speakers.
“Good,” I replied. “Um…what’s up, Clay?”
“Well, I just got out of the hearing. Do you have a second?”
I sat down on the steps. “Oh my God. That’s right…that was today.”
“I’m surprised you forgot.”
“Only temporarily.” I tapped my foot on the wood. “Well? What was the, uh, verdict, or whatever you’d call it?”
Again, there was a light chuckle, but it died quickly. “Well, unfortunately, Maggie, I don’t have good news. The judge dismissed our petition. In fact, he overturned the whole order.”
I was glad I was sitting down, because if I hadn’t been, I would have fallen over. “What?”
There was another chuckle. Great. My lawyer was a nervous laugher.
“Maggie, did you have dinner with Mr. del Conte and his son?”
“I…what…oh my God. Yes…I mean, I sat down with them. And four other people. For, oh, five minutes or so. But, Clay, I didn’t really have a choice. They threatened Will and me, and he said it would be like it never happened.”
“But it did happen,” Gronsky said. “They’re basically using that against you. The argument was that if you agreed to dinner, he must not have been such a threat after all. And the judge bought it. For now.”
I held a hand to my chest. It was very hard to breathe. “Oh my God,” I gasped again and again. “Oh my God.”
“Look,” Gronsky was saying. “It’s not over yet, Maggie. We’ll appeal. You have reams of documentation that show Theo del Conte has been harassing you for a year, even from inside prison. One dinner isn’t going to change that. In the meantime, if you see him, hear from him, anything, big or small, document it. Write it down. Screenshots. Pictures. Send everything to my office, and I’ll have my paralegal add them to the file. We’ll beat this.”
I listened to him give me more bits of advice on all the things I could keep track of should Theo contact me again, but I could barely hear any of it beyond the roar of my own dread.
“What—what about the video?” I asked once Gronsky had finished.
This time there was no chuckle—only the silence of regret.
“Well, Maggie, I’m afraid the judge wasn’t very generous on that count either. Since there was no evidence of the video, not with us or on Mr. del Conte’s cell phone, he saw no reason for an injunction.”
So. Not only was I unable to keep Theo at arm’s length, I also couldn’t preserve my mother’s dignity. I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands. There was no word for this but one: failure.
