by Stacey Kade
Wiping my stinging eyes—I might be relating to the situation a little more than I’m supposed to—I open a separate document on my laptop and jot down my initial thoughts on Evie before I forget them.
Then I pull up my copy of the novel on my phone, as if I don’t already have parts of it memorized, and search for details, pieces of Evie that I can use to bring her to life.
The announcement to put away all electronic devices catches me off guard, so I have to hurry to get everything back in my backpack. And then to steel myself against another face-off with Eric or more awkward pauses with Eric and Katie.
My seatmate is standing up the second the seatbelt sign is off, of course, so dragging my heels isn’t really an option. She’ll trample me in her efforts to push into the aisle if I don’t move fast enough.
First class is empty by the time we pass through, and for a second, I’m hoping that maybe Katie and Eric have just gone on entirely, leaving me to navigate the airport on my own.
But nope, they’re waiting just outside the gate entrance, Eric scowling at his phone.
Katie nods hello. “You survive back there?” she asks with a smile.
“Sure, it’s not a problem for me.” Okay, maybe that’s petty, lashing out at Eric’s snobbish tendencies, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He barely glances up, his frown growing deeper as he leads the way toward baggage claim.
“Is everything okay?” Katie asks, taking a couple of extra steps to pull even with him.
I’m walking behind them, behind the solid wall of their coupledom, feeling more and more like a third wheel. And a little kid. I’m a tricycle.
“It’s fine. Just an accounting thing. Sam is freaking out,” Eric says with annoyance.
I feel a flicker of interest. Part of what no one on the outside understands is how much Hollywood, whether it’s television shows or movies, is all about the money. Who has it? Where is going? How can we get more of it? And on the forensic side, it’s more like, where did it all go? And who might have been laundering or stealing it?
It’s one of the reasons I chose my accounting major. That, plus, accounting is something that is either right or wrong. It offers concrete answers. And if you have those answers about the money, you have control. Or more control than the people without the answers, anyway.
Eric doesn’t so much as glance back at me, even though he’s pulling my bag for me.
“I can manage my own bag,” I say, a little louder than is necessary.
Eric, in true asshole fashion, gives no acknowledgment of hearing me, just simply lets go of my roller bag without warning.
I’m forced to step to one side quickly to avoid stumbling over it, as Eric keeps walking.
“Eric!” Katie protests, stopping immediately. “What is wrong with you?”
“It’s fine,” I say, wrangling the bag into place behind me where I can pull it.
With a frown at his back, she pauses to wait for me. “I’m sorry. I think he’s a little cranky today,” she says with a conspiratorial wink as we start walking again.
I manage a sickly smile. “Yeah.” Dr. Katie seems to be a genuinely lovely person, but that does not mean we are in this together. We are not going to have an “oh, that rascal Eric” moment, while she beams at him in fond exasperation. We are not friends or colleagues or … oh, God, roommates?
It dawns on me—far too late to do anything about it—that Eric never mentioned where I’m staying during filming. Unless he means for me to stay with my mom and stepdad, but I’m betting that, in spite of his recent scheming with Lori, he would do just about anything to prevent that.
“I didn’t think to ask before. Do you know where I’m staying?” I ask Katie.
Please don’t say, “With us!” Please, please, please …
Katie frowns thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m not sure, but I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t bunk with—”
“The production company is paying for you to stay at The Beverly Hilton,” Eric says tersely over his shoulder as we enter the baggage claim area.
I’m surprised he could hear the question and that he’s paying attention.
“A hotel?” Katie asks, taking steps to split the difference between us. “But Eric, it’s so hard to be cooped up in one room for that long. Couldn’t she just stay at your place since—”
“No, really, I’ll be fine,” I try. Please stop trying to help me!
“—you’re staying with me anyway.” She catches up to him and loops her arm through his.
“The hotel is close to all the locations where we’ll be filming, and she won’t be in the room that much,” he says, scooping Katie’s bag off the carousel. “I’ll pick her up and drop her off.”
Katie frowns. “But—”
“The hotel is fine,” I say quickly.
“A hotel? You’re putting the star of your show in a hotel?” A very familiar voice calls out behind me loudly. Too loudly. Heads are turning.
I cringe.
Eric’s head whips around toward me, and his gaze focuses on something—someone—behind me for a second before ricocheting back to me.
His jaw tightens. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“She asked me what time I was coming in,” I say wearily. “She never said anything about showing up here.”
It’s Katie’s turn to be confused, looking back and forth between us. “I don’t understand what’s—”
But that’s all she has time for, or all I hear, as my mother grasps my shoulders and spins me to face her. She’s a full four inches taller than I am. Some people have described her as a backwoods version of Daryl Hannah, circa 1991, and that is, sadly, fairly accurate. She’s tall, thin, groomed to the hilt, and dressed like she’s in front of an audience at all times.
“You’re here!” she squeals, enfolding me in her embrace. Now, everyone in the vicinity is staring, but my mother doesn’t care. She is in the “any attention is good attention” club.
Suddenly, I’m flashing back to every moment of cringing I’ve ever experienced, which is … a lot. And most of them feature my mother in a prominent role.
When I was younger, it wasn’t like this. Lori used to be more like an older sister than a mom. She was only twenty when I was born. When I was five or six, she would take me out after auditions for those cheap McDonald’s chocolate-dipped ice cream cones, the only treat we could afford. Half the time, the ice cream melted all over us and the interior of our crappy used Dodge before we could finish. And she didn’t care. Oh, well, we have to do laundry anyway, she’d say with a laugh. Better get our quarters’ worth.
But by the time I booked Starlight, everything had changed. She had changed. Suddenly this career—mine, ostensibly—meant everything, and I needed to “take it more seriously, Calista.” There was no more laughing but a lot more shouting, at directors and casting agents. And sure as hell no ice cream. It was like the moment I hit fourteen, she didn’t care about anything other than the work. Success only made it worse; the closer we got to achieving those Hollywood Hills dreams, the harder she pushed.
Behind my mom, Zinnia, my oldest half sister, gives an embarrassed wave. She’s fourteen, and I could write off her embarrassment to just being a teenager and existence in general, but these days, our mother is capable of generating that reaction in the most stoic person of any age. Poppy, who’s twelve, is next to her, with her nose practically buried in the crease of a book—Lori refuses to let her wear glasses in public, and as Poppy gets faint at the thought of touching her eye, contacts are out of the question. Dahlia Elizabeth, who is just six, is examining her distorted reflection in the dim metal of the carousel and holding her ruffled dress out as she executes a perfect mock-curtsy. She’s been in the child talent circuit already for years, just as I was at her age. But she actually seems to thrive on it.
Yes, they’re all named after flowers—in case, as my mother once said, they wanted to form a band. Never mind that none of us can ca
rry a tune. And yes, Lori actually named her youngest daughter—deliberately—after the most famous murder victim/aspiring actress in Hollywood. Like I said, any attention.
This is my family. Minus my silent and always-fading-into-the-background stepdad, Wade. Lori probably made him wait in the car.
“Let me look at you,” my mother commands, capturing my chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling my face toward hers, and examining me as if I’ve been gone for years instead of months.
“Calista Rae, did you not use the moisturizer I sent you?” she asks, scowling at me. Or she would be scowling, if her forehead was capable of moving.
She releases my chin and backs up a step, viewing me from head to toe.
“I’m glad I scheduled an appointment with Tim for you,” she says after a moment. “What did I tell you about carbs?”
My face goes hot; I’m all too aware of Eric and Katie nearby.
The thunk of a suitcase hitting the floor sounds behind me, and Eric steps up next to me. “What are you doing here, Lori?” Eric demands.
She arches an eyebrow at him. “Nice to see you, too, Eric. Am I not allowed to see my daughter? I don’t believe that was in our agreement.”
“I didn’t think asking you not to stalk her was necessary, but clearly I was wrong about that,” he says, just as evenly.
Inside I’m squirming, caught between being thankful for Eric’s stepping in to defend me and being furious at both of them. He is every bit as controlling as she is, just for different reasons.
“I’m sorry,” Katie says into the awkward silence. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She moves into the space between Eric and me, holding out her hand to my mom. “I’m Katie.”
Mom takes her hand and shakes it, looking past her to Eric with an expectant expression.
“Lori Beckett, this is Dr. Katie Wahlburg, my fiancée,” Eric says curtly. “Katie, this is Lori, Calista’s pain-in-the-ass mother who isn’t supposed to be here.”
Katie gasps, but my mom just gives a tight little smile. “Mother/manager,” she corrects. “And because she’s so much better left to your influences, Eric? I think we both know better than that.”
Oh, God.
His mouth thins to a line, but he says nothing.
“These are my younger daughters, Zinnia, Poppy,” Lori pauses long enough to wrestle the book from my middle sister’s hand, “and Dahlia Elizabeth.”
Dahlia, without prompting, drops into a curtsy, while Poppy waves blindly and Zinnia makes herself step forward to shake Katie’s hand.
“Zinnia, keep your head up,” Lori scolds. “It shows confidence. And it hides your double chin, darling.”
Zinnia’s face turns an unattractive shade of reddish purple as she moves behind Lori. She is, as I was at that age, nothing but coltish limbs, all knees and elbows. But Lori’s imagination is especially honed to detect where potential fat cells might be thinking of gathering. Someday.
“Mom,” I say sharply.
“What?” she asks. “You, of all people, know how easy it is to go from baby fat to fat fat.”
“Jesus Christ,” Eric mutters, rubbing his forehead. Then he glares at Lori. “Do you ever stop? Callie is not—”
“I’m right here. I’m fine,” I say to him through clenched teeth.
He turns the force of that glare on me. “Really? Are you sure about that?”
I stiffen.
“Come on, let’s get going, Calista. Wade is in the limo lane, waiting for us. Is this all you brought?” Lori locks her hand around the handle of my roller bag before I can process what’s happening.
“What are you—” I begin.
“Stop.” This time, Eric interjects himself between us. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m taking my daughter home, so she can visit with her family and relax in a comfortable environment,” Lori says.
Oh, no. A sinking feeling, like my guts are slowly being emptied through a drain in my middle, takes over. But Zinnia and Poppy both perk up, looking hopeful. Dahlia appears to be in the middle of a tap-dancing routine with her blurry reflection and oblivious.
“No. We’ve made other accommodations for Calista,” Eric says, grabbing the handle back from Lori. “It’ll be over an hour each way to where we’re shooting if she’s coming from your house, not to mention the traffic—”
“I’ll make sure she’s there on time,” Lori says.
“You’re not allowed on set,” he shoots back.
“Unless my daughter invites me.”
Which I will pretty much have to if she’s driving me back and forth every day. My mother excels at putting people in a tight corner and forcing impossible choices.
Because how am I supposed to tell her no when she’s given up everything for me, for years? When my sisters are looking at me with such hope? When Lori used the last of her dwindling funds to put me in rehab? I’m not part of the family business; I am the family business.
She’s beaten us. Even Eric realizes it, based on his thunderous expression, though far too late.
Damnit, Eric. You should have just left me alone.
He turns to me. “Calista, you don’t have to do this. You know you’ll be more comfortable at the hotel.” His furious gaze demands that I speak up, stand up for myself.
But he doesn’t understand. It’s not just that I owe my mother, a concept Eric refuses to recognize in his own life.
It’s more than that. I did this once before. I fired my mom, went out on my own. And in less than two years, I’d demolished my whole life. I had to be bailed out of jail. How am I supposed to trust my own choices when that’s where they landed me last time?
My mother is infuriating and controlling and sometimes a bitch, but I did not end up an addict on her watch. That was all me. And it could be me again if I’m not careful. That’s why staying away—going back to Blake—is so important. I can’t be here anymore.
I open my mouth to respond, but Lori beats me to it.
“Eric’s fiancée, you said?” my mother asks Katie abruptly, though I know she heard her perfectly well the first time. Her arch tone tells me she is in prime shit-stirring mode, and that is not going to end well for any of us. “How interesting. Eric certainly is capable of surprises, isn’t he?”
I shut my eyes and waste a second wishing I was anywhere but here.
Because even Katie, completely new to my mother and her ways, cannot possibly miss what my mother is implying. Even though it’s not true.
“When is the big day?” Lori continues. “Soon, I hope.”
“Lori,” Eric says in a warning tone.
But Katie, after a beat, seems to rally. I open my eyes in time to see her square her shoulders. “In January. We’re starting the New Year off right.”
That soon? I try hard to squelch the wail of dismay building inside me. It doesn’t matter. It’s old data. A complicated childhood crush that should have died years ago—that’s all we are.
“Oh, how wonderful for you both. Sounds like you’ll be too busy for much of anything else, then,” she says ostensibly to Katie, but it’s Eric who jerks as though she’s struck him because there’s no doubt those words are meant for him.
Too busy for a fiancée and my daughter, is what she means. And she doesn’t care if Katie knows it, too, because any trouble that keeps Eric occupied keeps him away from me.
“We should go,” I say quickly, making the only decision that’s left to me.
Eric’s head whips around. “Calista…”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, grabbing the handle of my suitcase from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Call time is…” my mom prompts.
“Seven,” Eric grits out.
“We’ll be there,” she sings out. “Come along, girls.” She waves them ahead of her, and they walk toward the exit.
“Callie,” he says.
I ignore him. “Katie, I’m sorry. She’s just…” I shake my head.
&
nbsp; She gives me a tentative smile. “That’s okay.”
“Calista!”
I follow my mom and my sisters, feeling Eric’s gaze boring into my back the whole way.
10
ERIC
“Well, that was awkward,” Katie says with a short laugh once we’re settled in the back of the limo.
“That’s Lori,” I say, twisting around to look out the back window in spite of myself. It’s not like I actually expect Calista to change her mind and look for us. But still.
“She is, as my grandma would say, a piece of work,” Katie says.
Nothing out the window but other cars, jostling for position at the curbside pickup area. No sign of Calista, hair streaming behind her as she runs toward us. Toward me.
I shake my head and face front. “You have no idea.”
“But you do.” She sounds oddly curious.
“After you’ve seen that woman in action, you can’t forget it,” I say. “She used to have these caliper things, and she would make Calista lift her shirt, right there in front of everyone, so she could pinch her waist and take measurements.”
“That’s awful!” She frowns. “It sounds like abuse. How old was she?”
“Sixteen when I met her,” I say flatly. Just thinking about it makes me curl my hands into fists. At the time, there wasn’t much I could do about it. Just try to distract Calista and make her laugh when I could. “But Calista won’t do anything to stop her.”
I wish I knew how Lori held such power over Callie. Why the hell didn’t Callie just cut Lori off completely? She fired her once; surely it couldn’t be that hard to do it again.
Of course, Calista wouldn’t have to fire her again—at least not yet—if I hadn’t forced her back under Lori’s thumb.
Katie is silent for a long moment. “Is there something else I should know?” she asks finally.
“What?” I ask, startled.
“I mean, with you and Calista,” she says, studying a button on her coat with more care than it deserves. “Her mother is terrible, no question.” She hesitates. “But I’ve never seen you so aggressive before.” She shudders.
