by Ward, Susan
Graham’s smile is gentle and understanding. “No one’s. Sometimes things just are. It’s up to you to make them either better or worse.”
I start turning the camera over and over in my lap to hold back my tears and words.
“Instead of sneaking around catching pictures of guys you think are hot for the next four months—” My cheeks heat even more. He grins with full dimples showing. “Oh yeah, you’re not very sly and I saw you taking pictures of me and Dillon.”
“Oh, a drunk, conceited bodyguard. Just great.”
Damn, all he does is smile. “Why don’t you ask your dad if you can film? You’re a filmmaker, right? The camera doesn’t lie. Not if you don’t let it. Film everything and you might learn something about your father.”
“Thanks. If I need advice again, you’ll be the first I run to.”
He nods. “Good. Improvement.”
I roll my eyes.
He leans back in his seat and adjusts his body. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t photograph me. And definitely don’t yell at your dad again until you’re off the plane. I need to be well rested when we land. It’s going to be a zoo in Mumbai and it’s not a completely safe place. I need to be sharp.”
I make a face. “I’ll try to contain myself on all fronts, soldier.”
Laughing, he closes his eyes. “You’re quick and funny. God, you’re exactly like your dad. You just don’t know it.”
Had to get one last dig in.
A last-word freak.
Great.
I can’t wait to get off this fucking plane, and Graham’s right. It’s a long flight to Mumbai. Shit, what am I supposed to do now?
Two hours later, I’m bored out of my skull and I can’t stop turning Graham Carson’s words over in my head. He’s wrong. I do know my dad. I’m just like him—unfortunately—and that makes me an expert on the man.
But Graham is right about one thing.
I do need something to do for the next four months. Weeks only thinking about all the shit that went down in the ’Sades and Bobby dumping me will make me crazy.
I am a filmmaker.
There isn’t a film crew on this tour.
It’s my dad’s last tour.
I exhale heavily.
How do I get Alan to trust me with a camera?
Oh fuck, I’m just going to ask and see what happens.
I take my video camera from my bag, unbuckle my seat belt and carefully stand. I don’t want to wake Graham and have him see me grovel to my dad getting permission for this. And I definitely don’t want him watching if I get shot down.
The sudden fix of eyes on me as I move down the center of the plane is unnerving. Shit, I wish everyone would stop staring at me.
I spot my dad with my sister. Well, isn’t this just one happy little family? Krystal is lying with her head on a pillow across my dad’s thighs and they’re both sound asleep.
I avoid the sudden weight of Linda sharply pinning me with her gaze as if she’s in fear of this, battle the rising emotion in my throat, and ease down beside my dad’s seat.
I’m crouched close up next to Alan, hoping for some semblance of privacy but, fuck, I can feel more than a few of them watching me. Crap, is the entire tour going to be this way?
“Can I take pictures and film if I promise not to post it?”
My dad jerks awake and stares at me. His eyes slowly widen. I can tell my talking to him surprises him, and oddly, he sort of looks happy about it.
“Why do you want to film?” he asks cautiously.
Well, here goes nothing.
“Because that’s what I do. I film everything. Bobby said that this is the last tour. You haven’t got a film crew. There’s no photographer. I film everything. That’s what I do. Can I film?”
“Did you really get into USC film school?”
Fuck, how does he know that? My eyes narrow on my sister. Damn it, Krystal.
“Why do you want to know?” I hold back my anger, not wanting to blow this now that I’ve started it.
His brows lift. “If you want to film, you’ll answer my questions.”
Jeez, why does he have to be such a control freak? It’s a yes or no question, Alan.
I let out a long, rattling breath. “Fine. Yes. I got in. My ambition in life is a three hundred thousand dollar education so I can strive to underachieve by making low budget documentary films that will make me no money at all. Happy now?”
He stares at me as if he doesn’t know whether I’m joking or trying to piss him off.
“You can film anything you want under two conditions,” he says patiently. “The first is you don’t send it viral. No posting online. And before you do anything with the film, I get to see it and approve.”
My cheeks go crimson. “I already told you I wouldn’t post it. What’s the second condition?”
“When we land you get online, accept your admission to USC, tell your mother you got in, and then show me how to pay for it.”
Well, that I didn’t expect.
I look away. “What’s it to you if I go?”
“I think I’ll enjoy watching you evolve into being a capitalist.”
“I’m already a capitalist. The problem is I’m also a realist. Hardly anyone gets rich on documentaries. I want to do what I want to do and fuck them if they don’t get it.”
He starts to laugh and my temper explodes, but I wrestle it into check because I’ve gotten what I want and I don’t want him to take it away.
“Look on the bright side, Kaley. You’ll probably be more successful than Michael Moore in this. You come by your talent and your attitude naturally.”
“I hate it when you laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Kaley. I’m laughing at me.”
What does that mean?
“Right, so anyway, can I start filming now?”
“Film away.”
I almost go back to my seat, but I stop. “We’re different, you and me. Do you get that?”
“Yes, I get that,” my dad replies heavily.
“Then don’t think you know me because we share some obscure genetic link. You don’t know me at all. And you paying for USC doesn’t make us even. Not even close. It’s not that easy. We’re not a fucking Maury Povich show. We don’t live happily ever after once the DNA results are shared. No one does. They just don’t show the ‘after’ on camera.”
Those great black eyes fix on me, shrewd and probing. “Is that why you want to film? To show the ‘after’?”
No, because Graham Carson said I don’t know you and the camera never lies. And in all fairness, I’m not sure he’s wrong.
My jaw tightens. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I hope you’ll explain it to me once you know.”
“Fuck, it’s your job to explain things to me,” I hiss, springing to my feet and hurrying back to my seat.
I’ve gotten what I want.
If I verbally fence with Alan any more today, he might take it away and, fuck, I don’t want that.
* * *
Landing gear touches earth. The plane stops. And everything around me gets too busy, moves too fast for me to film anything.
I climb from my seat, put my cross-body strap over my head, and hold out my hands for my brothers. The cabin doors open. The steps are fixed to the plane. Security moves in front of me toward the door.
I hold Ethan on one side of me and Eric on the other. “Come on, guys. I’ll walk with you to the car. There’s nothing to get freaked out about. It’s just like with Mom. OK?”
They nod and we move together toward the door.
Graham stops me. “Kaley, you’ve got to wait. Security first. Then your dad. Then you kids. That’s going to be the order from now on. It’s how we’re going to roll for the rest of the tour.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’ve done this before a thousand times. Will you just let me get my brothers into the car? They hate this crap. It’s too much for them. They’re only s
ix. Mom sends me ahead with the boys. That’s my job. It’s how we roll.”
“In Mumbai?”
“No.”
His eyes burn into me. “Then you listen to what we say when we say it. My job is to keep you safe.”
He turns away from me, and I can hear the security team chatter back and forth through their headsets.
I smile down at Ethan and Eric. “It’s OK. We just have to wait for Alan.”
I exhale and face the people moving toward the front of the plane. Where are Alan and Krystal? Fuck, I see everyone but them. Who the hell is that hideous old prune closing in on me?
She stops next to me, giving me a cool glance from head to toe, then crosses her arms looking centurion-like and official. “I’m Mrs. Barton. Are you one of the children?”
Internally, I shudder.
Really, Alan?
A nanny?
I’ve spent most of my life taking care of my brothers and sisters. Mom has never had more than Lourdes except for brief moments of necessity. You’ve got us for four months, Alan, and you hire help—ghastly help, at that.
I ignore her and wait for my dad.
Finally.
Alan stops in front of me with Krystal.
Prune Face extends her hand to my dad. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Barton. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am a big fan.”
What a suck-up. Like hell you’re a fan. Your music died with the dinosaurs.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, but even I can tell that fails the sincerity test. “These are my daughters, Kaley and Krystal. Those are my sons, Ethan and Eric. Eric is the one with the tiny birthmark beneath his left ear. It’s the only way I can tell them apart for sure. Collect the boys. The girls can manage on their own.”
She stares like there’s something wrong with us. Hell no, I’m turning my brothers over to her. I’ve had enough. I start moving toward the metal steps with Eric and Ethan.
“Stop,” Alan orders.
Crap. I turn back from the open door.
“Same routine as last time,” he says. “We walk off the plane. Say nothing to anyone and climb into the car they direct you to.”
OK, this shit has got to stop.
Everyone is telling us different shit.
“We already know this,” I snap. “You don’t have to repeat everything a thousand times. This is nothing new. We’ve traveled with Mom. You keep telling us exactly what she makes us do.”
Alan’s eyes go wide. “Good. I won’t do it again.”
Krystal nods.
Way to suck up, baby girl.
I step off the plane with my brothers. Cameras explode in every direction. Ethan’s fingers tighten around mine, but Eric looks like he’s enjoying it.
I spot Graham on the tarmac waiting and a row of microphones lined with press. And fuck, why are they calling my name? That’s never happened with Mom before.
When my feet touch earth we’re surrounded by security.
“This way,” Graham instructs.
I shut out the flashing cameras, the shouting voices and the screaming by focusing on getting my brothers into the waiting SUV.
I hang back after they’re in the car, watching my dad sprint down to the tarmac with Krystal in his arms. He’s smiling and waving and moves quickly past the rest of the band already at the microphones. Good, he’s not making the press stop. Maybe we’ll get to the hotel before Ethan and Eric melt down.
Oh shit, who’s that?
Why is she stopping in front of Alan?
Fuck, I don’t like the way she stares at my dad while she talks to him.
“Kaley, climb into the car,” Graham orders.
I shift my gaze to him. “Who is that with my dad?”
Graham looks over his shoulder. “Jen. Our resident courtesan.”
Courtesan?
My lids fly wide. “You mean my dad travels with a girlfriend? Is that what you mean by courtesan?”
Grahams grimaces. “Oh crap, I shouldn’t have said that. And no, she’s works for your dad. She’s PR with the promotion team and a giant pain in the ass. I just don’t like Jen. She gets in the way. Makes it hard to do my job.”
My gaze narrows on her.
In the way, huh?
Oh, I bet she gets in the way.
I shake my head. “Don’t be like the rest of them, lying about everything to me to cover his ass.”
Graham’s eyes flash with surprise. “I wouldn’t do that. And I’m not now. The cornerstone of a good security team is trust. You have to trust me if I’m going to do my job well.”
I lift my brows. “Then don’t ever lie to me and we’ll get along just fine.”
He grins and I feel something stir in my veins.
“Who says I want to get along with you?” he murmurs. “Something tells me you’re trouble. I should keep us adversarial.”
A little tingle comes out of nowhere.
Did Graham Carson just flirt with me?
I bite my lip. “If you want me to believe that you need to stop looking at me the way you do.”
He steps back and smiles. “And you, Kaley, need to get into the car.”
Nice change of direction.
OK, he’s sort of cool.
And definitely good-looking.
I climb in, scan the already crowded SUV, and decide to sit in the second row, I’m guessing behind where Alan will sit since there’s no one on the bench seat in front of me.
I look at my brothers. “You guys OK?”
They nod.
I put in my earbuds, blast the music, close my eyes and try to will myself not to think.
* * *
The screaming is so loud it’s deafening. I jerk awake and quickly try to orientate myself. The SUV has stopped. We’re parked in front of what I can only assume is the hotel. My dad’s gone. Krystal and the boys are staring out the windows, anxious and nervous. The security team is talking fast back and forth on their headsets. Graham Carson is crouched by the open door, alertly scanning the crowd.
Holy moly, what a profile and physique. He definitely deserves to be a Kodak moment. I slyly pull my camera from my bag and start snapping pictures.
“Not now, Kaley,” Graham barks. “I’m working.”
“I’m working, too. I’m the only photographer on this tour.”
He smile, but doesn’t look at me. “Nice. Very nice. You talked to your dad while I was napping. But stop screwing around and pack up your stuff. Change of SOP. We are now in this order of movement until further notice. Your dad. You. And then the rest of the kids with Mrs. Barton.”
Frowning, I put my stuff away. “Why is that? It’s a stupid change and I’m not doing it. I’m not going anywhere without my brothers. They need me with them.”
“You’d know if you hadn’t slept though the drive into Mumbai. Never seen anything like it on any tour. I’m now lead of your private security team.”
I tense and wonder if he’s messing with me.
“What? I don’t need security.”
“Your dad thinks otherwise and so do I. Look out the window. Damn, girl. You’re a global sensation. When you want people to listen to you, they listen. You might want to rethink how you channel that in the future.”
I turn to stare out the window.
Oh fuck.
There are people out there holding signs for me.
Bring back Kaley’s World?
Speak truth to power?
My picture?
Are they really screaming my name?
“All the way from the airport they’ve lined the roads for you,” Graham explains. “And whether you like it or not, you’re in the bubble just like your dad until you get back to California. There are a whole lot of places in this world it’s not safe for people to know your face and that you’re a rich American. Mumbai is one of them.”
Oh crap.
My gaze shifts to find Mrs. Barton glaring at me in disapproval. Like I could have foreseen this. Sorry to ruin your day, Mrs. Doub
tfire.
“Roger that,” Graham says into his headset. “We’re moving.” He turns toward me, gesturing with an arm. “Your dad is safely inside the hotel. Come on, Kaley. Out of the car. Don’t stop. Don’t talk to anyone. Into the building, the elevator, then the room. Dillon and I will be with you every step.”
I stare at the broad back clad in black just outside the door. Dillon; yep, I recognize those shoulders. It could be worse. At least Alan gave me a security team made up of two hotties.
CHAPTER 26
Three weeks later
“Kaley, stop pretending you’re asleep. Get up. Get dressed. Mrs. Barton says now.”
I roll over in bed, glare at Krystal, and fling off my blankets. “I’m not going. I am not spending another day seeing the sights of the globe in a traveling freak show to please decrepit nanny from hell. Nope. Can’t. Won’t do it. I am not going today.”
My sister drops heavily down on the bed beside me. “Why do you have to be difficult about everything? It’s not like you have anything better to do.”
Well, that was way harsh.
“Where’s Alan?”
“Still sleeping, and he doesn’t want you bugging him. Dad has a concert tonight.”
I check my phone. “It’s 9:30. I’m allowed to bug after nine. And if he doesn’t like it maybe he should try getting back to the room earlier the night before.”
Krystal’s eyes widen, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
My cheeks heat.
Oh crap, I shouldn’t have said that, especially since I don’t really know anything, it’s just suspicions in my gut eating at me, and Krystal all-out idolizes Dad.
Nope, shouldn’t throw in her face before her Cheerios that I think Dad is screwing around on Mom with that hideous Jen. That would be just plain wrong.
A lump rises in my throat.
Why doesn’t Alan just call Mom? Fight it out. Yell it out. Or something. They haven’t talked since we left California and it’s driving me almost crazy since I don’t doubt Mom is a total mess. Damn it, Alan, swallow your freaking pride and call Chrissie already. I can tell he wants to—Jen is so not a solution to anything—and the waiting to know what’s going to happen with them is fifty percent of my unrelenting anxiety.
Fifty percent wondering if I’ve ruined my parents’ happiness forever. And fifty percent wondering why Bobby dumped me, if he’s seeing someone else, and if I can fix it.
