“I haven’t mentioned it to him. I want to talk about Rico’s offer in person.”
“Definitely the best way to do it.” She stretched her arms over her head as she yawned. She set the remote down on my little coffee table and headed into my bedroom.
I turned Netflix and the TV off and followed her.
Sorche moved to my balcony door, pulling back the curtain to look outside. “Who’s he?”
I had a feeling who she meant without even having to look outside. “Milo. Remember I told you my dad said he was stopping by?”
She made a thoughtful sound, and I earned a quick glance over her shoulder. “You’re not related?”
“To Milo? Hell, no.”
“Interesting,” she mused, glancing back out the curtains.
“Why?”
That made her turn to look at me, her mouth falling open slightly. “You cannot be that blind?”
“To Milo?” I repeated, scrunching my face up at the thought. Milo. Trish’s son, Milo. I guess he was okay-looking. Tall, dark hair, not bad arms. Certainly wasn’t creepy or anything, just well…not really my type.
And yes, that may have to do with the fact he spends far more time with my father than I do.
“Yes, to Milo. He’s what, around here twenty-four/seven sometimes according to you? He’s pretty cute, and he doesn’t just have six pack abs…they’re eights. Can you believe it? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Calm down. I doubt he…” I paused, her comments swirling through my head. Just how good vision did she have if she could tell that from up here? “You looked that close at his abs?”
I hadn’t seen Sorche give a guy more than a passing glance in the time we’d known each other.
“Hello? There are more males around here than just JT. I don’t get why you’re so obtuse to that fact.”
“Obtuse?”
She blushed. “‘Word of the day’ calendar from my grandmother at Christmas. Can I help it if I take a look at it sometimes?”
I stuck my hands in my pockets and peeked out the window again. Maybe I really was blind as I tried to see him as a guy and not just a guy standing between me and my father. “I guess he isn’t half-bad.”
“Guess that’s as good as we can hope for now that you’ve been tainted by JT.”
“Tainted?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded. “Though he’s a much better choice than Adam.”
I laughed. “Do you want me to set something up?”
I glanced back out the window. He seemed totally oblivious to the fact he was being ogled from above.
“Hell, no! I don’t need a set up. I’ll just bump into him in the kitchen or something. Why? Is he seeing someone?”
“We haven’t gotten that deep into our personal histories.”
“Chey!” she almost whined.
“Hold on, I’ll text him and ask.” I had to laugh. “Seriously, not that I know of. I haven’t seen him with anyone.”
“Hmmm…” She peeked back outside again, but he’d disappeared towards the patio doors, which meant he’d be in the house within moments. Suddenly, she turned to face me. “Maybe I should get us a couple more drinks. What do you think?”
I think I had a fully stocked mini fridge just feet away, complete with root beer and all. But I stifled a laugh and ran a hand over my still damp hair.
“Do what you want, Sor…”
I smiled as she grabbed her cover-up from the chair and headed downstairs.
Apparently, Sorche just missed Milo. He’d set a note on the kitchen table and was sauntering—her words, not mine—out the front door by the time she’d reached the landing. We drowned our sorrows in root beer floats before she grabbed her gear to head home for a dinner out with her parents.
“Listen, if you do agree to Rico’s offer, and I still think you’d be crazy to pass it up,” Sorche said as she slid her sundress back over her head, covering up her bikini. “We have to go out and celebrate. I mean it.”
I laughed as we walked around the side of the house towards her SUV parked in front of the garage. “Deal.”
“Good. Because seriously, I see exactly what Rico does. And you’re in Los Angeles now. You’re Chey Morrow, for crying out loud…use that to your advantage.” She laughed at what had to be the look of disbelief on my face. “Seriously, Chey. Things are different out here. Especially for us Hollywood kids. Get used to it.”
Hollywood kids.
The words sent tiny shivers through me.
I guess I really was one if Sor thought of me that way. Hmm.
I rubbed my arms absently. “Guess you’re right.”
“Good. Call me once you say yes, and I’ll plan the perfect celebration.”
“You’ll be the first one I tell.”
Hell, she could be the only one I tell. I waved as she drove through the gates and left me, yet again, alone.
Kicking at the gravel with my toe, I headed back around the house to do a few more laps in the pool before heating up the leftover Chinese food I’d ordered last night.
9
To say I was surprised to come into the darkened kitchen a couple nights later and find the shadow of someone sitting in the chair would be an understatement. I almost screamed and reached for the lights when my Dad's hoarse voice filled the silence. There went the need for trying to figure out how to use a rolling pin to defend myself. I'd taken karate when I was little, but aside from the cute little white outfits, I barely remembered anything but being allowed to yell and hit stuff.
“Chey, could you leave the lights off?”
“Sure, Dad.”
My racing heart slowly returned to normal as I headed for the fridge and a late night glass of orange juice, wishing I'd kept my mini-fridge better stocked. But the last few nights, I'd done a pretty good job cleaning it out as Sor and I talked over Face Time and watched crazy videos on YouTube.
“I didn't expect you back tonight. Can't sleep?” I asked, trying to be conversational and act like he hadn't just stripped a decade or so off my life with that scare.
“Got in a couple hours ago. Was going to ask you the same question.”
I shut the fridge door with my hip, debating on whether or not I should join him. He didn't exactly give off that 'wanting company' vibe. “Little restless.”
I heard the kitchen chair being pushed back across the tile floor.
Maybe I'd read him wrong.
I circled the table and set the carton of juice down and grabbed one of the empty cups on the surface, already laid out for my breakfast in a few hours.
“Insomnia?” I asked, pouring my juice.
“You could call it that.” Dad took the carton and poured his own glass, and I caught sight of the luggage under his eyes. Didn't he sleep at all in New York? But before I could ask, he suddenly looked up at me.
“There's, uh, something going on...”
He took a long sip of juice, and I thought he was debating on what to tell me.
“I thought everything was good.”
My hands wrapped snug around my glass, an effort to hide their sudden tremble. I still saw him as the guy on the big screen. The guy I secretly measured every crush against. But I'd never seen him more down, not even during the divorce. So I grew majorly worried.
“It's been better. I'm not about to lose the house, but I need a hit, Chey. I'm not getting any younger.” He stared into his juice. “I need to pull a Travolta. Re-invent myself.”
“But what about your trip to NYC? I thought that was for your next project?”
“It's a bit part.” He took another swig of his juice, and I caught sight of his couple-day-old stubble in the moonlight creeping in from the patio doors.
“Shit, Chey. I didn't want you to see me like this.”
Almost as if he'd read my mind, he rubbed a tired hand over his chin.
“It's okay,” I said quietly, trying not to be too obvious as I took a good look at him. In the weak glow, he seemed older than
he did in the light of day. There were lines beside his eyes I didn't remember, and he just looked tired.
Exhausted.
And not so much like the Daddy I remembered.
I glanced away, toying with the stem of my glass.
He reached over, patting my hand absently. “Not exactly the way I wanted your vacation to go, kid.”
I shrugged. Hate to admit it, but I was used to it where he was concerned.
“It's okay, really.”
I wanted to tell him I was old enough to handle it. That I was almost an adult. I could handle a dose of the truth, that everything in Hollywood wasn't perfect. That he wasn’t exactly the face that stared back at me from the covers of those glossy magazines I kept in a box in my room. I figured everyone had secrets. Look at the doozie that had just been dropped into my lap.
“You going to go up?” he asked.
“I'm not that tired.”
He nodded. “You wouldn't mind if I headed up to bed? I think everything's catching up to me, and I might finally be able to sleep.”
“Go ahead.”
I barely noticed him get up until I felt him kiss the top of my head, and I quickly wrapped my arms around him.
He went up to bed, but I wasn't exactly in the mood to sleep. I didn't have a clue about any of this. Not even an inkling. And here I'd thought I sorta knew my own father. Turned out, not even close. Definitely not the right time to share my good news with him. When I'd hugged him, I'd caught the strong scent of beer on his breath, barely masked by the juice, but hadn't said anything. What was there to say? If he wanted to drown his thoughts in beer...
I headed up to my room a while later and went and sat on the oversized lounger on the balcony. I draped my fuzzy robe over my bare legs and looked out at the lights over the city.
Thankfully, where my lounger was remained isolated and Dad wouldn't see me as I sat there if he decided to venture outside. I didn't want him to turn around and start worrying about me the way I was starting to worry about him.
He was a workaholic. Without that, who was he? Maybe that’s the reason why he wanted me to consider UCLA, so he'd have his daughter close by. Now that his career might be winding down, he suddenly wanted to become my father. I could hear Mom's sarcastic reply—‘well, that's great, honey; it's only an itty bitty too little, too late.’ And deep in my gut, and in the dark recesses of my mind, I couldn't stop myself from agreeing with her.
He still didn't see I needed a dad. Not a friend, or someone to set me up with the 'cool kids.' I didn't need to drive a shiny new BMW. I didn't need the latest clothes. What I really needed was to hang out with my father and get to know the little things I didn't know about him.
I pulled the robe off my legs and wrapped it around me just as the sun started to rise. Maybe the one thing that would perk Dad up, other than the light of day, would be my news?
Yet, maybe not.
Honestly, I debated on just calling Rico myself and telling him it was a no-go, but then, I didn't want to run into him somewhere with Dad and have it come up. If Dad figured out the real reason I’d never brought it up…that might be something neither one of us could get over.
***
After our late-night confessional session, I really wasn't sure how to bring up Rico's offer to Dad. I mean, he really had enough on his mind without me adding to it with something so insignificant. But when I called Trish a few days later, she told me it might be just the thing to distract him.
I hoped so. It's why we concocted the perfect plan to sway his opinion.
I opened the oven door and peeked inside. Lunch was warming in there ’til he made an appearance. I grabbed what we needed to eat outside on the patio and loaded up the large wooden tray I’d found stashed inside one of the cupboards.
“What's all this?” Dad asked as he walked around the side of the house.
I'd been outside for the last half-hour, adjusting the patio umbrella to give the right amount of shade and trying to make everything perfect, which explained why I'd folded the bright red and white checked cloth napkins I'd found in a kitchen drawer into neat triangles on each plate.
“A girl can't make her father lunch?” I asked as I finished setting the table.
I figured outside felt a little more relaxed than inside. I mentally thanked Milo. He'd been helpful keeping Dad out of the house while I took the time to get everything ready. They'd gone for a run on the beach, and I'd worked on the food. Oh, all right, so I hadn't exactly barbecued the chicken—that had been from the store—but hey, presentation counted for something, right?
He gave me a one-armed hug and pulled me tight to his side. “Well, it looks great.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
I motioned for him to sit down. When I’d told Trish my plan, she’d doubted he'd have any objections over my newfound modeling career. Okay, not career. Stint. That sounded better. Not as if I had any great lifelong goal to have my face stare back at me from the magazine rack.
“Are you joining me?”
“Ha ha. Funny. Of course I am.”
I went back inside and pulled everything out of the oven, careful not to burn myself with the steaming-hot serving plates. Setting everything on the tray, I double-checked I had everything. Barbecued chicken. Green salad I’d made myself, and baked potatoes. An all-around solid lunch to try and talk Dad into letting me do something that was so not typical Chey behavior.
He took his plate off the tray, and I sat down.
“So, what’s the real reason behind all this?”
“I got a job offer.” Might as well come right out with it, like the adult I wanted to be.
“I didn’t know you were looking.”
“I wasn’t, really.” I took a nervous breath. “It sorta came up unexpectedly.”
“What is it?”
“Kinda like modeling, but it’s not.”
“Acting?” He gave me that half-smile of his.
I burst out laughing. “No. I don’t like being in front of crowds, you know that.”
“You inherited that from your mother.”
Probably.
“What’s the deal, then?” he asked.
“You know the designer, Rico Vanetti?”
I tried to look like the food in front of me was interesting. But my stomach was doing its own gymnastics routine, and the last thing I felt like was eating, or even attempting to.
“I’ve heard of him.” Dad shoveled a few bites of baked potato in his mouth, looking at me expectantly.
“Well, he wants me to be the face of his new ad campaign.”
“Sounds like a big deal.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. It would only be in L.A.” Thank goodness for that. “I think part of it is because I’m hanging around Sorche. I mean, without her, I never would have been at that fashion show in the first place. And since I’m the new kid on the block, apparently, I’m fresh.” I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal if I do or don’t do it.”
Dad put his fork down and leaned forward on the table. “Why not?”
“Because—”
He cut me off before I could sprout off the reasons I had given Sor. “Chey, is this something you really want to do?”
I toyed with my napkin. “It might be fun.”
The more I'd thought about it the last few days, the more excited I’d become. It really was a great opportunity for me. Something I'd never even imagined would ever happen, and here it was, on the proverbial silver platter.
“And it would be a good first step for you into the L.A. scene,” he said. “A good way to get your name out there and network. I don’t see a lot of cons to it, so why haven’t you agreed yet?”
He studied me rather intently.
I smiled sheepishly, bowing my head. “I thought maybe you’d object?”
It came out as more of a question than I’d meant it to.
“I’m not your mother; I thought we agreed on that. You’ve got a lot more freedom here. And this
sounds like too great of an opportunity to let slip away. So go for it; you have my blessing.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I couldn’t help myself as I rushed around the table and gave him a huge hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Don’t thank me. It was all you on this one.” He smiled up at me. “Now, let’s eat. After this, we’ll call Rico together, see what we have to do to get you named the official ‘Face of Vanetti’.”
Cruel Summer Page 13
