Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  Maybe there was still a happy ending. The doctor she was married to could still be my birth father. If they weren’t married when she had me, that would explain why he wasn’t on the birth certificate.

  “What about my dad? Did he help? Are you still with him?”

  She laughed so hard it turned into a sickening, witchy cackle. “Sorry, sorry. Your birth father was—and as far as I know, still is—a disgusting, selfish, megalomaniacal motherfucker.”

  I widened my eyes. I was no prude, but that was a strong phrase to use for someone she’d had sex with.

  Her face contorted into an evil grin. It was creepy. “What? Did you expect us to still be together?”

  I lowered my head, too embarrassed to admit the truth. I was doing a terrible job of sticking to Robot Mode. I was just too invested in what she was saying. I didn’t have the energy to keep up the facade.

  “Why do you hate him so much?” I asked.

  She tilted her head. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Does all that private education not teach you to read between the lines? He raped me. Your father was a goddamn rapist, and I couldn’t get rid of you because I was a fucking Catholic. My parents kicked me out because they believed their sadistic rapist friend over their own daughter. Are you happy now, little girl? ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY?”

  I recoiled, her anger palpable. I’d never had someone speak to me like that before and I had no idea how to respond. I was the child of rape? The worst thing one person could do to another? I crossed my arms, curling into myself.

  “You look so surprised,” she said. When I’d wanted her to show emotion, the last thing I’d expected—or wanted—from her was anger.

  But I couldn’t let her see me cry. I had to maintain my resolve. I had to stick to Robot Mode.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” was all I could think of to say. It was pathetic.

  “I don’t want your pity,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “What I wanted was to stay with my parents in my nice house with my nice life. But they didn’t want that.”

  “But, I mean, you have a nice house now,” I said.

  She scoffed. “Yeah. Two decades later. Do you know what happens to formerly rich white girls on the streets? Let me tell you: it’s worse than you can possibly imagine.”

  While she was lithe in her form, I’d assumed it was because she exercised. Could it be because she hadn’t been properly taken care of when she was growing up and pregnant? Could that be why I couldn’t gain weight? Why I had asthma?

  “I signed you over confidentially because I didn’t want to know what happened to you. And I didn’t want you to know what happened to me. Sometimes I hoped that you’d died young of an infectious disease or something.”

  Robot Mode. Robot Mode!

  But seriously? Dreaming of her own daughter dying of an infectious disease? What kind of monster was she?

  “Other days I hoped you’d have better parents than I did. Parents that could give you everything. Turns out that one came true,” she said.

  I’d never felt more ashamed of my upbringing. If it had been an open adoption, I know my parents would’ve helped her and she would’ve ended up with a totally different life than the one that had left her angry and resentful.

  “So how did you get here?” I asked.

  “When I was in my early twenties, I was diagnosed with chlamydia. That’s what happens when you get used by men as their plaything and they don’t care about your health or safety. I got so sick I ended up in the hospital. One of the junior doctors working there took pity on me. He helped me pay my medical bills and promised he’d always take care of me,” she said.

  “That’s a happy ending to everything, right?”

  She snorted. “This isn’t a fairy tale, little girl.”

  I really wished she’d stop calling me that. I had a name.

  “If I could’ve, I would’ve aborted you without a second thought.”

  My Robot Mode failed me. I blinked at her. Had she really just said that?

  “What? What do you want me to say? That I’m proud of you? That I love you? That I regret giving you up? If I hadn’t given you up, this is the life you’d be bound to. There’d be no world tours or celebrity parties, just piece of shit after piece of shit. So do I regret giving you up? No. I’ve spent every day for the last twenty years trying to forget that you exist, and that that day never happened. It’s because of you I got stuck with the life that I’m in. My parents never forgave me. The police believed my rapist’s story over mine. White middle-class men don’t rape children. How preposterous! I was just looking for someone to blame for sleeping around with the boys at my school. How dare I suggest someone in such a position of power—and a married man at that!—did such a thing? What a stupid, irresponsible thing for a teenager to say. I was raised better than that. What boy was it? Who did I sin with? Nobody ever believed me. You were lucky.”

  I stared at her, utterly speechless. What was I supposed to say to something like that?

  “What’s the matter? Not what you wanted to hear? Did you want me to embrace you with open arms, welcome you into the family?”

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you. It’s so unfair,” I said.

  She scoffed. “Unfair? Unfair is someone cheating at Monopoly. Rape is the worst thing you can do to another human being. It’s worse than murder. At least with murder there’s an ending. When someone is raped, they have to live with it for the rest of their life. Do you know what that’s like?”

  I lowered my head. No, I didn’t. My life had been sheltered. I had, however, seen what being raped had done to Trinity. She’d had to keep working with her rapist for years after it had happened. How she’d done that and not turned bitter and angry at the world I’d never know.

  “Your powerful parents protected you, huh?” she said. “You got lucky. You have no idea how lucky you’ve been, little girl.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “Why? You think because you’re nineteen you’re not a child anymore? That you know how the world works? Little girl, you’ve only just begun to enter the real world.”

  I looked around the room. There were photos of her with three children and a man that I assumed was her husband. He looked handsome. The children were cute, too. Would I have been a part of their lives had things turned out differently? Would I have had all of the opportunities that I’d had?

  I knew the answer to that, of course. I’d only been lucky and had the opportunities I’d had because I’d been adopted by my parents.

  “Thinking about how lucky you are, little girl?”

  “Stop it!”

  She cackled. Or at least, that’s how it sounded to me. Like she was enjoying getting a rise out of me.

  “I’m truly sorry you went through all those things,” I said, standing up.

  “Are you?” she said. “Because if I hadn’t gone through those things, you wouldn’t have ended up with the life that you have.”

  “That isn’t true,” I said, only half believing myself.

  “Isn’t it?” she said scornfully.

  “No. One person doesn’t succeed solely because another suffers. You can’t blame me for what happened to you.”

  She scoffed. “Blame you? I don’t blame you for the rape, I blame you for everything that came after. If I hadn’t been stuck with you I wouldn’t be in this house with no job and a husband who couldn’t care less. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve had a life. Don’t you think I had dreams and ambitions before all of this? Don’t you think I would’ve liked to have done something with my life?”

  “Your life—or lack therefore—is no one’s fault but your own. You’re the only one letting your bitterness destroy you.” I turned and walked out of the house with my head held high. It took all the strength I had in me to hold back my tears in front of her.

  I ran out of the house. But I had nowhere to go since Trinity had the car. So I just started walking.

  My birth mo
ther hated me, and my birth father had forced himself on her. I wasn’t sure if I’d crap myself or throw up first. Once I was away from the front door, I ran. I was miles from anywhere I knew, and terrified someone would recognize me while I could hardly breathe. I was the product of rape. What did that mean? I curled my hands into fists so tightly my recently manicured nails left indents in my palms. The pain did nothing to allay the thumping in my chest.

  I took out my phone and called Trinity. Some idea going alone had been. She answered just before it went to voicemail.

  “That was fast. I’ve only just finished lunch.”

  I checked the clock on my phone. She was right: I’d barely been in there half an hour.

  “She—she hates me.”

  “No she doesn’t.”

  “She does! She was homeless because of me!”

  “What? Wow. Where are you now?”

  “I—I don’t know. I needed to get away. I couldn’t stay there, I just couldn’t!”

  “Text me where you are and I’ll grab the car and come meet you. Let’s get out of here and head back to New York. I never have been a fan of small towns.”

  *

  We picked up our bags from the hotel we’d barely stayed in, then headed back to New York. I spent most of the drive bawling.

  About halfway, Trinity pulled up outside a service station.

  “Where are we?” I said.

  “We need gas,” said Trinity. “And it’s time for you to stop crying now. You’ve been sobbing for the last hour. The noise is grating on me.”

  “It’s…it’s not that easy,” I said, sniveling.

  “You knew there was a chance she wouldn’t want to be in your life.”

  I dabbed at my eye with a tissue. “Then why’d she agree to see me?”

  Trinity shrugged. “Curiosity? So that she could get a rise out of you? Who knows? I told you parents are all dicks and you didn’t listen, did you? And now look at you.” She gestured to my sobbing form. Yes, I looked pathetic, but I was allowed to, wasn’t I?

  “What the hell kind of reaction is that? You told me so?”

  “Well I did.”

  “Then why bring me all the way out here?”

  “You needed moral support.”

  “Saying you told me so isn’t moral support!” I pointed out.

  She stared at her cuticles. It was nice to know I was holding her attention. “I was right, though, wasn’t I?”

  “This isn’t about being right or wrong!”

  Her eyes darted up at me. “Then what is it about?”

  “It’s about…it’s about…”

  “You. That’s who it’s about. And your birth mom doesn’t want to make it about you, and that stings. So here you are, sobbing your heart out.”

  “It isn’t just that!” I said.

  Trinity returned to examining her cuticles and sighed. “Then what else?”

  “My birth mom was raped! I’m the fucking product of goddamn rape!”

  Trinity’s eyes went wide. “I…you…what?”

  “Yeah. Exactly. I feel sick just thinking about it. I hate myself for something that didn’t even have anything to do with me.” I got out of the car, purposely slamming the door behind me.

  How dare she do the whole “I told you so” thing when I was upset? How was that helpful? I ran into the bathroom and locked myself in. It was small and smelled of urine. There was no way I was peeing in there, but I didn’t need to go anyway. I just needed to get away from Trinity.

  Could I get home without her driving me? Was there a solution? After what she’d said, I couldn’t stand to look at her. She’d been raped by her costar and I thought she might’ve understood or related to my birth mom just a little. Or at least understood why I was so upset and repulsed. Obviously I was wrong.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Trinity. I rejected her call and leaned against the door. It vibrated again, this time with a text: Five minutes and I’m leaving without you.

  She wouldn’t, would she?

  But she did. She didn’t even wait five minutes for me.

  I stared at the spot where the car had been, my mouth agape. After everything, she drove off like that? What was wrong with her?

  Resisting the urge to cry in public, I ran back to the bathroom and locked myself back in. Daddy had a car service on retainer. It was my best bet to get someone to pick me up sooner rather than later.

  So, trying to keep my voice as level as possible, I called and ordered a car to pick me up. It arrived in half an hour. I was home not long after I was supposed to have been with Trinity. She was waiting in the hallway of my building when I got back.

  “Tate, I—”

  I put my hand up. “Don’t even.”

  “Please,” she begged. “I came back for you when I’d calmed down, but you’d already gone.”

  I turned to glare at her. “Oh, you came back for me, did you? You shouldn’t have fucking left me in the first place!”

  “It was a mistake.”

  As were a lot of things going on in my life lately, it seemed, my birth included.

  “I really just need some alone time right now to clear my head,” I said.

  “Right. OK then. Well, I brought your bags back. They’re with the concierge.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see you.” She stared at me, as if waiting for more of a response, but she wasn’t going to get one. I’d pick my bags up from the desk later.

  I got into the elevator and didn’t turn around until the doors were closed. I exhaled, not having even realized I’d been holding my breath.

  When I got into my apartment, I went to bed and cried.

  16

  Jack

  Don’t blame it on me

  I don’t want your drama

  None of this is my fault—

  Is it karma?

  — “Drama,” Jack Cuoco

  “Hey dude, how’s it going?” said Juniper, walking into my house behind Melrose. I still didn’t like her, but I tolerated her because she was Melrose’s partner. Sort of. Fuck buddy was probably a better term.

  “Got any weed?” asked Melrose.

  “Usual place,” I said. Melrose knew where all my stashes were. Even the new ones I’d come up with since Larry had cleared my place out. Some things Larry and Len were better off not knowing. Larry would just nag me while I felt guilty for burdening Len.

  “Sweet,” said Juniper, following Melrose into the kitchen. “Anyone seen the new season of RuPaul yet?”

  “I’m saving it to binge watch,” said Melrose. She got the bag of weed from the coffee jar and began to prepare a joint for the three of us to share. “I hate having to wait to find out what happens next.”

  “So you’d prefer to risk spoilers?” said Juniper.

  Melrose shrugged. “I don’t spend that much time online, and it’s not like we talk about it when we go out. Who’s going to spoil it for me?” She placed the joint between her lips and lit it. After a deep inhale, she removed the joint and exhaled slowly. “Ah, that’s better.”

  She handed the joint to Juniper, who took several drags. By all means, help yourself to my drugs and don’t offer me any.

  “Got any snacks?” asked Melrose.

  “No. I haven’t been shopping,” I said. I’d done back-to-back gigs a few nights in a row. Something told me Larry was trying to keep me busy to keep me out of trouble.

  “Boo,” said Juniper. “Wish we’d known or we would’ve stopped on the way. We can’t go now.”

  “Why not?” I said.

  Juniper waved the joint in the air. “We might get caught! Someone might notice we’re high!”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If she was going to get caught after a couple of drags, then she was more of a lightweight than I thought.

  “You haven’t had any yet! You could still go!” said Juniper.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not after what had happened the last few times I’d
left people alone in my house with drugs. It’d cost me a fortune to get everything repaired after the house party where I’d broken my arm.

  “We can just order in,” I said.

  “Yes! Genius!” said Juniper, still holding on to my joint and not offering me any. She’d had several more drags in that time, too. “Do you have any cash on you? I forgot my wallet.”

  What was I? A magic money tree?

  I looked over at Melrose, but she avoided my gaze. What the hell? Why did they expect me to pay for everything? Had they always done that and I’d just never noticed before? Was I really that blind? Was that part of why the parties were almost always at my house too? Because it looked better to have them at a house that was big and fancy rather than in their tiny apartments?

  I went into my menu drawer and picked up the menu for the cheapest and crappiest Chinese place I knew. It wasn’t like they’d notice if they were high.

  “Hey, why is it raining indoors?” asked Juniper.

  “What?” I said, assuming she was hallucinating.

  She pointed up. I looked at where she was pointing and sure enough, there was a drip coming from the ceiling above the living area. There was a small damp patch on the ceiling that I hadn’t noticed before too. Shit. The landlord was coming to do an inspection on Monday. I’d have to raise it with him to get it fixed. The last thing I needed was a leaky pipe.

  “Weird hallucination,” said Juniper, handing Melrose the joint. “Excuse me. I need to crap.”

  Oversharing much?

  Juniper excused herself upstairs to the bathroom. I swear she made loud, exaggerated noises when she went to the bathroom on purpose. It was like she got a kick out of being crass.

  Melrose handed me the joint, but for once, I didn’t want it. I wanted them to leave, but I didn’t have it in me to tell them that.

  My gaze fell back to the drip from the ceiling. It was getting worse. It was the weekend. Calling someone out to look at it would cost a fortune. Not to mention I had another gig in a few hours so didn’t have time to sit around and wait for a plumber. I hadn’t even planned for Melrose and Juniper to come over. They’d invited themselves. As usual.