The Silver Cord: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book Two

by Alison Caiola

  Lily shook her well-coiffed head and smiled. “You, sir, are a media whore.”

  “Moi? How could you say that? Is it my fault that the cameras love me?”

  Lily caught Stefan’s eye and they both began to laugh.

  Fernando walked toward the door and scowled at the other two, “Whatever are you two cackling about?”

  Lily put her arm around her cherished friend, went up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek, “Do you know how much I love you?”

  Fernando smiled, “Of course. I’m extremely lovable, everyone knows that.”

  Lily shook her head and smiled as Fernando swept out of the room.

  “The Tony Award for the best performance by a leading actress in a play goes to…” As if flawlessly choreographed, Donna grabbed Lily’s right hand and Fernando her left. Lily smiled because even through her death grip, she could feel the trembling in Donna’s hand. She glanced affectionately at her late mother’s best friend and partner in crime. She had been the keeper of her mother’s secrets since grade school, more than forty years ago. As soon as she heard that Lily was up for a Tony Award for her role in The Smallest Life, Donna didn’t hesitate for a nanosecond. Without a word from Lily, she canceled the last leg of her European concert tour and winged her way back to NYC to be at her goddaughter’s side. They both knew why she was there; no discussion was needed.

  Lily turned to Fernando, who would be mortified to know that his hand was clammy. In fact, he would unquestionably deny this to the death. The renowned hairstylist never left the house if, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, didn’t absolutely scream FABULOUS! Lily thought Fernando looked awesome, like a young Antonio Banderas in his chic Tom Ford tuxedo. Lily turned her attention back up to the stage and waited for the presenter to make the announcement that would put the four nominated actresses out of their misery. She held her breath while the presenter, one of Broadway’s hottest male actors, clumsily opened the envelope and retrieved the results card from its snug hiding place. He looked at the audience and triumphantly called out, “Lily Lockwood, The Smallest Life.”

  Did they actually call her name? For a second she didn’t trust her ears, so she quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had stood. But when Fernando all but yanked her arm out of its socket to get her out of her seat, she knew this was the moment she had been waiting for since she’d been a little girl.

  Walking up the long aisle to the stage, Lily remembered the day, more than twenty-one years earlier, in the kitchen of their postage-stamp-sized two-room apartment in Greenwich Village. It was before her mother, bestselling author Daisy Lockwood, had sold her first book. Money was tight and her mother’s dear friend Donna, then a singer on a dinner cruise ship that circled Manhattan every night, lived with them. Lily must have been about eight or nine years old. Her mother and Donna were washing dishes when Lily walked into the kitchen and proudly announced, “Mama, Auntie D, I’m going to be a movie star.” Her mother knelt down and said, “You can be whatever you want when you grow up, Lily Girl.”

  “That’s the thing, Mama—I wanna be a movie star now.’

  “Honey, you’re too young to be an actress. As you get older, you’ll have plenty of time to decide what you want to be. You can be an actress or a doctor or an architect—you can be anything you want, after you graduate college.”

  Lily folded her arms and stomped her foot. “I need to be an actress now—I just have to be. And if you can’t help me do it, why then, you are the meanest people in the whole wide world!”

  After two weeks of whining, begging, and strategic intervention from Donna, Daisy finally acquiesced and allowed Donna to introduce Lily to her agent. The talent agency had a children’s department and within weeks Lily was cast in her first commercial. Small parts in television and movies followed, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  And now that her name had been announced a few moments earlier, Lily found herself at the steps leading up to the stage.

  Dear God, please don’t let me trip and embarrass myself in front of millions of people. She imagined herself taking a vaudeville-style flying leap, head first, landing spread eagle on the stage. But even though the pencil-thin, stiletto heels on her crimson-colored Manolo Blahniks were well over six inches high, she managed to make her way gracefully up the steps to the center of the stage without incident.

  She looked magnificent in her short, black, satin Oscar de la Renta strapless cocktail dress. Earlier in the day, when Fernando piled her long, dark hair into the messy chignon and braided in some hair extensions to give it extra volume and texture, Lily wasn’t at all pleased.

  “I don’t need extensions, Ferny, my hair is thick enough.” Lily complained as she sat in front of the bedroom mirror while Fernando worked his magic, his arms flailing grandly like a frantic orchestra conductor.

  He stopped abruptly, glared into the mirror and asked, “Who was named Top Stylist in the Country by Allure Magazine, little lady?”

  “You.”

  “Correct. And who was named Hairdresser to the Stars in Glamour Magazine, In Style AND Vogue.”

  “You.”

  “Right, again!” Fernando spun Lily’s chair around dramatically and looked into her eyes.

  “So, who then, knows best, may I ask?”

  “But it’s my hair.”

  “Now, that’s where you are wrong, my darling.” Fernando flipped his own long locks out of his face for added emphasis. “When you are walking the red carpet tonight, in front of millions of people, your hair belongs to me!”

  Lily laughed and had to admit the result was spectacular: Not one lovely lock was out of place, in front of the theater filled with her peers and millions of viewers watching at home. She held her Tony in one hand and her thank-you cheat sheet in the other. When the audience stopped clapping, Lily opened the crumpled piece of paper that, for the past hour, she had clenched tightly, in her hand for dear life. She looked at it, took a deep breath, and feigned a smile. She couldn’t remember who anyone was or why she was supposed to thank them. Not one person; zilch, zero, nada, no one! Her mind was a complete blank.

  “Fuck me!” She quickly looked up at the audience because, for a split second, she thought she had said it out loud.

  “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. I would like to thank the members of The Broadway League, the board of directors, and members of the advisory committee of the American Theatre Wing for this award. I would like to ask the producers, director, and my fellow actors to please stand, because without them, I would never be here, in front of you, today.” She prayed that her nerves wouldn’t get the best of her, and that when they stood, she would finally remember their names. They stood and luckily she remembered.

  “I would like to extend my deepest thanks to our producers Stan Marsh and Leonard Patel, our director Richard Klein, and to the playwright, Favia De Larusso, for the rich, beautiful words that I have the honor to speak every night . . . and four times on the weekend!” The audience laughed. “I would also like to thank my cast mates Jodee Carter and Manny Rodriguez for being talented, generous, and supportive.

  Lily took another deep breath and willed the tears that were rapidly filling her eyes not to fall. “Many of you know about the death of my dear mother, Daisy. I would like to dedicate this award to her.” Lily’s tears escaped and flowed down her cheeks. “She would have been incredibly thrilled and proud to share this evening and this honor with me. From the time I was a child, I knew that I wanted to be an actress. My mother supported me always and helped me realize my dream. This award is as much hers as it is mine.” Lily held the statue up triumphantly and pointed upward. “For you, Mom.” The sniffles from the audience were drowned out by the burst of applause and onset of music.

  Two handsome model-types escorted Lily backstage to speak to the press. As she made her way, she thought of Robbie —something she did perhaps a half a dozen or more times per day. She wondered if he might be watching tel
evision that night. She imagined him, relaxing on his couch, randomly channel surfing and stopping on CBS just as the camera closed in on her face, accepting the Tony. Would memories of their time together flood back to him? Did he even miss her? She shook her head as if to erase the picture of him that she held in her mind’s eye at all times. As far as she knew, Robbie was not even back in the States.

  She reached backstage and it was sensational bedlam—every actor’s dream. There were on-camera reporters and press everywhere, interviewing the winners and the presenters. There were film and stage actors laughing and drinking champagne. She surveyed the large area and in one corner alone she counted four Academy Award-winning directors. The cameras were flashing, nonstop, so the area took on a strobe-like effect. Before she could walk over to the press, Fernando, comb in hand, rushed over to her. “Congratulations, baby. That was incredible. And my hair looked fabulous on stage, too!” They both laughed. “We were pretty impressed with your speech. I didn’t realize you had memorized it.

  “I hadn’t.” Lily smiled and handed him the crumpled piece of paper she was still holding tightly. He started to read and she laughed when she saw Fernando’s eyes widen.

  Baby wipes

  Diapers

  Balmex

  Orange Juice

  Eggs

  Whole-wheat bread

  “The correct list is unfortunately sitting somewhere on my kitchen counter, unnecessarily awaiting its big TV debut!”

  Before Ferny could say a word, her cell phone rang and her home number appeared. Fernando rolled his eyes.

  “I have to get it, it’s the nanny. Hello?”

  “Congratulations, Mommy.” It was Jamie.

  “Thanks. Wait—what are you doing in my apartment?”

  “Margaret called and asked me to come by. Her daughter was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis or something like that. So Daisy Rose and I are spending the evening together. We were just watching her glamorous mother win a Tony Award. Looking smokin’ hot, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Are you okay? I mean, if you have plans I can always call Tommy to go over and watch the baby.”

  “Lily, she’s my daughter too, you know. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here.”

  “I’ve got a slew of parties to attend tonight, so I don’t know what time I’m going to be home.” The noise backstage increased after another win was announced. Lily had to cover one ear to hear.

  Jamie said, “Don’t worry, I’ll crash on the couch. I’ll be fine.”

  “Sorry, I can’t hear. If you don’t mind staying, you can sleep on the couch or in the guest room, whatever you want.”

  Even though Lily was grateful that Jamie was taking care of Daisy Rose, she felt strangely uneasy about it. They had not slept under the same roof since their break-up more than two years earlier when she discovered that, while shooting a movie on location, he had cheated on her with his curvy co-star. What’s more, he had used her mother’s car crash and hospital stay to orchestrate a paparazzi photo opportunity.

  Popular talk-show host, Maryanne Watson, walked over to Lily, stuck a microphone in her face, and began asking her a machine gun-full of questions. Within seconds, Lily was back in the moment as Best Actress, clutching her Tony as the pain of the last few years was, temporarily at least, forgotten.

  Chapter 2

  The limousine stopped short and the Tony A Award that was propped up on the leather seat next to Lily, fell over.

  “This was the best night, ever.” Lily straightened the award, lifted her fluted glass in a mock toast, and downed the last of the Cristal champagne.

  “It certainly was,” Donna said. “I don’t remember the last time I danced that much. My feet are killing me.” Donna took off her shoes, draped her long legs across Tommy’s lap, and pointed her toes in Fernando’s direction, indicating that she wanted a foot massage.

  “You’re kidding, right? Do I have to be the one to do everything for everyone? Fernando warmed up for his limousine dramatic debut. The rest sat back and watched the show. “Not only did I wake up at the crack of dawn before the roosters….”

  “There are no roosters on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, my love,” Tommy replied.

  “Metaphorically speaking, of course. Now allow me to finish. I struggled to make each of you beautiful for this soirée…”

  “He struggled to make us beautiful?” Lily laughed, as they all joined in. “I will have you know, my good sir, that I was on the list of the ten most beautiful actresses last year.”

  “ Hmmm, that was last year.” Fernando sniffed.

  Another burst of laughter.

  “If not for me, where would you all be?” He continued, “I’ll tell you where: the Worst Dressed List, that’s where.” The other three roared.

  “And to think, after fully dressing the ungrateful lot of you, I only had mere moments to prepare myself.”

  Tommy patted his hand. “Darling, you were getting ready for a full three hours.”

  “Well it wasn’t enough time. I could have used at least another hour.”

  “You were the handsomest man at The Tonys,” Donna assured him. Tommy shot her a look. “Of course, Tommy was a very close second.”

  “Guys, I appreciate everything. Thank you Ferny for all your hard work. And thank you all for all your support—tonight and always.”

  “We’ll be there for you every step of the way, Pali.” Donna hugged Lily. Lily smiled because “ Pali” had always been Donna’s nickname for her mother, Daisy. “I know you will, Auntie D. I know you all will. I’m blessed to have you. Mom sure knew how to pick good friends.” They sat in silence, thinking of Daisy.

  “For God’s sake, Donna, give me your big ole’ size ten feet and let me rub them,” Fernando said, breaking the now-somber mood.

  The limo pulled up in front of Lily’s East Side apartment building. The doorman, Mario, who was dozing on a chair by the entrance, woke up on cue, jumped to his feet, and rushed over to open the limo door before the driver had a chance to walk around the car.

  The doorman extended his hand for Lily and said, “Congratulations Miss Lockwood, on winning the Tony. I knew you would win. I said to my wife, ‘That girl has gone through enough tragedy the past couple of years, with—well, you know, she’s overdue for something good.’”

  “Thanks, Mario.” Lily turned around, leaned her head back into the limo, and blew kisses to her friends. Tommy jumped out and gave Lily a hug.

  “I couldn’t be more proud of you, even if you were my daughter.” Tommy had tears in his eyes.

  Lily kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks Tommy, I appreciate it.”

  “Now you get upstairs and kiss that gorgeous child of yours. And tomorrow you get right back to writing your manuscript. When can I expect to see it?”

  “Stop being a slave-driving editor and give me a hug.”

  She walked into the lobby and Mario ran ahead to press the UP button on the elevator. When it arrived, Lily got in and he followed. Mario turned the key and pressed “ P” for penthouse.

  The doors closed, shook twice, and began its slow ascent. Mario looked at Lily’s reflection in the mirror and said, “I knew this day would come. I knew that one day you would be a star and win lots of awards. Even when you were a little girl you were special— different from the other kids in the building—more talented, much more refined.”

  Lily turned to Mario and chuckled to herself because the doorman had obviously forgotten the hundreds of times he had chided her for making noise while running through the lobby with her little friends. Mario would shake his head and mumble something about ‘little spoiled brats’ under his breath.

  Lily smiled as they rode the rest of the way in silence. The elevator door opened into her apartment’s spacious circular foyer. She kicked off her stilettos, walked across the imported marble tile, and proceeded to stroll down the hall into the den, where Jamie was asleep on the couch. Daisy Rose lay peacefully on his chest, her face sn
uggled between his neck and shoulder. They breathed in unison.

  Lily looked at them— father and daughter—and felt a stab of regret. While growing up, hadn’t she wished, practically every day, that her father and mother would stay married? Back then, she prayed that one day the phone would ring and that when she answered, it would be her father on the other end of the line. He would say that he was calling to tell her that she and her mother were wonderful and beautiful and that he realized he’d made a big mistake and wanted to move back home. The phone call never came and neither did her father.

  She and her mother spent summers on her grandparent’s farm in Southold, a bucolic town on the east end of Long Island’s North Fork, surrounded by vineyards and the beautiful Long Island Sound. During the many town parades, she would watch little girls sitting happily atop their father’s shoulders to get a better view of the floats. Lily had to look away so as not to cry.

  Now here she was doing the same thing to her precious daughter. Granted, Jamie was in Daisy Rose’s life, for now at least. But who knew how long that would last? Jamie was certainly not the most reliable person she knew. But he was wonderful with Daisy Rose and had been helpful and attentive whenever Lily needed help. He had also been aggressively pursuing Lily to get back together with her, even before the baby was born. He’d been telling her how much he had changed and how genuinely sorry he was. He had even stated, more than a few times, that losing Lily was his biggest regret. If she would have him back, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

  She blocked every advance that he made, physically and emotionally, arguing that she couldn’t move past what had happened. Was she still upset that he had acted like a jerk and cheated on her? Well, people certainly can change as they mature. Hadn’t she changed over the past couple of years? She was no longer the spoiled, helpless girl she had been when they were together. Or was it something else? Was she holding out for Robbie’s return? In a few months it would be two years since he had left; certainly by now he must be back in New York City. There was no contact, no email, not even a text to indicate that she had even crossed his mind. He might very well be, at this moment, living with someone else, or, worse, he might even be engaged or married.