A Thing of Beauty

by Lisa Samson

  I laugh. “You’re right! Of course it wouldn’t change anything. Thank you. Thank you for that.”

  He snaps open the wheelchair. “Get on in. If you’ve got to ride in a wheelchair, we’ll at least make it fun.”

  Ten minutes later I’m checking in at the desk. Five minutes after that I’m thinking about “wound care” as I read more information sheets. And really? Wound care? There are doctors who specialize in wounds? It seems like the worst thing to have to deal with. Bodies split open where they shouldn’t be, leaving portals to the tender places. It takes a special person to be all about wound care. And the worst wounds seem to involve more senses than should be allowed.

  Josia sits down next to me, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a roll of Lifesavers. I hope the pineapple flavor is on top.

  It’s not.

  “Oh, you get to have the lime!” he says. “That’s the best one!”

  “Seriously, you can have the lime, Josia. I don’t mind.”

  “No, no, no. I want you to have it, Fia. After all you’ve been through, you deserve to have the lime.”

  I pull off the lime and pop it in my mouth.

  Maybe lime isn’t my favorite normally, but it is right now. This piece of candy tastes better because it’s his favorite, freely given, and that’s true sweetness.

  Is this what Jack was talking about? Receiving love? Could it be so simple as recognizing the beauty in the other’s giving?

  Let’s see.

  “Oh, look, Josia. You get the pineapple! That’s my favorite.”

  He places the sheer, palest of yellow disc on his tongue and grins. “You know, right now, it’s mine too.”

  Twenty

  Well, as they say, nothing good lasts forever. And that’s true. Saturn will one day be relegated to something less majestic and funky when the core of our star turns to carbon in an instant and it all goes supernova. So if Saturn has an expiration date, and my lime Lifesaver is no longer on my tongue, I know that these few days of painful bliss, or blissful pain, are about to change into something a little less soft and kind.

  The sky is soon to be on fire with the blazing presence of—not Saturn or a supernova, or even a miraculous lime Lifesaver—none other than Jessica Randolph of the Randolphs.

  How did everything split wide open so suddenly? First my home, then my leg, and now my heart.

  I sit down at the dinette with my father. “So she’s going right to the Omni?”

  “Yes. I’ll head to the airport in a few minutes. I told her you still need another day before you can venture out socially, but we’ll have dinner together tomorrow. At least that gives you time to get used to being in the same town.” He winks.

  “We’re going to have to really talk sooner or later, Brandon.”

  “Yes, Fia. I know that.”

  “I need more of an explanation than I’ve had so far.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “Positive.”

  He asks how long until Jack gets home.

  “Not until late.”

  “After I drop your mother off, I’ll come right back. I’ll bring dinner. If you want the truth, Fia, that’s your right.”

  “I do.”

  “Jessica’s going to have a fit.”

  “And you’re willing to risk that?”

  “That’s fine. Seriously. All right, I picked up a movie for you this afternoon. Do you want me to set you up on the sofa before I leave?”

  “I’d like that.”

  As I make my way over to the couch a little less slowly than before, he slips in a DVD. “All right, Fia. I’ll see you in about two hours.”

  After arranging my leg on some pillows, I pick up the remote and press Play.

  The Little Mermaid. Sweet.

  While Ariel goes through the emotional crisis of separating from her loving father—difference number one between Ariel’s childhood and mine—I try to replay in my mind what my growing-up years were actually like. Who was my father?

  In my mind’s eye I see a silhouette against the sliding glass doors leading to the pool. That’s the overarching image of patrimony for Fiona Hume. But he’s getting more depth now and I like that.

  Mother? She’s just the same, only a little older looking, and I do mean a little. She’s the embodiment of a Twinkie, or that pack of fast food fries you find under the passenger seat of your car three years later, fries that look the same, but . . . really? They can’t be the same, can they? It’s not as if there’s some magic realm of suspended animation beneath the passenger seat of your car, as if something’s going on there that’s simply not visible to the naked eye.

  And yet, at least interiorly, Jessica remains the same. By now I can predict her every move, and I know enough to realize she will always be the Me-Me-Me woman she always has been.

  But Brandon? Well, he was always nice at least. He may not have been around much, but when he was, he wasn’t constantly talking about himself or making me feel bad for “wrecking” his image.

  Image.

  If there’s one thing most people don’t quite understand about being an actor, it’s this: There’s you. And there’s Image You. There’s who you know yourself to be and who you want others to believe you are.

  The healthy players never forget there’s a difference between the two.

  Was I confusing Brandon’s image with Brandon my dad? Was he the one who went through my finances . . . or was it actually Jessica, and he never wanted to impugn her?

  Who was really at fault?

  And why has it taken me this long to ask these questions?

  My cell phone lights up. It’s her.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Well, I’m here. Where are you? I’m actually hiding in the women’s restroom so I’m not bombarded.”

  Is she kidding me?

  “Leg wound?” I ask.

  “Oh, come on. So you really are making that bastard pick me up? Do you know it’s true? That woman? The divorce? It’s not a publicity stunt this time.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Robot Fiona says.

  “Not sorry enough to arrange proper and fitting transportation, however.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Near baggage claim. And that’s another thing. I have to pick up my own bags?”

  That’s it. “Oh, for hell’s sake, Mom! Dad’ll be there in a minute. Bugger off! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hang up.

  It’s a temporary fix, to be sure, but I’ve never enjoyed delivering a line more.

  I turn off the phone because all that incessant ringing from her subsequent calls will drive me insane. Good for me.

  When Dad sits down next to me on the couch, he heaves out a sigh.

  “She called me,” I say. “Sorry.”

  “Did you really tell her to bugger off? I mean, it doesn’t seem like something she’d make up. Jessica’s not that creative, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you—”

  “Yes.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “How is she?”

  He reaches next to him for a throw pillow, puts it on the arm of the sofa, and lays out some, his feet still on the floor. “Exactly as you might imagine. I guess all I can do is thank you for taking the heat off of me for a few hours.”

  I adjust my leg. “Is this the way it’s always been? She’s treated you like this too? I mean, I kinda guessed it, but I just figured you let it roll off of you, nonstick.”

  He shakes his head. “I wish that had been possible. The only way I could stand it was to build my own place. She either had to find me, or I could choose to go see her.”

  “Wow.”

  “I don’t know, Fia. Couples do what they have to do sometimes. A divorce probably should’ve happened. And it should have been your mother and me; instead, it was you.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

  I take his hand. “It’s never straightforward, is it? I mean, there wa
s a lot going on behind the scenes with me. Stuff, well, Mom knew, I’m pretty sure. But I’ve never talked with you about Campbell. I don’t know if you even know. I always figured you did, but never knew for sure.”

  He squeezes my fingers. “I knew. I didn’t want to bring it up in case it would damage you even further. Nobody tells us what to do in these situations, Fia. Your mother said she’d be there for you through it, and I just did my part by handling it with Campbell.”

  “What?” His part with Campbell? “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “You said you wanted the truth?”

  “I do.”

  “Then here goes. And for what it’s worth, Fia, I wish I had gone with my instinct then and told your mother I wanted to be there for you in a way you actually knew about.”

  I hold up a hand. “No, Dad. Don’t. Believe me, I can hear her, talking about how this is a girl thing, how she’ll take one for the team and bear the emotional brunt of it so you don’t have to. All that self-sacrificial drama that makes her seem like the savior of the world, when really, it’s about her racking up points on her side, keeping herself in the martyr’s chamber. Believe me, I wasn’t fooled then, and I’m not fooled now. You, however. I never knew what to think.”

  “I wasn’t around enough.”

  “There’s that. Anyway, tell me about Campbell.”

  “Of course you remember Galaxy Goons, right?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. When your mother and I became aware that Campbell was abusing you, she, of course, was frightened for your career—”

  “Her career.”

  “Well, yes, but I always try to give her the benefit of the doubt when I can.”

  “She relies on that.”

  He continues, “And she wanted to just pretend that nothing was going on.”

  “That’s what happened for a couple of months.”

  “Right. Until I found out about it. I met with Campbell and, God’s honest truth, Fia, I wanted to kill him. I came up with the most horrifying, grandiose schemes in my head, ideas that would put Wes Craven in a mental institution.”

  “Good.” I really mean that. I needed somebody to want to kill him, even if they didn’t do it.

  His words, though violent around the edges, are inflated by love. “It taught me to hate, Fia. For the first time in my life I hated with something so pure inside me.” He grabs my other hand too. “I didn’t realize it. I didn’t realize something so dark could be so unadulterated.”

  “Nobody tells you that. You just can’t know until you feel it.”

  “You think you know . . .”

  “But you don’t. Not unless someone like Campbell comes along. I’m glad you hate him too.”

  “Oh, after what you went through because of him? I’ll hate him forever and be glad to do it.”

  We smile at each other. Not the smile of a shared sentiment, but the smile of knowing someone else is as raw inside as you are, the smile of realizing, for the first time, you’re not alone in this.

  And I never was. I just thought I was. “Go on, Dad.”

  “Your contract was ironclad, and for me to tell the world about what a low-life, scumbag child molester he was would end your career for good—I didn’t really care about your mother’s, or my own, for that matter. If I went the legal route, it would be your word against his, and his legal machine against mine. Because I had wasted most of our money, our legal machine would have been like a calculator going up against a supercomputer to get you out of that contract.”

  “So he had your ass in a wringer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn it! I hate that! I hate that so much!”

  I feel the helpless waves of castrated anger crash over me and fill me afresh, that feeling I’d been trying to avoid, that helplessness, that helplessness.

  He sits up straight, scoots right next to me, and embraces me. “I’m sorry, Fia.”

  “I rarely hope hell is real, Dad. But sometimes, just for people like Campbell, I hope it is. I really hope it is.”

  What Brandon doesn’t know is how much it happened. How my early calls weren’t because my hair and makeup took that long. It was a teen show, for hell’s sake. No, the driver would drop me off at an empty building.

  And Campbell always had music playing. Always a different kind, as if he wanted to taint everything for the foreseeable future. I hate it all.

  His office was purple. Purple! The man ruined purple for me!

  His fingers. Inside me. His horrid mouth with the slobbery tongue. That hairy belly. Everything. Just everything about him deserves a bath in acid.

  “What is it about the world?” I ask. “Why do the predators have so many advantages? I hate that.”

  “Me too,” he whispers.

  “Can you get me some OJ?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, a little relief in his tone.

  Brandon hands me my juice and sits down. I take a sip. “So what happened when you met with Campbell?”

  His actions mirror my own as he readies himself to speak. He sets his glass down on the end table next to him. “He was livid with the confrontation, to be sure. I told him he couldn’t have you anymore. The show had to be over. Of course he threatened to sue me for everything we had. But I had a trump card.” He pauses.

  “Which was?”

  “Me.”

  “Oh no.” It’s all clear. “Galaxy Goons.”

  “Yes.”

  “You agreed to sabotage your career to get me out of there?”

  “What else could I do, Fia?”

  He doesn’t crumble into tears, and surely a different kind of man would have just beaten the crap out of Campbell and said, “I’ll see you in court, you bastard.”

  But that isn’t my dad. He doesn’t have that sort of machismo residing inside of him. And that’s not always bad. Instead, he laid himself on the altar.

  “The crazy thing is,” he continues, “Galaxy Goons was an instant hit, and I’ve had to talk about it ever since. But for me, the project—”

  “And here I always thought you didn’t want to talk about it because it was such a departure. So goofy compared to all your serious roles.”

  He gathers me to himself. “No. It was because every time I thought about it, or talked about it, I remembered what that man did to my daughter.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Your mother—”

  “Thought it best I didn’t have to bear that kind of burden. Is that right?”

  “Yes. And I agreed with her. People take things on themselves, making it their own fault, when they shouldn’t.”

  Brandon wasn’t malicious. He was just weak when it came to his wife. An age-old tale with the strongest of men. And not completely weak at that. He simply used the most valuable bargaining chip he possessed and gained by negotiation what a lot of men would have taken by force.

  “Dad?” I ask. “If you could do it all over again, how would you do it differently?”

  His arms tighten around me. “I would have stood my ground in what I believed then, and what I still believe to this day. You being an actor was a choice you alone should have made, even if you had never done so. That would have been all right with me.”

  “But my mother was a Randolph. And Randolph children—”

  “ ‘Always make the best actors.’ ” We finish Jessica’s quote together.

  He pulls back and searches my face. “Fia, honey. You can be whoever you want to be. I want to tell you that right now. I should have told you that when you went off to film your first commercial when you were four years old. Your life and what you want to do with it is yours to decide, and yours alone. And what is more, I will support you, be by your side, and cheer you on with whatever you decide, even if it changes from one day to the next. I love you, baby. I always have. I’ll spend the rest of our time here on earth together proving every single word of what I just said. And nobody will ever tell me otherwise.”

  I rest
my forehead against his chest and I cry. Weeping in the simple light of being seen by my father for the very first time.

  Twenty-One

  He said to call anytime if I needed him. Isn’t that right? I hope he meant it. People say a lot of things without truly thinking about timing.

  But really, Josia did say to call whenever.

  I rest my fingertips on the smooth front of my phone and slide it off the nightstand toward me.

  Three seconds later his phone is ringing. Two seconds after that, the words, “Fia, are you okay?” seem to drip like honey down from the heavens.

  Seriously. It sounds that good.

  “Can you come pick me up? I want to come home, Josia. Just for a little bit.”

  “I’m on my way. Be there in ten.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s good, Fia. See you soon.”

  He didn’t sound at all groggy, I think as I slip into my sweatpants and one of Jack’s Notre Dame sweatshirts. I can’t find my beastly sweater anywhere, and I have to admit, if Jack burned it behind my back, I not only wouldn’t blame him, I’d be thankful.

  I’m happy to report to myself that getting dressed took half the time it did when I first came home from the hospital, and that I truly am on the mend.

  When Josia pulls the truck up exactly ten minutes after our conversation, I’m stepping off the last stair. He swings open his door and rushes toward me.

  I have to admit it. I’ve overtaxed myself. I stop and steady my hand against the handrail. “Wow,” I whisper. Some real pain meds would be good right about now.

  “You okay?” he says, now at my side.

  I nod. “I think so. I was feeling better than I had been up there, but now . . .”

  “Too much, too soon.” He bends at the waist and picks me up in his arms, gently accounting for my leg. “Let’s get you to the truck.”

  You read in books how a man will pick up a woman like she “weighs almost nothing.” So, okay, that’s not exactly the case with Josia. He’s not a large man. But he’s strong and he carries me with ease. In fact, speaking as someone who has been picked up like this a lot of times, particularly during my teen romance comedy phase that lasted about five films, I feel the most supported this time.