He gave me a deep French before saying, “That should hold ya till I ‘catchupwitchu’ later, superstar.”
Sliding across the posh Bentley leather seat, I plucked a newspaper sandwiched between a Variety and the Hollywood Reporter from the driver’s seatback. Attempting to take my mind off the Barringer vote, I scanned the front page of the weary Los Angeles Times, reading about President Obama’s health-care overhaul, foreclosures, and the Ballet Nacional de Cuba appearing at Lincoln Center.
At the lower right-hand corner was a tiny blurb about Maeve Fielding. Please turn to page E14 for more . . . I flipped the pages, sidetracked by my horoscope, which read:
An unexpected change will throw you off your stride today, but being a fearless Taurean you will quickly regain your balance. Be flexible and bend with the breeze. According to love planet Venus, there’s an exotic romance coming your way if you put your strong charisma to use.
Page E14 had a “To the Readers” correction notice:
On Tuesday, regrettably we incorrectly stated that soap opera legend Maeve Fielding was shot and killed on the set of The Rich and the Ruthless by former soap star Roger Cabott. Fortunately, Maeve Fielding is alive and recovering. In lieu of flowers, Ms. Fielding has asked that donations be made to the Edgar Cayce Association for Research and Enlightenment, Inc. Comments are welcome at latimes.com/readersrep.
“Ms. Jeffries, did you happen to feel that tremor last night?”
“Tremor?”
“Yes, ma’am, it was pretty substantial.”
“Guess I’ve gotten used to them.” Cracking the tinted window, feeling the breeze against my face, I asked, “Haven’t I seen you before?”
Looking into his rearview mirror, he answered, “Yes, Miss Jeffries, my name is Otto. Mr. Barringer’s personal driver. We’ve not met formally but of course I know who you are. Mr. Barringer’s favorite.”
I smiled inside.
“Mr. B’s going to be all right.”
“I hadn’t heard one way or the other.”
“My intuition’s never wrong.”
“Music preference, Miss Jeffries?”
“Keep it where it’s at, love classical.”
We drove for twenty minutes.
“Here we are.” He quickly crossed behind the sleek car, but I wasn’t ready to venture out.
“Otto, would you please give me a few seconds?” I asked through the window.
“Yes, of course.”
The window glided shut. I lowered the illuminated mirror above, checking my mascara, and thought about what Augustus had said, “All the people and situations of your life have only the meaning you give them . . . and when you change your thinking, you change your life, sometimes in seconds.”
I knocked on the window to signal the driver.
The Century City Oppenheimer & Berger Law Offices were located on the thirty-second floor in a soaring glass luxury office building, on the corner of Avenue of the Stars and Constellation Boulevard.
As I stepped out of the upholstered elevator, my heels sank into the plush cream carpeting. Nervously, I smiled at the receptionist, who greeted me, “Hello, Ms. Jeffries, they’re expecting you, you can go in.”
“Calysta darling, we are ever so grateful you agreed to come,” Katherine Barringer said in her lilting voice, giving me a warm hug, pecking me on both cheeks as I entered the wood-paneled office.
“Yes, thank you again, Calysta,” Veronica added.
Auggie crossly cut his eyes and stayed in his seat, arms folded, watching me.
My heart pounded, keeping it together. I wondered what Randall had told him, if anything, about my past.
“Auggie, aren’t you going to stand and greet Calysta?” Katherine asked.
“Stop treating me like I’m a child, Mother,” he said, annoyed. “She has no business here. Dad has really lost it. This is ridiculous.”
A distinguished man dressed in an immaculate pigeon gray suit entered the boardroom. “Good morning, Katherine, Veronica, Auggie.”
“Make that Augustus,” Auggie corrected. “I don’t want anyone calling me Auggie Jr. anymore.”
“Yes, fine. Ms. Jeffries, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mason Oppenheimer, the Barringers’ family and business attorney.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, returning his firm handshake.
“Would you like coffee? Something from the buffet perhaps?”
“No, thank you. Couldn’t eat a thing.”
Mason led me around the burlwood boardroom table, seating me in a tufted leather chair, before taking his place.
“The necessary documents describing why we’re here today have been distributed and received, and it is my esteemed privilege to serve the Barringer family as well as Barringer Dramatic Series.” Mason calmly slid his diamond-cufflinked shirt, revealing the time to be exactly 9:05 a.m. on his Bulova. “I’ve been requested to call this meeting by Augustus Barringer, Katherine Barringer, and Veronica Barringer to carry out and shepherd the extraordinary and important proceedings at hand in swift and dignified fashion.”
“You call this swift?” Auggie snickered. “Let’s get down to business already.”
“Yes, as I was saying, since we all have extremely demanding schedules, I won’t unnecessarily delay the agenda.”
I shakily took a sip of water, pre-poured in cut crystal on the table, and without glancing in his direction, felt Auggie’s resentful stare.
“Today’s meeting is to vote for the sale of Barringer Dramatic Series. In an unprecedented arrangement, Calysta Jeffries has been appointed proxy for Augustus Barringer Sr. and will be voting ex parte, on his behalf.”
“Unprecedented, how about outrageous?” grumbled Auggie.
“Before we commence,” Mason continued, “I would like to remind everyone that if a unanimous vote isn’t reached, there need be only a majority shareholders’ agreement.”
Butting in, Auggie said in disgust, “Which means if Dad’s foxy-proxy decides to vote the wrong way, it’ll swing Barringer Dramatic Series away from the twenty-first century and into the edge of night, killing our chances of ever selling these shows for a competitive price. That is unless you want to come to your senses, Mom? Sis?”
A dignified Katherine said, “Auggie, please, let’s get through this,” while Veronica pursed her lips, fixing her brother with a frosty look.
The room crackled with tension as Mason Oppenheimer called for the vote to begin. “Please give a simple ‘yea’ to sell, ‘nay’ to hold, or ‘abstain.’ Mrs. Barringer?”
“Nay.”
“Veronica?”
“Nay.”
“Augustus Jr.?”
“Yea, obviously,” he said, obnoxiously drumming his pen on the polished wood.
“Calysta Jeffries.”
Stemming my nervousness, I swallowed hard, thinking of Grandma Jones and what it would do to her, the publicizing of the Greenwood scandal.
“-ay,” I said softly.
Everyone leaned in.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jeffries, I didn’t hear you,” Mason said. “Would you repeat your answer clearly?”
Facing the attorney and clearing my throat, I said, “Nay.”
“What?” Auggie stood up, knocking his seat over, menacingly circling the table.
“Please compose yourself and sit down!” Mason reprimanded. “The final vote is in favor of keeping Barringer Dramatic Series family-owned.”
“Thank God,” Katherine said, blinking back tears.
“I’ll need each of your signatures,” Mason said, handing me his heavy Montblanc pen.
Snapping, Auggie yelled, “You’re dead!”
“Auggie, that’s enough!” cried Veronica.
“It’s Augustus, you moron! You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Calysta! I’m going to crush you like a bug. I’m gonna make sure you never work in Hollywood again!”
“Mr. Barringer, if you don’t—” Mason boomed.
“Are you guys friggin’
kidding me? What about . . .” He stopped, checking himself, realizing he couldn’t mention blackmail.
“Auggie, stop it!” Katherine pleaded, trying to calm her son down, as he pushed her away.
“How dare you,” Veronica interceded, getting between them. “You’re out of control and an embarrassment to the family.”
“I’ll say and do whatever I damn well please. And this isn’t over!” Auggie shouted, as he was escorted out by security.
“Wow,” I said.
“Katherine, are you all right? Veronica?” Mason asked, concerned.
“Understandably we’re shaken,” Mrs. Barringer responded. “But I’m more concerned about you, Calysta. Are you—”
“Oh I’m fine. Honestly, compared to what I’ve been through, this was a cakewalk, threats and all. Lemme sign those documents.”
Standing with the Barringer women in the foyer, Mason warmly shook my hand reassuringly, saying, “Thank you, Calysta, you’ve done the right thing. I’ll be in touch, Katherine. Good-bye, Veronica,” before heading toward his office.
“I can’t apologize enough for my son,” Katherine repeated. “He doesn’t understand.”
“Mom, stop covering for him. He understands; he just doesn’t care. Auggie’s spoiled and selfish and has no respect for what you and Dad have given him. He thought he’d sell our family business out from under us and head off to Tahiti, but instead he got the shock of his life and so did Edith and the rest of those vipers. We’ve saved Dad’s legacy and we’re incredibly grateful to you, Calysta.”
“Here’s to chick power.” I winked.
“But what was all that nonsense my bratty brother was babbling about?”
“I have no idea.”
“My husband will be so relieved this is behind us.” Katherine sighed. “We appreciate everything you’ve done, dear,” she said, gently kissing me.
“It was an honor, Mrs. Barringer,” I assured her.
Turning to Veronica, she said, “Now, let’s talk about Hyannis this summer instead of going to Càte d’Azur. I think spending time at our camp on the Cape will do your father a world of good and we’ll be close enough to his doctors should he need them. Besides, you can join us—”
“Mom, I guess you didn’t hear the latest, it’s going to be a crash course in international soap opera business affairs for me. R&R just picked up a licensing deal with the BBC and new affiliates in Sydney, Greece, and Nigeria and I’ve agreed to take those meetings.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? But about our summer—”
“Mom, we’ll discuss everything on our way home. I need a few seconds with Calysta.”
“Of course. Take care, Calysta.” Katherine half-smiled, walking toward her chauffeur.
“My brother hates me. I wish we were in this together,” Veronica sadly confided.
“Don’t worry, things have a way of working themselves out. There’s this old story about two wolves inside all of us. I don’t remember it verbatim but it goes something like, ‘One wolf is evil, angry, jealous, and lies. Has a chip on his shoulder and a big ego. The other is loving, peaceful, generous, and has faith.’ Which one do you think will win?”
“Tell me.”
“The one you feed. In other words, ‘do you’ and don’t change. Look what this business has done to Randall and Edith, your own brother even.”
“I know I keep saying it, but how can—”
“You already have,” I cut in. “I’m glad I could repay your dad in some way.”
“He’s right, it’s time I put that journalism degree to good use and get involved in the family business. As a matter of fact I’ve already penned the perfect scene to rescue you from that deserted island.”
We shared a laugh.
“And I wouldn’t worry about Edith and Felicia. Edith’s going to have enough on her plate to keep her very busy for some time. And if I have my way, which I usually do,” she said with a tricky smile, “Felicia won’t be head scribe on R&R for much longer. She’s doing hideous things with the characters; the cast and fans despise her for it. And I want to be the first to tell you, I’m following your lead and hiring a black writer. As for Randall”—she shrugged—“have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“He collapsed at his party last night. It’s a mystery what caused it but he’s in a coma.”
“A coma?” Did he say anything to anyone first?
“Yeah, apparently Alison rode with him in the ambulance,” she added, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder.
“Veronica.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be surprised if I take your dad up on that offer to return to the show. But first I have some family business to handle.”
“I’ll expect you when I see you. The car’s all yours for the rest of the day.”
“Thanks, you’re a class act, Veronica.”
“So are you.”
Heading toward the Bentley, the warm California sun on my face, I thought, This is definitely a brand-new day.
FIVE WEEKS LATER
And so I will fly. Where there is nothing left, I fly. And you cannot tie me with your fear, your dislike, or your envy. You cannot hold me down at all. You can only watch as I throw open your mind’s eye like a thick curtain, and shake free the dust to reflect the sunshine a thousand ways and ride every mote to its end, laughing that thrown-back laugh that I have, all the way to further than you can imagine. But I do not spurn you. I never spurn you. Come, you.
—R.W.A. Friend, “Faerie”
CHAPTER 49
The Abby Singer
Ivy, Shannen, and I excitedly ran toward each other while Derrick coolly lagged behind, making his way with a sexy swagga causing a commotion at Betty Ford.
Embracing Ivy tightly, I said, “Happy birthday, baby, we’re finally going home!”
“Sorry, Mom, about the emails and calls the last three weeks but Dad said if I didn’t spend more time with him he wasn’t going to let me go to Greenwood.”
“Sweet pea, all that matters is that I get you on your seventeenth birthday with Grandma Jones.”
“Let me get that for you,” Derrick said, sweeping up my luggage.
“Got that orchid you sent. Bloomed forever. One woman even told me the longer a flower lasts sent from a lover the longer . . . anyway, you get it . . . ”
For two seconds I thought I saw him blush, his deep Hershey dimples accenting a smile.
“Wow, Calysta, you look amazing,” Shannen gushed. “I need to go to rehab if this is the payoff.”
“Girl, you’re crazy.” I laughed, releasing Ivy to hug her. “Tell you one thing, feel better than I ever have.”
After TT’s crooked antics, Sly got me into Betty Ford, a respectable no-nonsense place with no equine therapy, no shopping, and no Korean body splashes.
Clean and clear, I was returning home with Ivy after a twenty-year absence, to spend time with Grandma Jones and the ghosts of Greenwood. To start my life over, I had to learn how to live it right, revisiting my past, and making amends, the first steps to a full recovery.
Randall was still in a coma and it seemed my secret was safe, while Veronica had taken over Felicia’s position, demoting her to story coordinator. It still gnawed at me, weeks later, that Emmy had crashed Tranquility Tudor. What is she going to do with what she learned? I worried. Or what has she done?
“Jump in, ladies, we’re on the clock,” Derrick said, sliding his hand under my tush, helping me into his Rover.
“Fresh.”
“You like it.”
“You right.” I smiled.
“You-all have a flight to catch and we have a mad drive so buckle up.”
We were heading toward LAX with the Noisettes playing, when Ivy turned to me excitedly. “Mom, guess what?”
“What, babe?”
“I asked Dad to swing by our house the other day so I could pick up a few things for our trip and . . .” She made a drumroll sound, patting her hands on he
r lap.
“C’mon, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“. . . the kitchen is finally done!”
“Don’t joke, Ivy.”
“I’m serious. I know that contractor guy was a nightmare but Derrick took the bull by the horns. It’s beautiful. You’re gonna love it.”
“Wow, D, you did that for me?”
“Since we’re sharing good news,” Shannen chimed in, “they’re finally taking that nasty trach out of my mouth and I can bury that sud-dud storyline. Thank gawd Veronica took over.”
Listening to Shannen talk about her storyline as though it were real life, I wondered, had I sounded like that, so caught up in that bubble that I’d lost sight? Soap stuff was far, far away from my reality right now and I knew if I ever went back it would have to be much, much different. Veronica and Katherine Barringer had assured me it would be.
“Roger’s still in the pokey, couldn’t make bail, it’s half a mill. On top of that Maeve’s suing him. Javier and I are still going strong, he’s taking me to the Latin Grammys, he’s a presenter with Eva Longoria. And he’s teaching me Spanish! Did you know fruta bomba means ‘papaya’ in English? How sexy is that? Oh, and I filed for divorce. Everything is so great again!” Pausing for a breath, she continued, “’Cept for one thing. My air show scenes were going to be wicked fantastic, but I was preempted by another stupid car chase. And last year the same thing happened to me over Wimbledon, remember? Best damn scenes all year, I was going to put them on my Sudsy reel for a pre-nom.”
“I feel ya,” Derrick said, chewin’ on a toothpick. “Last week I was knocked off the air by Obama, but that’s okay, he’s cool beans and it was the presidential address ’n’ all.”
“Yeah, but least you get to go into syndication. Soap stars only get one shot to be seen outside of being exported, and that doesn’t count.”
“Right about that,” I said.
“Why doesn’t it count?” asked Ivy innocently.
Together, Derrick, Shannen, and I chimed in, “Three years behind and pennies on the dollah!”
We all fell out with laughter, diggin’ the international exposure, just wantin’ to get paid for it.
Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva Page 29
