by Melissa Hill
Putting her backpack over her shoulders, she walked along the lake and headed out across the old stone bridge that led in the direction of her father’s house.
She’d told him on the phone that she’d be there around six.
‘That’ll be dinnertime. Do you want me to make extra?’ he asked.
Nina hesitated. ‘What are you having?’
‘Bacon and cabbage,’ he told her and again, she couldn’t help but shake her head in amazement. How could she have forgotten? Pork chops on Mondays, steak on Tuesdays, and bacon and cabbage on Wednesdays… Patrick Hughes had cooked these same dishes without fail on the same days all that time ago, and now years later was still doing the same.
And once again Nina wondered what on earth she had let herself in for.
2
‘Hello Nina,’ Patrick said somewhat distractedly when she reached the house a little after six. He stood back as she came through the doorway.
‘Hi Dad, how are you?’ She didn’t attempt to hug or embrace him; theirs was not a hugging sort of relationship, but she did feel slightly put out by her father’s almost casual indifference to her appearance after so long. There was no great welcome, or no sense of enthusiasm or interest in her visit.
OK, perhaps it had been her own choice not to visit for so long, but it still bothered her to think that her father had never once of his own accord tried to spend time with her either. She’d also hoped he might notice an improvement in her since the last time he’d seen her – she’d lost over a stone in weight and her previously short dark hair now reached well below her shoulders. But if Patrick noticed any changes in her, he didn’t mention it.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I was just having dinner. I made some for you, but it might be a bit cold now,’ he told her and Nina immediately identified the root of his agitation. She’d told Patrick that she’d be here around six and it was now quarter past. She was late.
‘The bus just dropped me off downtown; I thought I’d be earlier….’ Then her voice trailed off as she wondered why she felt the need to explain herself like this. It wasn’t as though she was ten years old anymore. ‘I hope you went ahead and had yours; there was no need to wait for me and if it’s cold, I can always stick it in the microwave.’
But she knew there was no question of her father waiting for her arrival before he ate his evening meal; as usual, he would eat without fail in front of the six o’clock news and a visit from the daughter he hadn’t seen in years would hardly change that.
‘I was just watching the news,’ he said, confirming her suspicions.
She followed him into the living room, which hadn’t changed a bit since the last time she was here, and dropped her bag on the sofa. Almost immediately, Patrick shot the backpack an agitated look.
‘I made up your old room,’ he said, which to Nina suggested that she should stow it away upstairs rather than mess up his nice tidy, living room.
‘Thanks, I’ll unpack after I’ve had dinner if that’s OK – I’m a bit tired after the bus journey.’ Again Nina hated the way she always felt so awkward and ill at ease around him.
‘That’s fine,’ he said non-committally as if she’d just told him she didn’t want sugar in her tea. No offers to help her with her things or questions about the journey, just Patrick’s typical disinterested response, before he sat down in his armchair to watch the TV.
Going into the kitchen (which also hadn’t changed) Nina recalled exactly why she’d stopped visiting her father all that time ago. His constant lack of interest and almost downright indifference to her was frustrating, and actually quite hurtful. She was in a fix, her heart had been broken into a million pieces and like always her father just didn’t want to know.
Couldn’t he at least pretend to be curious as to why she’d turned up at his doorstep after all this time? Or was he so uninterested in her that he couldn’t care less either way? He really was the complete opposite of her loving, kind-hearted mother, who Nina knew was beside herself with remorse for being so far away at such a difficult time.
OK so she hadn’t particularly expected Patrick to welcome her home with open arms and a box of Kleenex, but surely a simple enquiry about her well-being wasn’t too much to ask?
Nina put the plate of food he’d prepared for her into the microwave, and while she waited for it to heat up, she looked around and marvelled at her father’s fastidiousness. Despite having prepared dinner, the kitchen was meticulous and there was no sign of food preparation anywhere. Pots, pans and cooking utensils were already rinsed out and neatly stacked in a pile ready to be washed, and there wasn’t a drop of liquid or trace debris on any surface.
She recalled how her father had always cleaned and tidied as he went, instead of leaving piles of food packaging and vegetable peels on every surface like her mother did. At dinnertime, her mother’s kitchen always looked like a bomb had hit it, the complete opposite of this calm, pristine space over which Patrick presided.
The microwave pinged and Nina reluctantly took her plate into the living room to join her father in front of the TV.
‘This is lovely,’ she commented, as she ate the boringly old-fashioned dish he was so fond of, although the bacon was quite nice.
But her father just gave a distracted nod in response. OK, so he was watching the news and probably didn’t want to get involved in inane small talk until it was over, but couldn’t the world’s depressing problems wait for one day?
‘Did you get the kitchen units changed since I was here last?’ she piped up again, more out of politeness than anything else, as she knew well Patrick hadn’t done a thing to the house in years.
‘I’m not sure,’ he replied, thinking seriously about it. ‘When were you here last?’
‘Eight years,’ she said, intentionally ramming the point home that as she hadn’t been here in so long, the least he could have done was got the welcome wagons out.
But Patrick seemed oblivious. ‘No,’ he answered definitively, ‘they haven’t been changed since then.’ With that, he picked up the remote control and rudely turned up the TV volume. End of conversation.
Right. So much for her opening gambits, Nina thought. Still, she was determined to make the effort even if he wasn’t. ‘The garden looks well at this time of year with all the roses in full bloom, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes it does.’
‘I noticed on the bus that there are lots of new houses on the way in. I suppose the town is full of blow-ins now,’ she added jokingly, but her father obviously didn’t get the joke or just wasn’t interested, as again he just nodded impassively and continued watching TV.
Deflated and no longer hungry, Nina pushed the remainder of the food around on her plate. ‘Um Dad … thanks for dinner, but I’m feeling a bit tired now. I think I might just go upstairs.’
Still Patrick didn’t look away from the TV. ‘OK Nina,’ he said, as his daughter picked up her backpack and trundled upstairs to her old room, wondering already if she’d made yet another big mistake.
3
Ruth Seymour turned to admire herself in the full-length mirror.
The incredible low backed silver Christian Dior dress she wore was perfect for tonight. She looked like a star, sparkled the way a diva should. Her long blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in luxurious waves, her blue eyes sparkled, her full lips were glossy, and the dress she was wearing fit her size zero body like a glove.
Tonight was certainly not the night for basic black; she was not a backup singer, and definitely not just part of the scenery. She was Ruth Seymour, wildly successful star of US TV series Glamazons, who was currently lighting up Hollywood like a supernova.
She turned around and looked at her assistant, Chloe, who was typing on her BlackBerry.
‘So do I look OK?’ she inquired, already knowing the answer, (she did pay Chloe after all) but still she needed the confidence boost.
‘Oh you look fabulous, truly!’ Chloe exclaimed. ‘What shoes are you wearing?’
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Ruth smiled. The answer was a stupendous pair of silver, jewelled Manolo Blahniks that her stylist had just sent over. Thirteen hundred dollars and she got them for nothing because of who she was. Ruth preferred Louboutins, but apparently the designer refused to give freebies. Oh well, it wasn’t as though she couldn’t afford to buy them what with her agent now talking six figures per episode of Glamazons. And bought them she had – several times over.
‘Probably the Manolos,’ she replied airily, catching the look of sheer envy on Chloe’s face when she pulled them out of their dustcover and put one on her elegantly petite foot. Imagine walking down the street in Lakeview wearing these? Their eyes would pop out of their heads with envy.
Well perhaps she might just do that, Ruth thought, putting on the other shoe and making a mental note to pack them in her suitcase later. ‘Remind me not to forget to bring these tomorrow, won’t you?’ she asked Chloe.
‘Sure. Ready for champagne?’ Her assistant twisted the cork on a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, which opened with a satisfactory ‘pop’ and Ruth grinned, deciding this was possibly her most favourite sound in the world.
‘When was the last time you were home for a visit?’ Chloe asked, handing her a glass.
Ruth took a sip of champagne. ‘Oh, I don’t know, a few years I guess,’ she replied blithely. ‘I’ve just been so busy and it’s not exactly a quick trip so I haven’t really had the time.’ She moved in front of the mirror to again take in her appearance. ‘What time does the car come?’
Chloe, wisely taking the change of subject as an indicator that the issue was closed for discussion, looked at her notes and told her boss that the car would arrive at seven.
Actually Ruth knew exactly when she was last back in Ireland. It had been five years and up until now, she’d avoided a return to her home country like the plague. It wasn’t that she didn’t yearn to see her family – she missed them terribly, and luckily they’d come to see her in LA a few times – it was everyone else that was the problem. She didn’t want to be judged, was terrified of being pitied or worse, being called a failure. Not that she hadn’t been close enough to drop in for a visit either; she never hesitated to travel to Paris or holiday on the Rivera, but had never had any desire to go back to Ireland and the sleepy little backwater in which she grew up.
Until now.
Ruth smiled. Now, thanks to Glamazons, she was a huge success and it wasn’t so hard to face your past when you were being celebrated. Ruth was currently at the top of her game. The first season of the TV show in which she starred – based around the glamorous and fashionable lifestyles of Malibu’s elite – had been a huge ratings success across the country and they’d just finished shooting Season Two. There were murmurings of an Emmy nomination for her and one of her co-stars, and the show had just been commissioned for a further season, raising Ruth’s stock even higher and further certifying her as a bona fide Hollywood star. The recent announcement was the reason for the party she was attending tonight, and she had just enough time to whoop it up before her flight to Dublin tomorrow.
The pilot of the show was just about to hit Irish TV screens, and she had been invited to be interviewed on Late Tonight, the country’s most high profile and best-loved chat show. Ruth had been over the moon when she’d heard that; it was possibly the greatest honour she could ask for, and a definite two fingers to all those in her home country who had doubted her.
As shooting on the next season of Glamazons wasn’t due to begin again until the autumn, she planned to spend the summer in Lakeview with her folks, making up for lost time and she thought happily, basking in her well-earned success.
Besides, she figured she’d earned a few months off. She’d been slogging hard for years to try and make it to this level and finally, finally, it was all coming together the way it was supposed to be.
Ruth had known from a very young age that she was destined for stardom. After all, she had always been attractive and her youthful prettiness had never left her, instead transforming her into a stunning woman. Even now at thirty years old, she didn’t have to worry about botox and some of the other procedures that her co-stars obsessed about. She had great genes and she knew it.
Plus, she’d always known she was a great actress and the past five years had been incredibly hard for her, so she was thrilled to know that people were finally recognizing her gift. Following early success in Ireland on a home-grown TV soap called The Local, everyone back home (including Ruth) had been convinced that the transition to Hollywood was a certainty.
However, upon landing in LA five years before she was immediately met as an outsider and had been stuck for the first few years in dreaded skincare commercials, as well as doing the odd, clichéd bit part as the nice, funny Irish girl in straight-to-DVD movies. She wrinkled her nose distastefully. Well, those days were over, Ruth knew it. Now the sky was the limit.
Finally ready to leave and excited for the rest of the evening to begin, she felt completely relaxed when Chloe’s BlackBerry buzzed to inform them that the car was downstairs.
Her assistant picked up her notes, Ruth’s fur stole, and some other various ‘things’ just in case and shuttled Ruth out the door of her apartment and into the elevator.
Once outside, they were met with a swarm of paparazzi waiting in front of the building. The flashes from their cameras were blinding, but Ruth didn’t care, she loved it, they wanted her! She smiled beatifically and had to restrain herself from waving even though every bone in her body wanted to wave like she was Miss America. Instead she beamed and gave polite hellos, answered just a couple of questions, and accepted many congratulations as her doorman moved her through the crowd and into the waiting town car.
Hmm, Ruth thought, maybe it was time to start thinking about security or a bodyguard? She relished the idea and didn’t understand how some stars could complain about the constant photographers following them around, it was wonderful! Besides, what was the point in being famous if you didn’t enjoy the perks?
She settled back into the rich leather of the backseat of the car while Chloe sat next to her placing several advance phone calls to the people at the party who were waiting for her arrival.
As they neared the Beverly Hills Hotel, the driver inquired if he should take Ruth to a side entrance, to avoid the crowds and Chloe began to tell him that was a great idea, before Ruth quickly shushed her.
‘Of course not, go straight to the front. After all, the fans wait for hours to get a glimpse of the cast.’ She smiled, better to have everyone think she was doing a public service as opposed to feeding her ego. No one liked someone who was too into herself, and Irish-born Ruth possibly understood that better than most.
The driver followed her command and pulled up in front of the hotel. Ruth looked out of her window at the swarm of people waiting for her to exit the car. Calling on her yoga-breathing exercises, she inhaled deeply.
Showtime…
Chloe handed her a mirror and she applied another coat of lip-gloss to freshen her look, before again looking at her assistant for affirmation.
‘Perfect. You look absolutely amazing.’ Chloe jumped out her side of the car, and a uniformed man stepped forward and opened the door on Ruth’s side.
Flashbulbs exploded all around as Ruth unfolded one long, lean, graceful leg and extracted herself elegantly from the car. She started to glide up the red carpet slowly, posing for pictures, thanking cheering fans, basking in her glory. She planned on drawing out the fifty-foot walk to the door of the hotel as long as possible.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her co-star, Troy Valentine, who played her ‘husband’ on the show. He was looking particularly yummy tonight she thought, his black hair coiffed perfectly, smile particularly white against his tan. Guess that’s what living in a beach house will do for you Ruth thought, and wondered if maybe it was time to upgrade from her apartment in the Hollywood Hills.
Troy noticed her and nodded in her direction, as if to accompany
her inside. She gave him a warm smile, but didn’t pick up her pace; she would see him inside later. Best now to pay attention to the people that wouldn’t be; namely the paparazzi and her adoring public.
Inside, the party was in full swing and the Cristal was flowing.
Ruth could barely move without having someone rush up to offer congratulations, and she truly felt like the belle of the ball. Bob, the producer of Glamazons was making a huge fuss of her; as were the network moguls and various others involved in the show. The confidence boost made her felt incredibly witty and beautiful and her charms were working to the max, or perhaps it was just the champagne?
Regardless, it was very interesting to find Troy Valentine so close at hand the entire night. Even thought they’d both worked on Glamazons from the outset, Troy was already a well-established Hollywood actor, while she was the relative unknown, and although they had loads of chemistry onscreen she’d always felt a little overawed by his star power.
But thanks to her glamorous all-American portrayal of Mia Reynolds in the show, Ruth was now just as much of a draw, and as Troy leaned closer to whisper something in her ear, she figured he was beginning to understand that too.
‘You look incredible, tonight, you know that?’ he said, his warm velvety tones and the delicious scent of his aftershave sending shivers down her spine.
Troy, who typically had the most beautiful women in the world on his arm, tonight seemed to only have eyes for her and while she thought he was handsome, he didn’t come across as the sharpest tool in the box.
Still, a little off screen flirtation couldn’t hurt her standing; it wasn’t as if either of them was married and more to the point, the tabloids would love it.
