Absolutely Maybe

by Lisa Yee

  CHAPTER FITY- ONE

  Me awake! Me awake!” Todd is clutching the bars of his crib, screaming. I am babysitting for Tessa and the triplets again. Even though Tammy, Todd, Tina, and I all ended up crying yesterday, Tessa wants me back on a regular schedule. She’s even offered me more money. I told her I’d think about it.

  As I trudge home I spot the Rolls-Royce in the driveway. Ted is jumping around on the front porch. His face is pinched and red. He’s talking on his phone. “Yeah, she’s finally here. Okay, gotta go. Love you, Maah!” Ted turns to me and growls, “It’s about time you got here. I have to go to the bathroom. I almost peed in my pants.” He gawks at my head. “What’s with your hair? It looks seriously ugly.”

  “Please!” I moan. Still, I can’t help but smile. Even a few days away from Ted is too many. Having used the bathroom, Ted’s in a much better mood. He’s at the table, swinging his feet, eating the leftover pad Thai that Sammy brought home for dinner last night. He’s wearing Willow’s faux fur. He just loves going through her closet when she’s not home.

  “No one makes Thai food as good as Maah,” Ted tells me through a mouthful of noodles. “Chef’s cooking can’t even compare to hers. And you should see the way Miss de la Tour’s housekeeper irons. Maah could iron better blindfolded and with one hand tied behind her back.

  “Hey, could you turn on the air-conditioning? It’s hot in here.” When I come back, Ted’s on the phone again. “Don’t cry. I miss you too ... I know, I know. Well, Maah can sleep in my room if that’ll make her feel better. Oh, Maybe’s back. Gotta go, Paww.”

  Ted shuts his phone. “My parents aren’t doing so well,” he says, looking sad.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Of course something’s wrong. Their beloved Teddy is not with them and they miss him.” Ted sighs and shakes his head. “Hey, Maybe, you really freaked us all out when you ran out of the auditorium screaming.”

  “I was screaming?”

  “It sure as hell wasn’t me.” Ted takes a long drink of water, then motions for me to refill the glass. “Hollywood got a standing ovation for his film. You should have stayed for the whole thing.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be my friend.”

  “I am your friend, that’s why I put up with you. Hey, have you watched the DVD yet?” I shake my head. “Well, it’s excellent, and I’m not just saying that because Hollywood is my biggest client, after Gloria de la Tour. The only change I would make to the film is to have more of me. You know, play up that good-looking best friend angle.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “This is not a war.”

  “Yes it is. Hollywood made fun of me in front of the whole world. I looked like an idiot.”

  “You are an idiot. Watch the DVD. What is wrong with you? By the way,” Ted says as he puts more pad Thai on his plate, “that guy called again.”

  “My father?”

  “He didn’t say. He just left a message saying his name was Gary Germain and he wanted to meet you. Here.” Ted hands me a piece of paper.

  “Tomorrow at noon at The Ivy,” I read. I’m trembling. “Ted, I’m going to need a ride. Can you pick me up around eleven?”

  “I have to work. Miss de la Tour is getting a new fountain and has entrusted me to see that it gets installed properly.”

  “Ted, this is important.”

  “Fountains are important to Miss de la Tour. Why don’t you ask Hollywood or Sammy?”

  “I’m not speaking to Hollywood, and Sammy doesn’t know about this, remember?”

  “What about Jess?”

  “Right, like she’s never busy at lunchtime. Just forget it,” I mutter. “If you no longer want to be my best friend, just say so.”

  “Okay,” Ted says. I’m speechless. I can’t believe he’s abandoning me. “Okay,” he repeats. “OKAY, I’ll do it.”

  “You will?” I squeal. He fights me off as I try to kiss him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I‘m obsessed with meeting this Gary Germain. It’s all I can think about. Gunnar probably saw the documentary and decided to send Gary to check me out. I can’t say that I blame him. I looked like such a loser. Now I’ve got to make a good impression on Gary so he can report back that I’m a person worth getting to know.

  I dress in my jeans, a tank top, and one of Willow’s jackets. As promised, Ted shows up precisely at eleven a.m., just as I am tying my Andy Warhol scarf around my head.

  The drive to The Ivy seems longer than it took to get Los Angeles from Kissimmee. Ted talks to his mother on the phone during the entire drive. That’s fine with me since I am so busy being nervous. “Good luck, Maybe,” Ted says when we finally arrive.

  I take his hand and squeeze it. “Thanks, Ted. See you in two hours.”

  My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it’ll knock me over. The restaurant is full of celebrities. I feel like I’m in the middle of one of Chessy’s Movie Maven magazines. In the corner is Elizabeth Parisi—she’s one of my mother’s favorite soap opera stars. Three of the five members of Top Dog are sitting in the patio. Bennett Slade, from the spy series, is at the bar. I’m not even sure who I’m looking for. Suddenly, a familiar-looking person walks in. I gasp. I would recognize him anywhere.

  “Name?” the hostess asks.

  “Christian Culver.”

  It’s him! It’s him! Nelson B. Nelson from Nelson’s Neighborhood! He looks older, but of course he would. And he looks totally hot, more muscular, taller, tanner. Did he dye his hair blond?

  “I’m sorry,” the hostess says. “You’re not on the list.”

  He leans in toward her and flashes her that winning Nelson B. Nelson smile—the one that made mean teachers and mad dogs melt. “I’m on a hit television series,” he coos.

  “Were.” Her voice is icy. “You were on a hit television series. But you’re not on the list today.”

  “I’m sure you have something . . .”

  “You’re not on the list,” she repeats firmly. Her lips are pursed into a tight smile. You can tell she’s enjoying this. His shoulders slump when he turns away.

  I summon up my courage and approach him. “Nelson, er, Christian, I just wanted to say . . . uh, I wanted to say . . .”

  “What?” he says sharply. “Spit it out.”

  “. . . that I’m a huge fan.”

  “Tell it to her,” he says bitterly.

  The hostess notices me for the first time. She eyes me suspiciously, like I’m from another planet. Maybe I am.

  “Name?”

  “Maybelline Chestnut,” I mumble as I watch Nelson B. Nelson walk out of the restaurant.

  “You’re not on the list,” the hostess says as she smirks at my scarf.

  “She’s with me.” A man steps up behind me. He’s big and solid, like someone who used to be an athlete. His hair is short and dark, and he’s wearing an expensive-looking Hawaiian shirt tucked into black jeans. “Maybelline?” he says, not bothering to remove his sunglasses.

  “Mr. Germain?” I croak.

  “Call me Gary. Rachel, honey, is my table ready?”

  “Follow me, Mr. Germain!” Rachel smiles and chats with Gary as we wind our way through the packed restaurant. It’s filled with antiques and is surprisingly cozy and warm, despite the chill the hostess has reserved for me. Finally she gestures to my assigned seat. It faces the wall. Gary, however, has a view of the entire restaurant. Before leaving, she gushes, “By the way, Mr. Germain, I loved your show last night!”

  He winks and slips her a twenty-dollar bill.

  “What show?” A waiter hands us menus.

  “Family Francisco” Gary boasts. “It’s number one in its time slot.”

  I know the show. It’s one of Chessy’s favorites.

  “Are you the director?”

  “Producer. So tell me, what is it you want to say to Gunnar?”

  “Do you know him?” I ask, leaning forward.

  Gary takes off his sunglasses and s
tudies my face. “It’s possible.” I begin to squirm. Maybe he has bad news. Is my father dead? In prison? Maybe he doesn’t want to meet me. I sit still and wait for Gary to say something, but instead he opens the menu. Then, without looking up, he says, “I’m Gunnar.”

  I take in a sharp breath. He’s my biological father? I’m sitting at a table with my father? I seem to have lost the ability to speak, but my father doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he keeps talking all casual, like he has these kinds of conversations every day. “I changed my name years ago. Gunnar Gerlach was my full name. Gary Germain sounds better, don’t you agree?” I nod. No wonder I couldn’t find him. “So,” he says as he closes the menu. “Here I am. What is that you want?”

  “I want to know...” I stammer. “I think you may be my father.”

  He folds his hands. I take note of the gold wedding band. “Did your mother tell you I’m your father?”

  I shake my head.

  “Have you seen your birth certificate?”

  I shake my head again.

  “So why do you think I’m your father?”

  I take the photo out of my purse and hand it to him. He barely glances at it, then gives it back to me. “Is this is all you have to go on?

  I clear my throat and push forward. “Well, the date is about right, and Chessy, that’s my mother, did say that my father was a big shot in Hollywood.”

  “We’ll need tests. How’s the fish today?”

  I look up to see a waiter standing next to the table.

  “It’s excellent, Mr. Germain. The swordfish can be prepared Cajun-style, the way you like it.”

  “Okay, give me the swordfish, and the girl will have the same.” He looks at me. “Unless you’d like something else?”

  “No, no, that sounds great.”

  I hate swordfish.

  “So,” Gary says, as he sips his second unsweetened iced tea, “I’m not saying I am your father, and I’m not saying I’m not your father. It’s just that, well, we need to confirm things. I hope you understand.” I nod. “And then, say I am your father—then what? What is it you want?”

  “I don’t know,” I begin to falter as I pick apart a piece of bread. “I just wanted to meet you.”

  “What about your mother?” His eyes narrow. “What is she after?”

  “She isn’t after anything,” I say.

  “So let me make sure I have all the facts. You think I’m your father because of one old photo.” I nod. “And you just wanted to meet me.” I keep nodding. “And your mother didn’t put you up to this.” I feel like a bobblehead doll.

  Our salads arrive, but I’m not hungry. As Gary munches on a tomato, his eyes go back and forth between me and his Blackberry. “Well,” he says out of nowhere, “Daniel Jones’s documentary was brilliant. You have a strong screen presence, are you aware of that?”

  I switch out of bobblehead mode and shake my head no. “You saw the documentary?” I croak.

  “I was supposed to meet you there, remember? But you stood me up.” For a split second he looks scary. Then Gary puts on a smile. “Anyway, the camera loves you. Like in that one scene where you slowed down so that fat boy wouldn’t be last during P. E. That was a tearjerker. He wanted to quit, but you wouldn’t let him. You even let him beat you.”

  Hollywood got that on film?

  “Or the scene where that little weird kid, the one who talks a lot, is dumped in the trash can and gets stuck, and you pull him out and give him that pep talk. You come off sounding like a teenage Oprah. Excellent stuff. The film had pacing, pathos, emotion, and at the center of it all was you.

  “By the end when you decide to look for me, I was bawling like a baby. You connect with the camera. Do you know how many actors would kill for that?”

  Why is he talking about the documentary? The camera? Why isn’t he talking about us? The swordfish arrives. Gary doesn’t seem to notice that I don’t touch my food. He’s too busy telling me about me and I’m too stunned to say anything. I’m sitting across from my father. I check to see if there’s any resemblance. We do have the same green-grayish eyes. His left ear sticks out a little. So does mine.

  I tune in to hear Gary still talking. “. . . that one scene where Daniel does the quick cuts of your different hair colors? Brilliant. The many shades of Maybe. Love it. It’s your signature. And then when you’re angry about your mother. Compelling. So compelling. By the way, what’s with the scarf?” he asks, motioning to my head.

  “Why didn’t you stay?” I blurt out.

  Gary shakes his head like I’ve snapped him out of a dream. “What? For the film? I saw the whole thing.”

  “No, in Florida,” I say. “With my mother.”

  For the first time he looks uncomfortable. “We were just having fun. Nothing serious. Besides, Chess always knew I’d be leaving. She told me she had a miscarriage. If she had let me know she was still pregnant, I would have done right by her.”

  “You would have married her?” For a moment I imagine the three of us—Gary, me, and my mom—sitting in The Ivy having lunch.

  He slowly shakes his head. “Noooo, that’s not what I said.”

  “But you said . . .”

  Then it dawns on me. I feel so stupid. I look down at my napkin. “Do you have other kids?” I mumble.

  Gary signals the waiter for more iced tea. “I don’t want to get into personal stuff.” He points at my plate. “You haven’t touched your lunch. You’re not anorexic, are you? So many of the girls are these days. It’s not attractive. All these eating disorders—why do girls do that? I don’t get it.”

  I pretend to be interested in my food. He doesn’t want to get personal? This man just told me he wished I had been aborted, and he doesn’t want to get personal?

  “What does your mother think about you trying to find me?”

  “She doesn’t know I’m doing this. I’m just here on ... on vacation. I’m staying with my stepdad.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t put you up to this?”

  My jaw tenses. “I’m sure.”

  We eat in awkward silence until Gary says, “Maybelline, you need to take a DNA test.”

  I feel my face burn red, like it’s just been slapped. “I just wanted to meet you,” I stammer. “And now that I have, we don’t ever need to do this again. In fact, we can pretend this never happened.”

  It’s like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. Gary takes a small white envelope out of his briefcase. “It’s prepaid. Just fill out the form, give them some saliva samples, and we’ll be sure. You can even mail it. Simple, right? When you get the results, call me at the office.” He hands me his business card.

  I shove the test and his card into my purse.

  The waiter brings a dessert tray. “Lemon cake?” Gary asks. I shake my head. I can’t wait for lunch to be over. As he orders cake and coffee for both of us, I note that his hair is thick and wavy. Mine’s more like my mom’s.

  “Tell me about you and my mother,” I ask. My voice sounds flat.

  “Honestly, I hardly remember her.” He drinks his coffee black. Chessy and I both use lots of cream and Sweet’ Low. “It was a lifetime ago.”

  “I know. It was my lifetime.”

  “Huh? Oh, right. Well, she really wanted to be a star. That’s why she called me. I was a Hollywood talent scout back then. Chess said she was Miss Florida and her talent was exceptional. So I set up an audition and she did her act from the pageant.”

  “What was her talent?” In all the years of talking about beauty pageants, Chessy’s never told me about her talent.

  “She had a magic act and claimed she could make things disappear.”

  “Could she?”

  He laughs. “No. It was so obvious she was faking it, but Chess was so damn pretty it distracted from her lack of talent. So we had some fun, and then it was over.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yeah. Just like that.”

  “So my mom really wanted to be a star?”


  “Sure. Her dream was to conquer Hollywood.”

  And she ended up running a charm school in Kissimmee, Florida.

  “She had big plans,” he says.

  But instead she had me.

  “Why didn’t you make her a star? You could have, right?”

  Gary takes a sip of coffee, then leans back in his chair. “She wasn’t good enough.”

  “Not good enough?” I ask dryly. “Good enough for what? Good enough for you? She was good enough for you to sleep with!”

  “Whoa, whoa, Maybelline, baby. I’m sensing some issues here.”

  “I’m not your baby.”

  Gary’s eyes narrow and his voice hardens. “I never said you were.”

  I’ve heard enough. I rise and push past the beautiful people to get to the door. Gary chases me. “Maybe, stop! Wait up!”

  I’m outside but he’s still calling my name. I slow down. Maybe he’s reconsidered everything. Maybe he’s sorry. Maybe he wants to get to know me and be the father I’ve been looking for. I turn around and face him. The sun glares in my eyes and I can’t see straight. Gary is coming toward me with his arms outstretched.

  I hesitate. This can’t be happening, but it is, it really is. I laugh at how foolish I was. He was probably just testing me. I reach toward him, eager to feel his embrace after all these years. My father pulls me close. I can smell his cologne—some sort of spice. He presses something into my hands and whispers, “Listen, kid. I’m married. My wife and children mean the world to me and I’d never want to hurt them. Stay away, okay? If the DNA test says you’re mine, I’ll do right by you.”

  Then he’s gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Ted’s supposed to be here. Where is he? Where the hell is he? I run down the street, pushing past people, frantically looking around. Finally I spot him offering a candy cigarette to a couple of actress types. “Ted!”

  Ted is tiny, but he somehow manages to fold me into his arms and hug me tight until I stop shaking. “Maybe? Maybe, please,” he begs. “People are looking at me. I don’t need this unwanted attention. It could hurt my career as a mogul.”