Beautiful Mess

by Herrick, John

  With Del on rinsing duty, he handed each item to Nora, who arranged them all in the dishwasher.

  “Tristan comes across as a pleasant individual. How’d you meet him?”

  “Pure chance. We crossed paths at this coffee place we both go to. He didn’t know who I was until after we started chatting.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I can read people by now.”

  Del nodded, his due diligence as her self-appointed guardian done. “Long-term possibilities with him, perhaps?”

  “It’s still early.” Nora turned to him, pursed her lips, the hint of a grin forming as she narrowed her eyes. “Del Corwyn, are you looking out for me?”

  “Somebody needs to.” He raised his hands in innocent surrender. “Besides, you named me your Oscar date. I have certain duties.”

  “You’re adorable. Thank you.” And with that, she gave him a peck on the cheek. “As long as we’re prying into each other’s lives, Felicia seems nice.”

  Sunshine burst in his chest. “We get along.”

  From the way she planted her hands on her hips, he could tell Nora didn’t buy his casual response. “Oh, please! You invited me to meet her. You must be interested in her beyond the—” Her jaw dropped. Nora gasped. “You’re falling in love with her, aren’t you!”

  “Shh!” Del darted his attention to the kitchen entrance to make sure no one had walked in.

  Nora lodged her tongue against her cheek and savored her victory as a sleuth. “That happened fast. How many times have you taken her out?”

  “I don’t know if you’d call them dates, per se.”

  “Fine,” Nora said, altering her voice to a joshing tone. “How long have you two been ’per se-ing’ each other?”

  “A while, here and there.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Del decided to change the subject before she got him to admit anything he’d regret. Nora was smart. He didn’t want her to figure out anything else before he had a chance to do it himself.

  “I’ve been following the buzz on your nomination,” he said. “It sounds good.”

  Nora turned toward the sink. Whatever humor she had shown in the last few minutes evaporated. Was it something he said?

  “You’re right about that. Lots of attention.”

  “And you’re no longer thrilled with that achievement?”

  “Winning would be a dream come true,” she said. “It all comes with a price, though. Doesn’t it?”

  “Everything worth its weight in gold comes with a price to pay, including those little golden statues. It’s worth it though, wouldn’t you say?”

  Del noticed hesitation in her response.

  “I’m still thinking about that photo,” she replied.

  So that was what bothered her. Not that he could blame her. “Online? The one you mentioned the other night?”

  “I don’t even remember the guy’s name,” Nora snorted, her humiliation obvious. “Isn’t that absurd?”

  “We’ve all made our share of missteps. You can’t see into the future, but you do the best you can.”

  Nora gestured toward the patio. “Does Felicia know about the picture?”

  “Yes, I think she does.”

  With a laugh, Nora covered her face with one hand. “A minister. Lovely. I’m sure that made a great first impression.”

  “I don’t think she judges you, Nora. If she judged people by every action they’ve taken in their lives, do you think she’d be having dinner at my house?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She exhaled long and slow, rubbing her thumb along the clear polish she’d applied to her fingernails. “This type of thing didn’t happen when you were my age, did it?”

  “On the contrary, it happened to someone I knew. A photo resurfaced, a regret that lay hidden in her past—or so she thought.”

  Nora furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you talking about Marilyn Monroe?”

  “Yeah.”

  Nora nodded in resignation. “So at least I’m in good company, right?”

  “Not that it erases your regrets.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She stared into his eyes, a sad, pleading look. “Tell me this will go away, Del.”

  “It’ll blow over. Give it time. It’s part of the game, albeit an ugly part. You and I love what we do, but it’s not always the life of champagne some people believe it to be.”

  Del regarded her again. Why did he get the sense the viral photo wasn’t the only thing that tormented her? He suspected something else lurked beneath Nora’s melancholy. He wanted to ask but couldn’t find an appropriate opening.

  Del’s mind bounced back to Tristan’s description of his career. It struck him as rather vague. “So this new guy, Tristan—he’s an entrepreneur online? What does that involve?”

  “Could be anything.”

  “He didn’t go into detail?”

  “No. Then again, I haven’t asked much about it. As long as it isn’t online porn, I think I’m okay with it.”

  Del made a mental note to prod Tristan for more details.

  Nora turned off the faucet and shook the water from her hands. Del must not have hidden his curiosity well, because she examined him as if she found humor in his questions.

  “Lots of people start businesses online these days, Del. Even wellness coaches.”

  “Wellness coaches?”

  “Yeah, who knew, right?”

  “Where did that come from?”

  Nora bit her lower lip, as though tentative on whether she should say more. “Don’t breathe a word about this, okay? I’ve been talking to a wellness coach. Anonymously.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to get some things off my chest.”

  “But how do you manage to stay anonymous?”

  “It’s entirely online.”

  “You’ve never laid eyes on this coach in person?”

  “Nope, and he’s never laid eyes on me, either.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

  “I didn’t realize wellness coaches could conduct business exclusively online.”

  “Apparently, this one does. And it’s helping.”

  She couldn’t be serious. Del held his tongue, not wanting to make the young woman feel bad. But who the hell can give quality advice to someone they’ve never met? Then again, Dear Abby made a career out of it.

  Nora crossed her arms. “You’re suspicious.”

  “I wouldn’t say that…”

  She burst forth with a staccato laugh. “You’re totally suspicious! Tell you what…” With a roll of her eyes, she pulled her phone from her pocket. Her thumbs went into motion.

  “What are you doing now?” Del’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

  “I texted you a link to the guy’s website. One day, maybe it’ll come in handy for you, too.”

  Yeah, right.

  CHAPTER 47

  LATER THAT EVENING, Del led Felicia to his front porch. For a moment, they lingered in the breeze, peering into each other’s eyes. A full moon glowed overhead, its light lending an angelic luster to Felicia’s skin.

  With his forefinger, he swiped a strand of hair from her face, to which she responded by leaning toward him. The depths of her eyes invited him to meet her halfway. So, with the softest kiss he could muster, Del bid her goodnight.

  The moment ended on the same subdued note on which it began. Before Del knew it—and, in his opinion, all too soon—their lips parted.

  As Felicia searched her purse for her keys, a pang pricked Del’s heart. He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  “Wait,” he murmured. “Please, Felicia.”

  Call it romance, call it the full moon, but he felt giddy. He felt young again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Please don’t go. I don’t want you to go.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

  “That would be impossible,” he whispered, draw
ing her near, placing another delicate kiss on her upper lip. From the way she peered into his eyes, he knew the romantic mood still lingered for them both. “Please stay.”

  She uttered a sympathetic groan. “Del—”

  “Spend the night with me, Felicia.”

  She shook her head. Her keys jingled in her hand, but she kept her eyes on his.

  With a shrug, she replied, “I can’t.”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  “It’s not a matter of desire. It’s just—I’m a minister, Del.”

  “Ministers don’t long for company?”

  “Of course they do.”

  He let forth a soft, sexy chortle and embraced her. “Then stay.”

  “That’s not who I am, Del.”

  “But we find each other attractive, don’t we? On the inside and the outside.”

  “Yes, we do, but—”

  “We’re both carefree individuals. You can’t tell me there wasn’t a time when you would have allowed yourself one night with a man you found attractive.”

  Felicia searched his face, and in her stare, Del noticed an expression halfway between pity and desire. Compassion, perhaps?

  “That was so long ago, Del. I’ve changed since I was young.”

  He paused a beat. Then his heart sank.

  “So the answer is truly no? I can’t change your mind?”

  Her eyelids fluttered once and she teased his lower lip with her forefinger. “I’m sorry.”

  Del nodded. Granted, he’d hoped for a different outcome, but he realized this wasn’t rejection. Her boundaries were different than his. He could accept that. He could even appreciate it.

  “You’ll need to excuse me, Felicia. I didn’t intend the invite as disrespectful.”

  She smiled. “I know you didn’t.”

  “I’m an old man stuck in his ways.”

  She responded with a laugh.

  “You’re the youngest man I know.” Then, with a little peck to his cheek, she added, “Change isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

  “It’s difficult.” He sighed, teasing her with a pitiful look. “I’m not accustomed to being told no, you know.”

  “You might find gratification exists when you meet somebody halfway,” she winked. “Goodnight, Del.”

  “Goodnight,” he whispered, giving her upper arms a playful squeeze.

  And with that, she turned and meandered to her car, the full moon casting a glow upon the driveway to illuminate her path. Another moment passed, and she stepped outside the light of the moon, her body a silhouette treading upon shadows. An angel in the night.

  Del felt as though he were in high school again, discovering love for the first time.

  Then again, maybe he was.

  CHAPTER 48

  WHEN FELICIA WOUND her car out of his driveway, Del retreated into his house, his youth intact, but tired nonetheless. Tonight, he’d added to his collection of cherished memories in this home.

  Upon reaching the top of the staircase, he padded down the hallway and into his bedroom. On his way to the master bathroom to brush his teeth, he stopped. Opening a dresser drawer filled with T-shirts, he reached in, dug beneath one stack, and retrieved Marilyn’s screenplay, the photocopy he kept at home. He breathed in its scent. It still smelled like fresh toner. Unlike the original, this duplicate was crisp, as if Marilyn had handed it to him that week, though the reproduction made the typed text appear blotted and fuzzy.

  Del ran his fingertips across the title on the cover page, then returned the treasure to the drawer, a hiding place discreet yet accessible. Much simpler than punching in a security code on his safe downstairs. Why he felt the need to hide the script in his own home, he had no idea, but one could never be too careful with these things.

  As he brushed his teeth, he thought back to one afternoon in 1962. Late January in Los Angeles, a day much like today. Del was in his early twenties, not much younger than Nora. Marilyn was thirty-five years old—not even middle age, yet by that point, she had endured so much. Far more than many individuals bear in their entire lives. She seldom talked to him of her childhood, but on that particular day, she had felt drawn to Del and opened up about facets of it.

  Marilyn Monroe’s insecurities lay not just in her fame and the challenges that accompanied it, but more than that, in her unsettled childhood.

  She never met her father. In fact, though theories abounded, his identity remained a mystery to her. According to her birth certificate, her father was Edward Mortenson, her mother’s second husband. However, because the spouses separated shortly after Marilyn was conceived, circumstances called the man’s paternity into question. Marilyn even had a half-sister, a relative of whom Marilyn was unaware until Marilyn herself turned twelve years old.

  Marilyn’s mother, Gladys, cut negatives at Columbia Pictures and suffered from paranoid schizophrenia.

  On that afternoon in 1962, Marilyn confided in Del the troubles Gladys had endured. She also spoke well of Albert and Ida Bolender, her first foster parents, who cared for Marilyn during her earliest years. The Bolenders, who were evangelical Christians, also planted seeds of spirituality in the young girl’s life.

  After several years, Grace Goddard, who was like an aunt and had taken Marilyn under her wing, became her legal guardian. They lived together off and on, as Marilyn bounced between stints at Grace’s home and the local orphanage. She and Grace lived in places where other lodgers lived.

  One of those lodgers, according to Marilyn, sexually abused her when she was eight years old.

  To this day, Del couldn’t help but shake his head in dismay.

  Not knowing her father. Prolonged absences from, and minimal contact with, her mother. No place she could dare call home, because she never knew how long her residence would last.

  What pain and emptiness, Del wondered, had such instability and rejection wrought in the little girl’s life?

  * * *

  “I’ve found my Jesus,” she said.

  The remark took young Del off guard. “You’ve gone to church?”

  She giggled. “No, silly. I’m talking about Dr. Greenson. He’s my psychiatrist, and I adore him. I call him my Jesus.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he gives me what I need. He listens to me and helps me. He affirms that I’m worthy. I tell him my concerns, and he reassures me that everything will be all right. I feel so much better after I’ve spent time with him. So that’s what he is to me: my Jesus. He’s my savior, who helps me not to be afraid.”

  “Why do you need a psychiatrist?”

  She peered at him in a maternal manner, a mother indulging a child’s questions.

  “It’s not a bad thing, is it? We’re all a bit messy, wouldn’t you say?”

  Del didn’t reply. She had confided in him about her childhood. From her description, Del knew they had come of age in two different worlds. She had seen so much more than he. Compared to Marilyn, Del was a mere child.

  Marilyn regarded him. “You don’t have a motive, do you?” she said, an observation rather than a question.

  “A motive?”

  “You know—when people believe they can get something out of you.” She paused, examined his eyes, and gave his expression a deep, probing stare. “No, you’re an innocent young man. A kind young man. There’s so little kindness in the world, wouldn’t you say?” She looked away, the pain evident in the way she wrapped her arms around herself in an embrace. “People can be so cruel sometimes. But you—I can trust you, can’t I?”

  “Of course you can.” Young Del sat awestruck by this stunning beauty, a woman he’d grown to love.

  Marilyn smiled, an intimate grin. She placed a soft kiss upon her fingertips, then placed them upon Del’s lips. He buzzed with delight.

  “There now, that’s better,” she said with satisfaction. “Something for my handsome young man. My handsome, genuine young man.”

  CHAPTER 49

  SEVENTEEN YEARS HAD PASSED since Del rece
ived his last invitation to a party following a film premiere. But tonight, the powers-that-be had requested his presence in celebration of Clint Eastwood’s latest film.

  What a difference one week in the news can make.

  Last month, he could stroll along Hollywood Boulevard and not a single soul recognized him. Tonight, however, as soon as he entered the soiree, actors, actresses and studio executives of all ages recognized him at first sight.

  Del Corwyn was, once again, a hot property in Hollywood.

  Music from an R & B artist lent the party a chic tone. As a server passed, Del lifted a glass of champagne from his tray, took an initial sip, and savored the bubbles that tickled his throat. The film’s leading man hosted this party at his home, so compared to the industry’s larger events, this evening’s gathering had turned out intimate. And like a dumbass, Del had worn his tuxedo, while everyone else had dressed in a manner much less conventional. Perhaps formalities had shifted since his heyday, as well. Yet no one seemed to notice his error. In fact, Del swore his attire fed into his classic Hollywood image, the same aura that enshrouded his current ticket to prominence, the Marilyn Monroe script.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted two young actresses sipping drinks and casting gazes of intrigue in his direction. They looked barely old enough to drink. Del sensed they were checking him out, which reinforced his belief that he had aged at a pace worthy of Dick Clark. Del raised his glass toward the young starlets to indicate hello, then sauntered in the opposite direction.

  “Del Corwyn! My guy!”

  A rugged, raspy voice, followed by a hearty pat on the shoulder. Del turned to find Clint Eastwood reaching forward to shake his hand. The legend’s countenance communicated confidence. His gray hair crackled and a fiery glint fueled his badass grin. Del admired the man’s stamina. Not only did Clint possess the Midas touch, turning everything he directed to gold, but he had a reputation as one of the kindest gentlemen in Hollywood.

  “Clint, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

  “Not since—oh, you’ll have to forgive me,” the legend said with a gruff chuckle, “I lose track of these things.”