by Wendy Wax
The woman glanced over her shoulder then back at Maddie. She cleared her throat and pursed her lips, which were painted an unforgiving red. “May I come in?”
Her voice was smooth but deep. Straight dark hair fell past her shoulders. She wore a black silk blouse belted over a black print pencil skirt. A designer handbag hung from one broad shoulder. All of the pieces said “woman,” but the clothes didn’t flatter her figure. And she would have benefited from a session or two of laser hair removal.
Madeline hesitated. She’d been half expecting this since the night they’d watched TV with Max. She suspected Kyra had too, though they’d both been careful not to talk about it. “What do you want?” Maddie asked, though she already knew.
The woman pulled open the screen door and Madeline noticed that although the stranger’s hands were soft, they were large and long-fingered. The nails, while manicured, were cut short and unpainted.
“Is Kyra here?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Maddie hedged. “Why don’t I take a message and then when I do see her I’ll give it to her?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder once more then turned back and craned her neck to see over Madeline’s shoulder, a not too difficult feat given the woman’s height. “Why don’t I just come in while you figure out whether she’s here or not.”
Madeline looked at the line of the stranger’s jaw and at the Adam’s apple that was roughly the size of Chicago. “I’m sorry,” she said again, wishing she could just pretend this was, in fact, some strange woman here to see Kyra. “But I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” She reached for the doorknob. “The house is full of workmen. And if she is here, she’s probably shooting.”
The piano music stopped and Maddie looked over. Max had both hands on the piano frame and was in the process of straightening. Even as she began to pull the door closed, she knew she was handling the situation poorly. Every instinct told her that allowing this “woman” into the house and their lives would be a colossal mistake, but not a single viable alternative presented itself.
“Sorry.” A high-heeled black sandal wedged into the door opening and the voice dropped several octaves as the woman stepped in. “But I can’t stand outside anymore. I don’t want anyone to see me.”
In the foyer the woman pulled off the sunglasses and stepped out of the sandals.
Maddie stood frozen, debating what to do.
The wig came off next and then one large hand plucked off a spidery false eyelash. Daniel Deranian smiled his trademark smile and scrubbed at his famous chin. “I’m in town filming a movie,” he said. “I came to meet my son.”
There was a loud crash upstairs as Maddie closed the front door. In the living room, Dustin started to cry.
Deranian turned toward the sound. “Is that Dustin?” He moved into the living room, his steps somewhat mincing due to the tightness of the pencil skirt.
“No. Wait,” Maddie said. “I really think we should wait until Kyra…”
But Deranian was already halfway across the living room and moving toward the portable playpen as quickly as the pencil skirt would allow. Maddie wasn’t sure if he hadn’t heard her “no,” or perhaps he was so unused to hearing the word that it simply didn’t register.
Daniel Deranian didn’t have Giraldi’s bulk or Chase Hardin’s height, but he was broad-shouldered and slim-hipped and the muscles he had were well defined. At forty he easily played mid-thirties heartthrobs. He’d even looked attractive as a woman. Wondering what the chances were of getting him out of the house before Kyra found out he was there, Maddie followed the movie star into the living room. Max stood in front of the playpen, arms crossed, attempting to prevent Deranian from getting too close to Dustin.
“Please step aside,” Deranian said. “That’s my son you’ve got there.”
“Is that right?” Max lowered his hands to the sides of the playpen. Maddie knew this was less of a protective gesture than it looked; more likely it was Max’s attempt to support his body weight. “You’re not exactly dressed like anybody’s father, are you?”
This was true. But even with Deranian half dressed as a woman, the resemblance between the actor and her grandson was impossible to miss.
Maddie was still debating her next move when Kyra swept into the room with Troy and Anthony close on her heels. “What’s wrong, little man?” she cooed. “Did Uncle Max tell you a bad joke?” Kyra reached down to scoop up the baby. “You know he’d do anything for you.”
Troy had his camera up on his shoulder and Maddie could tell he was shooting. The cameraman took a step back and swung his camera slowly to include Deranian in the shot. Surprised by the movement, Kyra looked up and spotted the man she’d once believed would come sweep her and their child up into a Hollywood version of happily ever after.
Maddie watched, her heart pounding, as Kyra registered his presence. She couldn’t tell if Kyra had been imagining this meeting ever since she’d discovered the actor was in Miami, but Kyra’s surprise seemed infused with both tension and satisfaction.
“He looks just like me,” the actor said quietly as he stared at his son in Kyra’s arms. “I couldn’t tell from the photograph you sent, but he has my father’s chin.”
Troy’s fingers moved on the camera. Even Maddie, who knew only what Kyra had shared with her about filmmaking, knew he was probably going in for a close-up. Or was he framing a shot of father and son that would confirm that the baby and the movie star had not only the same chin but the same dark eyes, curly hair, and golden-brown skin?
“No.” Deranian put a hand in front of the camera lens. “You can’t do that. You’ll have all the people I gave the slip to piled up outside.”
Troy didn’t lower the camera. Maddie suspected the threat of intense coverage didn’t sound particularly negative to the young cameraman, who could probably make a fortune with what little he’d already shot. Not to mention how happy he’d make Lisa Hogan with all the extra publicity.
“Put it down, Troy,” Kyra said. And when nothing happened. “Please.”
Slowly, Troy lowered the camera.
“Please turn it off,” Kyra said. “We don’t want some shot of Daniel in that skirt being cut together with stray audio and somehow finding its way onto the Internet or anything.”
“Who would do that?” Troy asked.
“I’ve done the equivalent,” Kyra said. “To my own mother. And to Avery and Nicole.” She looked from Daniel to Troy and back again, her grasp on Dustin tight. “Believe me, I know how tempting this is for you,” she said to the cameraman, her animosity temporarily gone.
“I’m wearing a dress,” Deranian said. “Not really great for the image.”
“Yeah, I noticed that right off,” Troy replied. “But I’m not all that worried about your image.” His gaze slid over Dustin, who’d slipped a thumb into his mouth. He turned the camera off.
“A lot of the ‘he-man’ actors in Hollywood in my day were also fagalas,” Max said. “That’s Yiddish for—”
“We know, Max,” Kyra said while Maddie bit back a smile, relieved that disaster had been at least temporarily averted. “But Daniel’s not gay. He’s in disguise.”
“Are you sure?” Max asked. “He fills that skirt out pretty good.”
Troy snorted. “I’ll say. Did Tonja pick it out for you? Or is it hers? It’s not every man who can fit into his wife’s clothes.”
Deranian put his hands on his skirt-clad hips. Certainly from a distance he would have looked female enough to fool a pack of photographers. If it weren’t for the light five o’clock shadow and the erratic shaving job on his legs, he might have passed for Dustin’s mother.
“That’s enough,” Kyra said to Troy. “More than enough.”
Maddie read disagreement in the cameraman’s eyes. And something that resembled disappointment. The room pulsed with conflicting emotions and flagrant uncertainty. Even Deranian seemed slightly unsure of how to proceed.
“Max,” Maddie said.
“This is Daniel Deranian, Dustin’s father. He’s an actor. Daniel, this is Max Golden. He’s a comedian.”
“No kidding,” Deranian said.
“No, she means that literally,” Kyra said. “Max is a pretty well-known comedian. He ran with the Rat Pack back in the day.”
“So this one’s married to someone else, but he’s Dustin’s father?” Max asked.
“Yep,” Troy said. “The guy has a bit of a problem keeping his pants zipped.”
“Oy, gevalt,” Max said, looking back and forth between father and son. “Did you know about this, Madeline?”
“Yes,” Madeline said, unaccountably embarrassed.
“The whole world knows about this, Max,” Troy said. “I think you must have missed a couple of episodes of Entertainment Tonight and Celebrity Roundup along the way.”
Daniel Deranian cocked his head to study the cameraman. “What’s going on here? Have you got the hots for her too?”
Troy’s gaze narrowed and Maddie couldn’t help thinking of white and dark knights squaring off to do battle over the damsel, even as they contributed to that damsel’s distress. Deranian’s taunt had been disturbingly present tense.
“Me-me-me-mex.” Now that he was in his mother’s arms and the center of attention, Dustin seemed perfectly content.
“What are you really doing here, Deranian?” the cameraman asked. “You and your wife have a houseful of children. What do you care about this one?”
“That’s definitely enough,” Kyra said, staring at Troy. “Could you leave us alone for a few minutes?”
Troy shook his head in disgust. “Please tell me he’s not going to show up and snap his fingers and—”
Dustin buried his face in his mother’s neck. Kyra jiggled him gently in her arms then began the new-mother sway. Deranian’s attention remained fixed on her and the baby.
“That is enough,” Deranian said, turning to the cameraman, the voice suddenly packed with menace. As if someone had flipped a switch or given a cue on a film set.
“Fine.” Troy shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. “I guess some people don’t know how to learn from their mistakes.” He looked at Max and lowered his voice. “Come on, Max. I want to get some shots of you out front and puttering around the Caddy. I have an idea for a promo.”
“Okay.” Max turned to Deranian. “You be nice to Kyra and Dustin. They’re living in my home and they’re under my protection.”
“Yes, sir.” Deranian stopped just shy of rolling his eyes. They all watched the cameraman and the old man walk slowly away. The actor looked to Maddie.
“Maybe I should go make a, um, grocery list,” Maddie said, though she’d done that earlier. It was clear Deranian didn’t want her around.
“No, Mom,” Kyra said. “I’d like you to stay.” She smoothed a hand down over Dustin’s cap of dark curls to hold him against her. “Wouldn’t you like to know what he’s doing here?”
Kyra turned to the actor. “I’m pretty sure the agreement I signed indicated you didn’t really want anything to do with Dustin.” Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “You have other children. And clearly you’ve had lots of other women before, during and after me. What are you doing here in that getup?”
“Honestly?” he asked, as if he were prepared to answer the question in any number of ways.
“If you have the ability to tell the truth, then yes, that’s what I’d like to hear,” Kyra replied.
Maddie stood stock-still, barely able to breathe, but neither Kyra nor Deranian seemed concerned about her presence. In fact, they were so focused on each other that Maddie suspected they’d already forgotten she was there.
“Okay then.” Deranian dragged a hand through his unruly hair then massaged his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “I’m here because we both happen to be in town at the same time. And…” His voice trailed off and Maddie could see from Kyra’s face that if that was the best he could do, he was about to be shown to the door. Which would mean Maddie could start breathing again.
Kyra settled Dustin on her other hip. “If this is only about geography, I guess we’re done. You’ve seen Dustin.” Her chin jutted out. Maddie could practically feel her holding back tears. “Now you can go back to your wife and your other children.”
But Deranian didn’t leave. He moved closer to Kyra. Gently, he reached out for the baby. “I do have other children,” he said. “And it’s true—you’re not the only woman I’ve gotten pregnant.” He put out a finger and Dustin grasped it with his tiny hand. “But as far as I know, Dustin is my only biological son.”
Chapter Fourteen
Maddie placed the head of lettuce on the cutting board and slashed the knife down through it, hacking it into bits. A green pepper met the same fate. It was only when she reached the tomato, which was too soft to be hacked into anything but a messy pulp, that she found enough control to stop her attack on the helpless vegetables.
She’d stood in shocked silence as Kyra absorbed Deranian’s pronouncement, silently cheering when her daughter demanded to know if that meant he would not have wanted to see their child if that child had been a girl. Madeline had slipped out of the room in the middle of Deranian’s earnest assurances that this was not the case. But the man was an actor—a good one. Portraying sincerity and deep feeling were hardly a stretch for him; they were part of his stock-in-trade.
She’d been “assembling” a salad since she’d left Kyra and Deranian and her grandson together in Max’s living room, hoping that if she kept her hands busy enough she could get the celebrity’s visit and its implications out of her mind.
Deranian stayed for thirty minutes. As soon as he left, Kyra had loaded Dustin into his stroller and taken off to the park. She didn’t invite Madeline to join her or say when they’d be back. Even more telling, she’d left her video camera behind.
From the refrigerator, Maddie pulled mushrooms and onions and minced them within an inch of their lives. If she’d had any confidence that she could breach their current awkwardness, she would have called Steve to discuss Deranian’s reappearance. Instead she kept herself busy. Perhaps when she’d assembled the salad, she’d go up and wipe down the furniture on the deck. Or polish the furniture. She was far too worked up to even consider sitting still.
A car pulled up outside and the kitchen door opened behind her. Deirdre appeared, her arms full of swatches and design books. A sketchbook balanced on top of a large hexagonal tile. She’d tucked the lot of it beneath her chin.
“Good grief,” she said as she deposited everything in a heap on the kitchen table. “I miss my assistant.” She pulled out a tape measure and a yellow pad and began taking and jotting down measurements. A few minutes later she began to pull wood and tile samples and a variety of catalogs from her bag.
“Do you have a minute to look at these?” Deirdre asked after she’d arranged the samples and several catalogs on the counter.
“Sure,” Maddie said, relieved to have something, anything, besides Kyra and Dustin and his movie-star father to think about.
“I’m thinking these cabinets in a sand-colored enamel.” Deirdre pointed to a photo of a bank of contemporary cabinets with an almost patent-leather-look finish. “And these tiles in shades of blue for a wavelike backsplash.”
“Cool,” Maddie said, meaning it.
“This will go over the sink.” She pointed to a light fixture shaped like a beach ball and suspended on a shiny chrome rod. “And this”—she flipped several pages to a rectangle of chrome with a mass of bubble-shaped lights hanging from it—“will go over the banquette.”
“I love it,” Maddie said.
“And the pièce de résistance…” Deirdre held up two blocks of wood. “High-gloss teak for the countertops, like you’d see on the deck of a boat.”
“Wow,” Maddie said. “The whole nautical thing is perfect for this house. What does Avery think?”
“I don’t know.” Deirdre looked down at the samples and sketches, her tone glum. “I ha
ven’t really had a chance to sit down with her. Frankly, I’m a little worried that she’ll automatically reject it just because it’s my idea.”
Deirdre went to the refrigerator, pulled out an opened bottle of Chardonnay, and without asking poured them each a glass. “Here,” she said. “You look like you need this as much as I do.”
Maddie took a sip of wine, trying to focus on the feel of the cool liquid sliding down her throat. She had to look pretty freaked out if Deirdre noticed anything but her own concerns. Still, she was glad when Deirdre didn’t press for details. She’d thought the threat of Daniel Deranian had been dealt with and resolved when Kyra rejected the “opportunity” to be his mistress, but here he was again. She couldn’t seem to push the picture of the actor sitting next to Kyra and holding their baby out of her mind.
“I think I need another lesson,” Deirdre said, pulling Maddie back to the present. “I don’t feel like I’ve made any inroads with Avery at all.” She took a long drink then pushed the samples away. “I want to do something special for her, but I don’t seem to know what that is. I mean I spent a lot of time finding enough artificial-cheese-snack products to fill a tray and all she said was that Cheez Doodles taste better out of the bag. She won’t even accept a snack from me.”
Deirdre drew in a breath then expelled it. “And this weekend? She wouldn’t even give me the satisfaction of giving her and Chase our room, though Lord knows I think we can all tell they needed one.”
Maddie drained her wineglass and held it out for more. So far the alcohol didn’t seem to be helping, but she was determined to keep trying. She was not a Deirdre Morgan fan, but it seemed that grown daughters made for strange bedfellows.
“You can’t give up after one attempt,” Maddie said. “One Cheez Doodle tray is not going to make up for deserting Avery and her father. The important thing is that you keep trying and that you stay as consistent as possible. Like when they’re teenagers and hormonal and you are the emotional punching bag. You don’t fold up your tent and slink away just because they’re suddenly looking at you like you’re dumber than dirt. You let them know that it’s not okay to treat you that way, but at the same time you don’t withdraw your love or your support.”
