by Carsen Taite
A dust bowl signaled the arrival of Joey and the Vette. Greer almost laughed at the kid-in-a-candy-shop expression on Joey’s face as the car barreled into the parking lot. It was a slick car. Greer traded keys with him and forced herself to drive at a regular clip the additional distance to the medical offices at St. Vincent’s Hospital. The last thing she needed was to draw more attention to herself by burning up the roadway.
Even at a slow pace, she quickly found the right building. Greer consulted the slip of paper Drew had given her and negotiated her way to the appropriate suite. Clayton wasn’t in the waiting room, so she approached the glass window and waited for the receptionist to finish her phone conversation.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to pick up my uncle. Clayton Lancer.”
“And you are?” The question was delivered in a kind tone, but the implication was clear. This battle ax manning the desk wasn’t going to acknowledge Clayton was a patient without addtional intel on the stranger standing at her counter. Greer fished her memory for what Drew had told her so she could have something to offer besides her name.
“My aunt, Ellen, was supposed to be here, but she’s stuck at the ranch waiting on the plumber.” Or was it an electrician? “Anyway, I wasn’t doing anything so I told her I’d pick him up.”
“Usually Ellen or Drew are here with Mr. Lancer.”
Greer’s patience waned. At least she knew she was in the right place. “Well, I’m here now. I’d like to get my uncle, if that’s okay with you.”
She didn’t waver. “Tell me your name again?” Her half-smile didn’t hide the steel resolve behind it. No way was Greer getting through the magic gate without a revelation.
“You want to know my name so badly? I’ll tell you my name.” Greer resorted to behavior she could count on to get her what she needed. Her eyes swept the table in the middle of the room till she found what she was looking for. She stalked over, snatched a magazine, and stomped back to the window. She shook the well worn issue of People magazine in the gatekeeper’s face. “I’m Greer Davis!” She shoved the magazine through the open window and tossed it on the receptionist’s desk. “Here’s my I.D.!”
The woman’s face froze. Greer couldn’t tell if she was paralyzed by the announcement or the delivery, but Greer didn’t stick around to find out since she spotted her uncle making his way slowly through the magic gate. Greer cast a withering glance at the receptionist and hurried over to him. The cheery nurse standing with him was the polar opposite of crotchety gatekeeper.
“Hi, hon, you’re right on time.” The nurse handed Greer a sturdy canvas bag. “Here’s his bag. Today was a bit of a nasty day. He’ll be glad to have your help. Let us know if he has any unexpected symptoms.” She smiled at Clayton. “See you Wednesday, Clayton.”
Greer took the bag and slid her free arm around her uncle’s waist, her thoughts cascading. When did he get so thin? How am I supposed to know what an unexpected symptom is when I don’t even know what symptoms to expect? If this is treatment, then why does he look so terrible? What the hell are they doing to him?
“Greer?” Clayton sagged against her.
She shook herself and channeled her energy on getting them away from the watchful eyes of the gatekeeper and the curious onlookers in the waiting room. When they reached the parking lot, Greer realized Clayton would have to practically sit on the ground to get into the Corvette. I should’ve kept Joey’s car.
The feel of the road didn’t interfere with Clayton’s drowsiness. Greer was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. She had hoped to use the time it took to drive back to the ranch to mend at least one of the relationships in her life. Uncle Clayton was her rock. When Aunt Ellen worried about the out-of-control teenager Greer had been, he could be counted on to intervene and play down Greer’s boundary-testing ways. He had calmly accepted every detail of her life from poor report cards to tabloid headlines with nothing more than a shrug, as if he knew none of those outward judgments defined the Greer Davis he knew. His question about whether she had been involved with Macy Rivers was out of character with his live-and-let-live outlook. It meant he believed at least some of what he had read. Greer knew it was a slippery slope from there. Soon, he’d start to think she needed a trip to the Betty Ford Clinic, celibacy, and to be taken down a few notches by the public who supported her lavish lifestyle.
“I love you, Greer.”
Startled, Greer nearly drove into a ditch. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I wasn’t. Just tired. And weak.”
“Sorry the car is so rough.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be?”
Greer managed a grin. “Yep.”
“Then what’re sorry for?”
Greer gave the question more weight than it called for. “A lot. I’m sorry for a lot.”
“Don’t be.” He shifted in the seat. “I meant what I said, honey. I love you. Exactly the way you are.”
Tears pooled in Greer’s eyes. She knew he meant the words, but knew it was she who didn’t see the logic behind the emotion. She’d started down the slippery slope herself, doubting her own worth and redeeming value. Maybe she did need to step out of public life for a while, shed some of the fame and fortune she used to cloak her ability to be someone worthy of simple, pure love like the kind her uncle was offering now. The kind she wanted from someone like Ainsley. Could Ainsley ever see the person her uncle saw? How could she when Greer herself couldn’t?
“Clayton, you don’t look so good.”
He responded with a chuckle that quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Greer started to pull over, but he waved her back onto the road. “I don’t feel so good, but I’m getting used to it. It’s my own damn fault. All those cigars.” He coughed again. “Didn’t think it would happen to me.”
“How bad is it?”
“Not so bad.” Greer’s hope soared at his words, then crashed as he continued to speak. “But even if the treatment goes well, I probably only have a year or two. At the most.”
Greer couldn’t give a specific date to the last time she’d seen her uncle before this trip, but she’d always relied on him to be a constant in her life. She couldn’t digest a reality with him not in it. Her first impulse was to beat the dashboard with her fists and wail about the unfairness of it all, but a glance at the combination of fear and strength in his eyes made her realize her impulse was selfish. This was Clayton’s battle. Her wailing about the futility of the fight wasn’t going to help him survive. Greer seized on something positive she could do.
“I’ll make a few calls when we get back to the ranch. We can get you into the Mayo or the Cleveland Clinic. Aren’t those the top-of-the-line treatment centers in the world?” She didn’t pause for an answer. “I’ll charter a private jet. You’ll be perfectly comfortable during the trip. We’ll arrange for accommodations for Aunt Ellen, and I’ll hire someone to look after the ranch while you’re gone.” She finally stopped talking, pleased she’d covered all the details and ready to execute her plan.
Clayton merely shook his head.
“What?”
“Honey, I have good doctors. I’ve had second, even third opinions. Believe it or not, Drew reacted the same way when she learned my prognosis, so I’ve been shuffled around from doctor to doctor only to find out they all agree. This treatment will prolong my life, but it won’t save it. Nothing will.”
Greer wanted to argue, but the expression on her uncle’s face told her he was resigned to his fate and wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. She was surprised at how calmly he discussed certain death. She decided as long as he was willing to have a frank discussion about his prognosis, she would ask some pointed questions.
“What were you at the doctor’s for today?”
“I was having radiation treatment.”
“What does that involve?”
“They put me on a table, line up the emitter to tattoos on my chest, and blast the hell out of the cancer cells.”
“Burns. Not like a stove burn, but like sunburn. My skin’s all scratchy and cracked where the radiation stream hits it. Your aunt keeps trying out different lotions, but they never seem to help.” Greer could tell by his tone that he thought the application of lotion was another indignity he’d rather not suffer.
“I can tell you don’t feel well now. Is it because of the radiation?”
“Not really. I wasn’t feeling well when I got up this morning. I have good days and bad days. Today is not one of the good ones,” he said matter-of-factly.
“The nurse said you have to come back Wednesday. More radiation?”
“Chemo.”
“Both?”
“Yep.”
“For how long?”
“Wednesday’s the end of this round. Then they’ll check me out and see how I’m doing.” Clayton leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Greer decided to hold off on the dozen other questions she still wanted to ask and let him rest for the rest of the drive. She could Google what she needed to know as soon as they got back to the ranch.
*
Drew kept looking at her watch, and the not-so-subtle action drove Ainsley insane.
Ainsley was accustomed to handling the interview and selection process for the new GM herself, and Drew was not the type of manager she would have chosen. Despite their differences, she had to admit Drew had a lot of good qualities. The hotel wasn’t up to Steel standards, but it had been doing well enough for Frank to consider it a worthy acquisition. Her primary concern was that Drew wasn’t authoritative enough. The employees treated her like a buddy, not a boss, and as far as Ainsley was concerned, Drew’s chummy method of management kept her from achieving maximum effectiveness. On the other hand, a strong sense of loyalty permeated the staff. Ainsley had no doubt if Drew asked them to go above and beyond their regular duties, every one of them would comply.
And then there was the issue with her famous cousin. Ainsley found it interesting neither Drew nor anyone else at the hotel had mentioned the connection to Greer Davis. Especially since Greer’s name had achieved Britney Spears–like status over the past week. Today Drew made it perfectly clear she didn’t care for Greer, and Ainsley was dying to know why. Sure, she was mad at Greer herself, but she didn’t have the bonds of family to temper her anger. Ainsley almost laughed out loud. It wasn’t like she placed much stock in so-called family ties. Melanie had flown across the country, declaring her worry for Ainsley, and the only feeling Ainsley could conjure up in response was suspicion. Still, she was anxious to know what caused the obvious rift between Drew and Greer even as she refused to acknowledge the why behind her curiosity.
“Drew, do you have somewhere you need to be?”
“Would it make a difference if I did?”
Ainsley felt the daggers aimed her way. Catching a sharp look from Paul, she tempered her response. “We have a lot of data to review. It would help if your head was in it.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
Ainsley wondered how much the recent antics of her famous cousin factored into Drew’s preoccupation. She empathized, but she wasn’t in the mood to cut anyone any slack. “I understand, but we have a lot to do and I need you on board and fully plugged in.” Ignoring Paul’s cautioning stare, she continued. “Until we’re done with this process, I’m in charge and your position is largely dependent—”
“Ainsley,” Paul interrupted, “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Not now.”
He matched her commanding tone with his own. “It’s important. For a moment. Alone.” He spoke to Drew. “Could you give us a moment?”
Drew stalked out of the room and the moment the door closed behind her, Ainsley barked, “What are you thinking? She has absolutely no respect for me, and you’re not helping.”
“Have you tried to get to know anything about her?”
“Paul, we’re not here to make friends, we’re here to make a successful venture.”
“Maybe there are more paths to success than you’re willing to admit.” He raised his hand as she started to protest. “Hear me out. Maybe Drew is a little too chummy with the employees, but have you noticed how they do anything she asks? Granted, she may not ask them to do everything she could or should, but there’s potential there. Your method works for you, but you’re not staying around. Drew is. You’ve got to figure out a way to blend her style with yours to get the best result.”
Ainsley wasn’t used to being schooled in management styles. She had a style and it worked. Well, she made it work. She ran her own hotel with precision and control, and she had always assumed because the hotel was successful, her style was the right way. She was almost embarrassed to admit she had never considered other methods of achieving the same result. Although she wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t right, she knew Paul was a smart guy and decided to give his idea the benefit of the doubt.
“Suggestions about what I should do?”
He smiled, careful not to signal too much self-satisfaction. “You don’t have to become her best friend, but it wouldn’t hurt you to get to know your new GM.”
“You mean I need to know something other than she has a famous cousin?” Ainsley displayed a reluctant grin.
“Yeah, boss. A few more details couldn’t hurt.”
“I suppose I can give your way a shot.”
Paul nodded. “I’ll give you guys some space. I need to meet with the restaurant manager anyway.” He paused at the door before exiting. “Ain, trust me. This is a good idea.”
Ainsley tried for a smile. She was reluctant to admit the major reason for her concession was her desire to learn more about Drew’s cousin than about Drew herself. She didn’t have a clue as to why she was still obsessed with the mystique of Greer Davis. She, like everyone else in the world, had seen Greer’s name headlining music charts and tabloid rags for the past several years, but unlike adoring fans and gossipmongers, she had never given Greer’s personal life a second thought. But then Tray had entered her life and she was suckered in. Who was the real Greer Davis? Was she the cocky woman who lived a devil-may-care lifestyle or was she the sweet, adorable woman who had cuddled up next to her on the plane? Ainsley tried to reconcile the vastly divergent personas, but she was left with only a jumbled mixture of feelings swirling in her gut. A single cohesive thought emerged from the confusion. Greer Davis was bad news, and she planned to keep her distance.
Chapter Sixteen
Rick was sitting in the same seat Ainsley had occupied a few days ago and he was drooling his way through a slice of Aunt Ellen’s homemade strawberry rhubarb pie. Greer wished she could blink her eyes and have Ainsley appear in his place. She started to say hello, but her uncle got the first word.
“Young man, I thought I told you to leave.”
Ellen opened her mouth, but Rick beat her to a response. “Why hello, Mr. Lancer. I stopped by to give Greer some important papers. Your wife was kind enough to offer me some pie.” He paused to wave his fork. “Greer, sit down, let’s talk.”
Greer felt her uncle’s tight grip on her shoulder. He was angry with Rick, and she didn’t have a clue why. Hell, she was angry with Rick half the time, but he took care of every detail of her life and made her lots of money, so she usually kept her displeasure to herself. So what if he was a control freak, insisting she keep up an incredibly strenuous schedule designed to maximize her fame? With his help, she had become an extremely wealthy, successful superstar. His philosophy was simple: no press is bad press. Every time she read a scandalous headline with her name in it, she had to remind herself how successful his philosophy had made her. She imagined her uncle was feeling protective, but he didn’t understand the path to fame and fortune would always be a bumpy ride.
“May I have a few minutes with Rick, alone?” She could tell Clayton didn’t want to leave, but as weak as he felt, he would feel better once he was off his feet. Ellen cut Greer a
slice of pie she wouldn’t eat and then ushered Clayton from the kitchen. Greer pushed the pie over to Rick, who wasted no time digging in.
“What’s so important you came all this way to talk to me?”
“No distance is too far to travel to see my number one star,” Rick managed to say between bites.
“What did you say to my uncle when you came by, was it yesterday?” Greer paused to calculate. Had it really only been yesterday when all hell broke loose? Her world had fallen apart for the second time in two weeks and, yes, she could arrange total disaster in mere twenty-four-hour cycles.
“I tried to have a little man-to-man talk about the best way to spin your latest calamity. He’s got a short fuse.”
Greer could only imagine how Rick’s slick style had clashed with Clayton’s down-to-earth approach. He measured success in units of family, friends, health, and happiness. Those measurements wouldn’t compute to someone like Rick who tallied only money, sales, and headlines in his success calculation. Greer reflected on a time in her past when she would have thought a paid-off car, a steady girlfriend, and a modest crowd of fans at the Paolo Soleri would equal total success. When had she started using Rick’s method? Now platinum records, sold-out stadiums, and a half dozen paid-off cars and houses were mere stepping stones on the way to real stardom. Using that yardstick, would she ever achieve true fame?
