I look in the same direction to see my daughter laughing in her palms at whatever Noah, Sarah’s nephew, tells her. Same age as Ella, the two of them have been inseparable at the church and here at the restaurant. There are four other girls and two boys seated at the same table, and one of the girls keeps tapping Noah on his right hand while he leans to the left toward Ella.
“I better keep an eye on that rascal,” Lucas says. “He better treats my princess right or he’ll see a side of Uncle Lucas that he won’t like.”
“Noah’s such a cutie.” I smile and wave at Ella, who, as if knowing we are looking at her, glances our way and waves before returning her attention to Noah again. “They were adorable down the aisle, weren’t they?”
“Yeah, they were. The two of them did better during rehearsal than the adults. The way he marched like a little soldier carrying the rings, and Ella holding Sarah’s puppy, they were the highlights of the evening, if you ask me.”
“She did ask if we can take the puppy home, you know?” I say, turning my eyes to Lucas who motions the waitress to fill his glass.
“She did?” He replies after drinking half of his champagne. “What did you tell her?”
“That Sarah would be very sad if her puppy was gone, so we can’t just take it.”
“Clever mommy.” Lucas smiles. “Did she give up?”
“Nope. She asked if we could go to the store to buy one, but by the time we leave, she’ll forget about it. Here she comes.”
Ella stretches her arms to me and gives me a hug, whispering in my ear, “Mommy, I need to go potty.”
I reach for my clutch and tell Lucas, “Be right back.” I stand and Lucas does too. “Where are you going?”
“Coming with my girls,” Lucas says. “I’m a true gentleman, remember?”
We walk in between the tables through the double doors at the end of the large room. I see a lot of looks, from women especially, watching Lucas more than anything. I’m not jealous, used to the attention he receives no matter where we go. He holds Ella in his arms and leads the way, putting her down only when we stop in front of the door with the sign “Ladies” on it.
“Can I have my phone please?” He says.
“Sure.” I open the clutch and hand him his cell phone.
“Wow, Max called four times and texted, too,” he scrolls down the screen.
“Everything okay?” I step aside for another lady to enter the restroom, waiting for Lucas’s answer. He motions me to be quiet, while he dials Max.
“Mommy, I can’t hold it.” Ella shuffles her feet, ruffles of her pink dress waving with her moves.
“She’s not answering. Go in, I’ll wait for you.”
As curious as I am why Max tried several times to reach Lucas, I help Ella use the restroom, then lift her up so that she can wash her hands. She’s taking her sweet time to rub the soap then blows in between her palms to make bubbles.
“Noah has two dogs, Mommy,” she puffs her cheeks and blows. “Can we bisit Noah?”
“His mommy has to invite us first, honey pea. You ready?”
“Not yet.” She blows one more time and this time the bubble expands before bursting open.
The water stops by itself and Ella still has soap on her hands but we get it running again. I hand her a paper towel.
“Wait for me here, okay?” I too need to use the restroom.
“Can I go to Lucas?” Ella holds onto her dress and makes pirouettes in the wall mirror.
“Give me a second,” I say and close the stall’s door. I hurry and moments later, we meet Lucas outside who, as he promised, waits for us. He’s farther down the elegant hall and when he hears Ella calling his name, he stoops to catch her then twirls her in the air a few times. She laughs and grabs his face between her chubby palms to rub his nose with hers.
“Hey, princess, are you having fun?”
She nods, still holding his face between her palms. “Noah has two dogs,” she announces. “He inbited me to his house.”
“He did?” Lucas squints an eye. “Hmm. I gotta talk to that young man.”
Ella giggles. “He’s not a young man, Lucas. He’s just a boy.”
He sets her down and off she goes, skipping ahead of us.
“Did you get a hold of Max?” I ask.
“Yeah, I did,” Lucas pushes a hand through his hair, taking my hand with the other. “Raven fired her whole team of lawyers and hired new ones.”
I glance at Lucas to see his jaw clenching, frustration peppering his voice. I wait for him to elaborate but when he doesn’t, I say, “What does Max think about it?”
Shrugging he says, “She doesn’t like it. We’re back to square one. I’m so sick of it.”
We stop before entering the ballroom. The live band plays music and lots of people dance. I search for Ella, who’s dancing with Noah and the other kids. Dim lights give the room an intimate feeling and I’m tempted to dance with Lucas to take his mind away from his problems.
It’s been really hard on him since Raven’s scandal started. In fact, it’s been hard on all of us. The negotiations have tested our struggle for normalcy and good spirits. At one point we thought the lawyers reached an agreement. We waited for five long days only for them to come back with Raven’s refusal. Then it was Lucas’s turn to play hardball; he won’t give her a nickel but rather see her in court. Only Max’s perseverance and Madame V’s arguments convinced Lucas he should do everything in his power to avoid court at all costs. The magazine couldn’t withstand such a hit, its place on the US market and revenue less than expected, not to mention his career could be completely destroyed.
It’s been a good day so far despite how tired we are, and I wish for just a few more hours that we don’t have to deal with Raven’s ghost. Because once on our minds, the matter eats at us like an infected wound.
“Come, let’s dance,” I offer.
“Not really in the mood anymore.”
“Only one dance.” I take Lucas’s hand and walk to the middle of the room. I wrap my arms around his neck, moving in the rhythm of the bluesy song that just started.
I know his mind is elsewhere, the lines between his eyebrows deepening instead of relaxing. But at least he tries and over the next half an hour we dance uninterrupted. I even dance with Noah while Lucas dances with Ella before Cameron steals her away. When she retreats to her table along with Noah and puts her head on the table, I know it’s time for us to call it a night.
We say our goodbyes and walk outside the restaurant. The night air feels good, cooling my skin off after all the dancing. The balls of my feet scream in pain and I look forward to the foot massage Lucas promises. Waiting for the valet, there are two other couples ahead of us assaulted by paparazzi, and I hope by the time the cars come we won’t get their attention. Unfortunately a reporter sees us and shoves the mic in Lucas’s face as a photographer starts snapping pictures of us. I guess there is always a price to pay when one is famous.
“Not tonight.” Lucas places a hand in front of the camera, holding Ella with his other.
“Your brother is getting married tomorrow, right, Mr. Oliver? How many guests? What other celebrities are here? Any comments for us?” A reporter asks, while the photographer—a Lakers fan judging from his jersey and matching hat—continues snapping photos from a different angle. I turn my back to him.
“I said not tonight, meaning no photos, no comments,” Lucas says, and there’s no lost hint of friendliness in his tone. He walks down the sidewalk toward the parking and both the reporter and the photographer follow us, the flash going nonstop.
I’m by Lucas’s side and my heart freezes when he stops and turns toward the two men, forcing them to back off. With her arms wrapped around Lucas’s neck, Ella is unaware or too tired to be bothered by the flashing.
In a heavy tone, Lucas says, “This is a private event with nothing for the media. Now, leave us alone.”
The more Lucas inches toward those two men the more nervous I beco
me. With the Raven scandal still looming over his head, the last thing he really needs these days is to get on the bad side of the press. I grab his elbow and stop him. He looks annoyed. I know he’s not annoyed with me, but with the two intruders. Without saying a word, I guide him back toward the restaurant’s entry. Several other guests are out as well, and there are two more valets helping them with their cars. Why does it take so long for the valet to bring our car?
I hear an engine around the corner and pray it’s our car. My prayers are answered and we leave as soon as we settle Ella in her car seat.
“Dammit!” Lucas shakes his head. “You can’t enjoy a private event without these idiots showing up everywhere.”
“Now that I think about it, with Sarah’s famous family we should’ve expected even more attention from the media. I won’t be surprised if tomorrow we dodge TV vans. I bet there will be quite a few A-list celebrities at the wedding, so you need to be on your best behavior. You can’t afford being pissy with the press.”
“I know,” he says in a lost voice. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sick of this whole thing. We postponed our vacation. We can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything, just be stuck in this limbo. Now we have to deal with a new team of lawyers. It can take the rest of the year and still not be done. And for what?”
Lucas sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. For a while he doesn’t say anything, following the curvy road down the hills. With the ocean to my right, the road snakes quite a few times before one last straight stretch leading to the freeway. I can’t be home soon enough.
“I’m sorry,” he says out of the blue. He reaches for my hand, takes it and lifts it to his lips to kiss it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask if you’re okay. Are you okay?”
In the dim light of the dashboard, I can see Lucas’s eyes searching my face. “I’m okay. As okay as being photographed in the middle of the night can be. I was worried for you, that you might lose it and punch them or something.”
“Nah, I won’t do that. They do annoy me, lately even more so, but I won’t get physical. I’m not that type.”
That proved true until the middle of the following week when we find out that photos of Raven’s battered face leaked into the media, and several magazines used them as front covers. “The Monster in my Bed,” “In Love with a Monster,” “Who is Lucas Oliver, Really?” or “Tragic Love Story” are titles in capital letters catching everyone’s attention. An entire morning flies by in Max’s office looking over an armful of magazines and talking about a new game plan.
Famished, we go for a quick bite at the Shipwreck, a restaurant famous for its to-die-for fish and chips. Lucas pushes at his lunch more than he eats. He avoids looking at me, staring out the window and sighing. His teeth grind a lot. When we leave the bistro we come face to face with the same photographer that Lucas shut down after the rehearsal dinner. I recognize him for his yellow and purple Lakers basketball hat that he wears backward. Talk about horrible timing. My stomach churns just knowing Lucas’s patience is thinner than paper.
“What are the odds, twice in a week, Mr. Oliver?” The photographer says, getting his camera ready to snap pictures of us.
“Not today.” Lucas holds my hand, walking a half step in front of me and protecting me with his body. He squeezes my hand so hard the blood is cut off, my fingers soon going numb. We keep walking to the car with the photographer hot on our tracks.
“Really graphic, the images of your ex-girlfriend. What’s her name? Raven something, right?” The photographer says. “It’s not every day that you see a woman so hurt.” He comes around and I lift my purse to block him from taking photos of me. He goes back to photographing Lucas who opens the car door for me then walks around to his side. Only a few seconds, that’s all we need before we are free to drive away, leaving this insufferable man behind with his stupid camera.
Cars parked inches apart to one another don’t permit much wiggle room and unfortunately Lucas’s maneuvering remains unsuccessful while the photographer keeps snapping photos. Stuck between two cars, unless we hit one of them, we can’t leave.
I don’t know what irritates Lucas more—being unable to leave or the photographer. All of a sudden, he swings the door open and before I unfasten my seatbelt, the camera shatters on the ground, his fists full of the photographer’s shirt.
People stop and gawk. As if I play in a slow-motion movie, I get out and try to hold onto Lucas, putting myself between him and the photographer, but it’s too late and the man’s nose bleeds. It’s very blurry all around me with people yelling, talking on the phone, a dog barking. Somewhere in the distance I hear sirens and soon all it’s over. Lucas sits in the back of a police car, handcuffed and staring out the window.
Mom offers to keep Ella overnight. At least I don’t have to worry about her. It’s past midnight when we make it home after Max meets us at the police station and uses all her connections to release Lucas. We talk very little, and after a quick shower I finally make it to bed. Lucas is already there, on his back, an arm over his eyes. I rest next to him, not touching him, just replaying the day in my mind and worrying if we are going to make it through the whole ordeal now that the cat is out of the bag.
Chapter 26
“Slow down.” I tell Lucas under my breath, emphasizing each word, then turn to Ella and say in a more cheerful voice, “It’s all good, honey pea, it’s all good.”
Leaving the Promenade Playhouse after the premiere of “Cinderella,” paparazzi chase us down the road, keen to take our photos. We should’ve known that when there’s a premiere where celebrities will be present, media would be there too. Poor judgment on our part, but it’s too late for regrets. The two-man crew drives side by side with us, one of them driving, the other almost halfway out the window, camera focused on our car.
Lucas’s attempts at getting rid of them remain unsuccessful and it’s obvious they aren’t giving up. The drive becomes scary and even Ella, who’s strapped in her car seat in the back, starts crying. I try to stay calm for her sake but she cries harder and harder. I’m mad at Lucas for driving too fast, but this is not the right time to yell at him. Ella’s never heard us fighting; I can’t do it now when she’s so distraught.
“Stop the car, Lucas, stop the car!” Ella screams.
“Soon, princess, soon,” Lucas says, both hands clenched on the steering wheel as the car swallows one mile after another, buildings and people blurring too fast for me to make out their faces.
At the next stoplight we barely make it through yellow, and a feeling of relief washes over me when I see the paparazzi slamming on breaks, tire screeching and smoking. The distance between them and our car grows as Lucas continues to speed, until the light changes for them and I see them fast approaching.
“It’s all good, Ella.” I pat my daughter’s knee and turn back to look ahead of us. Only one mile until the freeway, and with a little luck, safety from the paparazzi.
“Watch out!” I see from the corner of my eye a white car approaching from my right as we make our way through a three-way intersection. I know the car will hit us even before the accident happens, and I twist in my seat to reach for Ella, bracing myself for the impact. Everything happens so fast I’m not sure I blink or breathe, as if I’m outside my own body.
Lucas’s airbag deploys, mine doesn’t. White dust mists the air, breathing turning into bouts of coughing. Because of my twisted position my right shoulder hits the dashboard. I hear a pop and then killer pain shooting down my arm. Breathing becomes arduous. The pain doesn’t ease up. We spin once and end up in the middle of the lane going the opposite direction.
I look at Ella who seems unharmed but her screams are deafening. “I’m coming, baby, I’m coming,” I try to unfasten my belt but it’s stuck and no matter how much I wiggle it the damn thing doesn’t release.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” I hear Lucas repeating. Aside from some small cuts on his forearms and on his forehead, he too seems unharmed. “Jane, oh, my God
, are you okay?” He doesn’t wait for my answer but tries to unfasten my belt.
“Ella—get her out!” I urge him. He rushes out of the car and soon he’s holding her, coming around to my side. As stupid as it seems my airbag pops just now, the white mist once again hard to breathe. With the windshield broken the bad odor dissipates soon, but not soon enough to stop me from getting nauseous.
“Hang in there, love, hang in there,” Lucas tells me. He stands next to the car with Ella in his arms. She has both arms wrapped around his neck and I can tell she’s crying, her body convulsing.
I’m furious with Lucas. So, so furious. I can take a lot of things, stand my ground and be by his side when he needs me. I can love him with all the imperfections—I’m full of them myself, but there is one fine line no one can cross, not even him: my daughter’s safety.
We must talk.
My door won’t open and it takes some serious force and a few firemen to pull me out of the car. I’m quickly set on a stretcher with my neck immobilized, and hooked to an IV line. I don’t feel pain anywhere else other than my shoulder and arm. Rushed to the ER, it takes several hours of tests, X-rays, and scans for the doctors to confirm I only dislocated my shoulder, but because of the splitting headache and low blood pressure, they keep me overnight to figure out if I’ve a concussion or just a simple headache. I need a few stitches on my right forearm for a two-inch gash the doctor assures me won’t leave a scar.
The meds dripping into my vein keep me in a state of haze, and I lie in bed once again replaying the whole accident and how we got here. My parents arrive and it’s a constant come and go out of my room. Lucas too comes and goes, at one point asked by two officers to follow them. Ella has a Band-Aid on her right forearm and one on her right knee. Pete brings her an ice cream cone from the cafeteria and, other than sighing now and then, she’s busy watching cartoons on my tablet.
It takes some convincing to send Ella home with my parents, but eventually the room is quiet and semi-dark. The sound of the machine monitoring my heart rate soothes me and I struggle to stay awake. I can’t ignore what happened tonight, but am not coherent enough to make a decision just yet. A war inside me starts with part of me continuing to be furious with Lucas for putting our lives in danger, the other part saying I need to stand by him as I did when his mother passed away.
Me Tarzan, You Jane Page 21
