by Robin Leaf
Vanessa closed the door to Charles Pickney’s office realizing her judgment may not be the soundest when Riley Tate is involved. She had resolved herself to tell Charles no to the whole idea, but once she heard his name, she caved. Why?
Because it’s Riley Friggin’ Tate!
When she saw Riley Tate in his first movie, she deemed him too perfect to be real – tall, broad, toned, tanned, blonde, with those piercing green eyes. All that in and of itself was a great package, but the kicker to his aesthetic perfection: craters for dimples. Although he was not her usual smart, borderline-geeky type, those dimples? Yeah. Wow. And now? Well, age had only made him hotter.
He did not play the lead in his first movie, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before he snagged a lead role. She was right. Eight years and seven more movies later, four of them lead roles, he had become the new, big, box-office star. If there was a male version of America’s sweetheart, Riley Tate was it. His down-home charm won over the public, and she couldn’t remember a time in the last eight years, when she paid attention to the Hollywood gossip with her Gram, that he hadn’t been in the press for one thing or another. It had all been positive press, which is unheard of for a Hollywood star. The world just seemed to accept that Riley Tate was just a great guy. Either he had one hell of a publicist, or he was truly a rarity. Pressure, great. And with my first real client, too, provided he agrees to therapy.
She sat in her ten-year-old, battered and rusting stick-shift Honda Civic, pushed in the clutch, and started the engine, thoughts of the last hour playing in her head. As she slammed it into reverse and backed out of the space, she continued to wonder if she really would be able to handle this task. I should just park and go back up there and tell him no, and really mean it. Just do it. She put the car in first and left the parking lot.
Vanessa reached for her purse, making sure one more time that the $1000 cashier’s check was still there. Charles offered her the advance on her total payment. In the event Riley did not agree to therapy, which was one of her stipulations, she would keep the money. There was no need for money just yet; what she had would last a little over one month (if she stayed in the very expensive California) from her share of the money from her mother’s accidental death policy. It could last about six months if she moved back in with her father in Texas, which was the plan before today’s meeting. $10,000 would sweeten that pot if Riley agreed to therapy.
However, she would not force therapy on Riley Tate, as it was completely unethical. Based on some of the behaviors Charles described Riley had exhibited in the last few weeks, she knew he needed help. Charles said he had seen too many other famous people get swallowed by the Hollywood lifestyle while the people closest to the celebrity either sat on the sidelines and watched it happen, or they did everything in their power to facilitate the downward spiral, one that often ruined careers. So many stories of these tragic celebrities entertained the masses on the news. He didn’t want to see it happen to Riley.
Although Vanessa was grateful Charles looked out for his client, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the whole meeting. He seemed to care for Riley, but she felt in her gut that he didn’t tell her everything. However, it would be a shame to see another downfallen celeb. Tragedy usually caused more tragedy. Vanessa was the exception.
Funny it was how things worked out for her. If she hadn’t taken a year off from school to deal with the death of her mother, she never would have taken Dr. Philips’ seminar. Tragedy led to her own good fortune. Tragedy usually destroyed people. It had destroyed her mother.
By the time she left his office Monday morning, Vanessa cautiously had developed a more positive opinion of Charles Pickney. She still didn’t like him and still felt he had an ulterior motive to hiring her, but she ultimately agreed. He seemed like an overgrown bully, although he really didn’t use his bullying skills to convince her to take the job. She knew he probably did bully people in his everyday world. Anyway, she had long ago become immune to people trying to intimidate her.
Vanessa couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the meeting felt odd. He pushed the fact that he cared for his client, which mostly, sort of seemed sincere, but his apparent embarrassment about his concern baffled her. Were people not supposed to be friends in Hollywood?
Tell that to Emily, Vanessa’s life-long best friend. Em had moved with Vanessa to Los Angeles almost three years ago. Vanessa would not have accepted the scholarship offered by UCLA if it weren’t for Emily agreeing to come to L.A. with her. In fact, every risk Vanessa had ever taken, Emily was usually the driving force behind her. They had been best friends since junior high. Once in L.A., they found an apartment together, and Emily got a job as a receptionist at a law firm while she finished a paralegal degree at a lesser-known Los Angeles university. She started pre-law at University of Texas, but she dropped out after being placed on academic probation. Emily was super intelligent, but she wasn’t dedicated to education like Vanessa was. However, in the time they were in L.A., Emily graduated, became a paralegal, met a tattoo artist, fell in love and had recently moved in with Tater. I still never got the story on why he wants to be called Tater. Who wants a tattoo from a potato? Honestly.
Before today, Vanessa’s plan was to move back to Texas this Friday. Her boxes were already packed and ready to go, so the move to the Malibu apartment Charles’s agency kept for emergency housing, which he insisted she use rent free, would be easy. Charles offered to send the moving van later this afternoon, and this move would only delay her return to Texas for one month. She would have to text Seth, her brother, and ask if the stand-by vouchers he gave her would transfer to a new flight if she stayed. She would only stay if Riley agreed. Sure, her father would be disappointed, and Vanessa wasn’t sure what she was going to tell him to justify the one-month extension in her stay. She would have to think about that one. Her dad was hard to fool.
Vanessa smiled at that thought. She came by her intuitive nature honestly. It’s what helped her become the best in her class at UT, especially during her counseling clinicals for her Master’s degree, not to mention becoming the highest-rated student in the seminar renowned psychologist Dr. Timothy Philips had given on body language, which won her the unheard of full-ride scholarship to UCLA’s post graduate psychology program. Thank you, Dad.
While driving to her apartment, Vanessa ran through the rest of the agreement in her head. Charles had insisted on not writing the agreement down for fear it could be leaked to the press. He also wanted no lawyers involved. He hated them, saying he didn’t trust them, probably because he couldn’t legally bully them. She knew the more she repeated the agreement to herself, since there was nothing written except the NDA he still insisted she sign, the more she was likely to remember.
First, she had to move the Malibu apartment closer to Riley’s home. No problem there. Everything is packed anyway.
Second, she would have to pretend to date Riley in public in case any press saw them together. No problem, we just won’t go out in public together. Why would that happen?
Third, she would go to his home to meet him tomorrow after Charles had a chance to explain her company. Access to Riley Tate’s home definitely a plus.
Fourth, she could not tell anyone, not a living-breathing soul, that she was treating Riley. Problem, but not so big that I can’t handle it. I hate keeping secrets from my dad and Emily.
Fifth, she could never disclose to Riley the terms of her hiring, including how Charles found her, how he allowed her to live in the apartment, or how much he was paying her. Not a problem at all. Why would Riley care about where I lived? Hmmm. It probably will never come up in conversation anyway.
Charles said he was taking dinner to Riley tonight and explaining things to him. He would call in the event Riley didn’t agree. This gave Vanessa the opportunity to get her things moved to the new place and do a little background research on Riley Tate. Then tomorrow at 10:00 a.m., she would go to Riley’s hous
e for the initial introductions.
So many emotions played through her: excitement, trepidation, nervousness, anticipation, terror, apprehension, but fear at the prospect of treating someone without the safety net of the university was the emotion that kept rising to the surface. You can do this, Nessa. You can do this. You weren’t the best in your class for nothing.
Looking down at her hands, she noticed the two nails she had broken packing her moving boxes with Emily the other night. Hopefully, she would have time to pop into Emily’s favorite salon and get them fixed. It took her awhile to finally allow her nails to grow, and the two broken ones were so noticeable. She didn’t want to cut them all down, so Emily suggested she go to the salon and let them do a quick fix. She hated fake nails, but meeting famous actors probably should require attention to appearance.
She drove into her soon-to-be ex-apartment’s parking lot and was surprised to find a moving van already there waiting. Dang, Charles Pickney has some pull in this town. There goes the manicure idea. Maybe I can wear gloves or something.
“You Ms. Taylor?” the burley, jump-suited man with the clipboard asked.
“I’m DOCTOR Taylor,” she gently stated.
“We’re your movers.” Oh, because the moving van that says Miller and Sons Movers wasn’t a clue? Nice. Another male that thinks blonde hair and big boobs means dumb girl.
She led them upstairs, grateful for their fast arrival, albeit a bit unnerved that they arrived so early. She headed to the refrigerator, the only place, other than the week’s carefully planned wardrobe, she really had left to pack. Grabbing the roll of cookie dough, she peeled back the wrapper and took a bite behind the door, on the off chance she would be seen. She smiled at the memory of how this little stress-relieving habit of hers began with Emily. Since Freshman year of college, she always had a roll of raw dough in her fridge for just such an emergency. Some people had drugs; others had alcohol. Vanessa had Pillsbury. Salmonella may not be a great way to die, but in this case, the reward outweighed the risk.
Overseeing them moving her boxes and making sure she didn’t leave anything gave her the chance to focus and to not over think what she would be doing tomorrow. No time to get nervous or let fear play tricks in her mind. And the busy work would allow her to think clearly and strategize.
One of the things she learned in one of her classes was to imagine the absolute worst-case scenario. She would then plan steps to avoid the worst. If avoidance wasn’t an option, then she would plan how she would deal with the worst if it happened. This strategy helped tremendously to avoid many panic attacks, especially those that happened in the last two years. It also helped to let her appear like an in-control, take-charge kind of girl. Plus, she always had the cookie dough for those times when that didn’t work out for her. The classically conditioned response to cookie dough, how it immediately calmed her, was appreciated.
At this point, she would usually call Emily to tell her what happened, but Emily was currently at a tattoo convention with Tater until Thursday. This gave her time to carefully construct her news without violating the NDA. Vanessa had texted earlier with instructions for Em to call when she could.
The only thing she didn’t know how to handle was the phone call to her dad. Sheriff Robert Taylor was not a man to be handled. He took a certain kind of finesse – finesse she hadn’t quite perfected.
***
“Hi, Daddy,” Vanessa always seemed to resort to a little girl when she initiated any phone call to her father.
She heard him take a deep breath and sigh, as if her voice was just what he needed. “Hi, Nessie.” He cleared his throat. “I’m looking forward to see you this weekend. You’re room’s all ready. I’m cooking all your favorites.” The words tumbled out of his mouth so quickly. She almost giggled at his uncharacteristic display. Robert Taylor was not one to show excitement.
“Yeah. About that, Dad. . .”
“And Jessie is all bathed and ready. Every time I say your name, he jumps all over, wagging his tail.”
“I can’t wait to see him, too. But Dad. . .”
“You’re finally coming home where you belong.” He cleared his throat again. “I… just… Oh, Doodle Bug, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice almost cracked on the last word, and Vanessa felt her heart constrict. He saw her at Christmas, but in these last three years, he had only seen her maybe five times for only a few days each visit. She didn’t realize how much it affected him that she was coming home for good this time.
Even though his voice remained even, this display of emotion was so not normal for her father. He had always been so stoic. Ever since her parent’s divorce when she was thirteen, her father protectively doted on her. She knew it was because he felt guilty for not intervening sooner with the only mother she knew, and she didn’t always welcome his borderline intrusive ways. Having a sheriff as a father was not easy. However, she had to love him more for protecting her and offering the help she needed during the fallout from the divorce and her mother’s subsequent nervous breakdown and hospitalization.
“I’ve missed you, too. But there is an opportunity here that I just can’t pass up.” She proceeded to tell him the truth, or at least a version of it. She left out who she was treating, what Charles was paying her, and most importantly, the bit about appearing to date him.
The silence on the other end of the phone concerned her. “Dad? Say something.”
Her father let out a long sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. “Well, Nessie, what do you want me to say? You’re an adult and can make your own decisions. I don’t like this, though. I never liked you living in that den of sin of a city, and I don’t feel like this sounds on the up and up. It sounds a little fishy to me.”
“Daddy, I’m perfectly fine. I can take care of myself.”
“I know what you are capable of, Doodle Bug, but I just don’t like it. I can tell you are leaving out important details.”
“Daddy, I can’t tell you the details. I have to abide by the doctor-client confidentiality.”
He sighed again. “I can admire that. But there is still something that doesn’t sound right about this.”
“Come on, Dad. You act like you don’t trust my judgment.”
He paused. She knew the inner battle that was taking place within him. She’d seen it before when she told him about the offer from UCLA. “Well, it is only for a month.” Another sigh. “Alright. But I do expect frequent calls. I just was looking so forward to seeing you. It’s been too long. Your grandmother is going to be disappointed, too. I had to move her in with me. She got herself into a bit of trouble at the Senior Village; she showed up here and refused to go back. It was going to be a surprise when you got here.”
Vanessa loved her grandmother, but she was glad she had an excuse not to come back so soon. Her Gram was a force of nature, so things at home would definitely be interesting. The elder Taylor requested to live in a retirement home when Vanessa moved to L.A., but she had a hard time fitting into any of them. It took a while to find one that lived up to her high standards. Gram was no invalid; she was a spry old gal who just wanted people close to her own age to help her “raise a little hell.” This was the third place she had lived in two years. The first raised their fees out of Gram’s range, but further research proved they hadn’t raised any other resident’s fees. The second place, which forced her to move out of at Thanksgiving, requested she “find other accommodations” because she organized a geriatric picket line after they changed the menu to salt, dairy, and gluten free. She could only guess what trouble Gram had at this new center. At least she had the next month to prepare for living with Gram.
“Daddy, it’s just one month. At least I have a job. I don’t have to come home and look for one just yet.” And I’m getting paid enough not to rush into taking the first thing I find. I can afford to be a little picky now. Who knew a doctorate in psychology would not mean much to the real world?
“Alright, Nessie. I’ll have to call
your brother and tell him. The kids were excited to see their Aunt Nessie.” Her niece and nephew, who were eleven and fifteen now, were too old to care to see her. Her father was playing to her guilt. She smiled.
“Deal. I love you, Daddy.”
His grunted, “I love you, too,” before he hung up said it all. He was disappointed. She hated to disappoint her father, but she had made a commitment and had to ignore her waning resolve to follow through with it. Although the phone call really hadn’t gone as badly as she’d feared, her dad won; she felt guilty.
She shook it off. She had work to do. First, she needed to unpack only what she would need for the next month and get herself organized. No sense unpacking everything. The décor in this tiny apartment was not what she would have chosen, cold glass, black lacquer, and chrome, but it would do for a short time. Second, she had research to compile. She wanted to learn all she could about Riley Tate before meeting him, which was only fourteen short hours from now. As she bit off a small chunk of unbaked sugar cookie, she worried.
How am I gonna handle it? How can I expect to meet Riley Tate without making a complete fool of myself? Shit. I need to cancel. Total school-girl crush is hard to mask. Will I be ready?
THREE
Why did I ever think the internet would provide me with any information? Stupid. Trying to weed out the reliable information from the junk? Impossible. Who comes up with this shit? Better yet, who believes it?
Although Vanessa was fairly certain that Riley Tate did not have a love child with Cloris Leachman or that he kept John Lennon’s brain in an underground shrine beneath his house, she was more confused than ever. She was no closer to getting a line on who Riley Tate was. The Google search was ridiculous; there were tons of fan sites, each claiming to be official, but none contained the same information. The actors’ database reported his every movie and TV appearance, but revealed no personal facts other than his birthday. Funny how other actors’ whole lives were exposed to everyone, but Mr. Riley Tate’s remained an enigma. He apparently wasn’t, nor had he ever been, married. He had no surprising or upsetting scandals. He just acted. That’s all she found.
