by Maggie Marr
“Yes, love,” she said and her thoughts drifted away. I knew she wanted to ask me questions, to dig deeper than she was. But she was a Legend and they often chose to say the right things instead of the true things; it was safer for them. We wandered past the shops and toward the outdoor play area near the boutique. We found a spot on a bench where we could watch the children playing.
“I still have feelings for Sterling,” I said simply.
“Yes.” A small smile drifted onto Amanda’s face. “I was quite certain that you did. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?”
I settled my elbow onto the back of the park bench and rested my chin on my fisted hand. “There's simply so much history between your family and mine. Plus, before, when we were teenagers, the way I left and when I left …” My gaze met Amanda’s gaze. There was sadness in her face. I was so concerned about Sterling’s heart and thinking about how I’d made him feel that I’d forgotten he was not the only Legend I’d left behind at the end of that summer. Her eyes were wet.
“Oh, Amanda,” I said and reached my arm around her shoulders, “I know I left you, too. I’m sorry, it’s not, I mean you were my best friend, you still are.”
She swiped at the tears that fell from her eyes and a smile trembled across her face. “I know. I mean, I knew then you had to leave and I understood and of course we kept in contact, it’s just …” She looked out at the children sliding down the slide. “You and Maeve were the closest thing I had to sisters and then you left just as Mom died.” Amanda shook her head. Her bottom lip trembled. “I remember it felt like too much. But I had Gayle. I don’t know what might have happened if I hadn’t had Gayle.”
“Good old Gayle,” I spoke fondly of my mom.
A smile broke across Amanda’s face with my teasing tone.
“You really are lucky to have her,” Amanda said. “I know she has strong opinions, but she always has our best interests at heart.”
I nodded. Yes, my mother did have strong opinions.
“She protected us when Daddy was a mess and we were a mess and I think”—her eyes met mine—“I think perhaps I didn’t know it then, but I may know it now, I think maybe her life was a mess and yours and Maeve’s and Tom’s and not just because of what was going on with you and Sterling.”
I pressed my lips together. Secrets. Family secrets that we’d never discussed. My heart felt heavy. Did I want to say the words and reveal to Amanda what I knew to be true? Should I tell Amanda the real reason my mother lived in Malibu and my father lived in Dublin? Amanda was right, the primary reason Papa fled, and I felt the need to go with him, wasn’t just the heat of my relationship with Sterling, nor the fear of what that relationship so fast, so intense, so physical could do to a fifteen-year-old girl and a seventeen-year-old boy. There were multiple reasons and, at the time, there seemed to be only one solution—the solution being we had to leave, to go away. Either that or watch our family disintegrate into the chaos we’d been witness to with the Legends.
“Sterling wasn’t the only reason I left.”
The pain of what had happened to my parents drifted into my heart. I tried not to think about the dissolution of their marriage, the end of their love and the demise of their trust for one another. While Steve and Joanne Legend fought, hurled the crystal, and engaged in shouting matches, I’d only once seen my parents yell at each other. Then after the yelling there’d been the diagnosis, the illness, the leaving, and the death. Joanne Legend was like my mother’s sister. They carried each other in their hearts as though they were family. Which only made Joanne’s betrayal all the more painful and all the more difficult. Everyone expected betrayal and narcissism from Steve. It was his way. But Joanne had always seemed almost regal and above Steve’s baser and coarser instincts.
“It was my mother, wasn’t it?” Amanda whispered. “My mother caused you to leave.”
I looked at the children shrieking and playing and running with laughter on their lips. How could I ever admit the truth to either Amanda or Sterling?
Sterling
“Dude, why do you have to fuck with one of my biggest money-makers?” Webber stood across from me in the living room.
“Beer?” I asked and pulled open the fridge. I grabbed two Stellas and handed one to Webber.
“You cannot ply me with booze,” Webber said. “My clients can be bought, but not me. What the fuck, man? You go directly to Jennifer Laredo? Without so much as a phone call? You know she’s up for two gigs right now, one at Worldwide and one at Galaxy. Both have profit participation and will pay her twenty-five mil.”
“Webber, she and Cami are friends.”
“Friends? If you call fuck-buddies friends, then okay.”
“They’re gay?” I took a pull of my beer. “Jennifer is gay?”
“Who the fuck knows? I think curious is the appropriate word. She dates guys, she dates girls, she won’t date me,” Webber said. “I’ve asked.” He sucked on his beer. He stopped pacing and leaned against the back of the couch.
“The Lady’s Regret is a great script,” I said.
“Why do you want to fuck with my bottom line like this? Huh? Couldn’t you go to Selena or Emma Stone? Anyone but Jennifer. Man, she is hot right now, and she’s all over this project. This fucking little project that has all the risk and absolutely no upside.”
“There’s an upside,” I countered. “She could get nominated.”
“And monkeys could fly outta my ass. Come on, Sterling!” Webber punched his fist in the air. “You are going to pay her shit to play this emotionally charged role that if she doesn’t nail will fuck her in the marketplace, and you are giving her a female director who has only got two films under her belt.”
“Cami is a solid shooter.”
“Solid, yes. But enough to get Jennifer nominated? Who the fuck knows? There’s only one female director who has ever won an Academy Award. Hurt Locker, man, it is the only one.”
“Have your read the script?”
“Who the fuck hasn’t read The Lady’s Regret? I mean, the thing is like Chinatown—you have to fucking read it. It’s the only unproduced script by Tom Bliss who, by the way, disa-fucking-peared on the Island of Nod after Joanne Legend died. I mean, come on? When you say The Lady’s Regret, you’re dealing with a Hollywood white whale. Any actress in town would want to play lead, but now you’re fucking around with my girl.”
“We want her for it. She’d be great. She’s the first person we approached.”
“That script is cursed, man, it’s been sitting around for nearly a decade. You think your father is ever going to let that thing get made?”
“My father? What the hell can he do? Amanda and I own the script, we’re financed and I have a director.”
“Riiiiiiight,” Webber said, nodding. “You believe whatever you want to right now. But there is no way your father will let this film get made. Not after what it did to him and to Joanne and to Tom. No fucking way. The Lady’s Regret is a phenomenal script, but it’s cursed.”
Cursed? Heat burned through my belly fast and furious. Cursed? How the hell was the script cursed? Something dark and uncomfortable curled through me and heat pulled through my chest. This script was Mom’s final wish. I took two steps toward Webber. “That script is not fucking cursed and I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Hey, hey.” Webber held up his hands in an “I surrender” stance. “What’s got you pissed off? I’m the guy with the righteous indignation. You’re the guy who went behind my back to one of my biggest clients.”
“Behind your back? Webber, you’re so two-faced you don’t even have a back. For fuck’s sake, get over yourself. You know how this town works. I have a relationship with the director, she has a relationship with your client, and we went to her. I’ve met Jennifer before; I could have gone to her myself. We don’t have to go through you. You’re just hired help.”
Webber’s face fell and his jaw dropped open. I’d just insulted his entire identity.
Webber lived and breathed by being an agent. Without a word he set his beer on the table and turned toward the door. Webber speechless wasn’t something I’d experienced before now.
“Webber? Come on,” I called. “I’m sorry, man. Don’t be like that.”
He spun on his heels. “Sterling, you have no idea the shitstorm you’re walking into. Everyone but you seems to see this train barreling toward you. Steve Legend doesn’t want you to make this film, and I don’t mean ‘doesn’t want’ like kind of doesn’t, I mean ‘doesn’t want’ like he will destroy you for making it. I came by as a courtesy because you’re my friend.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Or I thought we were friends. It’s the same sort of courtesy I expect from you when it comes to my biggest clients but, hey man, I get it. You’re a fucking Legend and who am I? I’m just an agent. The fucking help. So good luck buddy, good fucking luck.”
Chapter 10
Rhiannon
The headlights of Sterling’s car crested the hill in the driveway. I sat on the porch swing. The silence in our house was driving me to the edge. I didn’t want to be inside, I didn’t want to watch Mama and Papa avoid each other. I wasn’t certain when last they’d spoken. My feet rocked the porch swing forward and back. Maeve was at camp for two weeks, thankfully. She’d missed their argument and the silence that ensued. I wasn’t certain what had caused this horrible silence. I’d never seen my parents disagree before. Ours was a happy house filled with laughter and conversation.
Sterling got out of his car and ambled toward me. His message had been abrupt—he just said he needed to come over. He needed to get away from his house. Amanda was gone to San Francisco for the week to visit a friend. He walked from the darkness and entered the pool of light that shone through the giant picture window.
“Oh, my God, Sterling, what happened?”
His face was red. Dark purple bruises and angry red welts bloomed around his eye.
His hands fisted beside his legs, but his bottom lip trembled and his eyes slicked over. “He called Mom a whore.”
“What? Who?” I grasped his hand and pulled him toward the front door. “Let me get you some ice.” I opened the door.
Sterling hung back. “I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see Gayle or Tom.”
“Mama’s in bed and Papa is out back in the guest house. You won’t see anyone. Come on.”
I pulled him into the house. Steve and Joanne were always fighting. Steve drank too much and Joanne said mean things, but Steve had never hit anyone. Not Joanne, not Amanda, and not Sterling. I grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it around a handful of ice.
“Was he drunk?” I asked. I gently placed the ice on Sterling’s eye.
“Isn’t he always?”
I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and Sterling sat down. My fingertips ran through his hair and my eyes searched his face for any other damage. He grasped my one free hand and pulled me toward him, “Let’s go away.” His eyes begged for me to say yes. “Let’s get the fuck out of L.A. I have money.”
“You’re angry right now. You should stay here. You have to stay here.”
“I can’t leave Mom alone with him,” Sterling said.
“She’s there now.”
Sterling shook his head. “She’s checking into L’Hermitage.”
“Then you are definitely staying here.” I paused. I already knew the answer to the next question, but I had to ask. “Should we … should we call the police?”
“Hell, no!” Sterling said. “Come on, Rhiannon, you knew the answer to that.” He took a long breath. “But we could go away together. Run away, if just for a while.” His hand settled onto my thigh. “There’s the beach house in Oxnard,” Sterling said. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the side of my face. “We’d be alone and we could finally …" His hand slid further up my bare thigh and tickled the edge of my cut-off shorts. My breath hitched in my chest. I moved the ice pack from one spot to another and turned and looked at him. His lips pressed to mine. There was a heat, even when he was hurt, there was this unbearable heat between us.
“Rhiannon?” My father’s voice startled me. We jerked apart. Sterling bolted to his feet.
“Hi, Tom,” Sterling said. I held the ice pack in my hand. My father’s face went from shocked surprise over finding me and Sterling kissing, to simple shock at seeing Sterling’s battered face.
“Sterling? What the hell happened?” Papa’s eyes flicked from Sterling to me.
“Nothing, just tripped and fell.” Sterling pressed his hands into his back pockets.
Papa examined Sterling’s face. “This wasn’t a fall. Someone hit you. Have you been fighting?” Papa seemed surprised with the idea.
“No, sir, I just”—Sterling’s eyes went from me to my father—“I’m sorry, I should go,” Sterling said. He ducked his head and skirted around my father.
“Sterling, no, you’re like family. What happened? What?”
Sterling stopped but he couldn’t move his mouth, he couldn’t force his lips to make his words. “Amanda?” Papa asked me. “Wait.” Papa’s face hardened. He looked from me to Sterling. “Did … did … Steve do this to you?”
Sterling’s eyes dropped to the floor. He wouldn’t make eye contact; he couldn’t make eye contact because if he did my father would have confirmation of the question he had just asked him. “Where is your mother?” Papa asked. His voice held alarm.
“She’s still at the house,” Sterling said. “She made me leave, she’s checking into L’Hermitage tonight, she’s—"
Before Sterling could utter another word my father grabbed his keys. “Stay here,” he said to Sterling and then slammed out the front door. I walked over to Sterling and pushed him onto the chair and pressed the ice to his eye. Now that Papa had gone to help Joanne I was certain that everything would be fine.
“Rhiannon?”
“Mama, why do you keep walking all the way out here? You’re on crutches. I have a phone. If you text me or call I will come back to the house.”
“But, darling, I have texted and I have called.”
“You have?”
Mama nodded. “It’s time for dinner.”
“Dinner?” I looked around the room. Pulled from my thoughts, pulled from staring blankly at my canvas, I was thrust back to reality. The day had slipped away and darkness hovered around the edges of the room.
“You were lost in your work.”
“Work? I haven’t been able to work since I got to Los Angeles.” Perhaps the complaints I’d heard from other artists were true. L.A. was so soulless, so filled with the frenetic energy of desperate and sad people that it was impossible to truly create within the confines of the city.
“Come to the house for dinner,” Mama said. She turned and hobbled on her crutches back toward the house. I picked up my phone and glanced at the text messages and for any missed phone calls. But there were no new messages.
"Hurry," Mama said. "I have a surprise for you at the table.”
She nearly burst with excitement over the word surprise, and she quickly hobbled toward the house. I followed her into the kitchen and stopped. There, at the table, stood Maeve with hair as long as mine, only red instead of my white-blonde.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I raced to Maeve and threw my arms around my little sister. I clasped her in the tightest of hugs. I hadn’t seen her in nearly nine months and I’d expected not to see her until the end of the year.
“How could I have you here getting all the attention from Mama?” Maeve said.
She crushed me into another hug. Her hair was long and swung out over her back. She looked rested and relaxed for someone who’d just had a long journey.
“When did you get here?”
“A couple hours ago,” Maeve said. She looked from me to Mama.
“And you didn’t come and get me?”
“We tried to call you,” Mama said. “You were working. We didn’t want to interrupt. I know from living wi
th your father how hard it is to pull you from that creative space in your head.”
I glanced around the room; it would be a dream come true if Papa walked out from the hall or the back yard or through the front door. We hadn’t all been together here, in this, our family home, for many, many years.
“Papa says hello,” Maeve said, sitting down at the table.
“Did you go to Ireland?” I asked.
“No, he came to India,” Maeve said. “Quick trip. He was doing some research for a new project.”
“A project set in India?” I asked. “I haven’t heard of that one.” I poured three glasses of wine. “Did Mama know you were coming?”
“Not until I phoned her from the airport.” A smile curved about Maeve’s face. So much for advance notice; my little sister always had liked to make an entrance.
“Mama looks better than I expected,” Maeve said with an impish smile.
“Well, thanks a lot.” Mama took a sip of her wine, but she smiled at Maeve’s teasing.
“I didn’t know what to expect. What with crutches and casts and talk of surgeries.” Maeve lifted the bowl filled with greens and scooped salad onto her plate.
“Oh, pish posh,” Mama said. “There isn’t going to be any surgery. I’m fine. In fact I can walk around—I’ve made it all the way out to the guest house and back several times on my own.”
“That’s a walk,” Maeve said. She looked at me. “Are you staying out there?”
“She’s painting out there,” Mama said. “And, there are some other things.” Mama’s smile slipped from her face.
I had no intention of getting into the “other things” that Mama thought I might be doing in the guesthouse. She was right, of course, although her mind probably went much further than what had actually happened between Sterling and me. And what had happened? I’d wanted him, he’d wanted me, we’d started, but then he’d pulled away. Not typical behavior for the philanderer that Mama believed him to be.
