No Ordinary Life

by Suzanne Redfearn

  “This wasn’t that,” I say. “This was an exhausted little girl who needed a moment to calm down.”

  “Exactly, but that doesn’t sell commercials or pay salaries, so they spun it for maximum impact, and the masses took to it like pigs to mud.”

  He tosses our empties in the trash then grabs two more beers from the fridge, and when he shifts sideways to reach the bottle opener below the sink, I see it, a photo not with the others in the living room. It is a black-and-white shot framed in thick ebony wood. In it, a tall white-haired man smiles at the camera, his arms draped over the shoulders of a little girl with blond hair and a good-looking, darker-haired boy. The man registers first—Trent Hemsley, one of the most famous actors of his time, best known for the cowboy series Arroyo, which he directed and produced. My focus shifts to the girl, catching on her dazzling eyes—Helen! I snap to the boy—exotic eyes, dark at the rims, high cheekbones—Griff? Griffin Wade? Megastar, teenage heartthrob?

  “You’re famous?” I stutter.

  Griff’s eyes follow mine to the photo, and he sighs. “Was,” he corrects. “A long time ago.”

  Griffin Wade—his disappearance was legendary. There were even bumper stickers that said Where’s Griffin Wade? that became all the rage for years after he vanished.

  My eyes fix on the picture. With the exception of the eyes and cheekbones, the boy in the photo and the man he turned into look nothing alike. As a matter of fact, it’s hard to imagine Griff as a boy at all; with his linebacker size, deep voice, and abundance of facial hair, it seems like he must have hatched that way, fully grown, burly and tough.

  It’s no wonder no one recognizes him. I pride myself on being observant, and I was a religious watcher of Arroyo, and until this moment, I had no idea Griff and Griffin Wade were the same person. And even sitting here, the evidence in front of me, it’s difficult to believe.

  My eyes flick back and forth from the photo to the man, trying to make sense of it, until finally the puzzle clicks into place. “You don’t want to be famous?” It’s half question, half realization.

  His head shakes. “Being good at something and recognized for it is great. It’s all the other stuff that sucks.”

  I lean against the kitchen island, and he sits on a stool, making his famous eyes level with mine. Griffin Wade is sitting beside me sharing a beer. That’s crazy.

  “So you changed your name?” I ask.

  “My name, my country, my personality.”

  “And then you came back?”

  “Ten years later. I assumed it was safe. I didn’t look like I did. I had this kick-ass beard.” He strokes his furry chin.

  And more of the world aligns itself as I realize why he wore the hat and sunglasses at the airport, a wave of horror washing over me as I remember the red-haired woman with her camera aimed at him.

  “That reporter recognized you,” I say.

  He finishes his beer and sets it down. “Figures I would fall for the one girl in the world with a kid even more famous than me.”

  And the last piece of the puzzle clicks—the reason kissing me was not a good idea—then, just as quickly, the revelation is blown to smithereens with the realization of what he just said. “You’ve fallen for me?”

  He answers by wrapping his hands around my hips, pulling me between his legs, and pressing his lips to mine.

  “Are you sure about this?” I say.

  “Very sure. Only good thing about tonight is that I no longer need to worry about it. Might as well do as I damn please, and at the moment, the only damn thing I want to do is you.”

  75

  We are in his bed, our frantic lovemaking over. His eyes are closed, his right arm draped over me, his fingers caressing my shoulder.

  Thirteen years. It’s been thirteen years since I was with a man other than Sean. Thank goodness Griff and I both have a sense of humor and that we’re both a little drunk. Even with the lubricant of alcohol, I was extremely self-conscious and Griff was a bit too enthusiastic, both of us awkward and clumsy and making a less-than-graceful holy mess of the whole condom thing and who does what.

  It doesn’t help that Griff is Griffin Wade. The entire time we were having sex, I kept thinking about it. I’m having sex with Griffin Wade—teen idol, superstar. He’s probably slept with hundreds of women, maybe even thousands.

  Now we’re lying together in what is supposed to be postcoital bliss, but instead my feelings are all over the place, tangled between wanting to flee in extreme mortification over how bad I was and the desperate desire to have a do-over.

  When I can’t take my tortured thoughts a second longer, I push up onto my elbow and say, “You’re Griffin Wade.”

  “Was,” he says, his hand unwrapping from my shoulder as his eyes open and his mouth tightens into a frown.

  “But tomorrow you’re going to be him again because that woman recognized you.”

  He says nothing, only the flare of his nose revealing his concern.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, the superstar dissolved instantly into the man I’ve grown to love. “I’ve ruined everything for you. Everything you’ve fought so hard to protect is going to…” I search for the words. “It’s not going to be what it was anymore.”

  “Nope,” he says, sitting up and pushing me back to the bed, his hands on my shoulders, his body hovering over me. “Starting at this moment, nothing is the same as it was.” Then his lips are coming down on mine, and the comforter is being pulled away.

  I want to pull it back, to cover myself, because I’m acutely aware of the fact that my body has had three children and should not be scrutinized so closely. But he is merciless. Sitting up, he runs me over head to toe, first with his eyes then his touch, his fingers traveling down my sternum to my rib cage then tracing the thin scar that smiles between my hips, his caress so gentle it makes the skin tremble.

  “Molly,” I say. “Stubborn even then.”

  He kisses the sacred spot, his lips lingering a second before moving south and traveling to a less sacred spot that causes me to writhe in torment and ecstasy, awed that such pleasure and pain can come from the same wonderful, horrible sliver of flesh.

  76

  Mom, I hungwry,” Molly says, appearing in the doorway and finding Griff and I tangled together in the sheets as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “I’ve got it,” Griff says, pecking me on the nose before he slides from the covers, and I’m relieved to see that at some point in the night he pulled on pajama bottoms. “You rest. Squidoo, you ready to have the best waffles on the planet?”

  “Wready, Fwreddy,” she answers, grabbing Griff by the hand and pulling him from the room.

  I try to close my eyes to savor the extra moments of sleep, but their laughter from the kitchen keeps distracting me, and I hate not being a part of it. So after less than two minutes, I hop out of bed, pull on my clothes, and join them.

  “Do you get the paper?” I ask as I settle at the table beside Molly.

  “Trust me, Squid, you don’t want to look at the paper, not today. As a matter of fact, for the next week you should avoid newspapers, television, and the radio. It’s better if you don’t hear what they’re saying.”

  I know he’s right and try not to think about the entire nation thinking of me as a woman who slaps her children, instead trying to focus on sitting in Griff’s bright kitchen as the best waffle on the planet is placed in front of me.

  My phone buzzes on the counter, and he hands it to me.

  “Faye, I swear I’m going to kill the bastard,” my mom says when I answer. “If he comes anywhere near me, I’m going to slice off his balls and shove them down his throat until he chokes on them.”

  “Mom, calm down. What’s going on?”

  “Haven’t you seen the news?”

  “The airport thing?”

  “No. Sean.”

  “Sean’s in the news?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the news. The bastard’s ranting and raving about
how he won’t rest until his children are safe, that in light of you hitting Molly and Emily…”

  “Emily? What’s Emily got to do with this? Em wasn’t even with us.”

  “Not yesterday, from before, when you slapped Emily at the Park Plaza Hotel. The security director came forward yesterday and has been on every news channel going off about how you whacked Emily in front of him.”

  “Whacked? That’s what he said? He said I whacked her?”

  Griff takes the phone from my trembling hand and carries it to the living room, out of earshot of Molly, who is staring wide-eyed at me.

  “Sorry, Bug,” I mutter, my body quivering with panic, mortification, and guilt.

  “You whacked me?”

  “No, baby, not you, Emily.”

  “You whacked Em?”

  I shake my head. “No, Bug, I didn’t whack Em. Eat your waffle.”

  But she doesn’t eat her waffle. Instead she sits quietly staring at it, wondering why the world is saying I slapped her and whacked her sister, probably wondering if maybe I did and if maybe she just forgot or doesn’t realize it.

  Griff is back. He hands me my phone. “We need to go,” he says. “Your husband’s on his way to the condo with Emily, and it’s probably best if we don’t let him face the press alone.”

  “I thought you said I needed to avoid the press.”

  “That was until I found out your husband is going to use them to try to get custody of your kids.”

  77

  We arrive too late.

  A block away from my mom’s condo, we see Sean standing on the top step of the building’s entrance, his arm draped over Emily’s shoulder as he talks to the dozens of reporters around them.

  “Duck down,” Griff says as he pulls on a baseball hat and puts on his sunglasses.

  Molly and I curl so we’re below the dashboard, and a moment later the truck bounces from the road to the ramp of the parking garage.

  “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go quickly while your husband’s got them distracted.”

  “But shouldn’t we stop him? Who knows what he’s saying?”

  “Too late,” Griff says. “We needed to stop it before it started, or get there first to present your side of the story. Now it will look defensive if you jump in, so we need to let it play out. Come on, the stairs are closer.” I feel his tension, his fervent desire not to be seen, and again I’m reminded how much this is costing him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I punch in the security code to the stairwell.

  He gives a weak, brave smile. “My life was starting to get dull.”

  We reach the landing of the sixth floor at the exact moment the elevator dings open and Sean and Emily step off it.

  I carry one of our suitcases and the now infamous carry-on bag. Griff carries the larger suitcase and Molly.

  For a moment, we all just stand there looking at each other.

  “Em, go get those damn jeans you want,” Sean says.

  “Take your sister with you,” I say.

  Griff sets Molly down, and Emily takes her by the hand and leads her into the condo. “Hey, Itch, how was the Big Apple?”

  “Thewre was a big appwle somewhewre?”

  Emily giggles and drops a kiss onto Molly’s curls then closes the door, locking out the tension in the hallway that is so thick the air feels liquid. Griff and Sean size each other up, their postures fake relaxed, their muscles coiled.

  “Sean,” I say. “This is Griff. He works with us.”

  “I know who the hell he is,” Sean says. “He’s all over the fucking paper, along with you and Molly. Griffin Wade, back from the dead, Faye’s knight in fucking armor. So tell me, Griffin…” He nearly spits the name. “Is this…” He gestures to the two of us. “…love or are the two of you just fucking?”

  Griff says nothing, the vein in his neck pulsing.

  “She is a good fuck,” Sean continues. “She’ll fuck you until your balls shrivel off. Has she fucked you that good yet, Griffin?”

  Griff steps toward him, causing Sean to laugh and my blood to turn cold. Griff is big, but Sean is mean. I step between them, my hands on Griff’s chest, his heart thumping against my fingers as I shake my head, my eyes pleading for him to let it go.

  He swallows and takes a step back, a move that I can tell takes every ounce of his will.

  I turn to Sean. “You need to stop talking to the press. I didn’t hit Molly. I told you that.”

  He smiles a toothless grin. “Doesn’t really matter if you did or didn’t. That’s the beauty of it. All that matters is that the world thinks you did. Now don’t it? You don’t want to share. Well, neither do I. You can’t have it both ways, Faye. You’re either with me or you’re against me, and you made it pretty damn clear where you stand, so I’m coming at you. I’m going to get full custody, and I’m going to make Em as famous as the other two. A fucking trifecta.”

  I ignore the threat and focus on the immediate danger. “Sean, please, listen to me. Don’t take Em to this audition. I know you think this is an opportunity, but it’s not. Mitten does this, he lures young girls in with promises…”

  “It got Gabby the part.”

  “For a price,” I say, struggling to keep my voice level. “She paid a price and so will Em. You don’t want that.”

  “Don’t tell me what the hell I want.”

  I lower my eyes, my heart spitfiring with panic, and in a voice as deferential as I can make it, I say, “Please, Sean. I know how much you love her. Don’t do this to get back at me. This isn’t who you are. You’re a good man…”

  “Ha!” He throws his head back and laughs then levels his gaze on mine. “Only you, Faye, would still not realize I’m not the man I was. Hell, I don’t even know if I ever was that man.”

  Emily walks out the door. “I’m ready,” she announces, her backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “Sean, please.”

  “Em, go on down,” he says. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Emily steps onto the elevator, and when the door closes, he turns back to me. “You know what they say about the green-eyed ones…no, green ones…maybe the same thing. Makes men horny. Mitten’s going to love her.”

  Griff charges, sidestepping me and throwing a haymaker at Sean’s head. Sean ducks it easily, rolling beneath it before rising back up to throw his entire body into a punch that he drives into Griff’s solar plexus. Griff drops to his knees, the air knocked clean out of him, then Sean finishes him with a blow to the temple, and Griff is on the ground and unconscious before I can move an inch.

  Sean steps over Griff’s body and glares down at me as I squat beside him. “Keep him away from me, Faye. Next time I’ll kill the bastard.” Then in no great hurry, he saunters to the stairwell.

  Griff groans, and I look down at him, his left eye already beginning to swell.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask, helping him sit up.

  “The eye? Not so much. My pride? Hell, yeah. I can’t believe I didn’t even land a punch.”

  “Sean’s a fighter,” I say, trying to be reassuring.

  “My Viking and Cherokee ancestors are groaning in their graves. I got pummeled in less than ten seconds by a man half my size.”

  “He’s not half your size, maybe three-quarters your size.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  I lean in and kiss him, and his arms wrap around me as he mumbles against my lips, “Now you’re helping.”

  When he pulls away, I’m breathless. He might not be much of a fighter, but he’s a hell of a kisser.

  “I need to stop Mitten from auditioning Emily,” I say.

  “You know those rumors about Bradley aren’t true. He lost his daughter, and it screwed him up, makes him sappy and nostalgic, which causes him to get overinvolved with the teenage actresses, but he’s not having sex with them.”

  “You know that for sure?”

  His brow furrows as he thinks about it, then he says, “Fine, I’ll call Chris and ma
ke sure Bradley’s not alone with her, but I still think you’ve got it wrong.” He takes out his phone. “Trouble. I knew it the moment I saw you. With a capital ‘T.’”

  “You said your life was dull.”

  “And now, thanks to you, it’s full of peril.”

  “Don’t worry, Sean’s gone.”

  “It’s not Sean I’m worried about. Only one heart, and it’s in the hands of a Squid.”

  78

  Thanksgiving was spent divided, and when Sean came Friday night to get Molly and Tom, I refused to give them up. In turn, he kept Emily. He continues to threaten filing for full custody, and I threaten the same. He’s bluffing. I’m not. Taking care of three kids full time would crimp his style; I would like nothing more than to have Sean out of my life for good.

  I called my lawyer, and she is looking into what grounds we might have to petition for full custody, but she has yet to come up with anything. The health, safety, and welfare of the kids is all that matters, and Sean’s not a danger to them, at least the court won’t see him as one.

  The stress of everything that happened this week and Emily’s absence is battering Molly emotionally, and for the past two days, she’s had a tough time sleeping and has reverted to sucking her thumb, a habit she gave up when she was two.

  Tom is weathering things better. He might have even been relieved that he didn’t need to spend the weekend with his dad. Unlike the girls, Tom’s relationship with Sean has not been fully repaired since Sean’s return. Tom internalizes things more than Molly and Emily and has always been more aware, and despite my efforts to protect the kids from Sean’s deceit, I think Tom sees it and doesn’t fully trust him.

  The best part of our time off was Griff. Three of the past five nights my mom volunteered to watch the kids, and every blissful moment of that time was spent in his arms.

  Now our time off is over and we’re on our way to the studio, my stomach in knots. Molly hasn’t run her lines and lies listless on the seat beside me, her thumb in her mouth. We’ve had ten days to rehearse, and yet she’s completely unprepared, and I’m worried she might be coming down with the flu.