She shook her head and looked away. “I knew this was useless.”
“No, no, whatever you’ve done, we can handle it together.” A sudden flashback materialized: running into Jeannine on Fifth Avenue in New York right after he’d just quit Grantham University. She’d been pushing a stroller with a sleeping toddler while wearing a rumpled yellow dress. He could still see that outfit—it’d had daisies and he’d hated it on sight. And the kid? He found out then and there she was his.
“Berlin? The rock concert where we met and proceeded to act like rabbits in heat, after which you took off at dawn without even a simple goodbye?” Jeannine had reminded him bitterly on that putridly hot and humid day. It seemed that during the two-year gap between high school and college, when he’d traveled Europe with a Church youth group—unbelievable in hindsight—he’d promoted more than just world peace. A one-night stand had led to increasing the population by one infant girl—Amara. When she’d found out she was pregnant, Jeannine had gone back to live with her parents in Mineola, having lost complete contact with Nick until that very moment. It didn’t help that she didn’t know his full name.
Nick, to give him credit, had immediately offered to marry her, convinced by too many lunchtime beers and not enough sleep, that the fates had declared it. He was meant to drop out of college after all, he told himself. They’d spent the next six months living in a walk-up one-bedroom apartment in the Lower East Side—before it became gentrified. Needles littered the sidewalks. And their bathtub sat in the middle of the tiny kitchen.
Two months later, Nick skipped out. Jeannine had claimed she was glad to see him go. Aside from Amara, they’d had nothing in common. Jeannine thought her job was to be a perfect mother—reveling in staying at home and taking care of Amara. His was to provide. In reality, he hopscotched from one dead-end job to the next while managing to become a regular at the bars in the neighborhood.
He supposed, in retrospect, that they’d both gone into the marriage blind. Still, it was not one of his finest hours by a long shot.
Amara’s voice brought him back to the here and now. “You can breathe easier. I’m not pregnant. I didn’t even go for myself.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“I took a friend to a gynecology clinic because she had an STD.”
“She had motor oil?” he asked, referring to the name of a well-known brand name.
“Oh, brother,” Amara scoffed. “She had a sexually transmitted disease—vaginal warts, if you really want to know.”
It was Nick’s turn to wince. “Perhaps that’s too much detail.”
“Anyway, she was afraid to tell anyone but me, and she clearly needed treatment.”
“And the school infirmary couldn’t handle it?”
“They would have told her parents, duh.”
Even Nick could sympathize with that. “So where was the boyfriend in all this?” Nick asked.
“Nowhere to be found—like most guys,” Amara said with disgust.
Nick couldn’t help feeling that he’d made a lousy role model.
“So, I told her that a boyfriend who didn’t use a condom wasn’t a boyfriend—just a moron, and she didn’t want him around anyway. She was lucky that it was only an STD.”
Amara rubbed her shoe back and forth on the sidewalk. “Anyway, I said I’d take her. But because we didn’t want anyone to know, we didn’t sign out for leaving campus, and I kind of took the keys that Mom had left in her desk.”
“Took?”
“Okay, I stole them. But I put them back. Which turned out to be the big mistake, since her secretary spotted me. There was no way I could deny I’d taken her car.”
“And your friend. What did she say?”
“Nothing. Just like I told her to. She didn’t need any more grief. Besides, she’s a scholarship student—only a junior. If they found out, she could lose her scholarship, maybe get kicked out.”
“So you took all the blame?”
Amara held up her hand and dropped it. “Yeah…well…to tell you the truth, I didn’t really think I’d get kicked out. It was Mom’s car after all, not somebody else’s.”
Nick looked at her, his mouth open.
She sniffed. “Okay, okay. I get the message. I guess I didn’t know what I was thinking.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So? Now you know. Not only did I get kicked out, but the headmistress told me they’re going to tell Grantham University. They’ll probably rescind my acceptance.”
The belligerence was still etched on her face, but when her mouth twitched, he also detected fear and uncertainty. Underneath the whole I So Don’t Care What The Establishment Thinks getup was a frightened teenage girl.
“So?” she asked again. “I suppose you think I was stupid to get involved.”
“Do you have unprotected sex, too?” From the sour look on Amara’s face, that was so not the right thing to say.
“I should have known. You just don’t get it, do you?” She stormed down the sidewalk.
Nick put his hand out to stop her. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. It just blurted out because I panicked. I may be a lousy father, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not concerned. Listen, I get it. Your sex life is not the topic of conversation right now.” Nick paused. “And I’m not sure I can handle that anyway.”
Amara looked down at herself, then at him “Dad, do I look like the kind of girl that boys are running after?”
Beneath the somber, shapeless clothing and dyed hair, Nick could see that a slender, attractive young woman was hiding. Jeez, don’t blow it again.
He wet his lips and wet them again. Then he really tried to say the right thing. “If they’re not looking at you, they’re stupid. But listen. Truthfully—” he raised both hands “—as a father, I prefer to think of you as strictly off-limits. Because, like you said, most boys are morons, and I speak from personal experience.” He rubbed his mouth. “But as to the other thing.”
“‘Other thing’ meaning my getting kicked out?”
“Yeah, that ‘other thing.’ What you did taking the car keys was wrong, but I think we’ll be able to make them give you some slack.”
“Why? Because you’re my dad? Some celebrity who can buy them off? Press told me about how rich parents do that all the time.”
“I bet the little pri…” Nick stopped himself. He didn’t want to set the guy up as his adversary. It might just encourage Amara’s infatuation even more. He knew the way immature minds worked. Instead he nodded. “The kid’s got a point. But that’s not what I was driving at. Maybe if we explained your reasons for using the car.”
“Dad, I’m not going to rat on my friend.”
“I’m not asking you to name names.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie checking his watch nervously. “Hon, I’ve got to shoot this scene now. Look—” he pointed “—your uncle Georgie is ready to have a shi—” once more he censored himself, something that was totally out of character “—a fit. We’ll have to talk about this later.”
“It can’t be much later because my graduation is supposed to be the end of next week.”
Nick looked to the sky. And noticed it was overcast. “Great. Okay. In the meantime, what does your mother say?”
“Earth to Dad. Don’t you remember that she’s on some remote island for her honeymoon? No phone, no email. She’s not due back until two days before graduation.”
“I can’t believe her new husband, the lawyer, would go someplace where he couldn’t stay in touch with his office 24/7.”
“Glenn is nice. He wouldn’t do that to Mom on her honeymoon.”
“Meaning he’s old and rich and doesn’t need to.” When he saw her sour look he held up his hands. “Okay, I won’t say anything mean about your mom�
�s new husband. God knows that after me she deserves a break.”
“That’s what she says, too.” For the first time, there was a smile on her face.
If it took a collective agreement that he was a schmuck to make Amara happy, so be it, Nick thought. He placed his arm around his daughter’s narrow shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
She angled her head and looked up at him. “You’re not suffering from some delusion that this is a rosy father-daughter moment, are you?” She looked critically at his hand on her shoulder.
He dropped it right away. “Heavens, no. No one would ever accuse us of sharing one of those, would they?”
But the ironic thing was, both father and daughter had a smile—true, more a smirk—but, nevertheless, a smile on their lips.
CHAPTER TEN
NICK SAT IN THE FRONT BOOTH of Pancake Heaven next to Mel, the owner. “I gotta tell you, Mel. I’m not usually a big fan of sweet things. On the other hand, I completely get the need for a major hit of carbs to get over a hangover. Given that this is a college town and that Pancake Heaven appears to be thriving—” he gestured around the packed establishment “—I think we can all see where I’m going.”
On weekends, a line of people at Pancake Heaven wended their way out the door and down the sidewalk as far as the movie theater. Unlike Hoagie Palace, Pancake Heaven tended to attract families and the older crowd.
Nick felt a lump forming in his stomach. He’d done his best to tackle the large mound of gelatinous bacon and an overly sweet chocolate milkshake. He had smiled politely for the camera. But he was reaching his limit.
Out of desperation, he glanced out the window. Through the kitschy stained glass, he watched the traffic inch forward—much like the doleful progress of the milkshake as it made its way south of his esophagus. Only by chance did he spot a female bicyclist whizzing by.
Despite the black helmet obscuring her face, Nick was sure he recognized the ponytail trailing out the back and the long legs, encased in a pair of skinny jeans, pumping madly.
He craned his neck in order to follow the cyclist as she headed through the intersection. And he caught a glimpse of the back of her blue-and-white-striped shirt. Until now, he never knew he had a thing for women in French sailor’s shirts.
He turned reluctantly back to the scene inside. “You know, Mel, I’d love to stay and chat some more, but we’ve got another appointment in town.” He reached across to shake hands with the owner, Mel.
Nick stood impatiently.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with another cup of coffee?” Mel asked. Close to retirement age, his spreading stomach stretched the white buttons of his blue oxford-cloth shirt.
Nick patted his chest. “I’ll have to pass. If I get too jacked up in the morning, I tend to crash later in the day.”
Behind Mel’s back, Georgie was gagging.
“But your cappuccino, hey, what can I say—unique,” Nick offered. It had come topped with a whipped cream that no amount of DNA testing could ever attribute to a cow or a cowlike species.
Georgie rallied the troops, including Amara, who had been sitting visibly bored at the counter during the filming. About the only thing she had touched the whole time was bottled water. Probably a wise move, Nick thought in hindsight.
He waited outside along with Georgie and Amara while Larry and Clyde packed up their equipment. Nick could tell that Georgie was confused. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I don’t get it,” Georgie answered. “What’s up with cutting the session short? We’ve still got almost an hour before we have to be at the Rare Book Library. There really wasn’t any hurry. Even if we have to roll on our stomachs the whole way, we’ll still be early.”
“You know me. Mr. Punctuality.”
“Oh, please, who was ten minutes late this morning?” Georgie replied.
“I was busy talking with my daughter,” Nick explained.
“Then that’s all right.” Georgie gave him a fist pump. “We always have time for Amara. I’m proud of you, Nick. You’re a slow learner, but you’re not without hope.”
“Please, I don’t think I’m in the running for the father of the year award, as Amara here will probably agree.” Nick was secretly hoping that she’d back him up, saying he wasn’t so bad after all.
Instead she was engrossed with texting on her iPhone.
Nick looked to Georgie and shrugged.
Georgie made a “take it easy” gesture with his hand, and held the door open wide so that Larry and Clyde could slip past the people waiting in line. Then he focused on Nick again. “What I don’t get is the lack of snarkiness back there in Pancake Hell.” Before the filming, Georgie had ordered a large stack of buttermilk pancakes. He’d even poured on the maple syrup with great gusto. But after a few bites, he’d put his fork down and pushed the plate away. Nick hadn’t seen Georgie refuse food since…since… Wait a minute. He’d never seen him refuse food.
“I didn’t think it was all that bad,” Clyde interrupted. He had gleefully finished Georgie’s pancakes.
“What would you know about food? You’re English,” Georgie replied.
“Whoa! Look who’s snarky now. Of course I have no opinion of the food since no one thought to offer me any,” Larry moaned.
“Don’t be such a baby.” Clyde removed the keys to the rental van from his jeans pocket and opened up the back doors. Parking was at a premium on Main Street, and the crew had obtained permission from the borough to hood a meter for their use.
After loading up, Larry slammed the doors shut and looked around. “This sudden bout of niceness wouldn’t have anything to do with your librarian, would it, Nick? What do you think, Amara?”
Nick snarled.
A car horn beeped.
Amara, oblivious to the conversation around her, turned her head. A BMW was blocking traffic in the intersection. She waved.
Nick didn’t need three guesses to know it was Press.
Amara whipped around to face her father. “That’s Press. I forgot to tell you that he invited me to hang out with him while he’s working for Reunions.”
“Yes, you did forget to tell me. And don’t Reunions start on Friday? Last I checked it’s still Wednesday,” Nick replied. He was working really hard not to raise his voice.
“Yeah, but apparently there’s a lot of preparation to do up front like cleaning rooms and moving beer kegs and stuff.”
“Since when have you ever cleaned your room?” Nick asked.
Georgie elbowed Nick. “Give the kid a break.”
Amara’s phone jingled with an incoming text. She looked down. “That’s Press. He doesn’t want to get a ticket. The Grantham cops are supposed to be notorious. Listen, I sat through one shoot, how many more can I sit through in one day? And Noreen, Press’s stepmom, doesn’t need me to babysit later today. She’s taking Brigid to the hair salon.”
“C’mon, Nick. She didn’t complain at all through the shoot, which had to have been pretty boring,” Georgie defended her.
Nick caved. “All right. But whatever you do, don’t touch a single beer keg. If the cops are as notorious as you say, I don’t want to hear that you’ve been charged with underage possession of an alcoholic beverage. You’re in enough trouble as it is already.” Nick bit his tongue. That hadn’t come out quite right.
“Gee, like I needed any reminders.” Amara took off without even saying goodbye.
“Call me every hour,” Nick shouted out after her.
Clyde opened the driver’s door to the van. “You really think that’s going to happen?”
“No, but I can pretend,” Nick lamented.
Georgie shook his head. “Relax. She seems pretty savvy about boys.”
Nick watched Amara scamp
er through traffic and slide into the passenger seat. “I hope you’re right.”
“Hey, is there any food at this next shoot?” Larry whined, hanging on to the door.
The BMW pulled away, its engine gunning as the light changed from yellow to red.
Georgie gave Larry a look. “Is that all you think about?”
Nick gazed heavenward. “Please, please, just give me the strength to survive the next few days.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MIMI’S CELL PHONE SPRANG to life, ringing loudly from the nightstand. She rolled over. The sunlight stabbed her eyes. After quickly covering her face with her arm, she felt around for the phone and found it just as it started to vibrate onto the carpet.
“Still got the old reflexes,” she mumbled to herself. Mimi had been captain of the Women’s Water Polo team when she was a senior at Grantham.
She moved her wrist and ventured to open one eye so she could read the screen on her phone. The number was not one on her extensive contact list. She considered rolling back over on her stomach and letting the damn thing go to voice mail, but her inner newshound got the better of her.
She pressed the screen and answered gruffly, “This had better not be a solicitation for the Policemen’s Benevolent Association.”
“Mimi, is that you? It’s Vivian, Vivian Pierpoint. Noreen gave me your phone number. I hope I haven’t disturbed you?”
Mimi shut her eyes. Nothing like being woken the first thing in the morning by your second stepmother’s close friend. Okay, the bedside clock said eleven, but that was splitting hairs.
For a long time Mimi had hated Noreen, almost as much as she had hated her first stepmother, Adele, who was Press’s mother. Adele had originally been her nanny, until she’d supplanted Mimi’s own late mother. Adele was beyond the pale. Everyone agreed. The woman cheated at tennis, was addicted to plastic surgery and actually cared about things like backgammon tournaments.
But beginning last year Mimi had begrudgingly begun to accept Noreen. And while she found it a little hard to cope with Noreen’s sunny disposition and glamorous good looks, she realized that she actually liked her—a little. After all, Noreen was the CFO in Lilah’s nonprofit and by all accounts, didn’t shirk from hard work. The woman had brains, too.
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