by ANDREA SMITH
“Well, we surely are,” my grandmother replied. “Is everything okay with you, Neilah?” she asked, her forehead creased with concern.
“Oh, yes, Grandma. Just homesick I guess.”
“Well of course you were, darlin’,” Mama said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as we walked towards the escalator that would take us to the lower level to Baggage Claim. “Why, a whole month away from your family is just too much. I was sick with worry about you, wasn’t I Mama?”
My grandmother gave a nod, which told me that Mama had likely been hitting the bottle again.
“Tell me, Neilah Grace, tell me the truth. Did your father bring that whore around you while you were there? Did he?”
I stopped and turned to her. “No, Mama. He did not. I mostly hung out with Seth. I never saw Tiffany Blume, I swear it.”
I saw her visibly relax. “Well, at least he hasn’t totally lost his mind, I guess. Did he ask about me, Neely? Your daddy—did he want to know how I was?”
We started walking again, getting onto the downward escalator. “Sure he did,” I lied, “and I told him you were just fine, Mama.”
“Well good for you,” she replied, laughing. “I’m betting he regrets the day he ever set eyes on Tiffany Blume. Yes sir, he is surely realizing just how much his infidelity has cost him now!”
I looked up at my grandmother who had just stepped onto the escalator. Our eyes met and she shook her head back and forth as if she’d been listening to this kind of talk from Mama the whole time I’d been gone. She probably had been. I could only imagine how my Mama’s manic behavior had grated on their nerves. It had become a pattern with Mama. Always manic before the despair settled in again.
“Neely, honey,” my mama piped up, “I want you to promise me you won’t go back there next summer. I just can’t take it when you leave me like that. I did nothing but fret over you the whole time. If your daddy wants to see you, let him take time off and come out here. He can stay at a hotel and visit with you here in Tennessee. You tell him that, okay?”
“Okay, Mama,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll let him know.”
“And tell him not to bring that slut with him either. I don’t want the likes of her around you. You tell him that too, okay?”
“I will, Mama. I promise. I will.”
We waited about ten minutes until my luggage came down the chute and landed on the moving carousel. Mama picked up one of the suitcases, and I grabbed the other.
“Your granddaddy is out front with the car. He’s gonna drive us to our new place, honey. Grandma helped me get settled in. You’re going to love our new apartment. It’s an old Victorian house on a well-maintained street with lots and lots of shade trees.”
“It sounds nice, Mama,” I replied, as we stepped outside the terminal and the hot humidity of Tennessee assaulted us. “Wow, so different than California weather,” I commented.
“Of course it is. Much better, don’t you think?” she asked. “But don’t worry. Our apartment has window air conditioners. We’ll be comfortable there. Oh, and I got a job!” she squealed, clapping her hands together. “I got a job as a receptionist with a lawyer downtown. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yes, Mama. That is fantastic news,” I replied, trying to sound enthused.
The ride to our new apartment from the airport went achingly slow. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
My head was throbbing from the plane trip, and the fact that my father had been confused and angry when I told him I needed to go home immediately because my mother needed me.
It hadn’t totally been a lie. When I had called Mama once I’d gotten back to Daddy’s house to see if she could pick me up at the airport, she had truly sobbed in happiness that I was coming back early. She went on and on telling me how miserable she’d been since I’d gone to visit him, and how much she needed me back there where I belonged.
“Neely, the court says I have you for a month. It’s been just two weeks, I—”
“Daddy, I need to go home now. Are you gonna take me to the airport, or do you want me to call a cab?” I’d interrupted, getting mouthy which was something I’d never done before.
“Fine!” he’d spat. “Get in the car. I’ll take this up with my lawyer.”
And so he’d driven me to the airport in silence. Content with being angry with my mother who he blamed for my early departure. I allowed him to believe that because it was easier. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do, but at that point, I couldn’t deal with baring my soul to anyone. Not even him.
And my heart ached knowing that I wouldn’t go back next year, partly because Mama had begged me not to leave her like that again, but mostly because I couldn’t face Seth after leaving the ring and the note for him like a coward.
But it had been the right thing to do for everyone concerned. I was too young to feel this way. Too young to commit to anyone emotionally.
I had a lot to figure out on my own. I doubted if Mama was going to be of any help, so it was up to me to sort things out. To make the best choices and decisions I could at my age, and to learn from past experiences and mistakes going forward.
The ache in my heart would eventually diminish. I would start at a new school in a few weeks, which would hopefully be full of new promises for me.
A clean slate.
A blank canvas.
A fresh start.
“Mama,” I said as my grandfather pulled off the interstate and on to our exit, “did you find all my art supplies? My paints, brushes, and canvases? I think I want to start painting again.”
“Well, I’m sure they are there, honey. We’ve got at least twenty boxes left to unpack. We’ll get to it as soon as we get home, how’s that? What’re you thinking about painting?”
“I’m not sure, Mama. I’m thinking about getting into some expressionist art.”
“Expressionist?” she asked, her forehead creasing in confusion. Mama didn’t know much about various art themes or styles. “What’s that?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” I replied. “It’s sort of like taking a subject, and painting it in a distorted way. Making it more of an emotional expression on the canvas versus the physical reality of it. Making it totally subjective.”
“I see,” she replied. “Well, who will your subject be in your first painting, Neely?”
“That’s easy,” I replied with a pensive smile. “Seth Drake. He’ll be the perfect subject for my very first oil expressionist painting.”
Claimed
Book #2 - Evermore Series
By
Andrea Smith
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my friend, Terri Ball, who gave me the encouragement and support during some of the roughest times. Thank you, Terri.
R.I.P.
Chapter 1
Christmas Eve, 1996
“Neely, what do you think of these?” Tiffany called out from across the aisle at Nordstrom. I’d been busying myself flipping through a rack of neckties in search of one last gift for Dad.
I looked up and over, snapping my bubblegum loudly. It was a coping mechanism. The gum I mean. Every time I had to engage in some one-on-one time with Tiffany in order to make my father happy, I needed a wad of gum.
She held up a pair of plaid golf pants for my opinion. “Won’t these be perfect for the cruise?” she asked in her bubbly voice.
“Yeah, they’re great,” I lied. “He’ll love them.”
He’ll look like a complete dork, but he’ll love them.
The last part was the absolute truth. My father loved everything about Tiffany. Her face, her body, her hair, her words, the air she exhaled. Well, I was probably overly exaggerating on that one, but the rest was true enough. I turned back to the ties, ready to make a selection.
“Or are these better?”
I looked back over to where she was now holding up a pair of bright celery green golf pants that had a brig
ht yellow belt included. “You know, with his yellow Polo shirt. What do you think?”
She was looking at me expectantly, as if my opinion really mattered to her. “Definitely those,” I said, putting some conviction in my voice. “I can picture Daddy in those perfectly.”
I snickered inwardly. He’d look like something plucked from our garden back in Tennessee. What was it about adults turning pure idiot in the name of love? What magic spell had Tiffany woven so intricately with the delicate heartstrings of my father? It was all totally beyond me.
“Oh, what the hell,” she said, releasing a hard sigh of indecision, “I’ll get them both I guess. It’s not like we can’t afford them.”
I shrugged and selected a royal blue silk tie for him. Now this was definitely my father. Just then a gaggle of ladies approached. Their stares and excited whispers gave them away immediately.
Fans.
It invariably happened no matter where Tiffany went. I often used that as a reason to beg off from accompanying her. I wish I had today, but her relentless whining had finally won me over.
“Are you Tiffany Blume?” the redheaded lady with dark blue eye shadow asked as the group closed in on my stepmother.
“Why yes,” she gushed, giving them an appreciative smile, “yes I am.”
“I told you, Elaine!” the lady continued, grabbing for a piece of paper from her shopping bag. “Would you mind terribly giving me your autograph? We all just love your show, Lotus Pointe. Watch it every Thursday night. I even record it on my VCR so I can watch it over and over again.”
“So do I,” a blonde woman in the group added. “I think you’re the best female villain ever.”
Tiffany was positively gushing as she took the pen and scribbled her autograph on the pieces of paper being thrust in her face.
“Will Austin come out of his coma before the season ends?” the redhead asked, her forehead creased in concern as if the actor who played Austin on the night time soap was actually in a freakin’ coma.
Tiffany giggled her evil ‘Libby’ giggle—the character she played on Lotus Pointe—and handed the signed paper back to the woman. “Well, you know I’m not supposed to tell, and to be honest, even the cast has been kept in the dark on that one, but let’s just say that the producers are trying to negotiate a new contract with Julian…I mean Austin,” she corrected so the women would be clear on whom she was talking about, “and rumor has it it’s not going well,” she finished with a smug wink.
The blonde lady clearly wasn’t happy with this little nugget of news, I could tell. I stood there silently and rolled my eyes. There wasn’t anything on television that had ever fascinated me the way this show seemed to enrapture these women.
Truth was, I’d only watched about ten minutes of Lotus Pointe one time at Tiffany’s prodding. It wasn’t as if I wanted to see my stepmother’s face or hear her voice anymore than I already did. But she’d whined until I had finally capitulated.
I think she wanted me to see just how villainous of a character she played. In retrospect, maybe that was her way of getting it across to me that she had it in her to be a force to contend with should I ever have the urge to challenge her position within our blended little family.
“They can’t write Austin Benedict out!” the blonde woman finally blurted once the implications sunk in, “He’s Cassidy Ryan’s first love! What will happen to her if he dies?”
Oh, for Christ’s sake!
Tiffany smiled and patted the woman’s shoulder comfortingly. “Now don’t despair. Remember, anything’s possible in Hollywood, dear.”
The women finally moved on, chatting away at the possibilities of what might happen with these fictional characters if the actor didn’t sign a new contract with the studio.
“Sorry about that,” Tiffany said, smiling in faux apology, “Just part of the job. I made a promise to myself long ago that I would always treat my fans with kindness and respect. They are, after all, my bread and butter.”
“I guess,” I replied, totally disinterested in the whole conversation, not to mention bored. “Are we ready to check out?”
“Oh, yes. Then how about we grab some lunch?”
Perfect.
Not.
“Sure,” I conceded as I popped another piece of Bazooka into my mouth, “why not?”
Chapter 2
Tiffany insisted on driving to the Santa Monica Pier for lunch. “How about the Albright?” she asked, “Are you in the mood for some great seafood?”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Once we were seated and the staff had appropriately fawned over her, the open menus provided me some respite from having to look at or converse with her.
I just didn’t like her. And it wasn’t even totally about the fact that she’d been my father’s mistress or whatever. It was more than that. She was fake, phony, and couldn’t be trusted, of that I was sure. But I knew that I had to at least try with her or this lunch would drag out to eternity, or so it would seem.
I ordered fish tacos, and Tiffany ordered a watercress and shrimp salad.
“So,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that always seemed to permeate the space between us, “is that actor—Julian is it? Is he really going to be cut from the show?” I figured I couldn’t go wrong picking a favorite subject of Tiffany’s: her show.
“Well, I can share this with you I guess, since we’re family, but you have to keep it an absolute secret,” she whispered, leaning in closer.
“Who would I tell?” I asked, clearly puzzled that she’d even toss that in there.
“You can’t tell your school friends, promise?”
I made the ‘cross my heart’ gesture for her benefit since she seemed to be under the impression that I had school friends, although I wasn’t sure how she could have possibly arrived at that conclusion. I chuckled over that, not over her cutesy attempt at sharing a studio secret with me.
“Okay, so it appears that Julian Weatherford will be replaced next season when his character on the show, Austin, comes out of the coma. Studios have run into these types of contract disputes like…forever. So they aren’t about to give in to his cheesy agent’s salary demands. I mean, the boy thinks he needs to make the same amount per episode as I do, isn’t that totally insane?”
Hell, I didn’t know what she made per episode, nor did I care. I wasn’t in a position to have an opinion one way or another as to the insanity of it. But I nodded so she'd continue to talk and I didn’t have to do more than half-listen.
“Well, the producers are holding secret auditions before February sweeps because they’re fairly certain they’re going to replace Julian after this season. I mean once an actor starts his own star trip like that, it’s usually time to part ways.”
“Well, that sounds smart,” I replied, taking a sip of my iced tea. “Wouldn’t want to put all your eggs in one basket I guess.”
“Exactly,” she said, nodding vehemently. “This show makes too much revenue to let some pimply-faced teenager throw a wrench into it. We have loyal sponsors and a great time slot at risk if we lose them. Why some of them have been with us the whole six seasons we’ve been on the air.”
She waited for me to say something. I guess it was my turn to speak. My mind rushed through everything she’d just said.
“So,” I started, “does Julian really have pimples?”
Tiffany’s eyes widened and then she giggled yet again. “No, of course not, silly! That’s just a saying. He’s really handsome. Dark good looks. But, he’s nineteen and thinks he’s got the world in his pocket. Time for a wake-up call for his ego. That’s the problem with the young talent; so many times their physical appearance tops their level of maturity. They can and often are their own worst enemy in this business. Especially a child star turned heart throb like Julian.”
I laughed, drawing a look from my stepmother. “Oh, I was just thinking that you talk like you’re old, Tiffany. And clear
ly you’re not.”
“Why thank you, Neely,” she gushed as if I’d just given her some spectacular compliment. I was simply stating facts here. Yeah, nineteen was young, but so was twenty-nine, which was her age. “But in this business I can tell you that women seem to age much quicker than men. I count my blessings in landing this show, and the opportunities it will provide for other things.”
“Other things?”
“Oh sure. Every actor that doesn’t say they dream of doing a feature film some day is a damn liar. It’s only a matter of time until my ship comes in.”
We finally got through lunch and headed home. Tiffany continued to babble on about her show, and the cast, and then, as we passed the Drake home, she suddenly punched the brakes of her Audi and yelled out, “That’s it!”
My head snapped back up from the shock of her sudden stop, “What the hell?” I yelled, looking over at her, and rubbing my neck. “You just gave me whiplash!”
“Oh, Neely, I’m sorry hun. I just saw that house and it dawned on me who would be absolutely perfect to audition for the role of Austin Benedict! Seth Drake. He would be amazing for that role.”
A flood of panic infiltrated every nerve ending in my body. “You’re not stopping here, are you?”
She relaxed back and pressed down on the accelerator once again, heading down the road to our house. “No, no. They’re in Aspen right now. But you better believe as soon as we start shooting again in January, I’m gonna put a bug in the producer’s ear about him.”
As she shut the car off, I decided to take a leap and ask Tiffany what she knew about Seth Drake these days. “So, isn’t Seth studying in New York?”
“Yes, but he’s with his family over the holidays. If I time this right, the studio could probably get a screen test in for him before he returns to school after winter break.”
I nodded and remained silent. Worst move I could’ve made because it triggered something in Tiffany. Curiosity? Sympathy? Or maybe just her own brand of cruelty.
