A Week at the Lake

by Wendy Wax

  Oh, thank God. “Brooks,” she began in a relieved rush. “You won’t believe what I . . .”

  “This is Brooks Anderson. Please leave your name and number at the tone and I’ll get back to you.”

  She waited through the tone, her heart thudding in her chest, her face flushing with embarrassment. She did not leave a message. Get a grip, she instructed herself. She’d try him again before they left for the city if she hadn’t already heard from him.

  A small desperate part of her wanted to call her mother in Charleston and ask if she’d heard anything about the Andersons or his marriage. Except that would be even more humiliating than the sinking sensation she was currently feeling, that she had somehow been “had.” Right now she was the only one who knew anything might be amiss. And that was the way she planned to keep it.

  Thirty-three

  In the end, everyone but Nadia came into the city. The size of their party made keeping Serena’s misery to herself both easier and more difficult. Adam came in to see friends and meet with his theater agent. Mackenzie came to hold Emma’s hand at her doctor’s appointment and afterward at Zoe’s birthday lunch with Eve—a celebration whose guest list had expanded to include all of them.

  They’d taken their time settling into “Chez Serena” then strolled down their shared memory lane to John’s Pizzeria for dinner, during which Adam reminisced about his table-waiting days and Emma, Mackenzie, and Serena gave Zoe a guided tour of the first years of their friendship. Serena joined in and even laughed at the right spots as they told stories on each other, but every ring of a cell phone or ding of an incoming text sent adrenaline spiking through her bloodstream; each time it wasn’t Brooks, she crashed a bit harder. Trying to keep her thoughts off herself, she watched Adam and Zoe, who sat next to each other, noting the mobility of their smiles and their improbably similar laughter. Mackenzie watched them, too, and although she joined in and even shared some stories of her own, Serena noticed that she occasionally fell silent as if turning over things in her mind that she couldn’t quite let go of. It took a worried woman to recognize one.

  Serena chided herself for feeling so bereft when she was surrounded by the people she’d always cared about the most, and yet she kept seeing Brooks’s face when she’d showed him John’s. When she went to the ladies’ room, she actually stood in front of the heart that contained both their names. When tears threatened, she ran her fingers over the word “ASSHOLE” she’d carved in tear-shaped letters. Resolute, she called his number. This time she left a message. “Hey,” she said brightly at the beep. “It’s me. I’m at John’s with the gang for pizza. Everybody says hi. We’re staying at my place. Zoe and I are recording at the studio in the morning and then we’re all having lunch at Le Cirque before we head back to the lake.” She hesitated, her eyes drawn again to the heart that held both their names. Had she really just given him every possible place where he might find her? “I hope you’re okay. I’d really like to see or at least hear from you.”

  The next morning Serena stood in front of the microphone at the studio with Wes Harrison on one side of her and Zoe on the other. All three of them watched the playback of the scene between Georgia Goodbody, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s long-lost and heretofore unknown daughter, that they were set to rerecord.

  There’d been no sign of Lauri, though it was unlikely that Serena would even have had the energy to insult her after a sleepless night spent willing her silent phone to ring. Wes barely registered. In truth, although she tried to stay tuned into Zoe, Serena’s mind kept straying to Brooks. Who still had not called, emailed, or texted.

  “I’m sorry?” she said, coming out of her reverie only after realizing that Ethan had just asked for something.

  “I said, can you make that line a little saucier?” It was the third time Ethan’s voice had sounded in her earphones asking her for more or less of something, which was three times more than he’d ever needed to ask her for anything before.

  Serena flushed. “Sorry. I’m ready.”

  She pushed her worry aside long enough to complete the line as requested, then flubbed the one that followed. Jesus.

  “Do you need to take a break?” Ethan’s voice sounded again, not angry or aggrieved as it should have been. “Would you like Catherine to bring in something to drink?”

  “No. Thanks,” Serena said brightly. “I’m really sorry. If I don’t get this next bit on the first take, I’ll hand over Georgia’s fan and let you hit me with it.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Not you, Wes,” Serena snapped.

  Zoe laughed as Serena rolled her eyes at the man beside her. Serena wished she were having as good a time as Zoe. But then the girl was about to turn sixteen—a number Serena could no longer personally remember—and she was beyond excited to be here. Serena’s job was to help her shine in this session, not throw everyone off.

  “Rolling playback!”

  The session finally ended without further mishap but Serena filed out of the studio badly shaken. She’d never allowed her personal life to intrude on her professional one. Even when a relationship had come to an end, she hadn’t let her disappointment show in her work. But then none of those endings had really mattered. And, of course, she’d almost always been the one to walk away. She’d made sure to choose men who weren’t really available and whom she didn’t care too deeply about. That had been her modus operandi from the moment Brooks Anderson had walked out of her life. Right up until the moment he’d walked back in.

  She and Zoe lingered briefly in the reception area. Serena kept one eye on the door secretly hoping that Brooks would walk through it as he had the last time she’d been in to record.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Ethan asked.

  “No.” Serena pulled her eyes from the door. “We’re going to Le Cirque for lunch. Eve Michaels is throwing a small birthday luncheon for Zoe.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Ethan shot Zoe a wink. “Happy Birthday. Be sure to tell your mother we’re ready to add you to the cast anytime she’s ready to sign off on the paperwork.”

  “Maybe you could come for lunch and talk to her about it,” Zoe said. “I bet she wouldn’t say no to you.”

  Ethan snorted. “I don’t know that I’m that persuasive. And I wouldn’t want to intrude on your grandmother’s plans.”

  “But she told me I could invite anybody I wanted to,” Zoe insisted. “And you won’t be the only guy, ’cause Mackenzie’s husband Adam’s coming.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  Serena shoved her silent phone deep into her pocket. “Oh, stop being so modest. You’ll add a much-needed sense of humor to the proceedings. I promise you Emma will be glad to see you.”

  Le Cirque was not a celebrity-free zone; well-known faces came and went on a regular basis, and despite the occasional gawking they were typically left alone. But the party that filed into the table tucked into a semi-private alcove and that included three Michaelses, Georgia Goodbody, and Ethan Miller was pretty hard to ignore. Emma imagined Adam was even now consoling himself with the fact that even the most successful screenwriters often went unrecognized, but Emma sensed that his well-formed nose was somewhat out of joint.

  Eve seated them as any grand dame might, automatically flirting with Adam and Ethan in the process. Emma moved to sit between Adam and Zoe, but Eve insisted she sit on Zoe’s other side, then studied them with an appraising gaze Emma did not understand.

  Mackenzie sat opposite her husband, her eyes pinned to his face whenever she thought no one was looking. Adam leaned over to say something to Zoe, and Emma quickly looked away.

  After the cork on the first bottle of champagne had been popped and the glasses filled, Serena set down the phone that had apparently been surgically attached to her hand and said, “Before the festivities begin I’m sure I’m not the only one who’d like a report from Emma.”

&nb
sp; “That’s right.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  Emma stood. “I am happy to report that while my mind may have some holes and gaps and there are apparently some memories that are never coming back, my brain seems to be intact and relatively untraumatized.” Emma smiled. “Which isn’t bad for someone living with the group that’s been inhabiting the lake house.” She raised a glass of the champagne that had just been poured. “Thank you to everyone and especially to Mackenzie, Serena, and Zoe for sticking by my side through everything.” She then tipped her head toward Eve. “And to Eve, for the gifts that I was unable to refuse. And for hosting Zoe’s lunch today.” Eve flushed as they raised their glasses and drank, but whether it was from pleasure or something else, Emma didn’t know.

  “And while I’m standing I’d like to propose a toast to my daughter, Zoe, who will spend the rest of this week milking, er, celebrating, the unbelievable fact that she is turning sixteen.” Her eyes grew damp and she blinked rapidly in an effort to hold back the tears. “I am incredibly grateful to be alive to be a part of it.”

  They clapped and drank to that as well. Appetizers arrived and Emma began to relax. Until she noticed Serena studying Adam with a narrowed gaze that caused a prickle of unease. Serena’s attention moved to her phone again. She frowned as she contemplated it.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t think to invite Brooks,” Emma said.

  “It’s all right,” Serena replied. “He’s tied up anyway. I’m not even sure I’ll see him this trip.”

  Ethan’s attention, which had been focused on Serena, shifted to Emma. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You know, I’d love to have Zoe join the cast on occasion.” At the mention of her name on Ethan’s lips, Zoe stopped pretending she wasn’t listening. “The part was originally intended as just the one shot, but we all loved what Zoe did, and it could be a great way for her to stick a toe in the business without a major commitment.” Emma could feel her daughter thrumming with excitement that she tried to conceal. “And of course we’d love for you to join her for a cameo anytime.”

  Zoe looked at Emma, her eyes and tone pleading. “Please say yes. I love the part. And Serena would be there even if you couldn’t be.”

  “You’re quite the salesman. Does anyone ever say no to you?” Emma asked Ethan wryly.

  His eyes flicked briefly to Serena. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Please let me do this,” Zoe begged. “If you say yes I promise I’ll never ask for anything ever again.”

  “I think I’ve heard that before,” Emma said.

  “This time I’ll give it to you in writing,” Zoe said. “We can have it notarized.”

  “And I’ll be glad to have Zoe’s offer sent over to your agent for review,” Ethan added. His tone was matter-of-fact. Nice guy that he was he nodded, smiled, and turned, withdrawing himself from the conversation.

  “Oh, God, you can’t possibly say no.” Zoe was anything but matter-of-fact. “You know it’s the chance of a lifetime.”

  “Stop, right now. I appreciate Ethan’s confidence in your talent, really I do. It matches mine. But you’ll have plenty of chances. And this is not the time or place for this conversation.”

  “But you’d already starred in a television series when you were my age.”

  “Yes,” Emma said, lowering her voice in an attempt not to be overheard even though she sensed Eve listening. “Which is why I think I know a little bit more about the downside to this than you do.”

  Through what appeared to be a superhuman act of will, Zoe closed her mouth. Her eyes, however, both begged and implored. Eve’s eyes flickered briefly with what looked oddly like apology before she turned them on Ethan Miller.

  “I’ll give it real thought,” Emma finally said. “But we’re not going to discuss it now.”

  With effort Zoe let go and Emma sipped on the champagne and took a small taste of the elegantly simple tartare and caviar.

  Eve’s laughter rang out, shocking in its unfamiliarity. It seemed that even her mother who had no discernible sense of humor and whose disdain for comedic “shenanigans” was legendary, couldn’t resist Ethan Miller’s quick wit. Adam and Mackenzie also laughed heartily. Only Serena, whom it was clear was Ethan’s true audience, didn’t fully respond to the comedian’s humor, which snuck up on you when you least expected it then rendered you helpless with laughter.

  Eve laughed and told stories of her own, drawing her audience in and holding them easily. Her eyes had never gleamed quite so brightly. Nor had she ever flashed so many dazzling white teeth in Emma’s presence. Was it possible her mother was mellowing?

  Their main courses were devoured and cleared. Eve rose and left the table to confer with the maître d’. Shortly after she came back and sat down, a parade of waiters appeared. One pushed a cart that held a large multitiered cake, each tier a brightly wrapped present, the whole stack tied with a huge fondant bow.

  Zoe gasped with pleasure and pretended to be their conductor as they sang “Happy Birthday,” proving quite enthusiastically that not all actors could carry a tune. At Eve’s prompting, Zoe stood and moved to Eve’s side. With everyone’s encouragement she closed her eyes, made a wish, then blew out the oversized polka-dotted number sixteen candles.

  Emma didn’t know where the photographers had come from. But suddenly there was a small ring of them at the open end of the alcove where the best shots of everyone at the table and particularly of Eve and Zoe and the megacake could be framed. Eve had her arm around Zoe and was helping her slice the first piece of cake, but her smile was aimed at the cameras. Just as it always had been when Emma was little. It was a smile that was overdone for real life but would look fabulous and completely natural in photos. Eve was the only one who didn’t appear at all surprised to see the pack of paparazzi.

  Emma’s heart sped up as she realized just how carefully the table’s location, their seating, and in fact every element of the party had been orchestrated. Eve planted a large kiss on Zoe’s cheek, leaving her lips in place while turning her eyes once again to the photographers. The headwaiter handed Eve a long rectangular box tied in an oversized fuchsia ribbon that matched the cake’s fondant bow. Eve placed it in front of Zoe as the photographers moved around the table snapping photos as if shooting fish in a barrel. A two shot of Zoe and Adam. A three of Ethan, Serena, and Zoe. Emma sat frozen at her seat as Zoe lifted the top off the dress box. She gasped again as she pulled a silver metallic strapless gown rimmed with what looked like Tiffany jewels out of the box and held it up in front of her. It was far too adult and sexy for a sixteen-year-old but it was beautiful—most likely Chanel or Valentino. Zoe’s eyes glittered with excitement.

  “This gown is for you to wear to your first Academy Awards ceremony. I know you’re going to need it.” Eve’s face was lit with happiness and if Emma hadn’t seen her fake the emotion so many times before, she might have thought it was also infused with love. Eve paused dramatically and waited until all the cameras were aimed and settled on her and Zoe. “Because your real gift is a part in my new Scorsese film. In which you will play the granddaughter I’ve saved from a violent home and sworn to raise as my own.”

  Zoe wasn’t acting when she turned, threw her arms around Eve, and placed a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek. Flashes went off all around the room. Somehow a video crew had arrived and begun shooting, all of it choreographed by Eve, who appeared to be valiantly smiling through what might have been real tears.

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you! This is the best gift ever!” Zoe was crying now, too. But Emma’s eyes were dry and tight with anger.

  “I want these cameras out of here as soon as I make my statement,” she said, motioning not at the photographers but at the maître’ d’ whom she saw beaming with happiness nearby. No doubt due to the size of the tip Eve had given him to arrange the photo op and
because all of the headlines and articles that accompanied them would mention where Zoe Michaels’s birthday celebration had taken place and probably every morsel that they’d eaten.

  She rose and turned to face the cameras, pitching her voice so that it could be heard. “I wouldn’t bother reporting on the possibility of Eve making a film with my daughter directed by Martin Scorsese or anyone else. Because that is something that will only happen over my dead body.”

  Thirty-four

  Ethan Miller helped facilitate their escape from Le Cirque just as he had from Mount Sinai by virtually throwing himself in front of the paparazzi. He wrapped an arm around Eve’s shoulder and pulled her close as everyone else fled. “Boy, you really know how to clear a table,” he said. Mugging for the cameras, he held up one of Eve’s hands and pretended to examine it closely. “And you didn’t even get your hands dirty.” Eve carefully withdrew her hand but held on to her smile. “Well, not physically anyway.”

  Serena blew him a kiss as she exited the restaurant. He sent her a wink. She hoped there’d be enough video of Ethan outwitting Eve to present to Emma somewhere down the road, but any tentative truce Eve had forged with Emma had been violated and therefore nullified.

  The drive passed in an oddly agitated state of silence heavy with all the things that were thought but not being said. Zoe didn’t yell, beg, or plead with her mother to allow her to do the Scorsese film or even As the World Churns, but there were far more dramatic sighs and hair tosses than was comfortable in the sardine-like dimensions of the overfilled rental car.

  Emma didn’t rant about her mother, either, though any one of them would have been willing to add an “Amen, sister” to whatever she might have said. Nor did she try to explain herself further to Zoe. Once they’d left the city behind she simply closed her eyes and appeared to sleep for the entire drive back to the lake.