by Chloe Plume
“Do you know what this is,” my father said, withdrawing a large photograph from his desk drawer.
I can imagine...
I shook my head.
“No father wants to see this. I had to pay”—he paused—“and I’m only telling you this because I want you to get an idea of how important it is that this stops…Madison, I paid a million dollars to make sure no one else sees this.” He threw the envelope on the desk in front of me.
I carefully undid the string and slid a large photograph out onto my lap. My father had turned away, his back to me.
Shit!
I’d suspected it, but seeing the high resolution image of my dress pulled down over my shoulders with my breasts exposed and Zayde’s head buried between them, the signature tattoos of his forearms visible on either side of my body, my head thrown back in the throws of sexual ecstasy…
Fuck! This could have been really bad.
“You know how this looks, right?” my dad asked rhetorically. “I mean, this is bad for you, for him, for the family.”
I looked up at my dad. “I know.”
“Let me just be clear. If this continues, in any way, shape, or form, I will not pay your tuition Madison. Think about Stanford and think about what you’re doing to endanger everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
I was grateful for what my dad had done. But the way he dangled the college tuition in front of me like that—it felt like I was being led around like a horse following a carrot, except I didn’t want the damn carrot anymore.
“That’s the thing dad,” I began. “I’m not so sure what I’ve worked for.”
He furrowed his brows, looking puzzled and angry. “What the hell is this Madison? We’ve talked about this before, don’t keep repeating the same thing, you have to move forward.”
“I’m not going to work for Pierce Media.”
“What?”
“I’m done trying to fit into other people’s lives, trying so hard to fulfill a role or mold or whatever. I’m done.”
My father glanced at the picture of my mother up on the bookshelf, then back down at the picture of Charlene on his desk. “Madison…”
“Dad. I have to go.” I got up and left the office, hurrying to exit the house.
“Young lady! You’re still in a lot of trouble…”
My father’s voice trailed off as I slammed the front door behind me and headed towards the car in the driveway. I had to get to Zayde’s apartment.
“I’m not taking his money, Zayde.”
“Listen, if it’s about the money, I can pay.”
I’d explained the situation to Zayde. I’d told him that I was dead-set on going back to New England for the rest of the summer, perhaps longer. I needed a break.
“And I’m not taking yours.”
“Madison, come on, you can live here as long as you want. Whatever you’re worried about, I have money—”
“That’s not the point Zayde.”
“Then what is?” he asked, reaching his arm out over my shoulder.
“Well, my independence for one thing.”
“Madison, no one expects you to be independent right now.”
“I do. I need this for myself. Because I’m really not sure what I want to do with my life, and I’m not going to know if I’m surrounded by all of this.”
Zayde slumped. He put his hands in his pockets. “By all of what?”
“I’m just tired of L.A. I’m tired of having to try to conform myself to your crazy life so I can be with you. I shouldn’t have to worry every five minutes that you’re going to draw some conclusion that…well, this is the kind of place where things get thrown out of proportion and assumptions are made right and left.”
Zayde looked down. “Madison, I thought we had something here. None of this makes sense.”
“Zayde, you’ll always want the glamorous life. I’m afraid that’s why you go through all of this even though you hate it.”
“Maddy, we can talk about this, alright.”
I held back my emotions. I wanted to run right into his arms and forget everything in the world except for how he felt so hard, stable, and reassuring against my body, how he ran his hands over me and made me feel like the most important thing in the world.
“No, we can’t. I’m going to stay with my friend Jessica in Massachusetts. I need some time. Goodbye Zayde.”
He hugged me and I almost changed my mind. He smelled warm and masculine, like leather and spice. Holding my head in his strong hands, he kissed me. I pulled away.
“I’ll miss you Madison.”
“I’m sorry Zayde.”
Time passed quickly, as it often does when life changes suddenly and often. I’d finally moved out of Jessica’s house in Cambridge. She’d explained the situation to her parents, who exhorted me to go back to my father but also applauded my effort to find a more fulfilling direction. They were both academics and sympathized with my intention to get away from L.A. for some time and think things over.
I’d found a job out by the coast waitressing at a small seafood restaurant. The summer season brought good tippers and I saved enough to afford a very small apartment. I hadn’t spoken to my father, though he’d checked in with Jessica’s parents to make sure I was all right.
By now, the first semester at Stanford was in full swing and I’d delayed my acceptance. I thought it would be a good idea to explore my areas of interest a bit before making a commitment to any kind of lengthy and expensive education.
So, I’d applied to a Global Public Health Volunteer Program. The program placed all over the world, from South America to South-Eastern Europe to South-East Asia. I’d have the opportunity to travel and see a completely different part of the world.
Certainly different from east coast prep or L.A. glamour, that’s for sure.
My phone rang. It was my dad. He’d emailed a day after I’d left and I’d explained the situation. But he hadn’t called since. I assumed he was either still angry, understood that I needed space and time alone, or a combination of both. I answered.
“Madison?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you?”
His voice was much softer than when I’d rushed out of the house only to come back when he was at work to get my clothes and leave for the East Coast. “Yeah, I’m applying to a few global public health volunteer programs. You know, they give you food, shelter, nothing fancy, but you’re right there, getting involved with some really critical health crises.”
“That’s good. You know, if you ever need anything, I’m here.”
“I know, dad. I just need to do some things myself, to figure out what’ll make me happy.”
“You know, Madison”—he took a deep breath—“your mother would be very proud of you. And I am too. I was looking at some old pictures the other day, and you know you remind me so much of her. She had that same spirit, something I never had… I don’t think she would have stayed over here much longer if…you know, it just ate at her that there was so much more out there.”
I was curious. “But I thought she loved it. I mean, she was always so happy.”
“Well, that’s what you saw Madison. Remember you were very little… Listen, I thought about it and it’s not right of me. I’ll pay for Stanford, no strings attached. Whatever you decide to do, people will be better off because of it.”
I felt a wave of relief. Not because college was paid for, but because the tension between family and my life direction was finally resolved. My father understood what I needed to do and supported it completely. For the first time, I could see the full horizon of possibilities opening up before me. All the second-guessing and back-and-forth faded away like clouds clearing for a sunset.
“Dad…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. I know how much you wanted me right there with you, but thank you for understanding.”
Chapter 40
Zayde
Holy crap!
I still co
uldn’t believe it. First Madison took off. I hadn’t heard from her since mid-summer. Then, right when I got back into the swing of things, ready to go back on tour and everything, my mom calls me, all but in tears, telling me Duncan filed for divorce and we were getting kicked out.
That’s why I was heading up the elevator to the C-level suites of Pierce Media. I figured, either Duncan Pierce was a complete asshole or I wasn’t getting the full story.
The doors opened and I walked straight past the receptionist and right into the spacious office. There were two men at the conference table pitching something or other with the projector going.
“What the hell Duncan!” I exclaimed, pretty much busting in on the meeting.
He was a little pissed.
“Gentlemen, I apologize.”
“Oh, no worries. Zayde Knight, right?” one of the two men asked, standing up to clear the room.
“In the flesh.” I already knew what was coming.
“Hey, think I can get an autograph for my daughter?”
“Sure,” I said begrudgingly, my fire and angry resolve fading with each wasted minute.
Finally we were alone.
“What’s this about Zayde?”
“Obviously, my mother.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you two are reaping what you sowed. Do you know what happened to Madison?”
“No,” I answered. “We haven’t talked.”
“Well, I’m thankful for that at least.” Duncan walked over to his desk and withdrew a non-descript file. “She was set to start at Stanford next year, but her admission has been suspended due to questions surrounding her criminal history and veracity of her application essay.”
“What?”
Duncan continued. “Oh yes. I have a friend on the board who forwarded me a transcript of a phone conversation between the dean’s office and your mother.”
My head was spinning. I knew my mom could be a bit aggressive, but why would she do something like that?
She wouldn’t, would she?
Duncan handed me the file. “She also sent over a copy of the sealed file—god knows how she got it—from the cocaine possession arrest at your apartment. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both responsible.”
He’s right.
“It get’s better,” Duncan continued. “Your mother also claimed Madison lied in her admissions essay, which centered on her mother’s experience in Romania.”
“What do you mean?” I only knew the bare minimum about Alina Pierce’s past, what I’d gleaned from conversations with Madison and comments during family dinner discussions.
“I didn’t want Madison to know. Alina’s parents were supporters of the regime and worked with the secret police. She didn’t grow up an orphan. Now Madison is going to find out in the worst way possible. She based so much on that image of her mother and all the stories she told her. That’s what really gets to me Zayde. That’s why I’m divorcing your mother.”
I couldn’t blame him. Shit. I couldn’t imagine how much all of this must be hurting Madison. I wanted to hop on a plane and rush over to her right now, but she needed space, time to process this on her own. I doubted she wanted to sort through all of this and the stress points of our relationship at the same time.
Why would my mom do this?
I didn’t understand. Confronting her was the logical next step. But there was something I had to do no matter what the complete story was.
“I’ll come forward.”
Duncan looked at me like I was speaking ancient Greek. “What?”
“I’ll come forward like I should have before.”
“You do know what that’ll do for your image problem, your career, everything?”
I thought for a minute. I knew exactly what it would do. I had this one opportunity.
“I think it’s time for a change.”
Chapter 41
Madison
A diverse crowd of people milled around the airport as I waited at my gate. I liked to sit there and imagine what was going on in someone’s life just from how they presented in that moment. The tiniest details mattered. Like the man over there: late fifties, an old business suit, flip-phone, rubber bottomed dress shoes. I was guessing sales, twilight of his career. I wondered what he was thinking. What regrets did he have?
It was all speculation. But how crazy was it that each of these thousands of people had their own stories, lives touched and shaped by others, their own choices and those that steered their life, outside of their control. It was an infinite web of interactions, and there was an overwhelming temptation to get lost in the complexity, find your place and go with the flow.
Except, if you didn’t stop and reflect, if you just took every logical step after the other and didn’t seriously consider where you were heading, you’d probably end up lost. You’d end up somewhere where, one day when you finally considered the last decade or two or three, you wouldn’t even recognize yourself.
My mind was in a moody place, of course, since I got the letter from Stanford informing me that my admission was being reviewed. Evidently they’d found out about the cocaine possession arrest. But what really troubled me was that the stories my mother told me about her childhood were fabricated. The committee was disappointed that I had portrayed my mother, the central figure of my application essay, as an orphaned girl growing up in streets of Romania when she was in actuality the daughter of prominent supporters of the Ceausescu regime.
I started going down the path of questioning not only everything my mother told me, but the central influence she had on my life decisions.
I’d agonized about it for days. But then it came time for my volunteer trip to South America. I looked forward to putting the past behind me, for once in my life, and focusing on the future.
And it was just then, when I had my strongest moment of resolve, that Zayde’s face appeared on the television above my flight gate. He’d come forth about the cocaine found at his apartment, though I suspected it was David’s all along.
Holy Shit! They’re going to butcher him!
The captions indicated that the world tour had been canceled, yet again, and refunds had been issued. His endorsements had been pulled on the basis of good behavior clauses. The commentator indicated that this, being the latest in a long string of poor choices, probably signaled the end of his membership in the pantheon of top contemporary pop artists. Finally, a banner came across the video of Zayde being led away from his apartment and into a police vehicle:
Pop star lets sister take fall.
End of the line for Zayde Knight?
I shook my head.
Television news really doesn’t concern itself with facts anymore, that’s for sure.
I wanted to get out of the airport and go to him. More than anything I wanted to see him in person and thank him, put my arms around him, and kiss his perfect lips. But I hesitated.
Things might just go back to normal then.
Zayde would always want a certain lifestyle. Even if he was currently blacklisted, he’d bounce back and immerse himself once again in a way of living that didn’t have the patience or the respect for commitment.
Not to mention the fake girlfriends and all the trappings of a famous life.
I couldn’t handle that. So, resolved, I decided in the last few minutes before my plane boarded that I would, under no circumstances, get roped back in. I was done. I had a new focus now, a determination that was all mine. Gripping my carry-on tightly, I made my way past the gate and on to South America.
Chapter 42
Zayde
They led me off in handcuffs to the police cruiser as the paparazzi salivated at the mouth. But it was just a big show. You know, the whole no one’s above the law type thing.
I posted bail, a million bucks—no big deal. And then there was the house arrest thing. But my lawyers assured me I’d get off. Evidence was a little fuzzy and who really knows whose coke it was in the first place?
Well, I
knew. That asshole David was always making himself a little too much at home, and he always had something on him. I’d been avoiding him since I saw him hitting on Madison. Otherwise, I’d probably be paying out of the ass for assault and battery.
The house arrest gave me the perfect opportunity to confront my mother, who was beside herself over why I’d called the police in the first place.
So, that’s how I found myself learning a good deal of shocking information, which in hindsight shouldn’t have been much of a surprise at all.
“Why the hell… Zayde, you know what this means?”
“I honestly don’t care,” I said, standing in the condominium I’d bought her as the movers shuffled endless boxes around us. Let’s just say Duncan was a pro and had a great prenup. Of course, despite circumstances, I owed my mother this and more. Whether, after what she did, we were going to maintain an actual relationship—well, that part was up in the air.
“Zayde…What do you mean?”
“Mom, I called the police and did all of that because I want you to understand something.”
She looked worried. “Zayden… What is it, talk to me.”
“I know you tried to sabotage Madison’s college acceptance. I know you used whatever connections you have to get the sealed record out and you went one step further—you just had to say those things about Madison’s mother, things you knew would get back to her.”
“Those things were true Zayde. That’s what I’ve been saying. She’d not good for you Zayde—”
“Well, she’s the reason I called the police. And she’s the reason I’m prepared to deal with the consequences. I’m done with all this pop star crap.”
“What are you saying, Zayde?” My mom slumped into the kitchen chair the movers had just brought in.
“I’m saying I’m done with that life. I love music, always will, but I’m going at it my way. Which means, Mom I love you, but you’re not part of my career anymore and you’re not going to determine who I’m with and how I live.”
