In one phone call, he could set them up with a career most people would kill for, could set them up for life. He could give his children things that most people only dream of.
He had not been perfect as a father, that much was obvious. But if the goal for any generation is to do better than the one before them, then Mick had succeeded. He had given his children more than he had ever been given. He reminded himself of this as his feet hit the sand. He was not so bad.
He moved out of the way, letting Kit and Hud and Jay all join him on the shoreline. He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, cuffed his pants. It had been a long time since he had been on the beach at night. Being on the beach at night was for young romantics and troublemakers.
Mick felt perfectly fine no longer being young. He liked the gravitas of age, liked the respect it afforded him. And if getting on in years was supposed to make you afraid of dying, he wasn’t doing it right. The prospect of death didn’t bother him at all. He had no plans to bribe the Grim Reaper.
In fact, in some perverse sort of way, Mick was quite looking forward to the aftermath of his passing. He knew the nation would mourn him. He would be called a legend. Decades later people would still know his name. He had achieved that rare level of fame that allows a person to transcend mortality.
What Mick was afraid of was becoming irrelevant. He found himself paralyzed by the thought that the world might pass him by while he was still in it.
“All right, Mick, we’re here. What do you want to say?” Kit said. She glanced at her brothers, who would not look at each other. Kit wanted to know why Jay had beaten the shit out of Hud, but at the moment, there were more important things.
“You can call me Dad, you know,” Mick said to her.
“I can’t, actually, but let’s move on,” Kit said.
Hud, in grave pain and wishing he had access to Percocet and maybe a couple of stitches, found himself unsure what to say—or whether he was even physically capable of saying it. And so, he kept quiet.
“I know we haven’t been close,” Mick started. “But I’d like for us all to get to know each other a little bit.”
Kit rolled her eyes, but Jay was listening. He sat down on the cold sand of the beach and crossed his legs. Mick put his hands down on the sand and sat, too. Hud didn’t think he could sit without his ribs causing agonizing pain. Kit just refused.
“Go ahead,” Jay said.
“Shouldn’t someone find Nina?” Hud asked.
Mick guessed that Nina would be the hardest to win over. He figured it would be easier to divide and conquer, so he plunged ahead. “Listen to me, kids,” he said. “I know I wasn’t as available as I should have been but—”
“You weren’t available at all,” Kit reminded him.
Mick nodded. “You are right. I wasn’t there for you during things that no child should have to live through.” This was the first time Mick had acknowledged the loss of their mother, and both Hud and Kit found it hard to look him directly in the eye as he said it. The two of them still held pockets of grief in their bodies that bubbled up at inopportune moments. Kit, particularly, grieved the way some people drink, which is to say: rarely but always alone and to excess. So she could not keep Mick’s gaze at that very moment because she did not want to cry.
But Hud found the easiest way through pain is, in fact, through it. And he let the tears fall when they came. When he thought of his mother and the despair he’d felt in those months after she was gone, those months where they waited for their father to attempt any kind of rescue … Hud could do nothing but feel it. And so he turned away for the exact opposite reason his sister did. He turned away so no one would see him tear up. And then he wiped his eyes and turned back.
Jay wasn’t looking away at all. He was listening, intently, hoping his father had something to say that might make anything better. Anything at all.
“I’ve made mistakes,” Mick said. “And I can … I can try to explain them, and I can tell you my own problems, about the screwed-up way I was raised. But none of that matters. What matters is that I’m here now. I’d like to be a proper family. I want to make things right.”
Mick had envisioned the possibility that upon his saying this, one of them might run into his arms and hug him tight. He had an image in his head that this would be the beginning of Sunday dinners together when he was in town, or maybe celebrating Christmas at his place in Holmby Hills.
But none of his children appeared to have budged very much yet. And so he pushed forward. “I’d like us to start over. I want to try again.”
Hud was struck by Mick’s word choice. Try.
“Can I ask a serious question?” Kit asked. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just genuinely don’t understand something.”
“OK,” Mick said. He had stood up and was now resting against the rocks of the cliff.
“Are you in AA? Is this part of your twelve steps or something?” she asked. She could not quite imagine what had prompted all of this. But it might make sense to her if it was in service of something else. If he was here to make himself feel better, to tie up loose ends or something. That she could understand. “I mean, why now? You know? Why not yesterday or last year or six months ago or how about when our mother fucking died?”
“Kit,” Hud said. “Don’t talk like that.”
“But our mother did die,” Kit said. “And he left us to fend for ourselves.”
“Kit!” Jay said. “You asked him a question—let him answer it.”
Mick shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not in any kind of program that requires me to make amends.”
“Then what are you after?” Kit asked.
“I’m not after anything,” Mick said, defensively. “Why is that so hard to believe? Why don’t my own children understand that I just want us to be a part of each other’s lives?”
Jay spoke up. “That’s not what we’re saying, Da—”
Hud cut him off. “Kit’s just asking what’s changed. Actually I want to know, too. So I guess we’re asking,” he said, his voice becoming softer and yet more focused, “what’s changed?”
Before Mick could answer, Nina’s feet hit the sand.
She hadn’t heard Mick’s apology or his appeals. But she could guess what they entailed. She’d overheard the same things as a child. His talk of having lost his way and owning up to his mistakes and asking for another chance. She didn’t need to see the live show—she’d seen in it previews.
“I’ll tell you what’s changed for him. Nothing,” Nina said.
They all turned toward her. None of them were surprised to see her. They all had more or less hoped she’d find them here. But they were a little taken aback by her sweatpants and her general demeanor. What Nina was this?
“Nothing has changed, right, Dad?” Nina said, looking right at him.
“Hi, Nina-baby,” Mick said, walking to her.
This was his first time seeing her up close as an adult. And he was overcome by the affection he felt for her face.
He saw himself in it—in the lips and the cheekbones and the tanned skin. But he saw June in it, too. He could see her in Nina’s eyes and her brows and nose.
He missed June. He missed her so much. He missed her roast chicken and the way she had always smiled when he walked in the door. He missed the smell of her. The way she loved to love the people around her. Her death had shocked him. He’d always imagined that he could one day come home to her. If she was still alive, he’d be with her right now. He’d have come to her tonight, maybe even sooner.
To look at Nina, as Mick did now, was to have proof that June had lived.
He moved closer to Nina, ready to hug her. But she put her hands up, stopping him. “You’re fine where you are,” she said.
“Nina,” Mick said, aggrieved.
Nina ignored him. “Guys, if you want to know why he’s here, it’s really simple,” she said to her siblings. Then she redirected her attention to her father. “You’re
here because you want to be, right?” she asked him. “Because you woke up this morning and you got a wild hair up your ass to try to be a decent guy.”
Mick flinched. “That is absolutely not—”
“Hold up,” she said. “I’m not done.” She continued, her voice strong and rising. “It’s awfully convenient that you’re suddenly interested in us once we’re all adults, once we no longer need anything from you.”
“I told you that’s not—”
“I said I wasn’t done.”
“Nina, I am your—”
“You are fucking nothing.”
Kit’s mouth dropped and Jay’s and Hud’s eyes went wide. The three of them watched their father’s face as he moved through stages of shock. The air carried only the sounds of the crashing waves in front of them and the light cacophony of the party above.
Nina spoke again. “You are a big somebody to the world, Dad. We all know that. We live with it every goddamn day. But let’s be clear about one thing, you are not anybody’s father.”
Kit looked at Nina, trying to catch her eye. But Nina would not break her gaze. She stared only at Mick.
It would not be her that bent and broke anymore.
Casey left the bedroom and started walking down the stairs. She was restless and didn’t know what to do with herself.
She walked past a couple making out so aggressively that she couldn’t be sure they weren’t having sex. But she was almost positive both of them were anchors on the nightly news and she resolved to never watch Channel 4 again.
When she got to the living room, she saw a group of people swinging from the chandelier like they were swashbucklers. Just as two people grabbed on and let it fly, the entire thing came off the ceiling, plaster and crystal covering the floor and the table and the heads of everyone underneath it.
There was a hole where the chandelier had been, exposing the inner frame of the house.
Casey reversed course. As she started to move through the dining room on her way to the kitchen, she noticed a vase had been shattered and two paintings had fallen off the wall.
When she finally made her way into the kitchen, she saw the floor was covered in tiny shards of chips and crackers that had been crushed under dancing feet. Empty wine bottles were rolling around on the ground. Two grown men sat on the island countertop, washing their feet in the sink.
“My editor says he thinks my manuscript could be the defining novel of the MTV Generation,” one of them said.
As the two of them hopped off the counter and left the room, Casey got to work. She stood next to the stove, stacking empty trays, using a sponge to wipe up crumbs. Her mother had always tidied the house when she felt out of sorts. She remembered that her father had known to ask her mother what was wrong when he found her cleaning the drum of the washing machine.
The world may have taken her parents but—as cruel as it was—at least it had left her the memory of them. It did not rob her of the ability to remember Memorial Day 1980 at Dodger Stadium, when her father spilled mustard on his shirt and then laughed and squirted some on hers so he wouldn’t be the only one. It had not stolen the scent of Wind Song that her mother used to wear or how their home always smelled like Pine-Sol. It could not take away her father’s many pairs of reading glasses, left all over the house, collecting, disappearing, and reproducing.
Casey knew that, in a few years, the memories would begin to fade. She might forget whether her father had spilled mustard or ketchup. She might lose the ability to recall the exact smell of Wind Song. She might even forget about the reading glasses altogether after a while, as much as it pained her to admit it.
She knew that she could not sustain her life fueled only by the memories of those she once loved. Loss would not propel her forward. She had to go out and live. She had to find new people.
She tried to imagine her parents doing what she was doing right now, crashing a famous party in Malibu. She could not even picture it. But she understood that while the circumstances were almost unrecognizable, she did still have the instincts they’d given her. After all, when they could not have a child, they went out in search of one. They had taught her that family is found, that whether it be blood or circumstance or choice, what binds us does not matter. All that matters is that we are bound.
And that was why Casey was there. In search of family, just as her parents once had been.
Casey slowly put down the sponge, turned from the counter, and walked outside.
She was going to walk down those terrifying steps. The ones that appeared to lead to the very edge of the earth.
Brandon Randall woke up and realized he had passed out on the guest bedroom floor. He looked at his watch. It was half past three in the morning. He stood up, a little dizzy, and remembered he had to win back the love of his life.
He put his shoes back on. He fixed his hair. And then he walked downstairs and out the front door to where all of the vehicles were parked.
“I need my car,” he said to the valet.
“Sir,” the valet said. “You don’t seem like you should be driving.”
“Just get me my car,” Brandon said. “The silver Mercedes, up there at the front.”
Brandon had been the first one to arrive and so his car was packed in, quite firmly, behind at least a hundred others.
“It’s going to take a while,” the valet warned.
The key stand was left unmanned as the valet began the job of getting Brandon’s car out. The other valets were busy with other people. Brandon stood alone, lost in his own impaired thoughts, and started to forget why he was waiting there.
What had he been hanging around for? Oh, right. A car.
Fuck it. Brandon helped himself to a set of keys he saw with a Jaguar key chain and then used them to unlock the black Jag right in front of him.
And without delay, Brandon Randall drove off in Mick Riva’s car to go profess his love to Carrie Soto.
• • •
Tarine was sitting on Greg’s lap and nuzzling his neck while he continued to kick out the jams. But as she turned her head away, she saw the unmistakable sight of Vaughn Donovan taking the Lichtenstein off the wall and then … peeing on it.
She started to wonder if maybe this party was getting out of control.
Mick was taken aback by his daughter’s anger but he was not deterred.
“You’re right,” he said, looking at his firstborn. “I have not been a father to you all. I have not been here when I should have been.”
Nina looked away, toward the water. Mick turned to the rest of his kids and switched tactics. “How about this? I won’t ask for your forgiveness or ask you to make any promises. I’m just asking to get to know you all, a little bit.”
They all turned to one another and then to Nina. Did they owe him that much? Nina wasn’t sure. Maybe you owe your parents nothing, maybe you owe them everything. But she was overwhelmed by her certainty that if her mother were in her place, she would give him a chance.
“OK, fine,” Nina said. And then she turned to her shed, opened the lock, pulled out an array of towels, and threw down a couple of surfboards. They hit the ground with a muffled thud.
Nina sat down on a surfboard, her feet on the sand, her elbows perched over her knees. Everyone else followed suit.
The five of them sat like that, on Nina’s longboards, and let the fresh air surrounding them grow stale with their silence.
“Quite a beating you took there, son,” Mick said finally, unsure where to start. He figured he’d address the elephant in the room.
Hud nodded, felt his lip. The blood was dry; flecks crumpled off. “Yeah,” he said, not looking directly at his attacker. “I guess.”
“What happened here?” Mick said.
“It’s not really anyone’s business, is it?” Jay said.
“I don’t know,” Kit said. “I’m pretty interested.”
Mick looked to Kit and saw, for the first time, what his daughter looked like when she smi
led. She looked just like him—that crinkle in her eye was so familiar. And yet, what an enigma she was. The youngest, the newest, the one he did not know. She was so boyish, in a way that Mick wasn’t sure was a good thing. But she looked like trouble, and that drew Mick in.
What has she inherited from me? he wondered. He suspected it was boldness, a sense of entitlement to say whatever she wanted. How had he given it to her so passively? And yet, there it was.
He hadn’t even needed to be there in order to help form his children.
“This does seem like something we should talk about,” Nina said, gesturing to Hud’s eyes and the way he was cradling his ribs. “Are you OK? Do you need a doctor?”
“I’m not sure,” Hud said. “I mean, no. Not yet at least.” He was trying not to cause any alarm. He knew that right now what he needed to do was play it cool. He was worried about Ashley, about where she was, about how she was feeling. He needed to take care of her, and he would, but for now, he knew she would be OK. She was the kind of woman who was always going to be OK. It was half of why he loved her.
“Seriously though,” Kit pushed. “What happened?”
Hud looked to Jay.
“He’s sleeping with Ashley,” Jay said, his voice flat.
Kit gasped.
“Who is Ashley?” Mick said.
“Jay’s ex-girlfriend,” Kit offered up. “Who dumped him.”
“She didn’t dump me, all right?”
“Look, I handled it all wrong,” Hud admitted.
“There was no right way to handle it,” Jay said as he turned to him. “You just shouldn’t have done it.”
“Seems like a fair point,” Mick said. “Women shouldn’t come between brothers.”
Hud rolled his eyes at his father passing judgment on anything. But it was Jay who spoke up, seething with rage. “Shut up, Dad. You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
Malibu Rising Page 28
