by Karina Bliss
“I don’t know why we have to give a blow-by-blow of everyone’s lives.” Frank pushed his empty plate away. He’d ignored the pancakes in favor of All-Bran, but his expression remained constipated. “Seth will see most of them at the party tonight.”
“Oh, honey,” his wife wailed. “That was a surprise.”
“Honestly, Dad, you’re hopeless.” Janey winked at Seth.
“How was I supposed to know? I only found out we were having a party last night.”
“Because you would have stop—” Gayle picked up the coffeepot. “Darling, more coffee?”
Seth held out his mug. So much for the thaw. “Thanks.”
“So I guess you’ll be going on tour again once your lead singer’s voice recovers,” Gayle said encouragingly.
“That’s the plan.” Only Zander’s closest circle knew his singing voice was at risk. “We’re waiting on the outcome of the insurance claim.”
“How long will that take?”
“Could be anything up to a year.”
Frank evinced faint interest. “What’s this?”
Wow, he really hadn’t been paying attention to anything Seth did. Either Janey and Mum hadn’t been passing news on—doubtful—or his father refused to listen. Damn, but the old man could be a stubborn son of a bitch when he wanted to be. And who did he think he was punishing by not eating Gayle’s pancakes? For his mother’s sake, Seth forced himself to take another from the stack. “The insurers are refusing to pay out the tour cancellation insurance, claiming Zander’s voice problem was pre-existing. He’s countersued saying it wasn’t, and now it’s up to the courts.”
“Assuming no settlement is reached in the meantime.”
“Assuming that.”
They discussed the ramifications. Seth’s grandfather had worked in insurance all his career and his father’s first job had been in insurance. Policy minutiae bored Seth senseless—Dimity would love the conversation—but anything that broke down barriers with his father had to be good.
“Your grandfather didn’t want me to start my own business, always thought it was too risky,” Frank said. “He saw a lot of start-ups fail.”
“So Seth’s following the family tradition by striking out on his own.” Janey swallowed her last bite of pancake and smiled at her baby, who sat at their feet on a blanket, ignoring Nana’s box of toys in favor of playing with the laces on Seth’s outstretched boots.
“Running away to join a rock band isn’t comparable to starting an engineering company,” Frank said dryly.
Gayle pursed her lips, a referee poised to whistle a foul, but Seth controlled his temper. “I wasn’t running away, Dad.” Be patient, play nice, he’ll come around. “I was accepting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
His father shrugged. “I notice the press still have knives out for him.”
“Zander did what he thought was right.” There was a fine line between playing nice and rolling over. “The press need to get over it.”
“I was really proud of you for standing by him.” His mother smiled at him. “It showed character.”
“Yes, loyalty’s a wonderful thing,” Frank said.
Refilling his coffee mug, Seth counted to five. One stubborn asshole, two stubborn assholes, three—
“We should ask Zander and his girlfriend to the party,” Janey suggested. Under the table, she nudged his knee in sympathy.
“And I can’t wait to meet yours, Seth.” Gayle turned to her husband. “Honey, remember I told you? Our son has a new girlfriend.”
“Model or actress?” Frank asked, but his tone implied whore of Babylon or airhead?
“Neither.” Seth rarely drank sugar with his coffee but he added a teaspoonful now, to take away the taste of his father’s bitterness. “Dimity is Zander’s PA.” And she would have you for breakfast if she heard your tone. A tug on his boots made him look down. His niece was hauling on his untied laces like reins.
“A secretary, well that’s normal at least. Wacky name, though.”
Her mum’s wacky. “Her mother named her after a character in Gone with the Wind. And Dimity’s responsibilities are more like chief of operations.”
“Like your job used to be,” his father said.
At Seth’s feet, Em beamed up at him, a timely reminder that he wasn’t home to escalate a cold war, but to make peace. For all their sakes. Returning the baby’s smile, he responded to his mother’s earlier question. “Dimity’s probably too jetlagged to come tonight.” He had no doubt she’d handle herself, but he definitely needed a good night’s sleep to carry off that particular fiction.
“And Zander and Elizabeth are still bugged by paparazzi off the island so they’d need more notice to organize security.” If Frank thought Seth had crossed to the dark side, what the hell would he make of Zander Freedman? Even reformed, his mentor was larger than life.
“Ridiculous,” said his father. “Anyone would think they were important.”
“Nice idea though.” Doggedly, Seth ignored the comment. “Maybe another time.”
“I can’t wait to see what you think of Dimity, Mum.” Janey bent to retie Seth’s shoelace so Em could continue her game. “She’s so different from…” She faltered.
Any more elephants in the room and we could form a circus act.
“Mel,” Seth supplied. His mother was looking at him anxiously. To reassure her, he added, “I might have underplayed my relationship with Dimity. I’m pretty smitten.”
Gayle’s expression relaxed. “That’s a relief. I have a confession to make. I ran into Mel yesterday and we got talking about the party and I hope you don’t mind, but—”
“Hi, there. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
A tall, smiling man had come around the side of the house. “I knocked, but no one answered the front door.”
It took a moment for Seth to recognize him. Jeff, his replacement at Curran Engineering.
“No, I’m ready to go.” Dropping his napkin on the table, Frank stood with such an expression of relief you’d think he’d just been given parole. “Jeff’s my ride to work,” he explained to Seth. “No need to get up…I’ll see you tonight.”
“It would be rude not to say hello to Jeff.” One of us has to remember our manners. Following his father across the lawn, he shook Jeff’s hand. “Nice to see you again.” He hadn’t been involved in his hiring—a pointed omission—but had worked alongside Jeff for two weeks before leaving for LA. He’d also made himself available anytime for follow-up queries. In one bizarre instance, he’d placated a difficult client while waiting to go onstage to hear whether he’d made the final of the reality show.
Jeff pumped his hand. “I hope you’re not home for your old job,” he joked.
“Relax, mate, I still have one.” He was getting really tired of everyone assuming the band was history. Even mentally preparing himself for the worst, he was still hoping for the best.
“And I wouldn’t offer him his old job, anyway,” Frank said, smiling. “You’re better at it and when he left, Seth made it very clear he was relinquishing all rights in perpetuity, didn’t you?”
“I did, Dad,” he said evenly.
“So he’s got no one to blame but himself.” His father was still smiling at Jeff. “Shall we go, son?”
Son?
“Um, yeah, sure.” Jeff looked embarrassed. “For what it’s worth, I think your lead singer is getting a bum rap. I hope it all works out for you.”
“I’m sure it will…Dad, a word?” Seth had reached his limit of playing target for cheap shots. He waited until Jeff had walked out of earshot. “I was hoping this visit we could get past how much I’ve disappointed you.”
“Do you want me to pretend that your leaving had no repercussions on the business?”
“It’s been over fifteen months.” For God’s sake. Get over it. He forced himself to be conciliatory. “Can’t we move on?
“You’re staying here, aren’t you?” Frank said equally pleasant
ly. “Your mother’s throwing a party, which I’m paying for. And what is this, if not a conversation? And now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real jobs.”
He left before Seth could formulate a response that didn’t start with, “You stubborn old goat.” He stayed a minute—tempted to kick his mother’s prize azaleas—to talk himself down.
Why the hell am I even trying, if he’s just going to keep rubbing my face in the dirt?
You stomped on his dynasty dreams, left him in the lurch—did you really expect the fatted calf?
No, but there’s a difference between sadness and sulking. Surely disappointment has a fucking use-by date.
It was another minute before he could bring his frustrations under control and return to the table.
He must have done a lousy job because his mother took one look at his face and sighed. “He has missed you, honey.”
Leaning over the table, he kissed her cheek. “We’ll work it out.” If I don’t tell him to take a flying leap, first. Janey’s expression was also anxious. “Hey, I have presents in my bag, let me get them.”
His mood did improve watching his mother and sister exclaim over their gifts—a necklace for Gayle, earrings for Janey, and baby cowgirl boots for Em. She was chewing on them when his cell chimed with a call from Zander.
“Let me guess. Dimity’s driving you crazy already.”
“Something like that. I need your help.”
* * *
By the time the ferry moored in the city, only flashes of anger pierced the despair settling over Dimity like a heavy gray shroud.
After buying a pair of cheap flip-flops from a tourist kiosk on the waterfront, she found a bar with a mezzanine deck that would lift her above the crowds strolling around the inner harbor precinct.
Choosing a table in full sun, she fanned her chilled hands on the warm wood and tried to think what to do next. Her mind was still a blank when the waitress approached ten minutes later, with an apology for slow service.
“Public holidays are always busy,” she explained, taking her order pad from a front pocket in her apron.
“What exactly are you celebrating?”
“Labor Day…something to do with the anniversary of the forty-hour work week.” The waitress rolled her eyes. “First I’ve heard.”
“I can’t remember working one of those, either.” I no longer have a job. For the first time in her adult life, she was unemployed. How the hell was she going to fill her day? Scratch that, how was she going to fill the next hour?
“You okay? Your hands are shaking.”
“Low blood sugar…I’ll be fine when I eat.” On autopilot, Dimity scanned the menu, ordered a pear and brie salad and a low-carb beer. A Scotch on the rocks had more appeal, but it was only eleven-thirty in the morning.
The earliest she ever got to bed was ten-thirty. That left eleven hours—normally jammed with machinating, organizing, meeting, greeting, and making things happen—to focus entirely on herself, and her next step.
The shaking worsened and she wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe her next step was to breathe deeply of the sea air. Wasn’t it supposed to be good for you, full of negatively-charged ions—or was that positively-charged ions? It did raise serotonin levels, the feel-good chemical that reduced stress. Not that she had any stress, as of—she checked her watch to work out her quitting time, holding her wrist steady. Did I change it to New Zealand time yet? She couldn’t remember.
The waitress delivered her order and Dimity was overcome with relief when the other woman confirmed she had set local time. See, she told herself, you’re okay. The beer was fizzy and cold and quenched her thirst. She drank it slowly and her shivers subsided, enough to turn on her phone and scroll through messages. Two missed calls from Elizabeth, three from Zander. She blocked their numbers and began answering the email queries that had accumulated while she’d been traveling, then remembered…I quit.
Dropping her cell on the table, she picked up her fork. Without appetite, she stared across her salad to the yachts bobbing in the marina. How could Zander make such an important decision without consulting her? The betrayal was a knife in her back. They were supposed to be a team. She’d even given up attending her mother’s wedding to keep things running for him. Admittedly, she’d also been terrified Helena would take one look at her daughter, remember how good she’d had it, and get cold feet.
Dimity brooded while the sun wilted the lettuce and browned the pear.
“Something wrong with your meal?” said the waitress.
Dimity put down her fork. “I guess I wasn’t hungry.” Draining her glass, she ordered a second beer. A kid at the next table clattered down the deck’s steps to the edge of the jetty and threw his bread roll into the water. Seagulls swooped, raucously squabbling over ownership. There was a mournful sharpness in their cries that suited her mood. The kid returned to his table and whined when his parents declined to donate their half-eaten meals.
“You’re getting sunburned.” The waitress arrived with the second beer and repositioned the umbrella to shade Dimity’s face.
“Thank you.” She ordered three rolls to be delivered to the kid’s table.
His parents sent him over to thank her, which made both the boy and Dimity uncomfortable.
“Mum said you need sunblock,” he said, thrusting out some sunscreen.
“That’s kind.” To her horror, tears rolled down her cheeks. Frantically she rubbed them in with sunscreen. “Go feed the seagulls,” she said hoarsely. “And…be nicer to your parents, because they care about you.” She heard the lameness, even before she saw it confirmed by his scowl.
After he ran off, she made a phone call.
“Mom, it’s me.”
“What a coincidence, Floyd and I were just talking about you.”
Her spirits lifted. “You were?” Maybe her mom was missing her. Which was sweet when Helene had no ulterior financial motive anymore.
“We’re at a cocktail party with some lovely people. Their son’s a huge Rage fan and I told them you’d be able to get the band to sign a picture and send it to him. His name’s Ryan. That’s spelled R-Y—”
“A-N,” Dimity finished wearily. Still wanting something, then. “Listen, I have some unexpected downtime.” If her mother wasn’t capable of providing a refuge, her daughter would settle for a bolt-hole. “I could fly over, spend a couple of weeks with you guys.”
“You couldn’t make our wedding, but you’ll gate-crash our honeymoon?”
She thought she’d placated Helena with an expensive present, but the playful hostility in her tone suggested not. “What was I thinking,” she said cheerfully. “I can’t cramp the lovebirds’ style! Listen, I have to go, Mom.” I can’t be the grown-up right now. And clearly, I’ve got to stop hoping you’ll ever take up the role. “We’ll talk soon, and love you lots.”
“But, honey—”
“Ryan with a Y. Got it.”
She ordered a third beer. She’d been in the same clothes over twenty-four hours and she could smell herself, sweat and sunscreen. There had to be a hotel nearby. After this drink she’d check in, shower and call the airline for flights out. Zander would forward her luggage.
You don’t want to talk to him.
So, I’ll get the concierge to make the call.
If he finds out where you’re staying, he’ll come see you.
Dimity dropped her head in her hands. Every small problem seemed suddenly insurmountable.
“Can I take this, or are you expecting someone?” said a female voice. Exhausted, Dimity looked up. The woman already had her hand on the back of the spare chair.
“Go ahead.”
How had she come to this? Sitting alone and friendless in a bar at the bottom of the world. Two months ago, Rage had been filling stadiums, and she’d been touring in Zee’s private jet and winning. He’d assured her that her job was safe, which meant he still didn’t know her at all. It had never been about the job, never even been abou
t the money. It was about being important to someone. Being respected.
She ordered another beer. As long as she was in a public space, pride would hold her tears at bay, but once she was alone… I won’t cry. I’m never crying again. Her cell rang. Irritated, she reached to switch it off and glimpsed caller ID. She did have one friend here. Relief swamped her. She picked up. “Seth.”
“Are you okay?”
It took her a second to join the dots. “Zander called you.” Cautiously, she added, “What did he tell you?”
“That something he said upset you. That you won’t answer his calls or Elizabeth’s. That you have no luggage and no shoes. Where are you?”
She propped her chin on one hand. “Lost.”
“I’m at the ferry building,” he said. “Are you still at the Viaduct?”
In the marina, a launch cruised by like a sleek white shark, its sound system blaring Cold Play and a bikini-clad woman on the deck. “I’m not sure I want to be found.”
“I accept the challenge.” She saw him round the end of the promenade, cell held to his ear. He wore sunglasses and had changed into casual shorts and a navy T-shirt, but his dark red hair made him easy to identify, even at five hundred yards.
Dimity straightened. Seeing him when she was weak? Not a good idea. “It wasn’t a challenge.”
“Then you really are upset.” He scanned the outside tables of the first restaurant then disappeared inside, presumably to check the interior. “Where are you, Honey B?”
The silly nickname made her lower lip tremble. She bit it. “Go be with your family,” she ordered. “I’m a big girl who can deal with this alone.” If she sat quietly on the top floor deck of this veranda bar, the odds of him spotting her were remote. No one ever looked up. “I already bought flip-flops.”
“The local vernacular is jandals.” He reappeared and moved on to the next eatery, continuing his methodical scan. “Can you be more specific about the this you’re dealing with?”
She shifted her chair farther under the umbrella. “You’ll have to ask Zee.”
“I’m not telling anyone else my singing voice is recovering, only you and Elizabeth.” After all the times she’d berated him for not trusting her enough to share his voice issues, the SOB had effectively tied her hands.
