Lily Rose

by Deborah Robinson

  As she related this, Dr. Atwood nodded thoughtfully, making some notes in the file on her desk. “I’m glad you’ve continued to come here every week, Lily. Talk is good, and maybe you’ll find some answers. Let’s try to think positively,” she added as she closed Lily’s file. “You’re in good health, have a thriving business, and many close friends. Try to focus on that.”

  * * *

  There wasn’t much time for Lily Rose to dwell on her sadness. She was scheduled to depart later that day on a flight to Los Angeles, to make a television appearance on a topic that would be difficult for her to swallow. Months ago, her head assistant Amanda suggested that The World of Lily Rose needed to sell a line of luxury maternity wear. Amanda was only twenty-five but ambitious, and Lily saw a lot of herself in the young woman’s drive to succeed. However, when Amanda had voiced her idea, Lily had immediately snapped, “Of course not. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

  Looking tearful, Amanda had said, “So many celebrities are doing it. I just thought it might work for our company.”

  Lily sighed and pressed her index fingers to her temples. Her fluctuating hormone levels due to the fertility drugs often made her feel like she was spinning out of control. Leveling her tone of voice, she said, “Well, Amanda, maybe you could make this your project. Come back with some possible manufacturing ideas for clothing and accessories, and we can try it. We might even pitch a television segment on being healthy when you’re pregnant. I won’t be the talent, though, you’ll have to find someone else for this spokesperson position.”

  Lily never thought her assistant could do it, but to her amazement Amanda put together some chic Lily Rose–branded maternity items and succeeded in booking segments on several top national television shows. She found a well-known, pregnant television host to talk about how to stay hip and healthy during pregnancy. The only problem was that the pregnant host got sick at the end of the tour and couldn’t fly anymore, leaving Lily to take over. As spokesperson for R. R. Peyton’s, Lily had done television segments on just about everything fashion and beauty had to offer. But now, given her conversation with Dr. Atwood, the thought of talking about pregnancy made her want to vomit. Still, The World of Lily Rose needed her. She’d fly to L.A. to do one of the daily talk shows, and as soon as the taping was over, she’d be headed back to New York on the red-eye the next morning.

  After the five-hour flight, a driver whisked Lily to one of her favorite hotels in Beverly Hills, the Peninsula. Walking through the hotel’s lush tropical gardens, she wished that Peyton were here with her. While the past three years of trying to have a baby had been hard on her physically and mentally, she knew that it wasn’t easy for Peyton, either. Sometimes she felt he was just indulging her and didn’t really care whether they had children or not—or at least not beyond what it meant for the company. Like his father, work seemed to consume his life.

  Lily’s mantra was “always make the best of it, even if it’s work.” After entering the elegant hotel lobby, she checked in and headed for her special place. Being a seasoned traveler, she had her favorite things in each city she visited regularly. Here, it was the Salon, which looked inviting as usual with its pristine white sofas and sparkling crystal chandeliers. She slipped into one of the restful white chairs and decided that she might as well enjoy herself. It was high tea time, and soon before her were placed an antique china teapot with tiny tea cups to match, freshly baked scones, ripe red strawberries, and luscious clotted cream. Usually she was watchful of her diet, especially with trying to get pregnant, but this certainly raised her spirits for the moment.

  The following morning, Lily sat in the spotlight as the hosts introduced her segment about staying hip and healthy during pregnancy. She was as bright and sunny as ever, explaining all of the ways women could make their baby bump sexy.

  “These new stretch pieces will keep you cool, comfortable, and feeling fresh!” she gushed. “And don’t forget to apply shades of the newest lipsticks and blush to enhance your natural glow! And be sure to take advantage of your thick, glossy hair during this time by keeping it washed and gently blown dry!”

  What bullshit, Lily thought to herself. She was sure that mothers-to-be in their eighth and ninth months who could no longer see their toes were gagging by the time she was finished. But, as the cameramen were giving her the wrap sign for the segment to end, at least she had gotten through this ordeal.

  Lily was just about to go back to the hotel when she noticed that Amanda had left her a voice message, breathless with excitement.

  “How was the segment?” Amanda asked when Lily called her back.

  “It was fine,” Lily replied, not wanting to go further into detail. “What’s going on?”

  “Good Day Atlanta wants to do a segment on the Lily Rose maternity line tomorrow morning! Isn’t that wonderful?” When Lily didn’t respond, she continued, “This would mean you’d have to change your plans and fly to Atlanta. What do you think?”

  As much as Lily wanted to say no, the Atlanta store was the latest one to open, and she knew the exposure would help sales. Besides, the World of Lily Rose might be the only thing she had left in the end—she owed it to herself and to her employees to give it the best chance possible to grow. “That sounds fine,” she said without enthusiasm.

  If Amanda caught on to Lily’s reluctance, she pretended not to notice. “Great! I’ll make the arrangements and send you the information right away.”

  That was how Lily found herself back on the plane that night, although this time winging to Atlanta rather than New York as expected. She had her face mask on and was trying to sleep, but she couldn’t help recalling all the pregnancy tips she had given out on the show earlier that day. Pregnancy tips that she would never be able to use herself. As the plane began to climb high into the night sky, tears began to fall silently from her eyes.

  When she arrived early the next morning, Lily’s nerves were shot. She checked into the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead, which was her favorite place to stay in Atlanta, and soon it was time for her driver to take her to the television station. For the second time in as many days, Lily Rose smiled her way through fifteen excruciating minutes. The moment she got back to her hotel room, she lay down on the bed and slept dreamlessly, only waking when the sun had slipped beneath the horizon.

  Thankfully, Amanda had booked a late-morning flight back to New York the next day for her, so she would be able to rest. She had that evening all to herself, but not wanting to stray far from the hotel, she decided to go to the bar downstairs. The spacious room was timeless, with chandeliers glittering from the high ceiling and rich Oriental rugs carpeting the floor. Drinking a single-malt Scotch, with a tiny bit of maple syrup and a sprig of rosemary—a favorite from back in Kentucky—Lily basked in the sight of the cigar smoke rising in the air and the soft murmur of the other guests. The richness of old Southern hospitality fell upon her like a blanket and her soul felt soothed by it. She recalled evenings at Red Rose Farm when Aunt Martha and Uncle Grant would invite their friends, many of them influential people in the Thoroughbred racing world, and they would gather in the sitting room and talk until past her bedtime.

  For the first time since she’d stepped out of Dr. Atwood’s office, and perhaps even longer than that, Lily felt her present troubles melt away. She’d go home and tell Peyton that she needed to take a break from the fertility treatments. Although they hadn’t exhausted every possibility that one had nowadays to procreate—biologically or otherwise—for now, she had had enough. The World of Lily Rose was rapidly expanding; that would be her baby for now. She thought that Peyton would be able to understand at the very least that, the importance of business. With her mind made up, Lily sat back in her comfortable club chair, closed her eyes, and let the sounds of her surroundings wash over her.

  After a while, she couldn’t help overhearing snippets of a conversation behind her. Although she didn’t normally eavesdrop, the subject matter captivated her.

&nbs
p; “So she decided to have the baby?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Her poor parents. Here they thought they had a straight-A student bound for Emory, and their daughter turns out to be no better than a high school dropout.”

  The voices were distinctly female, older, laced with a Southern drawl that Lily normally found comforting, but here it was tinged with an unpleasantness that came from finding amusement in someone else’s misfortune.

  “What about the father?”

  A snort was the reply, without any pretense of hiding scorn. “What about him? She refuses to tell them who he is.”

  “An immaculate conception, then.”

  “I suppose you could call it that. Too bad they’re not Catholic.”

  The other woman laughed obligingly, and chills ran down Lily’s spine. Without making it too obvious, she turned slightly so that she could see who had been speaking. Two society matrons were sitting a little beyond her, several empty martini glasses covering the small table between them. While they didn’t look alike, their appearance suggested a variation on a theme. They were middle-aged but had obviously indulged in measures that gave the illusion of youth, ones that Lily was familiar with from the customers that frequented her boutique: a face lift here, a chin tuck there; a lip injection; blond hair of an unnatural shade. Their makeup was overdone for a weekday evening out, their dresses were very expensive but a bit too short for an upscale hotel cocktail lounge, unless you weren’t intending to leave alone.

  Sitting opposite each other must be like looking into a funhouse mirror, Lily thought. She wondered what these women’s husbands were doing back home, or maybe stuck working late at the office. They must have children, too, she speculated, perhaps the age of the poor girl they had been gossiping about. She thought that the pregnant teenager must be the unlucky daughter of one of their friends, a family they had often hosted at their house for dinner parties, and vice versa, but suddenly persona non grata. And what about the girl? Didn’t she deserve some sympathy for making such a difficult decision? Lily almost never thought about her birth parents, but she supposed that it was likely her biological mother was a teenager who had found herself in the same untenable situation.

  Inexplicably, Lily felt a warmth toward the unknown girl that these women were gossiping about. Whoever she was, Lily wished she could know that somewhere out there, a stranger was thinking about her and hoping the best for her.

  Chapter 13

  THE LATE NOVEMBER SUN STREAMED through Anna Jefferson Baker’s enormous, mirror-clad bathroom suite as she struggled, hopping from one foot from another, to get into her Spanx. Unfortunately, it seemed to be a size too small and no longer fit. After much pulling and tugging, Jeff gave up with an exasperated sigh of defeat. Noting how her tummy still protruded under the tight elastic garment, a tiny roll of fat distending her waistline, she frowned. Where had her glorious, sought-after figure gone?

  Once considered among the most beautiful women in Atlanta, Jeff had graced the cover of Atlanta Look magazine, next to the words proclaiming her as “Baker’s Beauty.” After college she had married William Robert Baker, aka Billy Baker of Baker’s Car Dealerships, which could be found all over Georgia. Twelve years her senior, Billy doted on her and treated her like a princess. Since they didn’t have any children, Jeff had plenty of time to focus on shopping for designer clothes and chairing society galas, just like she had dreamed of as a teenager. She had always felt superior to other women because of her stunning appearance, imagining herself as one of the forever youthful models she saw in the pages of New York fashion magazines. But now what?

  The reflection in Jeff’s mirror filled her with dismay. Not only was she starting to get thick around the middle, her once-sharp jawline was beginning to sag and her mouth was beginning to look pinched. Though she had to admit she drank more martinis than she should and needed to quit smoking, she had the definite feeling that her age was catching up to her. She got some solace out of her long blond hair, still thick and shiny, and without a hint of gray, thanks to Antonio, her colorist. Somehow she’d have to find a way to make her face and body match her hair, and soon. She’d just started planning a big fiftieth birthday party for herself on Valentine’s Day, which meant that she had only a little over three months to turn back the hands of time. Jeff had the name of one of the top plastic surgeons in the country that her friend used whenever she needed to get a nip and tuck. As much as she’d judged other women in the past for needing a “little help” with their appearance, she had to admit that maybe the time had come for her. She just needed to go to New York and get a consultation.

  Having made up her mind, Jeff slid into a soft knit caftan and went downstairs. Although she’d been to New York before after she’d been married, it had always been with Billy, and they’d done things together as a couple. This time, she’d make the consultation trip a holiday for herself. She’d book a suite at the Four Seasons, shop at R. R. Peyton’s and Bergdorf Goodman. She decided she wouldn’t tell Billy her true purpose for the trip—the makeover would be a present for him, too. Although she knew he saw her as the same person he’d met almost thirty years ago, what man wouldn’t want a better-looking, more youthful version of his wife?

  As she waited for her husband to come home, Jeff sat down in the living room with an ice-cold martini on the rocks and leafed through a new Peyton’s catalog that had arrived a few days earlier, wondering just what she might find for herself there.

  * * *

  Jeff’s college roommate, Haley McKinney, had introduced Billy to Jeff, as her father had worked with him. So small-town Haley was good for something, Jeff had thought. At first she balked at his age and occupation, but Haley wore her down, telling her, “My father says he’s a good man. He’s just gone through a divorce and he’s ever so lonely. Maybe you could help cheer him up.”

  Why not? Jeff was starting her last year in college with no prospects; if she didn’t meet someone soon, she might even have to use her degree. While she went out on occasion, rarely did anyone merit a second date. This didn’t mean she spent her Friday nights alone, though. She was a frequent visitor to Buckhead’s most expensive watering holes, and some of the sleazier ones, too. Since the Ritz-Carlton wasn’t the sort of place where she could just regularly pick up men, she asked her driver, Chad, what bars she and her fake ID could make it into. Although he was older than her, Chad called her “ma’am” and always spoke to her with a straight face. He knew many of the bouncers, as well as a small hotel where she could rent a room without any questions asked. A former marine, and in top physical condition, he stood watch by the door while Jeff went inside with her conquests, to make sure no one tried to take advantage of her.

  Jeff couldn’t say what drove her to these sexual encounters. Part of it was the thrill, the danger, the knowledge that she could just look at a man across a bar and he’d fall into her lap. She loved the expression on their faces when she suggested they go somewhere else, somewhere quieter, to “get to know each other.” It was as if these men were still drunk and weren’t sure if she was part of a wet dream. Usually both she and her target were a little tipsy as they staggered out of the bar, arms around each other, and across the street to the town car where Chad waited. They’d make out in the back seat on the way, and Jeff would be half delirious with desire by the time the hotel’s sign came into view. Out of the car they’d stumble, into the elevator and to the designated room that had already been paid for, booked every Friday for weeks in advance, and into a haze of stale air and carpet freshener. That was when it became blurry for Jeff. In the dark, their mouths, their limbs, their bodies, became entangled and she lost herself in the feeling she so craved, that of complete release, a complete forgetting of who she was and what had happened to her.

  Jeff made sure to use a condom every time. She had a large supply that she kept hidden in a locked box in her dorm room, away from Haley’s innocent eyes. She was no longer the naïve teenager that Eric Langvin had seduced at a hor
se farm, but a young woman who was wise to the ways of the world, and whose heart was hardened because of them. Most of the men she slept with were anywhere from their early twenties to early thirties—she really couldn’t tell—but she was sure they had a lot more experience under their belts than the boys at Emory. Still, they were appreciative, even grateful, that someone as beautiful as Jeff, with a body as luscious as hers, would want to spend a night with them. The fact that the sex had no strings attached was even more mind-blowing. A few of the men angled for another meeting, or even a real date, but she refused them all. And if they tried to go any further, Chad was there to send them on their way.

  There was one night when a particular man was getting rough with Jeff, insisted on staying longer when she clearly wanted him to leave.

  “You owe me,” he said, beckoning with his finger as he would a dog.

  “I owe you nothing,” Jeff snapped, already regretting her choice that night. The sex hadn’t even been that great, and he had the nerve to want something more from her.

  When she turned away from him, he grabbed her arm, she screamed, and in a flash, the door opened. Chad rushed in, a Glock 9mm leveled at the other man’s head.

  “Get out now,” he growled.

  Not knowing that he regularly packed heat, Jeff screamed again, then cowered behind the bed. With the gun still trained between his ears, the man scrambled for his clothes and his life. When he was gone, Chad holstered the Glock and said to Jeff, “It’s okay. You can come out.”

  She crawled from behind the bed, mascara streaming down her face, and clung to him while he stood, impassively, arms at his side. Then he sat her down, pulled her bathrobe closed, and waited until her sobs subsided

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  He looked at her with a sincerity that she had never seen from another man before—someone who wasn’t looking to get into her pants—and replied, “I got your six.”