Twist of Fate

by Louise, Tia

  Sly moves to the chair beside me and pulls me into her arms. Heat fills my eyes as her hand slides up and down my back.

  “It’s hideous timing.” She leans up to meet my eyes and smiles. “But Mom says babies always make a place for themselves. It’s going to work out, and we’re all here for you.”

  Nodding, I squeeze her hands. “I want to go to LA and tell him in person. It doesn’t feel like it’s something I should say over the phone or in a text.”

  “Definitely not a text. Can you get the time off work? What about your promotion?”

  “My promotion,” I groan, shoving my hand in the front of my hair. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that pink line appeared. “I don’t know how I can take it now.”

  “Daisy, no!” Sly’s voice rises, and she’s on her feet. “You’ve got to take that promotion. It’s what you’ve always dreamed of doing!”

  “Get real, Sly. I can’t manage a six-state region with a newborn. I’ll barely be sleeping.” Even as I say it, a cement brick is in my chest. “The promotion will have to wait.”

  “Will it wait?” Her forehead creases, then she claps her hands. “I know! Hire a nanny!”

  “I can’t afford a nanny.” Rubbing the pain in my head, I push back against Fear, my old enemy. “They’ll wait for me. I’m only twenty-three. I’ll explain to Spencer what’s going on and ask him to understand. If Miles thinks I’m so inspiring and talented now, just imagine how I’ll be in a year or two.”

  My cousin looks worried, and I confess, I don’t fully believe the words I’m saying.

  “Want me to go with you to LA?” Her voice is quiet.

  “No. You have your own career to worry about. I’ll see about getting some time off in a few weeks and head out there.”

  “A few weeks?”

  “I can’t afford a last-minute plane ticket. Anyway, it’s not like the baby’s going anywhere.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Sly wraps her arms around my shoulders. “It looks pretty scary now, but I have a good feeling about this.”

  “I’m glad you do. I feel like the dream was in my hands for a whole day, then Fate woke up and pulled the rug out from under me.”

  “She’s a tricky bitch. That’s for sure.”

  A sad smile curls my lips, and I rest my cheek on her shoulder. “Whatever happens, thanks for being here.”

  “It’s what best friends do.”

  Standing in the middle of the ancient, plank-wood storefront on the only main street in Oceanside Village, I picture where I’ll arrange the tables and larger items in the wide-open space as Wyatt Jones explains our agreement.

  “These old buildings are a work in progress, but you know how it is being an antiques dealer and all.” He scrubs his nails in his scruffy gray beard and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Twenty dollars of every rent check goes to beautification, which includes exterior paint, greenery, maintenance of the parking area and the alley.”

  “It’s a great space and very affordable.” I extend my hand. “I’ll take it.”

  He grins, and we shake on it. Then I follow him out to where I left Aunt Regina’s Cadillac. The Bronco is in the shop, and I have to return my aunt’s car before I head over to Greenville to collect the “starter items” my dad picked out for me.

  Of all the things I thought he’d be proud of, opening my own store has made him perk up the most—even more than me being named head of the Southeast region for Antiques Today.

  “Being able to name valuable antiques and price them is a far cry from actually finding a long-lost item for a customer or completing someone’s collection. That’s where the real romance lies,” he’d said.

  I just hugged him and thanked him for making it easier for me to turn down the job.

  “Betty Pepper has the first store there,” Wyatt continues, pointing up the street. “It’s a small grocery, and she’s got a fellow out of New Orleans serving food, poboys mostly.”

  “New Orleans poboys?” My eyebrows rise—I like the sound of that. “Does he have a name?”

  “André Fontenot makes the food. I’m next to them with the hardware store, as you know, and this one here is Emberly Warren. She’s opening a bakery.”

  He says it dismissively, but I’m quick to counter. “Specialty bakeries are very on-trend right now. I’m sure it’ll do well.”

  He waves a hand. “Her family’s got money, so she’s not sweating it.”

  I pinch my nose so I don’t laugh at his grumpy skepticism. “Well, I’m glad to be a part of the Oceanside Village CBD.”

  “Here’s your key.” He hands me a set of keys. “The attic space is big enough for living quarters. Emberly’s renovating hers that way, but it’s hot in the summer. You’ll have to allow for a window unit. Keep that in mind if you use it for storage.”

  Squinting up at the space above the shop, I nod. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Hopping in the car, I don’t waste time heading back to Fireside. It’s not the Southeast region of Antiques Today, but I’m feeling energized about setting up my own store. I’ve got a good seven months before I’ll be too big and too busy to work full-time.

  For now, I’ve got a lot of ground to cover… and a trip to L.A. to make. Ugh. Thinking about seeing Scout again, telling him I’m pregnant, floods my chest with anxiety. We had a fun time, but he never said it was forever. He had no problem telling me goodbye and moving on once he was in L.A.

  I don’t know how he’ll respond to the news of a baby, and I have no idea how I’ll respond to how he responds. Dread turns to nausea whenever I think about it, so I don’t.

  “It’s gay porn.” Mims Watson is in Aunt Regina’s kitchen holding out her phone when I enter. “My cousin Bruce sent it to me. He saw it on TMZ. He was kicked off the cast of this big new show Mighty Thunder when it came out he was a porn star.”

  “What’s going on?” I slip in behind Sly, frowning at Mims.

  Sly’s voice rises louder. “Mims claims she has some dirt on Scout. Something about how he went to L.A. and turned into a gay porn star.” My cousin blows air through her lips. “Like that would ever happen. Not that it matters, but Scout Dunne is about as gay as I am.”

  “It’s right here.” Mims turns her phone towards my cousin.

  “Scout’s not gay.” My voice is quiet, but I’m concerned. From what I understand porn is a dangerous business involving high-risk behavior.

  “Like you’d know anything, For Sales.”

  I can’t believe Mims just called me by that lame cutdown from high school.

  “I actually would know.” I’m not sure why my voice sounds so small.

  Sly studies Mims’s phone, and the concern in her voice makes my stomach twist. “Where did you get this?”

  “I told you. My cousin sent it to me.” I look over Sly’s shoulder at the image.

  It’s him. I’d recognize Scout’s perfect physique anywhere.

  He’s standing upright, holding a football over his shoulder, looking for all the world like Michelangelo’s David—with the most important part blurred out. Still, I can fill in the blanks from my memory, erect and magnificent.

  I imagine he’d be a very popular porn star if that’s what happened…

  Mims snatches her phone back. “I’m not surprised. I gave Scout Dunne every opportunity in high school to be with me, and he never even made a pass.”

  “So naturally he’s gay.” Sly’s voice is sarcastic.

  “He’s not gay.” I say it louder.

  My cousin joins the chorus. “You’re a two-faced, back-stabbing bitch, Mims Watson. This just proves it.”

  “Becky said he’s been calling J.R. for the last month begging for money.” Mims sniffs, shoving a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Maybe he’s not gay, but you never know what people will do when they’re desperate.”

  “I’ve got to go.” Squeezing Sly’s arm, I head out the door and jump in Aunt Regina’s Cadillac again.

  It’s onl
y a half-mile to J.R. and Becky’s small house on the outskirts of town. I’ve never visited, but I know how to get there. Pulling into the driveway, I study the small, red-brick structure with a rusty aluminum playset out front. Off to the side, an open space of ground looks like a perfect spot to practice football.

  As I walk to the front door, I think about what I want to say… J.R. and I have never talked much, but I hope he’ll be able to help me.

  I haven’t made it two steps when Becky’s voice stops me. “What do you want?”

  Becky’s only a year older than me, but her voice is low and husky, like a smoker. Or one of those old movie actresses. She’s dressed in a faded pink house dress, and she’s not wearing any makeup, just some lipstick. She looks so much older now.

  “Uh, hi, Becky. Is J.R. at home?” By contrast, I sound so young and so naïve.

  “He’s at work. Why are you here to see my husband?”

  She’s holding baby Jesse in her arms, and I step closer. “Oh, look at him. Can I hold him?”

  She hesitates a moment before bumping the screen door open with her hip and passing the baby to me. I take him from her with a little dip, following her inside.

  She almost seems glad to have him out of her arms.

  He’s a beautiful little boy with bright blue eyes just like his uncle’s—and his dad’s, I guess. I can’t help wondering if our little boy or girl might look like this.

  “He’s so sweet. You must love being a mamma.”

  “It has its moments.” Ice-blue eyes study me. With her straight, pale-blonde hair and sharp features, she reminds me of a hawk. “So, what’s this about J.R.? You two were never friends.”

  Chewing my lip, I figure I should put her suspicious mind to rest. “I wanted to ask his advice about something… About Scout.”

  Her eyes cut up and down my body, and she lifts her chin. “He knocked you up, didn’t he?”

  It’s not a question. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “What do you want John to do about it?” It’s an accusatory jab.

  “Nothing!” I exhale a laugh, shaking my head. “I just wanted to talk to him… About what I should do, since… you know. You’ve been through this.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You haven’t told him yet?”

  “Not yet, but I’m going to. I really want to fly to L.A. and tell him in person. It seems like the best way to handle it, but this afternoon, I kind of heard about something that has me worried…”

  “You heard about the porn thing.” Her voice is flat, and she rolls her eyes as she sits in a chair.

  It’s like she’s some kind of evil wizard. “Sort of…”

  “Don’t do it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you need money?” She crosses her leg and folds long fingers together. “Someone to take care of you? Are you going to L.A. to move in with him or hoping he’ll propose to you?”

  She asks it all so fast, my brain spins. “No… None of that. I don’t need any money, and I have a plan for taking care of myself. I just… He needs to know.”

  “Why?” Becky steeples her fingers in front of her lips.

  “Because it’s his child. He has a right—”

  “Don’t. Do. It.” She enunciates each word, and my brow furrows. “You think it’s the right thing to do because that’s what everybody says. But you’re forgetting the Dunne brothers are this town’s shining superheroes. If you show up with Scout’s baby, wreck his dreams of being a Hollywood superstar, they’ll blame you for ruining his chances.”

  “I think Scout’s chances might be a little shaky at the moment…”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ll take the blame.” She pushes out of the chair, and saunters to the kitchen. “When I told John I was pregnant, they blamed me for everything. When he walked away from his NFL deal to be a dad, it was because of me. When he decided to quit football and work with his dad, it was my fault. I was a gold-digging whore trying to hang onto his fame. Now look where that’s gotten me.”

  She exhales a bitter laugh, lifting her chin around the small house.

  “But…” Again, my voice feels too quiet, too innocent. “J.R. loves being a dad. He married you because he wanted to marry you. Anyway, it takes two to make a baby.”

  “We know that.” She takes Jesse from my arms and holds him against her chest as she glares down at me. “But you know who led the charge against me? Your boyfriend Scout.”

  I feel cold and unprotected without Jesse in my arms. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Do you love him?” She takes a step closer, and I edge to the door. “Do you?”

  My lip goes between my teeth, and I lie. “No.”

  I do love him, but am I a silly little fool? Lord knows, I believe it every single day of every week that passes. Last I heard, he had a dinner date, and for all I know it was with the next Jennifer Lawrence.

  “Take my advice. Keep doing what you’re doing and let him keep doing what he’s doing. If he leaves Los Angeles to come back here and marry you, he’ll resent you forever.”

  I’m out the house, and she lets the screen door slam in my face. My lips part, but no words come out. Sliding my hand over my stomach, I turn and slowly walk to the car. That was not what I expected to happen when I pulled into this driveway.

  I thought Fate was a bitch, but I’m not sure anyone is as wicked as Becky St. John.

  “I can’t believe you’re turning down the Southeast region for a baby.” Spencer sits in a leather wingback across his desk from me. He’s angry, but it’s more protective disbelief than disgust.

  “It’s not like I’m turning it down for a better offer.”

  “You’d damn well better not be. I’ll have your hide.”

  That makes me laugh, and I stand out of my chair, walking to a built-in oak bookcase.

  Spencer’s office isn’t as massive as Miles’s, but it’s still pretty big. It’s also on the opposite corner, which I guess signifies he’s second in command.

  “I had hoped you might consider holding a place for me, for when I come back in a few years. Maybe I can work my way up again?”

  His hazel eyes meet mine. “It’s that football player’s, isn’t it?”

  Dropping my chin, I push a curl behind my ear. “I don’t know why that matters.”

  “I’d actually considered asking you out, but it was a lost cause once that pituitary case showed up in town.”

  “Scout is not a pituitary case!” My voice goes loud, and Spencer laughs.

  “You’re still in love with him.” I start to speak, but he waves a hand at me, pushing out of his chair and closing the space between us. “Of course, I’ll hire you again. What will you do in the meantime? Sit home and knit little garments?”

  “You’re such a snob, Spencer. Did it ever occur to you that your arrogance might be the reason I didn’t want to date you?”

  “No.” His voice drops, and his smile is irritatingly confident as he looks down on me. “I’ve found most women like a man who knows what he wants.”

  Crossing my arms for protection, I grudgingly acknowledge, Spencer is attractive in that super-rich, super-cocky, asshole sort of way. “I prefer nice men.”

  “I can be nice when I want to be.” Turning on his heel, he goes to the window overlooking downtown. “Tell me you’re not leaving the business. That would be the real tragedy.”

  “I’m not.” I study the antiques lining his shelves. A pristine, turn of the century brass telephone sits on one. “I’m going to open a shop like my dad’s.”

  He turns to face me. “In Fireside?”

  “Actually, I’ve found a location a bit closer to the coast. A fellow is converting some old storefronts in Oceanside Village. The rent is affordable, and Dad said he’d help me get on my feet.”

  “I’m very happy to hear this, although you know you don’t need a storefront. You could open an online store and work from anywhere, make your own schedule.”

  “I’ll have
a website, but I want a physical store.” I lift the piece of Fenton art glass that brought us together—a pink pitcher with the trademark hobnails covering the base and the signature ruffles around the top. “People need to be able to lift and touch things and meet other collectors.” I don’t add, like we did.

  “I like this plan. Keep me posted, and I’ll be happy to drive customers your way.”

  A weight lifts off my chest, and I rush over to give him a hug. “Thank you, Spence. You’re a real friend.”

  He pats my arm, and grouses. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t call me that.”

  Hope nudges a giggle in my chest as I return to my old office to collect my few things. I slide my finger along the mahogany desk that was briefly mine and make a promise to myself. If this is where I’m supposed to be, I’ll be back.

  This isn’t over.

  Sixteen

  Scout

  One thing I’ve learned from being a gay porn star—things can always get worse.

  “Dude. You’ve got to take a shower. You smell like old Thai food rolled in toe cheese.” Crenshaw stands over me, waving a bamboo fan in front of his face.

  “Hey, you’re back.” I roll off the couch into a pile of beer cans, half-empty pizza boxes, and bongs. Pushing off the floor, I scratch my stomach as I survey the mess that is our apartment. “How did this place get so filthy?”

  “I think it’s called giving up.” My roommate steps over a smaller pile into the kitchen and pulls out a black trash bag. “This is what happens when I go to San Francisco for three weeks?”

  “How was yoga camp?”

  “It was the School of Positive Transformation, and it was a very uplifting experience.”

  “Cool.” Bending down, I collect two of the pizza boxes. “What day is it?”

  “Friday.” His voice gentles, and he takes the boxes from me. “Go shower. I’ll take care of this, and then we can talk.”

  Tuck can be a bit much at times, but I’m not going to argue with him. I need a shower.

  Standing under the spray, I close my eyes as the warm water flows over me. I’ve spent three weeks going to open audition after open audition, and not a single callback. One nude photo, and I’ve gone from the penthouse to the outhouse, just like that.