Close Match

by Jerald, Tracey

  Thirty

  Evangeline

  October

  I’m in New York for the week at a charity event I promised Sepi I’d attend even before Mom died as an alumni of NYU to help raise money for their theatrical scholarship program. As I walk the red carpet outside of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, I’m overwhelmed by the number of flashes. The trick is to look beyond the cameras so you’re not looking at any one photographer.

  Because the dress specified cocktail attire, I slipped into a crepe cap sheath dress with a gold zipper that runs down the back. My shoes are embellished slingbacks I expect I’ll be ready to chuck at someone’s head by the end of the night. Bristol said it perfectly when I was complaining while getting ready, “You’re getting too used to the peacefulness of the farm.”

  Sliding on a chunky Tiffany gold ball-and-chain bracelet on my wrist, I agreed with her. “I am. You should come down to visit. I know Ev and Char would love to meet you.”

  Bristol laughed. “Maybe. I need my routine, just as you need the time to get to know your family, Linnie.”

  Seriously, I clasped both of her hands in mine. “You are my family, Bristol. Even though I found Ev, it’s…different.”

  “Of course it is, silly. Ev’s your father. He’s never going to be the one who knows you let Campbell Frost get to third base in the laundry room of his apartment building when you were only thirteen.” Her face is angelic. Glaring, I yank my hands away from hers.

  “It was second base, and I was fifteen, thank you very much,” I grouse at her.

  Bristol laughed before stepping back into my space and wrapping her arms around me. “No matter what, there’s enough room in your heart for all of us, Linnie. I’m sure of it.”

  I finished getting ready and waited with an impatient tap of my foot for the car to pick me so I could make my grand entrance on the red carpet. I used the time wisely though. I took a few selfies and shot them to my father with the bewildered question of “Did you ever have to do ridiculous stuff like this before you retired?”

  The laughing emoji I got in return didn’t help. However, his text of “You look beautiful. Enjoy yourself and your time with your sister. We’ll see you next week” went a long way to soothing my frayed emotions.

  I pose at the front of the Waldorf for one more round of photos, before the doors are held open for me and I slip inside. Letting out a deep breath, I turn and run smack into Pasquale. “Pas! I didn’t know you’d be here,” I exclaim. I take a step forward to move into his arms, but he takes a firm grip on mine to hold me back.

  What on earth?

  “Evangeline, always a pleasure to see you.” His voice is cold. It completely lacks the warmth and care he gave me the last time we were together in the theater after Mom died.

  I’m about to question what’s wrong when Veronica slides up to him and wraps her lanky arm around his waist. “Hello, Evangeline. How have you been?” God, I’ll never be glad my mother is gone. If she were still alive, would she be as horrified as I am at the degeneration of her best friend?

  It’s been only a few months since I’ve seen her, and even I can see the physical changes that have come over my godmother. Her makeup on her face is heavier than normal, likely covering the effects of a bender. Her normally thin body is almost waiflike, her bones beginning to push up under her skin. Her hands are trembling even as she clings onto Pasquale to remain standing. She looks worse than when she came off a monthlong bender and almost lost her job at BDC before Mom intervened. A silent bell of alarm goes off inside my head making me wonder if our confrontation pushed her over the edge into drinking again.

  God, I’m furious with her. We just lost Mom to the effects of the bottle and she thinks the answers can be found at the bottom of it? But how can I be the only one seeing this? Is it because everyone else sees her day after day?

  My heart hurts when I nod my head and answer. “Actually, Veronica, I’m doing quite well since my father and I reunited.”

  Her eyes bug out. “Excuse me? Did you say your father? What did you do, hire someone from the Village to hold a seance to talk to Patrick again?” Pasquale doesn’t bother to hide his snicker.

  I want to laugh and cry simultaneously. What does she think this little confrontation will do but further my bitterness against her? “Yes, I found my biological father. Of course, you remember me discussing him with you? Bristol and Simon were there? This was, of course, before I dared you to ever speak to me again for withholding that information from me.”

  Pasquale’s laughter abruptly dries up. He takes a step back, whispering, “What?” I don’t bother to give him my attention. Being a part of their inner circle for almost as long as I’ve been alive, he should have realized that nothing short of treason would have ever caused me to stop speaking to my godmother.

  Veronica neither confirms nor denies my accusations, but the high color along her cheekbones tells its own story. I step closer. “Get help. You need it more than Mom ever did. Some people still could love you. I just don’t know why you won’t let me be one of them,” I reprimand softly.

  Instead of answering me, or making excuses for her behavior, my godmother turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd.

  Pasquale’s eyes follow her for a moment before they meet mine. Now they’re filled with the wretched sorrow I expected. I have no idea what she told him. I’m too emotionally exhausted to care. “I’m sorry, Linnie. I never…”

  I nod, accepting the apology for what it’s worth, which is next to nothing. Mom always warned me about being in this business—that you keep your close circle of friends close and everyone else just close enough. While Pasquale’s known me since I was three, none of that mattered when the gossip was flying. To me, he should have known better than to listen to a woman who was filling his head with nonsense while undoubtedly getting him off.

  I don’t bother to say anything else. Instead, I feel nothing but pity for the woman I grew up with, knowing there’s no way she’ll ever find happiness at the bottom of a bottle. As for me, knowing the way it could impact my life, I’d be a complete moron to touch a drop of alcohol in this lifetime.

  * * *

  Bristol tosses another news rag into a growing pile that’s spilled onto the floor. Practically every word I exchanged with Veronica made the tabloids last night. Unfortunately, they put a spin on it that we were fighting for Pasquale.

  Ew. I’m so disgusted I want to vomit.

  “I know! Let’s see what your friend at The Fallen Curtain has to say,” she says brightly. I groan. Bristol pulls her iPad into her lap and pulls up yet another gossip website. “Well, well, well.” Her voice is smug.

  “What?” Not another recount of how I’m trying to buy my next part by sleeping with my former director.

  “Sepi should be hiring her as your publicist. Listen to this:

  Last night’s fund-raiser for NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts was horribly disrupted by Broadway Dance Center’s veteran dancer Veronica Solomone.

  Solomone’s exclusive dance classes have become much less sought-after since Broadway star Evangeline Brogan recently changed studios. Solomone was selected by Brielle Brogan to act as her oldest daughter’s godmother.

  Solomone approached Brogan at the charity event yesterday evening right after Brogan stepped off the red carpet. As always, the Broadway star stood her ground with class, letting the older woman embarrass herself with her date, Pasquale Beecher. Sources close to the trio note that Brogan showed the class she was known for while she held her godmother—who obviously had an agenda—at bay while one individual willing to speak off the record said, “It’s obvious Veronica needs help for her grief.”

  Ms. Brogan hasn’t had nearly enough time to mourn the loss of her mother, who collapsed in her arms on stage during a performance of Miss Me, with Evangeline in the starring role as “Kate Hynes.” This all-star cast also included Simon Houde as her love interest, “Michael Kirby.” Although Brogan was nominated for this year�
��s Tony Award for her performance as Hynes, neither she nor Houde walked the red carpet out of respect for their deceased family member. She was instead in Los Angeles recording an album of lullabies to be released just in time for the birth of her younger sister’s first baby with costar Houde.

  While we wish the entire Brogan family nothing but peace as they come to terms with their new family dynamic, Broadway isn’t the same without the combined force of their voices.

  “Is it wrong to be both grateful and a little scared that Courtney Jackson was in the crowd that close to me and I have no idea who she is?” I wonder aloud.

  “Maybe it’s Pasquale,” Bristol suggests.

  My eyes widen. “You don’t think…”

  “Of course I don’t! Jesus, we can pull up her picture on the website,” Bristol exclaims and does just that. Seeing the petite blonde from The Fallen Curtain’s image, I vaguely remember her in the crowd around us. Out loud, I say, “Remind me to send her a bouquet of flowers.”

  Bristol types in a reminder on the iPad. “Done. Do you think things are going to get better?” she frets. I talked to her right after I called a furious Sepi last night.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “Right now, I’m not sure I care. I care more about getting answers to know who the hell I am.”

  “And that’s not happening here,” Bristol concludes sadly.

  I wish it could, but I have to agree. “No, it isn’t.”

  We’ve spent the better part of the last few days with my telling her all about Ev and Char. I’ve even ventured into talking about Monty, though it’s odd every time I do. Bristol will start to ask a question, and I’ll deflect it. Just saying his name conjures up images of his gorgeous face that linger for hours.

  I haven’t slept well since Bristol and I have been up all hours talking.

  “With the way your luck is going, you’re going to end up madly in love with your new stepbrother and living in there…” She trails off, picking up something in the tensing of my shoulder, she correctly guesses, “You like him.”

  “I find him attractive,” I admit. “He’s warmed up some since he realized I’m not after Ev’s money.”

  “He’s your stepbrother!” Bristol shouts.

  “So? Simon wanted me to date Marco. What’s the difference if it were to happen? Not that I think it will.”

  Bristol opens and closes her mouth a few times. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing. Be honest now: what’s he like?”

  I think back to the night of the dinner where he easily could have looked up everything about me. And one word pops out of my mouth.

  “Understanding.”

  Bristol shoves the rest of the papers to the floor. She drops her iPad on top of them and lies down on the couch. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

  And so, I tell her about how we first met in the lobby of the Hamilton, the wary vibes Montague Parrish gives off, and yet how protective he is of his family, including me.

  “I never thought I’d say I’m ready to be gone for a while, especially to the country. But after your sonogram this week, I’m looking forward to heading back,” I admit.

  “To see Monty?”

  I flop onto my back so my head’s next to hers. “No, for the peace of the farm. I’m just beginning to relax there. I think it will be good for me.”

  Bristol turns her head toward the ceiling. “I wonder why he left his job.”

  “Me too, but it’s not like I’m his confidante. Besides, I still have plenty of secrets.” I run my fingers through my hair and squeeze. Hard. I feel her hands reach back and grab mine.

  “So, you’re just kind of seeing where all of this takes you? With Everett? With his family?”

  “I am. I mean, what’s the worst that happens? I walk away and come back to New York?” I shrug.

  “No, the worst is you come back with a broken heart,” she argues.

  “You’re assuming I’m going to get in that deep.”

  “I think you’re already starting to.”

  Thirty-One

  Evangeline

  The rest of the week in New York was almost carefree in comparison to the night at the Waldorf. After we found out Bristol is carrying a little boy, Marco joined us for dinner at the Club A Steakhouse where we joyfully passed around the sonogram photos. Bristol and I managed to outfit the nursery using Mom’s purple Judith Lieber purse as a kickoff for a fun, funky zoo theme. She and Simon plan on staying at my place while the amazing mural painter I found comes in next week to create a charming and bright-colored room for their future son.

  And on display in a glass box will be his nana’s purse.

  I’m texting Bristol to let her know I landed when I hear, “Hey, lady, looking for a ride?” My head snaps to the side, and I see Monty leaning negligently against a wall. Even though mirrored shades cover the top half of his face, a smile creases the lower half. Not for the first time since I saw him in the lobby do I think, Damn.

  I tug my sunglasses off my face and tuck them on top of my head. Inside, I try to tamper down the anxiousness bubbling up over our first time alone together. “I guess that depends on what kind of wheels you got out there,” I deadpan.

  Unable to maintain his look of stoicism, Monty pulls off his shades. Dark hazel eyes twinkle. “If you had half a clue what to do with this much power, I’d let you drive.”

  “The last time I drove, I think it was before college,” I shyly admit as we make our way over to the baggage retrieval area. I know I’ve shocked him; I mean, what grown adult doesn’t regularly drive? Except I grew up in a city where mass transit is everywhere, and with private drivers, I didn’t need to.

  Monty is stunned speechless. That is until he sees the amount of luggage I packed for this trip. “Four separate suitcases? Are you planning on moving in permanently?”

  Embarrassed, I duck my head. Even though I did pack a lot, I also brought gifts from New York. Still, with everything that happened in the city, I thought I’d feel the warm welcome I did the first time I came here. During a quick text, Ev said to bring as much stuff down as I wanted, that I could leave it here.

  Deciding to ignore Monty, I reach for the heaviest of the suitcases and hoist it with two hands. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He rips it away from me, and our combined strength has the bag flying away a few feet. “Geez, He-Man, I was teasing. Ev said you’d have a lot of stuff.”

  “Oh.” I yank my glasses back down, knowing they’re big enough shield my face so my hurt can’t be seen. I’m unsuccessful as Monty gently removes them.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He briefly touches my cheek before removing his hand, leaving a tingle in its wake. We both turn our heads toward the bag that went flying. I wince as I realize what bag it is. “Was there something breakable in there? Perfume or anything?”

  “No, but you might regret it anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s the one with all the food in it from the city.”

  “Do you want to…”

  I shake my head. “Only because if I open that bag and something’s broke, you’re going to be pissed you don’t get to eat it.”

  “Well, crap.” We exchange pained expressions. “Why don’t you inspect the damage while I get your other bags?”

  “There are two more big cases like this and a dress bag. All the same color.”

  “The lime green makes them easy to spot. That’s both good and bad considering.”

  I’ve lowered the first case to the ground and quickly unzip it. Smells of delicious New York bagels assail me. I quickly check the bubble-wrapped packages to make sure the deli mustard and other breakables didn’t shatter. Letting out a relieved sigh, I close it back up. “Considering what?”

  “Considering who you are. In a lot of ways, you wouldn’t want to be noticed. I mean, it’s fine right now, but you don’t want to be recognizable so someone could tamper with your stuff,” he tells me.

  “I don’t know
whether to be petrified or touched you care,” I tell him bluntly.

  “Figure it out while we’re in the car. I about died when you opened that bag and I got a good whiff of the bagels. I might break land-speed records getting us back to the farm.”

  I laugh, which was Monty’s intent. Together we wheel my bags out. Stopping in front of a sexy red vehicle, I can almost feel Monty’s pain when I say, “I like the red color of your truck.”

  “Okay, this isn’t a truck; it’s a Jaguar SUV.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Yep, there’s no denying the sick look that’s now taken residence on his face.

  “You’re a star, Evangeline! Do you mean to tell me you don’t know anything about cars?” he demands.

  “Sure. If I don’t want to ride in a nasty one, I order an Uber Black.”

  After using a button to close the trunk once my bags are loaded, he rests his head on the back window. “Think of this as Uber Platinum. No, Uber Titanium.”

  My lips part in a silent O.

  “A Jaguar is an experience, Linnie. And that ‘red color’ is Firenze.”

  “Umm, Florence. I love that city.” I head toward the passenger-side door.

  Monty opens his door and slides in. I quickly follow suit before he decides to take my bag of goodies and drive off without me. “So, you know Italy, but you don’t know cars?”

  I shrug. “I spent my time walking through Italy to experience it. What about you?”

  He gives me a wolfish grin. “I spent my time eating and drinking my way through it. That is if I wasn’t driving like a bat out of hell.” Pushing a button to start the car, I’m fascinated when I can barely detect the engine, let alone any sounds outside the window. “Are you hungry?”

  I shake my head.

  “Want to stop for coffee on the way back to the farm?” he throws out casually. “Unless something in the bag is going to spoil, we’ve got plenty of time. Ev and Mom are running a few errands.”