Reilly knew that she should let go. It had been so long since she had engaged with her mother on the topic. All she knew was that she couldn’t let it drop one more time.
“I already play along with your little games, Mom. You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I’m not rubbing—”
“You know you are,” Reilly interrupted. “And you know that who I take to the awards ceremony won’t make a bit of difference to my career.”
“You’re delusional if you believe that, Reilly,” responded Melissa. She put her mimosa down and scanned the room to see if anyone was listening to their disagreement.
“I’m not discussing this with you, Mom,” said Reilly. Her mother had always tried to make her objections to Reilly’s sexuality seem like concern over preserving her daughter’s career, but Reilly knew that it was something far more insidious. And she had no intention of giving her mother an opportunity to pretend that it was anything else.
“I’m just trying to remind you—”
“Not now,” said Reilly, surprising herself with the finality she heard in her own voice.
The waiter, who had stood a discreet distance away during the quiet, but intense interaction, took the pause as an opportunity to deliver their food. Mother and daughter sat in silence as their plates were set in front of them.
When the waiter left, Reilly concentrated on her omelet, though she wasn’t the least bit hungry. They sat in tenuous silence, picking at their food. Neither wanted to be the one to back down or to light a fuse.
Melissa was the one to finally break the silence. She always was.
“I saw something interesting on the way over here today.”
Reilly knew that her mother’s tone could go either way, and she was wary. She watched as her mother scooped up a small forkful of the food and ate it as if it were the most delicious morsel she had ever tasted.
Reilly pushed a piece of omelet around her plate and tried not to show emotion one way or another.
“Oh yeah?” she asked. Melissa didn’t do small talk during their meetings. It was always work, and when she used the word interesting, it usually meant that she wasn’t happy about something that Reilly had done. Reilly scanned her memory for what it might be. There was a smorgasbord of possibilities.
“It’s certainly something I never thought that I’d see in my lifetime,” Melissa intoned dryly. She put down her fork and lifted her Gucci messenger bag into her lap.
Reilly’s curiosity was piqued, and she braced herself for round two.
Melissa pushed her plate away, pulled a stack of trade papers and magazines out of her bag, and started to leaf through them. She invested a small fortune on celebrity papers and magazines and spent a good portion of time searching online, tracking any and all mention of Reilly, in an effort to stay on top of rumors, stories, and publicity opportunities. A one-time computer illiterate, Melissa had become a search engine expert. If Reilly’s name appeared in any context, Melissa would find it. If she hadn’t been Reilly’s manager, she would have made a great private investigator.
Happy to leave that part of her career to her mother, Reilly usually tried to stay away from gossip about herself. She had learned long ago that respectful reporting didn’t sell, and truth held no commerce for the publications that bartered in the fame game. Reilly was pretty good at ignoring the unflattering things she heard about herself, but sometimes things got under her skin, and she ended up expending unnecessary emotional energy on them, even when she knew they weren’t true or were taken out of context. So, for the most part, she let her mother handle that aspect of her career. Her mother told her what she needed to know and silently kept tabs on the rest.
Reilly took a sip of the mimosa that she didn’t want and impatiently watched her mother thumb through paper. With a grimace, she pushed the bubbly drink aside, as well. She signaled to a passing waiter to bring her some coffee, hoping against hope that she’d be able to drink it.
Finally, Melissa found the trade paper she was looking for—Reilly noted that it was on the top of the stack—and she held it so Reilly could see the front page. On it was a picture of Reilly and Parker standing next to each other with drinks in their hands. Parker had her arm looped through Reilly’s. An innocuous picture. Hardly worth her mother’s declaration of interesting.
Except that Melissa capitalized on the bad blood between the two women when there was a lull in promotional opportunities.
“When did this happen? It’s all over the place. Not the headlines. But pretty much everywhere. I took one day off from the internet and I get treated to this,” said Melissa. She dropped it on the table and pushed it toward Reilly.
“We sort of buried the hatchet the night of the press thing. Don’t ask me how it happened,” said Reilly, downing half of her mimosa before reaching for the paper.
She lowered her sunglasses to study the picture. It didn’t appear altered. She didn’t even know why she searched for the signs that it had been. After all, Parker had been in her bed the next morning, real as life. There was no doubt about that. Reilly still had some interesting marks etched on her body as reminders. Her clothes may have still been in place, but she knew that she’d had sex that night when she went to take a shower the next morning. Thank god that Parker had been gone by the time she’d finished her shower.
Reilly remembered how relieved she had been to see the empty bed as she’d emerged from the bathroom, but it had left a host of unanswered questions. And a lot of conflicting emotions. A roll in the sack didn’t just erase years of vicious animosity. For a second she wondered how the sex had been, and then, like she had every time the thought had crossed her mind, she pushed it away. The knowledge that she had lost time made her crazy, but not knowing some of the details was a relief.
“The tension between you two has always been a good thing to spike interest when you’re between projects,” mused Melissa, confirming Reilly’s suspicion for her mother’s focus on the subject. She could see the cogs spinning in her mother’s head as she tried to see how to use the new development.
“It’s not like Parker and I are now BFF’s, Mom,” said Reilly, deliberate in her use of the adolescent slang to irritate her mother. She suppressed a smile when she saw her mother’s eyes narrow. “We managed to get along for one night. Who knows how things will go from there?”
“Well, forgiveness is a good thing. It saved your dad’s and my marriage after that little fling he had with that intern at his firm years ago.” Reilly knew that her mother hadn’t forgiven him. She had held it over his head for the past fifteen years. But Reilly wasn’t about to bring that up. She and her mother never spoke about anything that really mattered. “At least it isn’t another picture of you with that Sylvie creature,” said Melissa, signaling for another round of mimosas, though Reilly hadn’t even finished her first one.
Her mother’s comment about Sylvie was filed away for later. Reilly inspected the picture again. She and Parker were almost back-to-back. Parker was laughing with someone out of the frame, and Reilly could see that her own eyes were vacant and her smile was forced. The picture didn’t indicate that they were on their way to waking up in bed together the next morning.
It didn’t seem possible to make the leap from battlefield to bed in just one night. She wished that she could remember how it had happened.
St. Bart’s
“GOD, I’M SO GLAD WE decided to come down here, Syl. I so needed this,” said Reilly as she sprawled out on the towel-covered beach lounge next to her sunbathing lover. She shook out her long blond hair, playfully spraying Sylvie with salt water. Sylvie laughed and threw a fruit rind at Reilly from the drink she was sipping.
The conversation with her mother on Sunday had exhausted Reilly, and after an afternoon spent stewing over it, in a moment of spontaneity, she had decided to take a mini-vacation. Now, they were relaxing on a white sand beach at a private resort in St. Bart’s after having flown in the day before. With no eyes on her and
no pressure from agents, directors, or managers, Reilly couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so carefree. Ever.
She settled into her chair and let the fragrant, tropical breeze dry her skin and hair. At home she wouldn’t have dared let her hair air-dry in public, but on the private beach she didn’t care. She had just come in from the water, and the gentle waves and warm water still called to her, but even with the most effective sunblock, her pale flesh burned if she wasn’t careful, so she had to monitor her time out in the sun. And even though she tried to tune it out, her mother’s voice whispered cautions about leathery skin and premature wrinkles.
“You mean that you’re glad that you decided to come down here. This had nothing to do with me. I’m still shocked, babe,” said Sylvie, slurping down the rest of the rum and coconut concoction she held in one hand.
“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to, Syl,” said Reilly. Something in Sylvie’s response put her off. It wasn’t unlike Sylvie, who had a tendency to go along with things and then complain about them. But Reilly had hoped that Sylvie, of all people, would support her need to escape.
“It was such a spur-of-the-moment idea, that’s all. Plus I’ll get to hear you bitch about your mother’s reaction for the next month. Not to mention that it was tough to reschedule my caseload. That’s all. I’m not complaining!”
Reilly watched Sylvie out of the corner of her eye. Sylvie was little more than a figurehead at her firm, lining up work for the other attorneys at the entertainment law firm. She worked cases, but as the primary partner, her main focus was to bring the business in and take the big cases. Right now she was between clients. A few days off wasn’t a hardship for her.
“Good. Because this is just what I needed, I think,” said Reilly, stretching out on the lounge with a sigh.
Sylvie put down her Kindle and flagged down one of the hovering attendants to order another drink. Reilly cringed at the condescending tone in Sylvie’s voice as she also had him adjust the umbrella to move the shade over Reilly’s chair and ask for a few more towels.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try one of these coconut rum things, babe?” asked Sylvie, setting down her empty next to her chair. “They’re so yummy.”
“Ugh. Pass,” frowned Reilly, as she settled back into her chair and closed her eyes. “I’m sticking to juice and water on this vacation. My body needs a serious detox.”
Sylvie took the new drink that appeared as if by magic beside her.
“I hope that doesn’t mean all fun is out. The bellman said he can hook us up with party favors. I’ll need them when we go dancing tonight,” said Sylvie, lowering her glasses to peer over the top of them at Reilly for emphasis on what she just said.
Reilly rolled her eyes at Sylvie and then shut them again, slinging an arm over her face. Her gums tingled at the suggestion of cocaine.
“I might take a pass on that too, babe,” said Reilly, debating whether she’d just do one or the other. Maybe if she just stopped drinking for a while it would be enough to avoid the more frequent bouts of lost time that she was starting to experience. She watched from beneath her arm to see Sylvie’s reaction at her statement.
“Dancing or the blow?” asked Sylvie. She lowered her drink along with her sunglasses to favor Reilly with an expression as if she had just said that she was thinking about marrying one of the monkeys that ran wild around the resort.
“Both maybe,” replied Reilly. She lowered her arm and gave Sylvie a look that said deal with it, although in her head she was pissed by the doubtful expression on Sylvie’s face. “I kinda like being chill.”
“Well, I’m sure I can find someone to play with tonight if you pull an old lady on me,” said Sylvie. Her words sounded casual, but Reilly heard the challenge in them.
“I’m sure you can,” said Reilly, and she swallowed back a pang of resentment. She knew that Sylvie would have no trouble rustling up company if Reilly didn’t go out with her. And, to be honest, Reilly really didn’t care if she did. But Reilly was irritated that Sylvie couldn’t summon up just a little support for her need to get away from all of that for a while.
Back to Reality
REILLY FASTENED HER SEATBELT AND accepted the cranberry juice that the flight attendant in first class held out to her. She took the copy of the Celebrity Rag she had picked up at the airport at St. Bart’s out of her bag and laid it across her lap. Though she usually let her mother watch the press about her, she didn’t like going too long without at least checking in. The magazine she held was exactly what it marketed itself to be—a rag. But it was the only one the small airport carried. She’d never admit it, but she was a little starstruck when it came to some celebrities, too.
Last week’s Rag had featured her on the cover after the Academy Award nomination. In the current edition, she had a small teaser picture in the corner of the cover, which showed her in a beach chaise. It was a strange feeling. The resort had felt private, and she hadn’t seen anyone taking photos of her, yet there she was. The sand was barely rinsed from her feet and the pictures of her frolicking on the beach in her bikini were already circulating.
She studied herself in the tiny photo. Thankfully, she wasn’t too critical about her body. Her mother had been good to her in that regard, encouraging a healthy self image—at least as far as her physical attributes went. She still worked hard to keep a toned body, though, and it didn’t hurt that good genes had provided her with nice curves and full breasts that she didn’t have to buy. But it was hard to pull off wearing a bikini when you didn’t tan. The color and the background had to be just right to make skin as pale as hers photograph well. She was pleased that the photographer had captured her in a flattering light.
Something wasn’t right though, and she examined the photo closer. It took a minute for her to realize what it was, but then she noticed that she was holding one of the coconut drinks that Sylvie had liked so much, complete with a straw and umbrella sticking out of the top. Several empties were on the sand around her. The picture suggested that she had been on a coconut-rum binge.
“Sheez! I never touched one of those vile concoctions while we were there. Though you certainly drank enough of them,” said Reilly, teasing Sylvie, who was nursing a pretty severe hangover. She inspected the pictures. “They aren’t even trying very hard to pretend that these pictures aren’t doctored,” she said, flipping to the pages where they showed more pictures of her lying in the sun and walking on the beach. Each and every one had her holding a drink of some sort in her hand. Her mother would be proud. “Sylvie, check this out. They just cut and pasted that there. I think I was holding my Kindle before they added the drink. This one’s not too bad, but you can see the shadow on my thigh is different than the beer bottle they put in there.”
“You sound shocked.”
“These people are professionals. That’s shoddy work. They should take their craft more seriously.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” said Sylvie without opening her eyes. Her head was leaned back against the headrest and she didn’t move her head. “The media likes their party girl. Besides it could have been worse.”
Reilly laughed, and Sylvie peeked out of the corner of one eye at her with a raised eyebrow.
“You are so right,” Reilly snickered. Their sex life had always been good, but the tropical surroundings had brought out a streak of adventure in both of them. She smiled as she remembered the hammock on their private patio where they had taken a nap and woken up to have sex. And the quickie that they had snuck away for among the banana plants while walking on the beach one evening. And the one time they had done it standing up against the trunk of a frangipani tree. Sylvie had even taken her in the center bathroom stall of the bathroom off of the main restaurant. Reilly laughed when she remembered Sylvie putting her hand over Reilly’s mouth as someone entered the bathroom just as she came.
“Uh-huh,” nodded Sylvie watching Reilly’s face, with a knowing smile. “It could ha
ve been worse. At least they aren’t saying you have a baby bump.”
“That’s true,” laughed Reilly, as she flipped through the pictures again.
Sylvie leaned her seat further back and closed her eyes. “Now let me sleep. Have I told you that I hate it when I have a hangover and you don’t?”
“Welcome to my life, Sylvie, welcome to my life.”
So Much for the Detox
“SO MUCH FOR THE DETOX,” sighed Reilly, as she took one of the shot glasses from the tray the server brought to their table. She had already tossed back two shots of Patrón Silver and the backs of her knees were feeling the warm tingle that always crept up on her when she was on her way to getting buzzed off of hard liquor.
“Hey, you managed five days,” said Sylvie, holding her shot glass up in the way of a cheer before she tossed the clear liquid back and put the glass down on the bar. “And what can you expect right now? Everyone wants to celebrate your nomination. You’d have to lock yourself away for the next couple of weeks to avoid it.”
Sylvie bit into a lime slice and tossed it on the bar behind her.
“My mom would kill me if I decided to go on the wagon right before the awards,” said Reilly, accepting a drink from another waiter who pointed to a dark-haired woman across the room. Reilly smiled and raised her glass in thanks to the woman who returned the salute and smiled back. The woman reminded her of Drew. She wished it were.
Where had that come from? She never daydreamed about women like that, especially women she didn’t know. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and tried to pick up the thread of discussion she and Sylvie were having.
“She has commanded me to hit every A-list event that I get invited to. Do you know how many parties that is?”
“Poor baby. So many people love you. Don’t pretend that you don’t like it,” said Sylvie, turning to see who Reilly had been smiling at. “She’s a cutie. Wanna see if she wants to play?”
Life in High Def Page 5