‘Did your mom put you up to this?’
‘No, no. She doesn’t know I wrote the letters. She thinks she’s perfectly happy dating this man named Dudley Wiener.’
‘Wiener. Unfortunate name.’
‘Yes.’
‘But maybe she is. Happy, I mean.’
‘No. She’s delusional.’
‘Really.’
‘Really. He’s not good enough for her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because. He’s bland. And balding. And he’s a punster. And he’s got man-boobs.’
‘Man-boobs, huh? Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, those don’t sound like very good reasons. Those sound like, um, superficial reasons.’
‘It’s more than that. He’s not...’ I struggled to put it into words. ‘He’s not...’
‘He’s not your dad?’
I nodded, and suddenly my eyes welled up with tears. I was crying, right there in front of George Clooney, big fat tears rolling down my face. ‘I mean, I know my dad was a jerk in the end, leaving my mom for Wife Number Two and all... but when he was really our dad, he was great, you know? Dudley is so...’
‘Not your dad.’
‘Not even close.’ I sniffed back a large snot-ball that had formed in my left nostril.
George handed me a Kleenex and patted my hand.
‘See? You’re handsome and smart and kind. You’d be perfect for her.’
He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It sounds to me like your mom deserves someone who’d be there for her, always. I’m not that guy.’
‘Maybe you are that guy, and you just haven’t met the right woman.’
‘It’s possible. But I doubt it. A man tends to know himself pretty well when he reaches almost half a century.’
‘Wow. You’re old.’
He smiled. ‘Ancient.’ He picked up my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Can I tell you something? No one is ever going to be able to replace your dad. Not even me.’
I nodded, and my head felt like it might explode.
‘But let me ask you this. Does this Wiener guy make your mom happy?’
‘It would seem so, yes.’
‘So maybe you need to give him a chance.’
A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I suddenly felt like I could sleep for ever.
‘What’s your name?’ asked George.
‘Violet. Violet Gustafson.’ And then, just like that, with the biggest movie star of all time standing over my bed, I fell back into a deep sleep.
26
When I woke up again, it was pitch-dark, and Jennica was shaking me awake. It took me a full minute to realise I was in my bed at Dad and Jennica’s and that Rosie was sound asleep in the bed beside me.
‘What are you doing?’ I mumbled to Jennica, my voice thick with sleep. I could feel pain pulsing down the right side of my body.
‘I have to wake you up once an hour and check your pupils to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Doctor’s orders.’
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Still at work.’ I glanced at the clock. It was almost 2:00 a.m. ‘They shut down production for a couple of hours when he found out you were in the Tantamount infirmary... Once we all realised you’d be OK, he had to rush back and play catch-up.’
I thought about the guy in the suit who was already giving my dad grief and groaned. ‘Dad’s gonna be furious.’
Jennica squeezed my hand, but she didn’t contradict me. ‘We’ll talk about all of this in the morning. In the meantime, I’m just glad you’re OK.’ She stood up and walked to the door. ‘See you in an hour.’
‘Jennica?’ I said.
She turned back.
‘Thanks.’
She gave me a small, tired smile before she walked away.
•••
‘George Clooney’s car!’ Dad was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee.
Jennica and I were still in our pyjamas. She had dark circles under her eyes, thanks to her once-an-hour vigil over yours truly the night before. I had a single crutch to help me move around on my twisted ankle. The right side of my body – leg, hip, and arm – was raw and red and starting to form scabs.
‘You hit George Clooney’s car! With a studio golf cart! That you stole! And you’re twelve!’
‘Almost thirteen. And I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it—’
‘George Clooney’s car!’ This particular piece of information was clearly the worst part of it for Dad. ‘He must be furious.’
‘Not really,’ I said.
‘What do you mean, “not really”?’
‘I spoke with him. In the infirmary.’
My dad rubbed his temples. ‘Violet, don’t be ridiculous. George was shooting all day, he couldn’t have visited you in the infirmary.’
‘But he did. Just ask the doctor. She was there.’
Jennica said gently, ‘The doctor wasn’t a she, Violet. His name was Bernard.’
Now I felt confused. ‘But I did talk to him—’
‘You’d hit your head. You were hallucinating,’ my dad said.
‘If I was hallucinating, how come I already knew I’d hit his car?’
‘Because the parking spot had RESERVED FOR GEORGE CLOONEY painted on the curbstone in enormous letters. You must have seen it while you were lying there on the pavement...’ His voice broke. ‘Violet, you could have killed yourself. You had us worried half to death.’
Then he grabbed me and hugged me tightly for a few seconds before letting me go. ‘Dammit, why can’t we ever have a normal visit with you?’ He gave Jennica a quick kiss on the crown of her head. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. Call time’s not for two hours, but I have to revise my storyboard, try to make up for lost time.’ He shot me a look as he said this.
As he headed out of the room, he shouted over his shoulder, ‘And call your mother!’
Jennica and I were left alone in the kitchen. We could hear Rosie and the twins, playing happily in the family room. Jennica handed me a pill, something the doctor had given me for the pain. I drank it down with some apple juice.
‘Do you really think you saw George Clooney?’ she asked.
‘Yes. At least, I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘Is he as good-looking in real life as he is in his movies?’
‘Better.’
Jennica smiled, and the smile turned into a yawn.
‘Why don’t you go back to bed?’ I said.
‘I can’t. It’s Anna Maria’s day off.’
‘I can watch Rosie and the twins,’ I told her.
She looked at me, and I knew she was trying to decide whether or not she could trust me.
‘Just for an hour. And I won’t take them outside. We’ll stay in the family room.’ Then I said what she really wanted to hear. ‘I won’t do anything mean. I promise.’
She studied my face for a moment. ‘OK. Thanks, Violet, I appreciate it.’ Then she handed me the portable phone. ‘But first, call your mother.’
•••
‘Violet, is everything OK?’ my mom asked, when I got through to her on her phone. She was at work, and I could hear voices in the background.
‘Everything’s great, Mom. Me and Rosie are fine.’ I paused. ‘But I did have a bit of an accident yesterday.’
There was silence for a moment. ‘An accident?’
‘I’m fine. I just have a twisted ankle. And I’m pretty scraped up. And they thought I might have a concussion, but I don’t.’
‘What happened?’ There was a hint of hysteria in her voice.
‘Um... I kind of fell out of a golf cart. And it kind of landed on top of me.’
‘What?’
‘
But, you know, it’s a pretty long story, and you’re at work and all, so it can wait till I get home—’
‘No. No, it can’t wait till you get home. Karen, take over for me, will you?’
A moment later, the background noise died down, and I knew she’d stepped into the hall. ‘OK, Violet. Tell me everything.’
So I did.
27
‘Rosie, stop squirming.’
‘The tag is itchy!’
‘Fine, I’ll find someone with scissors.’
It was June. Rosie and I had been home from Los Angeles for three months. And now, here we were, wearing matching bridesmaids dresses. Only technically we weren’t bridesmaids, we were flower girls.
For someone who doesn’t like to wear dresses, I have to admit that these ones were OK. They were simple, with empire waists. The fabric was a silky pearl gray. They stopped just above the knee. My leg was completely healed, the scabs long gone. I remembered what Jennica had said about my legs, and for once in my life, I thought I didn’t look half-bad.
‘Karen, do you have scissors?’ I asked. She was wearing the grown-up version of our dress, in the same fabric, but hers was long, form-fitting, and sleeveless. She’d toned down on the make-up, and she actually looked almost pretty.
‘Yes, I think I do,’ she said, rummaging through her handbag. ‘Here.’
I cut Rosie’s tag off, and she breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Better!’
‘Here are your baskets,’ said Karen, handing us each a straw basket full of rose petals. ‘Remember, and, Rosie, this goes especially for you, don’t throw them all at once. Just toss small handfuls as you walk down the aisle.’
I nodded, suddenly nervous. The church was packed, and we would be the first two people down the aisle.
•••
But allow me to backtrack for a moment. A lot has happened in the three months since we’ve been back from L.A.
A lot. And it all started on the night we got home.
My mom picked us up at the airport, but she and I didn’t really have a chance to talk until later that night because Rosie had talked a mile a minute from the moment we’d stepped into Mom’s car till the moment she’d gone to bed.
It wasn’t until we’d pulled up outside our house that I realised the muffler wasn’t making any noise. And, as we climbed the steps, I noticed that the love seat that had sat rotting on our front porch for a year and a half was gone. And the handrail didn’t wobble any more.
After Rosie was asleep, Mom made us hot chocolate. We sat at either end of the red couch in the living room, facing each other, feet touching.
‘So,’ my mom said. ‘George Clooney.’ She started to snort with laughter. I didn’t think it was that funny, but I wasn’t going to argue because I was relieved I wasn’t in serious trouble. ‘I can’t believe you tried to set me up with George Clooney.’ She had to wipe tears from her eyes, she was laughing so hard. ‘I suppose I ought to be flattered. But I’m also furious, of course. You stole a golf cart. You drove under age. We’ll have to think of a suitable punishment.’
So much for not being in serious trouble.
‘Aside from trying to set me up with George Clooney,’ she continued, ‘how was the rest of your visit?’
‘Not bad,’ I said, and I meant it. I told Mom that after the golf cart incident, Dad and Jennica had taken me, Rosie, Lola, and Lucy to Disneyland for a day, and even though I’d had to hobble around on my crutch, and we’d had to stick to the kiddy rides, it was still really fun. I told her that later in the week, Jennica took us down to the Santa Monica Pier and to Venice Beach, where I was almost positive I saw one of the Olsen twins, but she was on Rollerblades and mostly a blur so it was hard to know for sure.
I told her that we spent a lot of time by Dad’s pool and that I went into the water every day in my new bathing suit.
I even told her about my breakfast with Dad.
•••
What happened was this: the day before we left, I’d walked into the kitchen to grab some cereal. Dad was at the counter drinking coffee. ‘Violet, why don’t you and I go out for breakfast?’
‘Aren’t you shooting today?’
‘Call time isn’t till noon.’
‘What about Rosie?’
‘She can stay here with the twins.’
So Dad took me to a cool little diner down on Venice Beach, where we ate huevos rancheros and drank enormous fruit smoothies. Then we walked along the boardwalk, and he bought me a T-shirt and a ball cap and some flip-flops to bring home to Mom.
We were walking back to the house when he said, ‘I know I haven’t been a great father to you lately, Violet.’
I didn’t know what to say. I focused on the row of palm trees that lined the pavement.
‘And I know... when I left your mom... I left you too, in a way. And your sister. I didn’t mean to. But I did.’
I kept staring at those palm trees.
‘I thought I could still be a good father to you. But I guess I haven’t done a very good job, after all.’
I couldn’t be sure, but I think he was waiting for me to say that wasn’t true. I didn’t.
‘Anyway. I guess I just want you to know... I’ll try harder from now on.’
I nodded. I knew he meant it, but I also knew in my heart that I probably shouldn’t expect things to change too much.
He cleared his throat. ‘And maybe you can try a little harder, too. You know, don’t steal any more golf carts. Talk to me without the Magic 8 Ball when I call. Do you think you can do that?’
I was quiet for a moment. Then I said, ‘Signs point to yes.’
It took him a moment to get it. Then he laughed.
•••
Mom laughed too, when I was done telling her. ‘Well. Good. I’m glad you two had a chance to talk. And I’m delighted that you had a good time. You ready for your ointment?’
I nodded. She gently pulled off my sweatpants, which were all I could wear since the accident because I couldn’t have any fabric rubbing up against my skin. I suddenly felt overwhelmingly happy to be home.
But, of course, I had one burning question. ‘Did you give Dudley an answer?’
My mom nodded. I held my breath.
‘I told him no.’
I exhaled, relieved.
‘I don’t feel ready to go down that path again, at least, not anytime soon.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’
‘But, Violet...’ She stopped rubbing the ointment into my leg for a moment and took my hand. ‘I really like him. I know I made some terrible choices early on, but Dudley is different. All I ask is that you give him a chance. Because I think, if you do that, you’ll see that he’s quite a wonderful human being. He may not be the cutest, or the richest—’
‘Or the funniest—’
‘But he makes me happy.’ Then she added, ‘Happier in some ways than your dad ever did.’
Even though I was sorely tempted, I didn’t slap my hands over my ears and sing ‘La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la’ this time.
‘I love you and Rosie with all my heart. But I need a different kind of love, too. Just like you’ll need a different kind of love when you get older, something Rosie and I won’t be able to provide.’
‘I’m never falling in love,’ I said, thinking of Jean-Paul. ‘It’s too much trouble.’
Mom smiled. ‘Well, I hope you change your mind someday. A certain amount of pain is part of life. You can’t stop opening yourself up to people and taking chances just because you’re scared of getting hurt.’
When she’d finished rubbing the ointment into my leg, she said, ‘Oh, I almost forgot. A boy called here for you, the day after you left.’
My heart did a flip. ‘Who was it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t leave a
message.’
•••
On Sunday – our last day of freedom before school started again after March Break – Phoebe and I spent the whole day together. I filled her in on all that had happened, and when I was done, she shared her theory with me, which went like this: I’d chosen George Clooney as the perfect guy for my mom because I knew, deep in my heart, that I was pursuing an impossible goal. ‘And that was the point,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Because you didn’t want anyone, not even George Clooney, to replace your dad.’ I had to take her word for it because Phoebe is very smart about these things.
On Monday morning, as we walked (and I hobbled) to school with Rosie, Phoebe still couldn’t stop talking about my so-called encounter with George. I was wearing one of my new L.A. tops, but my trousers were the same old sweats I’d been wearing since I got home, thanks to my scabs.
‘I think you really saw him,’ Phoebe said firmly.
‘I do, too,’ I replied.
‘Then again,’ she continued, ‘your dad could be right. You could have been hallucinating.’
‘Yeah, it’s possible,’ I said.
‘Tell me again what he said. Don’t leave anything out.’
So I told her everything George Clooney had said, or hadn’t said, for the hundredth time.
We dropped Rosie off at kindergarten, then Phoebe and I climbed the stairs to the second floor. I won’t lie; I felt like vomiting. There were a lot of people I wasn’t looking forward to facing on my first day back at school.
First up: Thing One. She was at her locker, between us and the classroom, and there was no avoiding her. She had tape across her nose.
Phoebe squeezed my shoulder. ‘Good luck,’ she said. I took a deep breath and approached her.
‘Ashley—’ I started.
‘Keep away from me,’ she snapped.
‘I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. What you did was really horrible. But I never should have hit you.’
She just slammed her locker shut. ‘Don’t come near me ever again, Pancake.’
Lauren marched up beside her, arms crossed over her chest. ‘You heard her, Psycho.’
I thought about pleading my case, but I knew there was no point. So I walked away. I could feel a lot of eyes on me in the hall. Phoebe joined me. ‘You did what you could,’ she said.
My Messed-Up Life Page 14