“For once,” said Trinity with a sly grin. It was as close to flirting as I’d seen them get for a while.
I tapped the marble counter with my green fingernails, staring at it as I considered Liam’s question. Should I meet my birth parents? What would they be like? Was it worth the time it would take?
“Do you think I should meet my birth parents?” I asked Liam and Trinity.
Liam shrugged. “Only you know if you want to.”
“Could I, though? What if it was a closed adoption?”
“I think you need their permission,” said Trinity.
“How do I get that?”
She shrugged. “Through the adoption agency, I guess.”
“Do you think they’ll want to meet me? That they’ll know it’s me the minute they see me?”
Trinity rolled her eyes. That answered that. I should’ve known better. Parents were a sore subject with her.
I was pissed off at my parents for not telling me sooner, but also curious about where I’d come from. Questions without answers had been my pet hate for a long time, and the one around my birth had jumped right to the top of my list.
“What do you think they’re like?”
“What who are like?” she asked.
“My birth parents! Do you think they’re doctors or lawyers or astronauts, maybe?”
Trinity snorted. “They’re probably poor people who couldn’t afford to raise a baby.”
I crossed my arms. “No! I don’t believe that!”
Trinity shrugged. “Believe what you want, but I don’t see how or why someone with a fancy-ass job would need to put a kid up for adoption. They’d just hire a nanny.”
“Not everyone would. Some might prefer their child to be raised by actual parents instead,” said Liam.
I flashed him a smile at his support. “Yeah, or something tragic happened during the birth, so they had to give me up.”
“In which case isn’t trying to find them a bad idea?” said Trinity.
There were lots of reasons parents put children up for adoption. Trinity’s cynical reasons weren’t the only ones, and they wouldn’t ruin my ideals.
“Why don’t you hire an investigator to look into it?” suggested Liam.
“That feels dirty,” I said.
Trinity snorted. “I used one to get dirt on my ex-father. It was the only way they’d let me get emancipated.”
“But this is different,” I said.
“Yeah. You need their permission to speak to them. A PI would be the perfect intermediary.”
5
Jack
I know it’s bad
But I just can’t help myself
Alcohol is the only way
I feel less sad.
— “Antidote,” Jack Cuoco
Going back to my place after spending a few days at Len’s was a shock. They’d offered to let me stay for longer, but I already felt like I was in the way. I’d been there a week and a half. It wasn’t their job to take care of me. I had to learn to do things on my own, awkward as it was.
I returned to my house to find it cleaner than it had ever been. I’d had to hire professionals to fix the damage since I couldn’t do it myself. Len had gone over to let them in then picked up the key from their office when they were done. He was too good to me.
My place had never smelled so clean. I could even see my reflection on the stove.
I’d told Larry what had happened, but I’d been light on the details. He didn’t know when I was due back to my place either, since I’d just told him that I was being looked after by a friend. The fewer details he had, the less likely he was to lecture me. Larry was a good manager, but why he had to baby me I didn’t know.
While I’d been at Len’s I’d had a few drinks, but not as many as I would’ve liked. Len and Angela didn’t judge me for drinking. It was hard for them to since Len was an alcoholic, although a sober one. His past made me feel guilty drinking around him, though, so I did it discreetly and bought my own alcohol on the few occasions I’d managed to go out and not have my cast make things difficult.
Back home, I went in search of my usual stashes. My hip flask was in a box in the bathroom cabinet, as usual, but it was empty. Damn. The one I kept in the toilet cistern had a few sips in it, so I had that. The bitter taste of gin burned my esophagus as it went down. Much better.
Feeling refreshed but drained, I went to lie down. I don’t know how long I was out, just that I was woken up by the front door opening. I really needed to learn to lock the damn thing.
“Jack? You here?”
Shit. It was Larry. How had he known I was home?
I shoved the bottle back into the cistern and ran downstairs. “Sup,” I said, trying to sound casual. I hadn’t had chance to brush my teeth or do anything to get rid of the smell of alcohol on my breath. I needed to make sure he stayed far enough away that he wouldn’t notice.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“How did you know I was home?”
“Cameras,” he said, pointing to the ones Tate’s dad had installed a few months earlier. I’d forgotten he had access to those things. “Don’t look so disappointed. I just came to check in on you, that’s all.”
“Not to see how your investment is doing?”
“I do care about you, you know. I’m not completely heartless.” He just came across that way sometimes. “How long do you have the cast on for?”
“Six weeks. I don’t have to use the sling all the time though. Doctor doesn’t think the stitches will scar either.”
“Could be worse,” said Larry. “How long until you get it off?”
“Few more weeks,” I said. Had I really spent a week and a half at Len’s? It had gone so quickly I hadn’t even noticed. Spending time with him and his family had felt like the perfect dream. I’d never felt more at home except when I was with Tate. Who was the reason I’d broken my arm. I had to remember that.
Larry stepped closer, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. I walked around him, making sure to keep him at least six feet away. Would he be able to smell my breath from that far? He wouldn’t, would he? “I see they repaired the banister.”
“How do you know?”
“Came over after you were injured to see the damage.”
“Oh.” Shit. Had he noticed anything I hadn’t?
“Looks like they did a good job,” he said, running his fingers over it. It was in the same color and style as the old one. I figured the landlord was less likely to get annoyed with me if it matched. Would he even notice?
“Um, yeah,” I said.
“Was that how you got injured? Falling down the stairs?”
“Yeah. Took the banister with me and it landed on my arm,” I said.
“Sounds painful.”
“It was.”
“And expensive,” he added.
“Thank god for insurance,” I said.
“Indeed.”
“What’s going on with you, Larry?” I asked.
“Nothing. Why would you ask that?”
“You’re acting weird. It’s unnerving.”
“I’ve had a weird few days. The label has given you an extension on your new album due to your injuries. They seem to have some pity for you. I, on the other hand, don’t. I know the injury probably happened during one of your infamous house parties, where you apparently tried to take the banister down with you. Am I on to something?”
I stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets and stared at the floor. He wasn’t wrong. The only part he was missing was that I’d been drunk and high when it had happened.
“How drunk were you when it happened? Had you taken anything else? Do you feel any remorse for the amount of damage you’ve done to someone else’s property these last few months?”
Yes, I felt guilty. But it had been repaired. What was the big deal?
“Are you still drinking?” he added.
Yes, and he was making me need more than what I had in the ho
use. I knew should’ve gotten the taxi that dropped me off to stop off at the store on the way home.
“What’s with all the questions?”
Larry went upstairs and into the bathroom. He began to open cabinets and look underneath things.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for your secret stashes. I know you have them. This time, I’m going to get rid of them.”
I clung to the door frame for support as my legs went weak. “What?”
“You’re going to learn, one way or the other, not to fucking drink. Understand?” He kicked the side of the tub. He wasn’t going to find a secret stash in there. It was sealed. Satisfied it was secure, he moved on to checking the cupboard above the sink.
“Why? Why are you doing this now?”
“You broke your arm and nearly gave yourself a concussion. Do you have any idea how bad concussions can be?” He opened every bottle and box in there, which was a lot considering I didn’t use most of them. I really needed to get rid of some stuff, but who could be bothered with that? Especially with one functional arm.
“Um, bad?”
Larry shook his head. “That could put you out of action for months. Do you want that? You wouldn’t be able to drink, or write, or party. You wouldn’t even be able to read or watch TV. You’d have to hide in a darkened room away from civilization and stimulation. Is that what you want?”
“Um, no?”
“Then stop drinking!”
“You know it’s not that simple Larry,” I said.
He found the box in my cupboard and took out my hip flask. Shit.
“Please be careful with that! It’s the only thing I have of my dad’s. Check the initials on it.”
He turned it to see my dad’s initials—EC. He knew my dad’s name was Ernest. He couldn’t prove or disprove that it was his; I just hoped he believed me because it was true.
“Fine. It goes in the display cabinet instead. If this is on display, you can’t drink from it, and you’ll be more careful about who comes over,” he said.
I crossed my arms. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”
Larry shook his head. “Don’t you think you’re underreacting just a little? Usually hospital trips wake people up, not make them worse.”
I shrugged. “Not always. Look at all the people addicted to prescription painkillers.”
He stared at me, as if considering whether I fell into that camp, or would one day.
I stared back at him, challenging him to ask me if I was addicted to painkillers. He settled for not asking and continuing his search through the house instead.
Next stop was my bedroom. Shit. He was going to find things in there. Not booze-related things, but things…
His first stop was, I guess, the obvious choice: my bedside table. When he opened the top drawer, he didn’t find alcohol, though. He found my sex toy stash. He blushed.
“What did you expect to find in there?”
“Maybe you and your one-night stands engage in more than just sex games,” he said with a raised eyebrow. I’d hoped the sex toys would deter him, but they didn’t. He even searched the boxes they were stored in. Ew. I’d have to wash them before they were used again. I didn’t know where his hands had been.
He then went over to my king-sized bed and stripped it.
“Oh, come on!” I said, pointing to my arm.
“I’ll remake it afterward,” he said with an eye roll. He’d better, because it wasn’t like I could do much with one arm, and I hated to sleep in an unmade bed. The fabric was scratchy.
Once he’d taken all the bedclothes off, he lifted up the mattress. He didn’t find alcohol, but he did find my money stash. He held it up. “Money under the mattress?”
“You can never be too careful,” I said. “I’ve put twenty dollars a month in there ever since I signed my contract.”
He returned the wad to its spot in the middle of the bedframe and dropped the mattress back down. That thing was heavy; he’d better not have damaged it. “You know banks protect your money for you, right?”
I shrugged. “I like having it on hand just in case.”
And, no, I’d never used the money for drugs. It was more of an in-case-of-emergencies stash. Given the way my childhood had gone, I was always on alert just in case something went wrong. And, you know, if you pay for things in cash, nobody can track you…
“Are you done yet?” I said, getting impatient as he moved on to the guest rooms.
“No,” he said. “I’m checking every room in this house.”
And he did. He checked every room. Every piece of furniture. Every goddamn box.
And he found more than I care to admit. My hiding places were good. Really good. But not good enough for how thorough Larry was.
When he was finally done, he flushed it all down the toilet, then placed the empty containers on my kitchen counter. And it looked bad. Really bad.
“Do you believe me when I say that you’re an alcoholic now?”
“Just because I had secret stashes, that doesn’t mean I was drinking them,” I said.
Larry rubbed his face. “How dumb do you think I am?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“You’re a talented guy. Why do you let this shit drag you down?”
“It isn’t dragging me down. It gets rid of the noise that makes it harder for me to think.”
“Yet you still haven’t finished your next album,” he said.
“No, but I’ve helped lots of people with their albums. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Just from helping other people with their music and getting a production credit, I earned enough royalties to live on. More than enough, in fact. So why was he so concerned about my name being out there?
“I suppose,” he said. “But I thought you wanted to be out there, performing your music?”
“I don’t need another album to do that,” I said.
“What if I organize a tour for you? Would that help to motivate and inspire you? Maybe you’ve been stuck in a rut for too long and just need to get out and see the world.”
I did love the atmosphere of a good gig. I hated crowds, but if I wasn’t a part of the crowd, I was performing for everyone at the front of the stage, it didn’t bother me. I guess because that meant I could enjoy the atmosphere without having people closing in on me.
“OK, sure,” I said. Getting away seemed like the perfect remedy after everything that had happened the last few weeks. It might give me the chance to clear my head and figure out what I actually wanted.
“Cool. I’ll get started right away.”
6
Tate
I’m here to write songs to make you smile
They’ll be stuck in your head for a little while
So grab your shoes and your friends
You’ll be dancing until the night ends.
— “Catchy,” Tate Gardener
I spent a couple of days hiding at Trinity’s, worried that my parents would try to find me at my place and talk to me about what had happened when I was a baby. I wasn’t ready to find out yet. I needed processing time. They didn’t know where Trinity lived, which meant that they wouldn’t be able to track me down. It was a lot easier to avoid text messages and phone calls than someone showing up in person.
I slept on Trinity’s sofa, my face smushed against the cotton. It wasn’t the comfiest place I’d ever slept, but it was one of the more comforting. Knowing I’d wake up with Trinity there to give me hugs if I needed them helped.
Still half-asleep one morning, I picked my phone up from the coffee table. I had a missed call from my costar, Camilla. I didn’t usually sleep through my phone ringing, so I must’ve been more drained than I’d thought. It was barely past six. Why had she called so early?
She answered immediately and didn’t bother with pleasantries: “Have you seen the news?”
“What news?” I said. The gossip magazines couldn’t have found
out about my adoption already, could they? But how?
“Our show has officially been canceled,” she said.
I sat up on the sofa. “Since when? Nobody told me.”
“Nobody told me either. I found out online.”
“Oh.” Three years of working on that show, and that was how the network ended things? Talk about a lack of respect.
“Yeah.”
“Have you heard from your dad?” said Camilla. He was one of the producers on the show.
“No.” It wasn’t the time to go into the technicalities of why. Would he have told us if I wasn’t ignoring his calls? Did he know? “When did the news break?”
“Few hours ago,” she said. “Found it when I got back from a party. I still can’t believe it.”
“Which part? That they didn’t even bother to tell us or that it’s over?”
“Both,” she said. “It’s a weird feeling, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “The end of an era. Do you have any other work lined up?”
“Not yet. You?”
“Only small roles, nothing to get too excited about. Might be nice to have a break.”
“Aren’t you going to tour with your new album?”
“I guess I could bring that forward if I’m not working on the show anymore. I wonder if my parents will sell the LA apartment now that we don’t need it,” I said.
“Won’t your dad still need it?” said Camilla.
“Probably, but it makes it more awkward with the divorce. It’d be easier for them to sell it and for him to find somewhere else,” I said.
The more often I said the D-word, the easier it was to digest. Especially now that there was a bigger, even more painful word that I’d discovered only because of their divorce: adoption.
“You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure if I will miss the show,” said Camilla. “I mean, I’ll miss working with you and some of the crew, but I kinda feel like I’ve outgrown it, you know?”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Hollywood Parents Page 3