by Abby Stern
Even though moving in with Robin is the only realistic option of how I should proceed and it’s certainly not how I would’ve orchestrated things, I want to move in with her. I want to try to make our relationship work and be with my mom and niece even if it’s not under the best of circumstances. I rub the napkin against the bridge of my nose.
“God forbid her cancer gets worse and you didn’t spend as much time as possible with her, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. We both have that with Dad. I don’t want that for you with Mom.”
“You’re right.” I take a breath. “It was just easier for me to pretend that she wasn’t really that sick because the thought of her not being okay is too hard.”
“I promise you, Ella, I’m not your enemy. I’m rooting for you. I think you’re so brave to go after what you want, even if it’s something I don’t necessarily understand.”
“Really?” I wonder if I’m still legally drunk because it sounds like she just gave me a compliment.
“Of course. I just don’t want you to lose yourself in the process.” She tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Now eat your pancakes before your syrup gets cold.” Robin places her hand on top of mine and then returns to her side of the table. I unhinge my jaw and take a huge bite of pancakes.
“How are they?” she inquires.
“Not nearly as good as Mom’s French toast,” I review in the middle of chewing.
Robin smiles. “I could’ve told you that before you ordered them.”
“Speaking of Mom, you aren’t going to tell her about this, are you?” I plead. Most people think that when they mess up, no one could ever be as disappointed in them as they are in themselves. In my case, the thought of my ailing mother learning of my DUI and being disappointed in me would be a million times worse. “I will buy your silence with candy if that dynamic still works,” I offer.
Robin finishes her coffee and takes a moment for herself before answering. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.” Phew. “She’ll realize something is up eventually when she notices you aren’t driving but for the time being I don’t think we need to give her anything else to worry about. It’s our little secret, but a Snickers wouldn’t hurt.”
“Robin, I’m scared. Is Mom gonna be okay? Please don’t sugarcoat it,” I request. “Look, the worst has already happened. I need to know. I need you not to treat me with kid gloves.”
She returns her mug to the table.
“I don’t know. She’s making progress but cancer can be unpredictable. It could go either way and that’s the truth. We have to keep Mom’s spirits up. I know that Dr. Jacobs will do everything he can but no one can make any promises. Is that what you needed to hear?”
I nod yes.
My phone buzzes and Robin hands it back to me. I haven’t checked my e-mail since I was released from jail. It’s an e-mail from Victoria.
Ella,
AMAZING reporting on Twentysomething CW Bad Boy Heartthrob!! (And some good stuff on Sexy Indie Film Actor too.) Between you and my source at the hospital who tipped me off about the ambulance for the overdose and his death we are leading the coverage on this story. Congratulations! The points e-mail will be sent out in a day or so but I wanted to show you the current scores first after your amazing reporting at Ambiance.
1. Ella Warren
2. Not me
3. Not me
4. Not me
Twenty-four
“You just can’t get enough, can you, Ella?” Nurse Richards jokes. “You haven’t missed a single chemo appointment with your mom for the past few months. You’re a good daughter.”
“Yes, she is,” my mom agrees.
“Kind of a slow day in here,” I say. Since my falling out with Nick and Holiday two months ago, I’ve been at Robin’s and go with my mom to her appointments. We are the only people in the treatment center today.
Nurse Richards leans her head to the side. “You won’t be alone for long. Joan, can I get you anything?”
“Not right now.”
My mom continues with her issue of The Life and when she flips the page I stop her from flipping to the next. The headline reads, “Stars Who Shopped Instead of Adopted.” There’s a huge photo of Holiday and her new King Charles Cavalier puppy, Harry. “There needs to be at least one King Harry in my lifetime,” she’s quoted as saying in the article, while a few lines down she’s ripped to shreds for purchasing a designer dog instead of choosing to rescue. “Shallow?” is printed across a family photo of Holiday, Tristan, and Harry. I release a sigh.
“She’s sure been getting raked over the coals lately,” my mother notices. “There was an article last week about her eating at a restaurant that doesn’t boycott GMO ingredients.”
“Everything she does is under a microscope now,” I tell her. “If Holiday sneezes and uses two tissues instead of one, there’s an article about her lack of concern for pollution and the environment, which then spins out into her not caring or believing in climate change.” It sounds so ridiculous when I say it that I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t read it online yesterday. At least she has Tristan by her side.
“It’s too bad you can’t use any of your connections to help her,” she says, turning the page to something less controversial: noninvasive plastic surgery. My phone buzzes. It’s a text alert from The Life.
The Life: Report: Sexy Indie Film Actor Completes Rehab
Talk about adding insult to unwanted infamy. My heart sinks. He lost a key movie role because of the notes I turned in on that night about Twentysomething CW Bad Boy Heartthrob.
Just then, three burly men with walkie-talkies burst into the room. Both my mother and I are stunned. One of the men walks over and inspects my mom’s IV and gives me a long glance up and down. He then takes her magazine and puts it facedown on the table next to her.
“We’re clear,” he speaks into his walkie-talkie.
The door is hurriedly opened and in walks Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star!
“Thank you,” she tells the three men. I have so many thoughts running through my head I’m having trouble choosing one. What is she doing here? Why is she in the chemo treatment room? What the hell is going on? I realize my jaw has been agape since the moment she walked in, and I close it.
Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star surveys my mom and me just like I’m scanning her. Once she assesses us and is comfortable, she nods to her bodyguards, who retreat to the other side of the door. To my surprise, she unzips and removes her hoodie, revealing her port, and takes off a wig and exposes her bald head. Nurse Richards preps her exactly the same way she preps my mother. I still can’t believe one of my idols is in front of me. It’s taking everything inside of me to stop myself from asking for a selfie. I glance at her head again and realize an autograph is more probable but still not appropriate.
“How are we doing today?” she asks Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star. In this moment, she’s not the most legendary pop icon in the world, she’s just … human. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you your usual private room. There’s been some plumbing issues in the wing and space is limited.”
“It’s alright. It actually feels nice not to be so isolated for once,” she muses. “Even while I was living here I rarely had contact with anyone else.”
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Nurse Richards asks with a hint of pity in her tone.
“Terrible,” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star answers. “I can barely keep food down but I’ve never been this thin in my life,” she jokes. “Chemo is way more effective than a gluten-free diet … though I wouldn’t recommend it.” I can’t help but laugh when I overhear and Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star smiles at me. “What are you in for?” she asks my mother.
“AML. You?”
“ALL,” she answers. “What cycle are you on?” she inquires.
“This is my third. You?”
“Fourth. I’m getting better but leukemia feels like it’s harder to get rid of t
han a bad boyfriend or bedbugs.” It’s almost unfathomable to me not only that the biggest celebrity in the world is sitting feet away from me but also that while she is getting secret chemotherapy, she has any interest in my mother’s journey.
“I’m Joan and this is my daughter Ella.”
“Nice to meet you.” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star and my mother have bonded in less than five minutes like war buddies. Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star scrunches her face as the medicine begins to infiltrate her body. She looks over at me. “It’s nice that you’re here with your mom. I wish my family would come with me instead of sending bodyguards, but the only thing my parents are around for is to discuss my brand,” she says, looking as if she is trying to hold back both tears and nausea.
Oh. My. God. It all makes sense now. I can’t believe that I hadn’t put it together before this. Hell, I can’t believe nobody else has put it together. I know it’s invasive but I can’t help myself. The wheels are turning in my head and they won’t stop.
“You didn’t really have a breakdown, did you?” I ask. Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star bites her lower lip and simply shakes her head. I’ve just stumbled upon the biggest celebrity story of the year—possibly even my lifetime.
“Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star Fakes Breakdown to Hide Cancer.”
She created this entire facade to hide her illness and protect her brand. It all makes perfect sense in the most twisted but logical way. It’s actually brilliant.
“Perception is everything.” She shrugs. I know this all too well. “It’s better if the world thinks I’m crazy instead of knows I’m sick,” she continues. Not only has her ruse protected her brand, but it’s even helped it. Her iTunes sales have gone through the roof since her first trip to the “psych ward” and she’s been offered book deals, prime-time sit-down interviews, and any other kind of endorsement deal she could ever want.
Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star and her team planned the most elaborate of celebrity stunts. Everything was calculated. She went to Ambiance and acted like she was out of control to make it more believable that she was losing her grasp on reality. The head shaving was to preempt possibly losing her hair from chemo and minimize speculation about her wearing wigs. The 5150 was necessary for her father to get conservatorship to handle her financial and medical matters in case at some point she was unable to make her own decisions. Her public cancelation of her upcoming tour … It’s insane but it worked.
With people like me running around, she had to go to extreme lengths to protect her privacy and the best way to do that was to create a more scandalous story.
“Please keep this our little secret,” she implores.
“Of course.” This isn’t gossip or salacious news for public consumption.
No matter what I’ve told myself or convinced myself of, my job was never harmless. There was always a victim even if I didn’t realize it or didn’t want to see it. There’s no way I’m breaking Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star’s confidence and breathing a word of this to Victoria. This poor woman had to manufacture a meltdown on top of being sick. I couldn’t live with myself if I divulged her health problems to the world. Within minutes it would be international news. Everyone has been telling me that I need to make choices, and right now I choose not to be that person anymore. Not ever again.
I’m so consumed with thinking about all Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star has been doing to hide her illness that I don’t even notice Dr. Jacobs come in.
“How are you feeling, Joan?” He looks at her chart, keeping his signature prickly persona intact with his monotone question.
“I don’t know. I’m still feeling very tired. I know the new dosage is working but I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I barely want to get out of bed in the morning and that’s no way to live.”
“I’ve put way too much time and work into you for you to give up on me now. You understand?” This is Dr. Jacobs’s attempt at encouragement. My mom gestures with her head that she does.
“How about you?” He looks to Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star.
“I feel like how I look in the tabloids.” She laughs. Dr. Jacobs, whom I can’t imagine reads celebrity gossip magazines, gives her a perplexed look before reviewing her chart.
“I want to do a new round of blood work on you,” he tells her, making notes without bothering to look at her. “You will both be good to go in a few hours. I’ll see you soon.” He exits and the bodyguard resumes his stoic stance on the other side of the door.
My mom picks her magazine back up and when she opens it, I realize who’s on this week’s cover—it’s Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star. I swiftly glance at her to see if she’s noticed and she has. My mother hasn’t realized her faux pas yet but I’m mortified.
“It’s okay,” she assures me. “That’s not me. It’s my picture but it’s not me. I’m so disconnected from the character of Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star that the media perpetuates that it really doesn’t affect me anymore.”
My mother, confused by her comments, flips the magazine around to take a peek at the cover. She brings her hand to her mouth and after a few moments says, “I’m sorry. I completely forgot you were on the cover.” Not only is she on the cover but she’s also being bashed for her postbreakdown makeunder style. I now realize her baggier clothes are to hide her port. “I’m not going to read that article about you,” she assures her.
“Honestly, Joan, it’s fine.” She gives us a devious smile. “Just don’t believe everything you read.” She winks.
My mom returns the magazine to the table. The silence is uncomfortable. I don’t want to ask her anything because I don’t want her to think that I’m prying, but sitting across from her and ignoring her is rude, too. Luckily, my mother takes the initiative.
“You know what sucks most about cancer?” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star asks rhetorically. “The food. I’m not able to appreciate food anymore.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” my mom adds. “Ella took me to Spago and I loved the experience but I couldn’t muster up enough of an appetite to really enjoy it. Food is now just fuel for my body. I miss cravings and food being an experience. Now when I eat either my appetite isn’t there, I take three bites and I’m done, and when I do have an appetite I’m nauseated after I eat. So I don’t look forward to food now. There’s nothing I’d love more than to have a voracious craving for fried chicken.”
Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star raises her hands in the air, as if the messiah had just come down from the mountain. “Yes! I miss friend chicken, too,” she laments. “And I didn’t appreciate it when I was able to eat it. I was on a stupid diet seventy-five percent of the time. If I knew I was going to get leukemia I would’ve gone gangbusters on all my favorite foods the past few years. I mean, fried chicken. What’s not to love? It’s breaded meat!”
“And the sides,” my mother adds.
“Those are almost better than the actual chicken,” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star points out. We all break into a fit of laughter and they continue to reminisce about all of the foods they wish they could enjoy. The next few hours fly by and I’m a little blue that this chemo session is coming to an end when Nurse Richards returns. She removes the medicine and gets them all cleaned up. Not only did my mom bond with one of the world’s most iconic pop stars but it was also nice for her to have someone to vent to who actually understands the frustrations of what she’s physically and emotionally been going through.
“Could you help me with this?” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star asks me as she places her wig on her head. “Make sure it’s straight?” I can’t even recognize all of the feelings and emotions I’m experiencing right now because they’re all happening simultaneously. I feel sorry for Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star and she makes me feel grateful for everything in my life, the good and the bad. She’s brought so much joy to my life
and I hate that she has to go through this, seemingly alone even though the entire world would say a prayer for her if they knew. I give her wig a light tug for adjustment.
“Maybe I’ll see you gals around again,” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star says hopefully.
My mom takes Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star’s hands, and her security is about to leap into action, but her look tells them to stand down. “Focus on yourself, dear,” says Mom. “I know the public thinks we deserve a piece of you, but there’s nothing more important to your fans than your health.” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star is going to have a for-real breakdown now and hugs my mom.
“Mom, Robin had an emergency and won’t be able to drive us home,” I tell her as I check my phone.
“My other daughter, Robin, she’s an ER doctor here,” my mom proudly explains to Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star.
“I’ll call us an Uber.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ll have my SUV drop you off after they take me home,” Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star offers.
“We’re in the Valley, are you sure?”
“Absolutely. You’re lucky,” she tells me, slightly envious of our relationship and support. “I would give anything to trade places with you.” My mom grabs my hand. If only she knew what it took for us to get here.
“Car’s here,” her lead bodyguard tells us. We all follow him and meander through secret tunnels as if we are in the White House, and we are bombarded by paparazzi as we file into the SUV. I wonder how they got in here? I guess once Victoria got her source at the hospital the paparazzi followed. How did all of them sneak in? Or were they allowed in by someone who struck a deal with them?
The cavalcade of photographers is more intense than anything I’ve ever seen, and the shouting and name-calling, calling her a nutjob and a wacko to try to get a reaction out of her, is excessive. I can’t imagine living with this 24-7, especially under her current circumstances. The bodyguards get Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star in first and then I assist them in getting my mom into the backseat with her, which is difficult due to the paparazzi crowding around the SUV with a lack of care for our personal space. Once my mom is safe and settled in her seat, I hop in the passenger seat. Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star is lying down in the last row behind me to hide from the cameras as best she can.