A Thing of Beauty

by Lisa Samson

  After we order, Jessica requesting the Cobb salad, light on the blue cheese and the bacon (some mysteries cannot be explained), she takes a sip of her lemonade. “Fish and chips? Really, Fiona?”

  “Look at me.”

  “Bad for your heart. Some people can be skinny as rails and still have fat around their organs and clogging up their veins.”

  “I’m thirty-two.”

  “Still and all.”

  The question is, do I strike at the beginning of all this, or ease into it?

  My phone lights up with a text from Dad: I’ll pick you two up at two. Studio tour all set. They’re looking forward to it. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

  “Who was that from?” Jessica asks.

  “Dad.”

  “What’s this ‘Dad’ business? Since when did you start calling him Dad?”

  “Since we had one of those conversations we should have had years ago.”

  Her eyes cloud momentarily and I can hear the electricity-speed thoughts. What did they talk about? Was it about my career? Her career? Surely it wasn’t about Campbell. I did the right thing. Was it about Brandon’s new girlfriend? Was it about assets? Maybe my new movie? Have they seen it somehow? Did they hate it?

  “Well, good. Let that stay between you two. I’m happy for you both.”

  She turns her stool away from me a few inches and lays both hands on the bar. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about what happened with me yesterday. Of course not. Not with your leg and all, but anyway.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, it appears that my tweets about you caught the attention of Deborah Raines, and she wants me to come on her show and talk about motherhood. She said it was all so touching and the world needs to see and hear from a dedicated parent like me.”

  Thank God I didn’t have anything in my mouth or Lyle would have had to administer the Heimlich maneuver. The type of acting that got me an Oscar shows up, and thank God for it. “Wow,” I say. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

  “Isn’t that amazing? The show called this morning. Of course I said I would. It’s a chance to even up the score.”

  “Well, good for you,” I say, drawing her in, needing to hear her egocentric babbling in all its glory for the final time. “When do you fly to New York?”

  “This evening, actually. I just got word. I only have time for lunch and then I have to get an outfit to appear on camera tomorrow.”

  “So, no go on the Charm City Killings set visit with Deborah Raines waiting in the wings?” I ask.

  “Hardly. It’s like you said. That show isn’t what it used to be. I’d be stooping.” She leans forward and sips her diet lemonade.

  “Did you tell her why you came to Baltimore?”

  “Of course. They were so impressed and promised me I’d be on the first flight back here tomorrow. I told them you’re an adult, of course, and doing well, but I couldn’t stay away for long.”

  Not to mention I’ve already been in this state for days.

  Another text from Dad comes through: You surviving?

  I chuckle and I see so much of what was hidden before the rusty old rake pulled the blindfold away from my vision.

  It’s time. Time to let go of this person who was supposed to protect me, guide me, and love me when it didn’t always suit her. That’s not the way I want to live my life anymore. Wondering why I wasn’t enough, why she cared more about herself.

  “Well, fish and chips or not, I’m done.” I stand up, and although my leg is on fire, I don’t wince or cry out. I summon all my skills.

  “What are you talking about? What are you doing?” she asks, panic suddenly flitting across her perfect face.

  “I’m leaving, Mother. And you can’t come with me anymore.”

  The corners of her mouth turn down. “You’re not making any sense, Fiona. Now sit down and stop risking a scene.”

  I used to be very good at scenes.

  “No, Jessica. I’m telling you what’s going to happen this time because I know you well enough to know how you’re going to respond. I’m going to walk across this bar, out into the lobby, and onto the street. And you will not follow me. You won’t follow me any longer.

  “And what’s more, I’m going to get in a cab and go back to my friend Jack’s house, collect my things, and go home. Home-home, to my big, achy, old house that needs a lot of work, but so much has been done. And it’s beautiful underneath it all. It’s simply the most beautiful place ever.”

  She reddens and opens her mouth.

  “No. Don’t speak. After that, Dad is going to take me over to Jasper Venn’s studio and I’m going to tour it, without you, because I’ve thought about it, and maybe a little guest spot, doing what I’m good at, being the best actor the Randolph family has ever seen—and yes, I believe that—would be just right. And I’ll come home to work on my beautiful house with my beautiful friends, and learn to become a blacksmith and make an archway for my weird friend at the coffee shop. Sometimes I’ll ride my bike to Fort McHenry and watch the sun on the water and my life will truly be a thing of beauty. In fact, it already is.”

  “You’re speaking nonsense, Fiona.” Her mouth has slimmed in rage. “Stop this right now!” she hisses.

  “I’m done already. If I thought anything you ever did was truly for me, I’d feel guilty about this, but I don’t. You threw me to that wolf Campbell again and again, and someday I may have the strength to forgive you for that, but today I only have it in me to make sure you never, ever hurt me again. I only have the strength to walk away and not look back.”

  In a movie script, I might lean down and give her a hug, change up the mood for just a second so the audience knows there’s still hope. But this is my life, and as far as my mother is concerned, there is none.

  I turn and walk away knowing without a doubt she will let me go.

  Twenty-Four

  Jasper Venn’s assistant, a man in his late twenties named Shane, greets us in the lobby of the production facility.

  “I remember this place,” Dad says, looking around him inside the entry of what was once a Catholic grade school in Highlandtown. “We used to come here for sour beef and dumplings every fall.”

  “They just stopped doing that a few years ago. Shame,” the assistant says, looking hip in grass-green skinny pants and an old-man beard. “Did you ever try the fried oysters?”

  Dad nods. “Oh yes.”

  “I had no idea you were from Baltimore. You seem more international.” Shane points up the cement staircase. “Offices are on the second floor.”

  “Do you do a lot of the shooting in the basement?” I ask, not a stranger to the fund-raising dinners the parish, Sacred Heart of Jesus, threw every fall.

  “You got it.” He follows us up the staircase. “Take a right down the hallway. Can I get you a beverage?”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee,” Dad says.

  “You got it.” Shane directs us into a room obviously once a classroom but now a lounge. I like the vibe, clean and modern with some sheik’s tent mixed in to make it comfortable and warm.

  I sit down on a turquoise-and-ivory houndstooth sofa. Dad stands beside me in front of a coffee table surfaced with old license plates holding up several large photography books. “This is nice,” I say.

  Shane checks his buzzing phone. “I’ll get that coffee and tell Jasper you’re here. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

  “You got it,” says Dad.

  I stifle a laugh as Shane leaves the room. “You do seem international.”

  Dad shakes his head. “Nobody realizes that at least fifty percent of my life is spent in ratty T-shirts and cargo shorts.”

  “I didn’t even realize it!”

  “Isn’t that a shame?”

  I could be sad about that, but I feel free after my conversation with Jessica to feel whatever comes naturally. “Well, we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”
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br />   Man, I come up with the cheesiest dialogue on my own. It’s a good thing I’m an actor, not a writer.

  “I’m counting on that, Fia.”

  Well, at least Brandon’s not any better at it. Like father, like daughter.

  Jasper Venn strides into the room, his hair in its feathery gray glory, a warm, wonderful mane around his face. “When Shane told me about your call, I couldn’t believe it. Absolutely could not. Welcome to Charm City Radio Pictures, Mr. Hume, and Ms. Hume.”

  So this is what it feels like to be by your father’s side as people who ply the same trade?

  I place my hand in Jasper’s and we shake. “Thanks for having us in at such short notice.”

  “I’m just in town for a couple of days,” Dad explains. “But I’ve heard good things about your studio and wanted to peek my head in.”

  “Always welcome,” Jasper says as Shane enters with a mug of coffee.

  He hands it to Dad. “Black?” he asks.

  “You got it,” Dad says, taking the cup, and I want to laugh this time too.

  Jasper gestures toward the door. “Would you like a tour?”

  I start to nod, but Dad holds up his hand. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll cut straight to the chase, Jasper. Your show isn’t doing too well, and it seems to me that it isn’t because the quality is going down. I think you were on the front of the wave of good TV, and by raising the standards you created a wealth of competition.”

  He’s good.

  Everybody sits down, Dad and I on the sofa, Jasper on the club chair.

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jasper says, crossing one leg over the other.

  Dad raises a finger. “I have an idea that might be of some help.”

  “Would you like to guest direct?” Jasper asks.

  Dad smiles. “As much of an honor as that would be, thank you, no. I’m thinking about something else.”

  This is going to be good. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

  “All right.” Jasper leans forward a little.

  “I’m not sure if you were aware of the fact that my daughter here lives in Baltimore.”

  “I wasn’t until very recently.” He gestures toward my leg. “I would have offered you a guest spot on the show.”

  I hold up my hand. “I’m not acting anymore, but thank you.” No sense in showing my hand when I don’t even know what cards I’ve got.

  “I’d like to relocate,” Dad says with no warning whatsoever. None.

  “What? Dad, no! You’ve got—”

  “What? All the bloody crap out there?” He turns back to Jasper. “Pardon my language.”

  Jasper laughs. “You don’t have to tell me! I’m already here, aren’t I?”

  I straighten in my seat.

  “So I’m not asking for a guest director spot. I want to know if you’d like Brandon Hume to breathe new life into your show.”

  “But, Dad, you’ve never done television.”

  “It’s good television,” says Dad. “And I’m getting too old for motion pictures. It’s much too grueling. It’s time for me to settle down into a more scheduled, disciplined life. It’s time to learn how to do that.”

  Jasper holds up a hand. “Don’t get me too excited, now. We’re on a fixed income.” He laughs.

  “We can come up with something, I’m sure.” Dad turns to me. “What do you think, Fia? Me moving to Baltimore?”

  “I think it would be great.”

  “And maybe a guest spot or two for you, Fia?” Jasper asks.

  I shrug and wrinkle my nose. “We’ll see.”

  “What are you doing right now?” Jasper asks my dad.

  “This is what’s on my schedule for today.”

  “Well then, let’s talk further. Do you want to come to my office for a bit?” Jasper stands.

  “I would.”

  “And I’ll give you both the grand tour.”

  I stand too. “As for me, I think I’m going to head back home. Home-home,” I say to Dad. “Why don’t you and Jack come over for dinner later on? I’ll give him a call. Is seven good?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll see you then.”

  I just invited my father over for dinner like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Jasper offered up Shane to drive me. In the car, I call Tony to arrange for the exclusive interview and photo shoot we had discussed. “I’ve got a story to tell, Tony. It isn’t pretty, but it explains a lot.”

  “You just tell me when and where, Fiona,” he says. “And we’ll make it happen.”

  So that’s in the works. Good.

  When we arrive at my first stop, the Bizarre, I thank Shane for the lift and head into the shop.

  True to form, Randi stands behind the counter with her Sudoku book. She looks up at the clanging of the bells on the glass door. “Fiona!”

  For the first time that I’ve ever seen, she runs out from behind the counter, slamming the game book down as she does so. The pencil goes flying across the floor toward the table of old men, but she pays it no attention. And now I’m in her big-lady arms, and she smells like coffee beans and brown sugar and roses.

  “You had me worried sick!” she says as she pulls back to take a look at me. “How’s the leg? I didn’t believe a word Perez said about you, other than you were injured. Where have you been? Who’s been taking care of you? Other than your dad, but I assume that’s been a big publicity stunt. And your mother, dear Lord in heaven, she’s been a piece of work on Twitter!” She comes up for air and I strike.

  “Brandon has been amazing! Jessica got the boot. Josia redid my kitchen, and I think I’m finally able to love a man.”

  Yes, yes, yes. This is all true. So much so that the simplicity of the words feels about as right as a sunrise over mountains or the gasp of knowing that occurs when you realize for the first time that you understood something you’d been trying to grasp for years, and the difficulty wasn’t in its complexity but its simplicity. There was something you’d been missing, something you didn’t even know to look for.

  Yes, yes. This is my life now.

  This is my life now.

  “Wow! Well, sit down at the counter and let me make you a congratulatory latte.”

  She gets to work and I fill her in on what’s transpired over the course of mere days, but I have to check my own thoughts. A lot of groundwork was laid, as if an unseen hand was preparing me for today, even down to the scraping of a rusty rake over my thigh.

  After the latte has been consumed and Randi’s curiosity is appeased, I bring up the topic of the doorway arch.

  “Oh yeah?” asks Randi. “Any ideas?”

  “I’m about to head down to Josia’s forge. He doesn’t realize I’m coming.”

  “I have to admit I had my doubts about him, Fiona, but he’s been a super-good friend.”

  “I know. Good things happen in your shop, Randi. I hope you know that.” I smile. I’m giddy. I haven’t felt this much hope in years, if ever, really.

  Okay, yes, really. Never before.

  What a day.

  “He said he’d teach me how to weld. And so, well, I’ve collected a lot of junk here and there, you know.”

  “Yes, I do.” She starts wiping down the counter. “But only because you’ve said so.”

  “A lot of it is stuff I can weld together. And then maybe paint it all. What color? What color would you like, Randi? I’m thinking red, or orange, something warm, you know?”

  Oh my gosh, I’m talking like an artist, and I have no idea if I can even do the job.

  I can. Not because I have to, but because if I don’t, I’ll be shortchanging the miracles that have been exploding like fireworks around me all of my life.

  They do that, you know. Miracles do. Even in the rainiest of seasons, they break through with their sparks of light and life. You just have to make up your mind not to concentrate on the rain.

  I wanted it to be ot
herwise. I wanted the good in life to be so centered in front of my face I couldn’t help but be happy. I wanted joy to be delivered like a surprise bouquet of flowers and yet taken for granted at the same time.

  And maybe that’s exactly how it works. Nobody told me, however, that when joy comes knocking, you simply have to open the door, look it in the eye with hope, not doubt, expectation, not fear, and give it permission to come right in.

  It’s up to me. It always has been. And instead of chastising myself that I didn’t realize it for so long, I raise my eyes in thankfulness that I uncovered this when I did.

  I’m only thirty-two years old.

  My entire life stands before me, and for the first time ever, I’m not looking behind me.

  Note from the Author

  I have suspended the laws of kitchen renovation to suit my purposes.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. Although A Thing of Beauty isn’t meant to be read as an allegory, who or what does Josia represent for you?

  2. What is the difference between running away from our circumstances and reinventing ourselves or our lifestyles? How do we know if our choices denote healthy change or a refusal to address the past?

  3. What does Fia’s house mean to her, and to you?

  4. How do you think you would fare living out your life under a microscope, whether it’s of your own choosing or not?

  5. Social media: good or bad?

  6. When must we stop blaming our parents?

  7. Have you ever dealt with a narcissist? If so, have you been able to free yourself? Why or why not? If you have, how?

  8. What character did you most relate to and why?

  9. How much of what you believe is taken at other people’s word? What does it take for you to be certain about something? How much or how little? Are you naturally skeptical or accepting? Why?

  Acknowledgments

  With gratitude to Ami McConnell, Daisy Hutton, Janna Reiss, Jodi Hughes, Chip MacGregor, and all those who made a difference and contributed to the making of this book. Much love to you all!

  An Excerpt from

  The Passion of Mary-Margaret