“Okay, you’ve heard it before. That—”
“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Christina finished for him.
“All right, so I need to get some new lines.” Dexter waved a piece of paper at Christina. “I have something I think you might be interested in.”
She rolled her chair toward him and held out her hand. He pulled back and made a motion for her to follow him into the other room. “I’ll be right back,” she told Greg.
“No rush.”
“Yeah, there is a rush,” Dexter said. “I want that hot dog dancing out of here by this afternoon.”
As owner of River City Studio, Dexter was caught between the business and artistic ends of film production. Coming from two years of supporting and working on Illegal Alien, Christina understood the financial and creative pulls Dexter operated under. He wasn’t a hack. She’d seen the work he produced when given a reasonable budget, and it had blown her away. He just couldn’t afford to give in to his artistic side as an editor when it involved raw footage brought in by a part-time videographer that would be shown strictly on cable.
Christina followed Dexter into his office. He surprised her when he closed the door behind them. Dexter’s office door was always open. “What’s up?” she asked.
He handed her the paper. “I think we found your movie.”
Her heart did a tap dance against her ribs. She’d been looking for Illegal Alien for months, reading the synopsis of every film in every festival she could find in the United States, Canada, and Mexico. Randy could change the title but not the content. She’d considered contacting friends in Tucson to help but decided it was too risky. Everyone she knew had been friends to them both and would have divided loyalties. Dexter and her sisters were the only ones she’d told about looking for her movie, and Dexter only after he’d found her doing a search on the Internet. What she had in mind had to be done clean and fast. Randy couldn’t know she was looking for him.
She looked at the paper, reading the description of the film Dexter had circled halfway down the page—Fast Food at the Border: a poignant portrait of a twenty-four-hour period in the life of an illegal alien. She glanced at the header—Willow Creek Film Festival in Grants Pass, Oregon. And then the dates—the winners would be announced and their films screened October 15. That gave her time, but not much.
“Is that it?” Dexter prompted.
“It sure looks like it.”
“What now?”
“I make an appointment with my father’s attorney. I want everything tied up in a nice legal bundle before I go after him.”
“Can you do that in a month?”
“I don’t know. But I can sure as hell try.”
Christina followed Lucy’s assistant, passing the office where she’d last seen her father. An unanticipated lump filled her throat as she was hit with the memory and the growing awareness of the missed opportunity to know him again. She vacillated between sorrow and anger, blaming him, blaming herself, looking for answers in the tapes, and heritage in her sisters—although she would never tell them that. Let them believe she saw nothing she had in common with them. That way, in four months when they turned their backs on her and went on with their own lives, they would think it was what she wanted, too.
The assistant tapped lightly on Lucy’s door. “Ms. Alvarado is here.”
Lucy stood and came around her desk. As always, she was dressed in a suit and heels and she made Christina feel unkempt and out of place, not as blatantly or completely as Ginger, but enough to make her check to see if her shirt was still tucked into her jeans and her hair was still secured in the clip she’d used that morning.
“How nice to see you again,” Lucy said, extending her hand.
Christina figured it was a standard greeting, but Lucy managed to make it sound sincere. “I appreciate you fitting me into your schedule.”
Lucy led her to a chair. “You said it was important.”
“I need help with a legal problem, and I didn’t know who else to ask.”
Lucy sat down and smiled. “Well, it’s not the best reference I’ve received, but it will do.”
“My dad trusted you.”
“What’s going on, Christina?”
She told Lucy about Randy and the film and how she was determined to get back what was hers. “I found him today—at least I found the film. He’s entered it in one of the smaller festivals in Oregon. Unless he’s done something stupid with it since he stole it, it’s going to win. I want to be there when he shows up to get the prize.”
“Does he have to be there?”
“No, but he will. Randy lives for the attention. He belongs in front of the camera, not behind it.”
“And you say you have documentation that you financed the film as well as worked on it?”
Christina reached inside her bag and handed Lucy the sheaf of papers she’d rescued from the apartment. “I was the original narrator, but I’m sure he replaced me.”
Lucy spent several minutes going through the papers. “These handwritten notes on the script—did you make them?”
“Yes.”
She held up a receipt for a camera rental. “Whose credit card was used to pay for this?”
“Mine.”
“Was he a signee on the card?”
“No.”
“And all these other charges? Were they made with your card, too?”
“Randy didn’t own a credit card. He quit his job a couple of months after we got together to work on the film full-time. I was our only source of income.”
“Did you have a contract outlining ownership of the film?”
“Nothing written.”
“But you discussed it?”
“From the beginning we agreed we were equal partners.”
Lucy gathered the papers and set them aside. “All right—why have you come to me?”
“I want my film back.”
“You want your half,” Lucy corrected.
“I can’t stand the thought of that son of a bitch getting away with stealing my movie, too.”
“Too? I think you’d better tell me what else is going on here.”
Christina hated telling her. In a sentence she would go from someone seemingly in charge to a victim. “It isn’t important.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Still she hesitated. How could she admit to being someone she’d once looked at with contempt—a woman who would knowingly let herself become involved with a user. Only she hadn’t known. She’d let her passion for a project she believed in blind her to the reality of the man she’d been convinced loved her. “My jaw wasn’t broken in an accident.”
Lucy’s face reflected her thoughts from questioning to understanding as she absorbed the information. “I see. . . .”
“He had witnesses who swore that I was fine when he left the party with them. They swore he was with them the rest of the night. I couldn’t prove them wrong.”
“Sounds as if he’s the type who’s used to winning.” A slow, mercenary smile formed. “Well, not anymore.” She looked at Christina. “But first—are you sure you want to do this? Have you thought what it’s going to mean to see him again?”
Christina knew she’d made the right choice coming there by the personal concern she saw reflected in Lucy’s eyes. “He stole the person I thought I was, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’m not going to let him steal my movie.”
“That’s all I need to hear.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, we’ll get a temporary restraining order. That will keep him from taking any action that has anything to do with the movie.”
“He won’t be able to enter any more contests?”
“He won’t be able to do anything until the hearing. I’m assuming the majority of the filming and the verbal contract took place in Arizona?”
Christina nodded.
“Then we’ll have to file for a preliminary injunction there. I
have a friend who’s an attorney in Phoenix. I’ll have him take care of the paperwork.” She picked up a pen and made several notes on the tablet in front of her. “When is the award ceremony?”
“October 15.”
“Do you want me to arrange to have him served before or after the ceremony?”
“I want to do it myself.”
“Bad idea. I understand—to you it’s personal. But moments like that are never what we imagine and certainly not worth the danger you’d be putting yourself in.”
“You can’t talk me out of this.” She wanted to see the look on his face when she confronted him and he understood she hadn’t just survived, she’d won. She wanted revenge, and not just because he’d broken her jaw but because by doing so he’d denied her the chance to see her father again.
“If you’re dead set on doing this, at least take someone with you.”
“I don’t know anyone who—” She could see Lucy wasn’t going to back off. It was easier to go along. “I just thought of someone.”
“Mind if I ask who?”
Christina hadn’t expected that. She’d already said she didn’t trust any of her friends in Tucson. Lucy knew how long she’d worked at the studio and would never believe Christina would ask someone there. “Elizabeth.”
Lucy’s surprise was almost comical. “Your sister?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“Are you serious?”
“Why not? Isn’t that the whole purpose behind the tapes—to throw us together until we either kill each other or become friends?”
“What makes you think Jessie—”
“Come on. Those tapes weren’t meant to make us feel all warm and fuzzy about our disappearing father. If my dad gave a shit what the four of us thought about him he would have done something about it a long time before he was on the way out.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t respond to that. It wasn’t something Jessie and I discussed.”
“But he told you to take care of his girls for him, I’ll bet.”
“That one I’ll give you. Which is why I’m concerned about you taking a fifty-year-old woman to Oregon with you to act as your bodyguard.”
“She’s forty-eight.”
Lucy stared at her, unbending.
“What happened in Tucson was an aberration. It was the first time Randy hit me—or even threatened to hit me. I’m not crazy. If I thought there was any chance he’d try it again I wouldn’t go near him.” She had to give something if she wanted Lucy’s cooperation. “But I can understand why you’d be concerned, and I’m willing to take Elizabeth with me as a witness on the off chance he thinks that since he got away with it once he might as well try again.”
“Having Elizabeth as a witness might put him in jail, but it’s not going to keep you out of the hospital.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me on this. Randy won’t do anything that could fuck up his future in the business the way something like this would.”
“Have you asked Elizabeth?”
“Not yet,” she reluctantly admitted.
“I’d appreciate a call after you do—just to let me know everything is in place.”
“Sure.” Trapped. Now she really was going to have to ask. God, what if she said yes? Christina shuddered at the thought. “Is that it?”
“I think I have all I need to get started. If not, I’ll call.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She stood to walk Christina to the door. “This is going to be fun.”
Christina smiled, feeling better than she had in months. On a whim, one she didn’t understand or stop to analyze, she asked, “Did you love my father?”
Lucy answered without hesitation, “Yes.”
“Me, too,” Christina told her.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Elizabeth
“Daddy said you were going back to school.” Stephanie adjusted the cushion on her lounge chair, then put a protective hand over her still flat stomach. “But that you quit because of me.”
Elizabeth shook water out of the net she’d been using to skim leaves from the pool. “I wasn’t going back to school. I never started.”
“You never went to college at all? I thought you dropped out after a couple of years.”
She was always amazed how little Stephanie knew about her. Did she never talk about herself or did Stephanie tune her out when she did? “It didn’t seem important at the time.”
“Why go now? What’s the point?”
How did you make someone Stephanie’s age understand what it was like to be facing fifty and discovering your life had no meaning or purpose? “I thought it would be fun.”
“It isn’t. It’s hard work. The pressure is unbelievable, especially during finals. All you ever think about is tests and grades.” Stephanie put her head back and closed her eyes against the sun. “At least that’s the way it is when it really matters.”
“Are,” Elizabeth corrected.
“What?”
“All you think about are tests and grades.”
“Whatever.” She put her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. “Is there any more of that tea you made out of that herb stuff?”
“There should be a whole pitcher in the refrigerator.”
“Would you mind getting me a glass?”
That did it. Elizabeth had been pushed too far. “Of course not,” she said sweetly. “I want you to enjoy your last day of sitting around and doing nothing. Tomorrow you’re going to start looking for a job and you’re going to keep looking until you get one.”
Stephanie laughed. “Good one, Mom.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Who’s going to hire me? I’m pregnant—remember?” The last dripped sarcasm.
“And you think that’s going to make a difference?”
“Why would anyone want to hire someone who’s only going to work for them a couple of months?”
“I’m not talking about a career position. There are a lot of unskilled jobs that—”
Stephanie sat up and swung her legs over the side of the lounge. “All of this because I asked for a glass of tea? Jesus, I’ll get it myself.”
“You might as well pick up the newspaper while you’re at it.”
“Why?”
“To look through the help-wanted ads.”
Stephanie glared at her. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you have some grown-up decisions to make. It’s time you started growing up so you can make them.”
“I should have had the abortion and taken my chances in hell. It couldn’t be any worse than being here with you.”
The statement was so over the top that Elizabeth couldn’t come up with an answer. Sadly, it made her even more aware of how far Stephanie had to go. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume raging hormones prompted that last statement, but I would suggest you do everything you can to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m not going to be your target every time you feel like lashing out at someone.”
That brought a sob, followed by tears. It was the second time that day. “Why are you being so mean to me? What did I do that was so wrong?”
Where to begin? First was getting high and having unprotected sex with a boy she didn’t even like—for what Elizabeth had concluded wasn’t the first time. Then there was dropping out of school. Rounding out the short list was Stephanie allowing a woman with her own agenda to steal her emotional right to choose. “You’re a year from graduating and you’ve never held a job. You need some experience in the real world.”
“No one I know has ever worked—except doing stuff at school. You’re just doing this because you think it will teach me a lesson.” She swiped her hands across her cheeks, clearing the tear tracks. “Well, what kind of fucking lesson do you think I’m going to get working with a bunch of losers making minimum wage? I came home because I thought you loved me and cared what happened to me.�
� Stephanie headed for the house. “Obviously I was wrong. I should have stayed with Sharon.” She slammed the sliding glass door so hard, it bounced open again.
Weary of the non-ending emotional turmoil, Elizabeth sat on the lounge Stephanie had vacated and buried her face in her hands, closing out the real world and sinking into a sheltered moment of solitude.
Sam came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and shaving cream on his chin. “Why isn’t Stephanie going with us?”
“She’s mad at me.” They’d decided at breakfast to go to Fernando’s for dinner—Stephanie’s favorite Mexican restaurant. It was a tradition of sorts, started when Stephanie went east to go to school and discovered what passed for Mexican food on the East Coast.
He grinned. “Then we can go where we want. How about that new Italian restaurant Harold was telling us about?”
Elizabeth pulled a sleeveless cotton dress out of the closet. “I don’t care where we go, I just want to get out of the house for a couple of hours.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
Sam went back in the bathroom to finish shaving. Elizabeth stepped into her flats and followed, squeezing past him and picking up the hairbrush. “What were we thinking when we decided this bathroom was big enough for two?”
“That we’d never be in it at the same time.” He rinsed the washcloth and wiped the cream off his face, then reached for her, drawing her into his arms. “I’m sorry you’re getting the brunt of this. Why don’t I see if I can get Stephanie to come to work with me tomorrow? I’ll find something around the office for her to do. She needs to get out of the house.”
“She needs to get a job.”
He pulled back in surprise. “Wait a minute, isn’t that my line?”
“I’m worried about her, Sam, and for more than the obvious reasons. We’ve babied her too long.” He gave her one of his looks. “All right, I’ve babied her too long. I didn’t want her to grow up. And now she has to and she’s not ready. It’s as if she thinks she’s going to have the baby and then go on as if nothing happened.”
The Year that Everything Changed Page 25