by C. D. Reiss
I got under the covers.
Nicole scooted over, tucked her hands under her cheek, and said, “See, there’s plenty of room.” Her face was so close to mine it looked as if she had one big brown eye with broomstick lashes.
“I don’t—”
My protest never landed. The sheets flew up as if a monsoon hit. The bed creaked and tilted to one side as Brad wiggled himself under the covers. I shifted. Nicole shifted. We fit like tablespoons nesting in the teaspoon slot. I put my arm around the girl because it had nowhere else to go. He had to do the same and I could feel the hairs on his arm so close to mine.
I picked up my head just enough to see over Nicole. He was smiling at me. When our eyes met, he winked. I put my head down. Smug little prick. Gorgeous, charming, surprisingly authentic yet unsurprisingly smug little prick.
The desire to touch him was overwhelming. I could smell him. A combination of beer and partying and something I couldn’t pin down. Something him.
In seconds, Nicole was breathing evenly. I didn’t dare speak. I didn’t want to wake her. But I wanted Brad to know that once she was asleep, he could leave.
Right?
That would make sense. But he didn’t leave. Even after his daughter was deep in dreamland and I could tell he was awake, he stayed. So did I. I didn’t have any sleep in me. I felt his thumb graze the skin of my arm and I shuddered.
“Should I go?” I whispered.
“She expects us to stay. Both of us.”
“She won’t even remember in the morning.”
“She’s half southern. She won’t forget.”
“You’re all southern and you forgot.”
His thumb still touched my arm. I didn’t move away, but I knew it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be touching me, but if I moved, he’d stop.
“Did I forget something I should remember? Tell me.”
I told myself a sudden movement would wake Nicole, but that wasn’t the real reason I kept my arm where it was.
“Your pants were on. But you said things you didn’t mean.”
“About?”
The tip of his thumb stroked my arm. He wanted me. I’d dodged a hundred tabloid-shaped bullets. I’d never wanted one of my kids’ fathers, and when they made a move on me, I politely declined and resigned before they could fire me.
But Brad Sinclair was different. Between getting chased to the pool house, his admissions on the steps, running to Nicole and lying here together, something had changed. We had changed. We’d been softened and molded. We might wake up in the morning and go back to who we’d been, but there was no morning in the dark room. Just the places where we fit and the soft voices of confession.
“I need to change the subject,” I whispered. “Please.”
“How are you so good with kids? It’s like you know what to say to them.”
“They’re just people. Little, new people.”
He didn’t answer right away. Nicole shifted, facing him, and he stared at her sleeping face.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I thought . . . last night I thought I should put her up for adoption. It seemed totally sane and reasonable. I had my publicist’s number right there, at my fingertips. I was ready to tell him to find her a good home. Figure it out, you know. Just get out of this because I know what I have to do. I had eleven cousins. I’ve seen people raise kids. People without a pot to piss in. But I can’t do it. I just can’t. What the hell? Right? But it’s not all money. I can’t buy myself into being a good father. And I can’t change my life. Not that much. Not unless I want to go work at the lumberyard in Redfield for ten bucks an hour, and what then? My parents and my sister would end up raising her anyway.”
“You’re not going to work in a lumberyard in Redfield.”
“You don’t know.”
“You have two Oscar nominations.”
He didn’t seem convinced. I could have gone on about his prospects, but the lumberyard in Redfield wasn’t about manual labor, or minimum wage, or long hours breathing wood dust. It was about some greater fear that had followed him to Los Angeles.
“I don’t feel anything, Cara. The thing you need to be a father, I don’t have it. I’m just going through the motions. She’s cute and cuddly. Yeah, I like playing with her and hugging her, but on a day-to-day? She’s like someone else’s puppy. I mean, look at her. Who couldn’t love her? Me.”
I’d seen him try. Seen him show real affection and act like a father with stakes in the game. I didn’t agree with every one of his choices, but it looked to me like they were made because he was trying to be the best parent he could.
“I worked for Rachel Fitzsimmons,” I said. “I took care of one of her kids while she was in delivery and right after. She had postpartum real bad, and she wouldn’t take any medication for it. She wanted to breast-feed. It was hard for her, because emotionally she wanted nothing to do with the baby. But every day for three months she went through nursing until she felt like she could take the medicine. And so I know this isn’t the same. But sometimes you just go through the motions until you wake up and realize you loved the kid all along.”
He’d moved his hand to rub his lip, as if the friction helped him think. It sure didn’t help me think.
CHAPTER 32
BRAD
Until we were in bed together, I hadn’t thought seriously about making Cara mine.
That was a lie. I had. I just hadn’t thought about the consequences.
That was a lie. I just hadn’t decided to ignore them.
Until I was in that bed with my daughter between us, I chalked desire up to being around a hot woman. But I was around hot women all the time. They were like sand crabs on the waterline. You didn’t have to dig too far or too long before one crawled into your hand.
I was tired. Half hungover. It was dark and the edge of the bed was an inch away. If I moved I’d fall, and if I didn’t move I’d fall. All my defenses against myself were down. I told her things I’d made up my mind to keep to myself. That I didn’t know how to love my daughter. That I was uncomfortable and unhappy. I was relieved to have it off my chest. I didn’t realize I’d been suffocating under the weight of it.
I touched Cara over my daughter’s sleeping body. Just her arm. The kiss on the path was so fast I hadn’t had a chance to taste it, but that arm? I felt it. I drew my fingers down the soft length of it. She didn’t pull away for a long time. When she did, she tucked her pillow and kept away.
“She’s sleeping,” she said. “You can probably get out now.”
I hadn’t been rejected by a woman since middle school. And Doreen McCody’s rebuff didn’t last more than a week before I had my hand up her skirt.
“You’re so sure?”
“Yes. Just keep it quiet and go slow.”
I had to see if she was right. So I moved my arm off my daughter and got one leg on the floor, slipping off until the bed didn’t slope on my side.
And that did it.
Nicole picked her head up.
“Where are you going?”
I made eye contact with Cara over Nicole’s mat of hair. She was smiling as if she was trying not to laugh.
“Just going back to bed,” I said. “Miss Cara’s gonna stay.”
“No. You stay.”
She threw her arms around my neck and put all her weight on them. I was trapped.
“You should go,” Cara said. “If she gets used to you being here, it’s going to become a habit.”
“I’ll be scared again,” Nicole said, voice still thick with sleep.
Cara tried to pull her off me, but the little stitch was tenacious as hell.
“She’s a Sinclair,” I said, lying down. “She’s gonna protect her habits. Right, Nicole?”
“Shh,” she said, tucking her hands under her cheek. “I’m sleeping. Close your eyes. Go to sleep too.”
“Okay.” I put my head down. Nicole put her arm over me to make sure I didn’t leave, and Cara stayed still on the ot
her side of the twin bed. Maybe she slept. I sure didn’t. I couldn’t get the knowledge that Cara was a foot away out of my head.
It was a long night. I suspected Cara was awake, but I didn’t want to talk.
I could have gotten up, but the bed smelled like her, canned peaches and flowers. Her breath came at a shallow, long pace. She was sleeping. Fuck it. I didn’t want to leave. The house was a mess. And I didn’t want to get into my own bed. For what? I was fine half on, half off the twin mattress.
I relaxed. I just wanted to think in her presence. Ask her what the fuck was happening without saying anything. I had a list of things she didn’t do. She didn’t judge me. She didn’t presume even when she did. She didn’t make eyes at me.
The things she did do were uncomfortable.
She made me comfortable, which was uncomfortable. She had a soft, seductive voice that never tried to seduce me. Around her, I wanted to make a go of the daddy thing. A real go. Not a sideshow. She made it seem possible. I didn’t know how she did that, or why, or if it was intentional. But when I thought of trying harder, she was the second thing on my mind, after my daughter.
CHAPTER 33
CARA
The dream that night was the same, but different. We were kneeling on the pool table fully clothed, kissing. Just kissing. I tasted him. Heard him. Smelled the pool chlorine and rum. I woke slowly, still feeling his pressure on my lips.
Last night.
Things had happened. Nothing in the grand scheme, but in my little universe I woke to new boundaries. I’d gone from having a nocturnal secret crush to letting him kiss and touch me.
I felt bad about it. I felt confused and ambivalent. I felt Nicole’s breath on my shoulder and kicked myself for putting myself in a position where I’d have to leave her.
I opened my eyes. Brad was gone and Nicole was poking my cheek in time to a pony song, each finger down the line.
“Good morning,” I grumbled. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay. Daddy left.”
“Do you want breakfast before Miss Blakely comes?”
“Little bun and cream cheese, please.”
“Let’s get dressed.”
I fed Nicole and got her in a dress. She came to the pool house, where we played a noncompetitive, oversimplified version of chess. Right outside, two ladies in smocks were picking up beer bottles in the back, and a pool guy was skimming the water.
—Ray Heywood wants to meet you?—
It was Laura, my agent from West Side. I didn’t answer personal calls when I was with kids, but could usually text.
—We didn’t make exact arrangements, but yes—
—How’s tomorrow?—
Ray had called Laura to make an appointment with me. That meant he was paying me, and it meant he wasn’t just asking for personal advice. He wasn’t just going to thank me or yell at me.
—What does he want?—
—I think he wants you to keep quiet about Willow—
There were a few words for exactly how insulting that was.
—When have I ever disclosed anything that goes on with a family?—
—Never. I know. Just meet him. Hire you back at the best. Free lunch at the worst—
Nicole was making the black king kiss the white queen.
“I love you, Mr. King,” she mimicked with the piece. “I love you too, Mrs. Queen.” She made smacking sounds.
—All right. He’s buying—
We got back into the main house at about eleven. Nicole wanted another cream cheese sandwich.
Brad was already in the kitchen underlining things in a script. He looked as though he’d gone out and come back already.
“We’ll be out of here in a minute,” I said when Nicole and I hustled in.
“Wait!” He let the script flop closed. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
“Side effect of a kid forcing you into a twin bed.” I pulled the tub of gourmet cream cheese out of the fridge. The little slider buns were in the bread drawer. Knife. Plate. Little girl on little bench.
Brad leaned over to Nicole. “How would you like to go to Disneyland?”
She gasped and covered her mouth with brows arched over wide eyes.
“That’s a yes, I’ll take it,” Brad said with a big stunning half-moon of a smile.
Nicole clapped. “When?”
“Day after tomorrow. Two days of nothing but fun.”
He glanced at me. I was supposed to say something.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Nicole bounced as if her chair was a trampoline.
“I hate to bring this up,” I said softly, looking at Brad. “Have you arranged security?”
He snapped his fingers. “Under control.”
That was what I was afraid of. His version of under control wasn’t mine. Not when it came to Nicole and not when it came to where his lips landed. I was pretty sure we’d keep spontaneously combusting in moments of weakness without making any decisions about whether I should stay or go.
“I think we need to talk,” I said. “A lot happened yesterday. We crossed lines.”
“I hate lines,” he said, smiling. God damn that face. “Listen. I thought about it.”
He paused long enough to refill his coffee.
“Go on,” I said while Nicole drew Minnie Mouse.
“Coffee?” he asked. Nice stall. I’d give it to him because I needed coffee.
“Yes.”
He took his time pouring and pulling the cream out of the fridge. When he handed me the cup I made an effort to take it without touching him, and failed. His finger brushed mine, and I remembered the way he’d stroked my arm the night before. The perfect amount of pressure.
I put the cup to my lips.
“Go on,” I said.
“Before I start, do you have anything to say? I’m sure you have an opinion.”
“You’d been drinking.”
“Not that much.”
“I’m trying to give you an out.”
“If I wanted an out, I’d be out. I want in.”
My mouth went dry. I swallowed, but I had nothing to go down. Nicole was singing to herself at the counter, and I wanted to die or jump up and down in joy. Both. Neither.
I started to say something, but never decided what, so I just stood there with my coffee circled by both hands, mouth half open. He met my gaze and held it.
“Here’s how it is,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “You don’t want to work for me anyway. Ride out your time here, then all bets are off.”
“What bets are off, exactly?”
Now I was the one stalling.
He jerked his thumb to Nicole. “You don’t want me to talk about what I’m going to do to your body in company.”
I had the professional demeanor thing down to a science until then, because I wanted to hear what he was going to do to me in fine detail.
I cleared my throat and focused on my circle of coffee.
“It’s not appropriate. None of this is. We shouldn’t even be talking about it.”
“When your time’s up, that talk’s getting real. Mark my words.”
He took a swig of coffee that had a serious finality.
“I do a lot wrong,” he said, rinsing out his cup. “But when I decide something, it happens.”
“Do I get to decide?”
It was a rhetorical question. Of course I got to decide. And I was going to let him tell me what he was going to do, and then I was going to let him do it. I could barely breathe thinking about it. I hadn’t thought about the bulge in his tuxedo pants by sheer force of will, but at the counter with his promises heavy in the air, I let that vision move me.
Yeah. I got to decide. And it was yes. All the way yes.
I must have been wearing my feelings all over my face, because he smiled at me in a way that made me blush, and I had to work not to smile back like a teenager.
He came around behind me, and I remembered the first salvo
of dreams where I couldn’t see him. I could only feel him behind me. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “See you in a couple of weeks, Miss Cara.”
CHAPTER 34
BRAD
This was a setup. Mike didn’t go to Ken’s office unless he had a good reason, and the reason this time was Mr. Fuckup. Me.
Ken had called me to his office to talk about security at Disney, which I admit, I didn’t call him about until Cara left for the day, because it hadn’t occurred to me until she mentioned it. I bolted to my publicist’s office downtown, around the back way where I wouldn’t be seen by anyone who wanted an autograph or a picture, and up to his office, which was decorated in about forty-nine shades of gray.
Ken told me he’d take care of security in one sentence on the way to his office. Then, once I stepped in, he closed the door. Michael Greydon was on the couch in a navy jacket and white shirt. Mr. Neat. My friend. Didn’t call. Didn’t text. Just sitting there with an iPad on his lap. He hugged me and slapped me in the chest with the tablet.
That was where I saw the cell phone shot of me by my pool. I had a beer, but I was wearing pants, so fuck them.
“Tell me why I care,” I said.
“Because I care,” Ken said, snapping up the iPad.
“And you brought this asshole in to talk sense into me? Dude married a paparazza. A hot paparazza . . . but still.”
Ken flicked his finger over the screen. Another picture of me with my shirt open. My pool. Geraldine Mancuso in a green bikini bottom. Her tits had been blurred, but the blur was flesh color, not green. She held a long glass bong in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Behind her, another topless girl had her back to the camera.
And of course, me mooning Nicole’s nanny.
You know what I thought?
I didn’t think fuck them, even though, fuck them. I didn’t care what the public thought. Didn’t care that my publicist was about to use my friendship with Mike as a way to get me to be someone with a more manageable life.
My first thought?