Chronicles of a Midlife Crisis

by Robyn Harding

  “Why won’t you let me support you?” she says, scurrying in my wake. I don’t respond, just stare straight ahead and try to ignore the eyes watching us in gleeful horror. “I would never humiliate you like that,” she continues. “You can’t go back to her after what she’s done.”

  I stop, turn to face her. “After what she’s done?”

  Annika seems taken aback. “Yes,” she says, somehow missing the irony. Then I remember that she’s a psychopath with no self-awareness. What’s the point talking to her? I push my way out the door.

  “This isn’t over!” she screams from the doorway. Thankfully she doesn’t follow me into the street. “I’m not giving up on you, Trent!” she cries as I move purposefully away from her. “I still care about you!” There’s a moment of silence. I wonder if she’s gone inside, but I’m not about to turn around. But then I hear her parting blow.

  “You gave me crabs, you bastard!”

  Lucy

  I’M STILL SEVERAL YARDS from the set entrance when I spot them. A crowd of people—mostly men, mostly wearing cameras around their necks—is milling about, chatting and looking bored. Three sawhorses have been erected as makeshift gates to keep the photographers out. A heavyset security guard, about sixty-five, stands nearby with a clipboard in his hand. Shit. I guess it was unrealistic to hope that Wynn’s being attacked by a forty-year-old single mother wasn’t particularly newsworthy.

  Pulling the SUV up to the sawhorse barricade, I wait for the security guard to approach. He saunters over, as do the photographers, their necks craning with curiosity. If they knew that I was the cougar herself, I’m sure there would be more aggressive jostling for position. When the guard is at my door, I crack the window open a few inches.

  “Name?” he asks gruffly.

  I keep my voice low. “Lucy Vaughn.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Lucy Vaughn,” I repeat, in a louder whisper.

  “Do you have ID?” he asks. Hurriedly, I dig my driver’s license out of my wallet and hand it to him. I wait anxiously as he looks at it then looks at me … back at it and back at me. Christ! What does he think I’m going to do—blow myself up once I get inside? If he doesn’t hurry up, the paparazzi are going to recognize me. Of course, I’m less recognizable with my shirt buttoned up.

  “Okay, go on through, Mrs. Vaughn,” he says, in a normal volume that, under the circumstances, sounds like yelling into a blow horn.

  “It’s her!” one of the photographers cries. “It’s her!”

  As predicted, they swarm the vehicle, shouting questions and popping flashbulbs.

  “Are you dating Wynn Felker?” one yells.

  “Have you slept with him?”

  “Do you still think you deserve to be fucked by the Choice Hottie?”

  “What’s the state of your marriage to Trent Vaughn? Are you two getting a divorce?”

  Flashbulbs blind me as I hurriedly raise my window. As I wait for the guard to remove the sawhorses blocking my path, I put my head down on the steering wheel to shield my face. This is how Britney Spears must feel. I suddenly have a new empathy for the girl. Not that I’m about to shave my head and stop wearing panties, but this kind of attention could drive anyone to alcohol abuse and poor fashion choices. Eventually I’m able to inch the SUV into the parking lot. To my surprise, the photographers respect the less-than-menacing security guard and return to their previous milling about.

  Inside the building it’s only slightly less chaotic. A gaggle of my co-workers, Camille among them, surround Tanya’s desk, talking in excited whispers. For a split second I wonder if they all know about Wynn and me. The abrupt halt to all conversation leaves little doubt.

  “Morning,” I mumble, feeling excluded and conspicuous. Hurriedly, I head past them toward my office. Camille breaks free from the pack and follows me.

  “Thank god you got in okay. It’s scary out there.”

  “Yeah.” I drop my purse under my desk and boot up my computer.

  “Don’t bother,” Camille says. “Shooting’s on hold.”

  “What?”

  “Kev, Ainsley, Wynn, and his management team are having a meeting right now. We might go to hiatus early.”

  “Why?” I say automatically, though I know it’s a stupid question.

  “For one thing, Wynn’s been mobbed. The studio had to send personal bodyguards to his house to escort him into work.”

  “God!”

  “And for two, he’s got a shiner. His cheek is all blue and swollen.”

  “But I iced it!” I cry, inadvertently revealing the source of Wynn’s injury.

  “Trent?” Camille asks and I nod sheepishly. “I knew it!” she cries jubilantly, then regains decorum. “We were just sort of … speculating about what happened to Wynn.”

  “It was awful,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Wynn showed up at my house, uninvited. And then Trent came to pick up some clothes for Sam—who hates my guts by the way—and when he saw Wynn there, he punched him in the face.”

  “Sounds kinda hot.”

  “It wasn’t!” I cry, remembering the kiss with Trent despite myself. “It was terrible.”

  “Oh, honey,” Camille says, giving me a quick hug. When she releases me she says, “I guess you were right.”

  “About what?” I snivel.

  “That it was wrong to get involved with Wynn Felker. Who knew it would be such a huge mess?”

  “I knew!” I wail, fully crying now. “It felt wrong and weird and I was only doing it because I was so angry with Trent. But you said I should go out with him. You said I should give him a chance and have sex in his pool!”

  Camille is taken aback. “I never said that.”

  “You did!” I shriek. “And now Sam’s so humiliated that she’s staying with Trent. And I’m all alone, being stalked like some poor, defenseless deer.”

  Camille goes to the tissue box on her desk and grabs a large handful. She hands them over and I wipe the tears and snot from my face.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she says softly. “These things always blow over.”

  I nod in agreement, though I’m not so sure. Yeah, the press will lose interest in Wynn and his cougar, but will Sam ever forgive my betrayal? Will Trent? Do I even want him to? And what about my job? They’ve fired me once in the past two weeks, and I’m sure this would just reinforce that decision.

  I am somewhat composed, though far from attractive, when Ainsley and Kev march into the room. Bruce trails after, shutting the door behind them. He doesn’t look sympathetic as he takes in my red bulbous nose and the makeup under my eyes. Well, he doesn’t know what it’s like. Only I know how it feels to be pursued and judged … me and Britney.

  “How you holding up?” Kev asks kindly. I shrug, afraid I’ll burst into tears should I try to speak. “Good, good,” he continues. Obviously, that was typical Hollywood sincerity. He doesn’t give two shits about how I’m really holding up.

  Ainsley steps forward. “This is quite a mess you’ve landed us in.”

  “Me?” I cry, peering into her round face. “What about Wynn?”

  “He’s in his twenties. He’s a TV star,” she says, like this gives him carte blanche to fuck up. “I thought you would have had more sense.”

  “I do!” I snap at her. “He pursued me!”

  “And then you brought your husband into the picture,” Bruce says.

  “I didn’t bring him in. Wynn dropped by my house uninvited, and my husband showed up.”

  “Be that as it may,”Ainsley says, “it’s added a new angle to the story. The press is not going to be leaving you and Wynn alone anytime soon.”

  Bruce says, “They’ve got photos of his black eye. They’ll be chasing your husband next.”

  “Oh god!” Tears spring to my eyes. Camille, who is still standing quietly in the room, hands me another tissue.

  “This is impacting our shooting schedule,” Kev says. “Cody Summers can’t have an unexplained shiner.”
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br />   “There are financial repercussions,” Ainsley says. “Wynn’s managers are considering suing your husband.”

  “What?” I shriek. “They can’t sue Trent! It’s not his fault! Yeah, he punched Wynn, but Wynn shouldn’t have been at my house in the first place. I asked him to leave and he wouldn’t. Wynn deserved a punch in the face, really.”

  At that precise moment, Wynn just happens to let himself into my office. Perfect. “Can Lucy and I have a moment?” he says, eyes boring into mine.

  As usual, everyone scatters obediently at his behest. When we’re alone, he steps toward me, providing an excellent view of the reddish-black bruise along the top of his cheekbone. It gives him a sexy, dangerous look. Damn!

  “My managers want me to press charges against your husband,” he says. “Would that bother you?”

  “Yes, it would bother me!” I say. “My daughter has been through enough anguish and heartache without her dad being thrown in jail!”

  “He probably wouldn’t go to jail.”

  “Still! Watching her father being arrested isn’t exactly going to have a positive impact on her.”

  Wynn nods, takes a step back. “I didn’t really deserve a punch in the face, you know,” he says, sounding like a scolded child.

  “I know. Sorry.”

  He sighs heavily. “They told me to stop seeing you. They said that dating a woman your age sends a confusing message to my teenage fans.”

  “They’re right,” I confirm. “One of your teenage fans is my daughter, and she’s as confused as hell.”

  Wynn rushes toward me. “I’m not going to let them tell me what to do anymore. It was you who taught me to stand on my own two feet. You showed me that I can make decisions on my own.”

  “I never showed you that! How did I show you that?”

  Wynn continues. “They want to get rid of you. They think the whole thing will die down faster if you’re not working here.”

  While this should invoke a feeling of panic, it doesn’t. Yeah, I need to earn money to maintain my household and support my daughter. But there’s always Trent’s salary to fall back on for a while. And am I really desperate to continue buying props for the mischievous Cody? Could I maybe find something to do that’s just a little more fulfilling? “It probably will,” I respond calmly.

  “It’s not fair,”Wynn says. “I’m as much to blame for this mess as you are.”

  More, I think, but don’t bother to say.

  Wynn steps toward me. “What if I tell them that if you go, I go?”

  “What?” I’m stunned that this boy, for lack of a better term, would put his job on the line for me. I never asked for this! All along I’ve discouraged and rejected him. Okay, I didn’t exactly discourage and reject him when I threw myself at him on the sofa, but still! How the hell did this happen? I should never have gotten Botox.

  “They wouldn’t really fire me,”he says. “I mean, how can you have Cody’s Way without Cody? But it would send a message.”

  Right.

  He grips me by the shoulders. “Why don’t we go to The Dominican or somewhere? Everything is so messed up right now, but if we go away for a few weeks …”

  “A few weeks?” I cry. “I have a daughter.”

  “Okay, a few days,” Wynn acquiesces. “I know things will be better when we get back. I promise.”

  I look at him and I’m surprisingly tempted. Maybe it would be good to get away for a few days? And it might be better for Sam if I left town for a while. She could stay with Trent, free from media harassment, until her anger dies down. And perhaps, in different surroundings, Wynn would see that we don’t have a future together, that I have nothing to offer but a jaded view of the world and a pair of saggy B cups.

  Oh, who am I kidding? Going away with Wynn would be like throwing gasoline on a barbecue. The press would get wind of it and think we’d run away together. Sam and Trent would believe it and cut themselves off from me completely. Wynn’s career would be ruined and we’d have to move into his mother’s trailer in New Mexico. We’d fight all the time of course, each blaming the other for all our problems. I’d turn to booze, Wynn to drugs. It would all end up in a trailer park murder-suicide.

  But I hide my true thoughts and feelings. “I’ll think about it,” I say. His face lights up, but I’m not finished. “You have to promise me that you’re not going to press charges against Trent.”

  “Okay,” he agrees with little enthusiasm.

  “And if Ainsley decides to fire me, I don’t want you getting involved.”

  “I can’t just stand by—” Wynn begins, but I cut him off.

  “Let’s just let the chips fall where they may, okay?”

  “It’s not right, though,” Wynn cries. “You didn’t do anything wrong! If I wasn’t stuck playing this stupid high school kid, our relationship wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Look,” I say, changing tack, “this job doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. But you … you’re a star. And you shouldn’t jeopardize that for anyone.”

  No actor can resist a stroke to the ego. As predicted, Wynn gives me a look of intense gratitude and nods his head slowly in reluctant agreement.

  There’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” I call, stepping away from Wynn’s grip.

  Ainsley and Kev hurry back into the room, followed by Bruce and a tentative Camille.

  “I’m not pressing charges against Trent Vaughn,” Wynn announces.

  Ainsley says, “Well, our filming schedule’s royally fucked and someone’s going to pay.”

  “Not Trent,” Wynn says. “He’s having a hard time coming to terms with my relationship with Lucy. It’s normal for him to be jealous and to lash out.”

  I wince at the reference to our relationship and the sound of my husband’s name. Camille notices my reaction. She gives me a look that says: “What the hell is going on here?”

  “I’m going away for a while,” Wynn says, “to let this all die down. And I’m hoping,” he moves to my side and puts his arm around me. I stiffen visibly but keep a smile pasted on my face, “that Lucy will join me for a few days.”

  I speak directly to Camille. “I’m thinking about it, that’s all.”

  Kev says, “You’re destroying your career, Wynn, do you know that?”

  Wynn shrugs.

  Ainsley says, “Let’s get Stephen down here to talk some sense into him. Bruce!” she barks. “Call Stephen. If Wynn wants to flush his career, he might want to think about how many people it’s affecting.”

  “He doesn’t want to flush his career!” I cry. “Wynn, tell them!”

  “Maybe I do,” Wynn says. “Maybe I’m sick to death of pretending to be a high school kid. Maybe I want to be treated like a man.”

  “It’s a jumping-off point!” Kev cries.

  “You are a man!” Camille adds. “Everyone thinks of you as a man!”

  “You might be sick of Cody,” Ainsley barks, “but you’re under contract for another year.”

  “Cody Summers is a great character,” Kev tries. “He’s really allowed you to grow as an actor.”

  “I want to be taken seriously.” Wynn says, storming around the room. “I want to be able to date someone who’s older than me without everyone thinking I’m being molested.”

  Oh god. I suddenly feel the urgent need to leave. I make a break for the door just as it opens. Stephen and a couple of miscellaneous managers and publicists burst into the room.

  “Wynn, buddy!” Stephen says, making a beeline for his meal ticket. “What’s up, dawg?”

  It’s an opportunity I can’t miss. While everyone is preoccupied with convincing Wynn not to abandon his career, I slip out the door. Virtually unnoticed, I hurry outside to my truck.

  Trent

  “SO,” I ASK HER as we drive down Granville Street that afternoon, “how was school today?”

  Sam shrugs. Standard.

  “No strange guys hanging around?” I ask, staring at the road.

 
I feel her eyes on me. “What are you talking about? Why would there be guys hanging around? Are you accusing me of something? Why don’t you just come right out and say it?”

  “I’m not accusing you!” I say with an incredulous laugh. God, the girl can fly off the handle in a millisecond … just like her mother. “I was worried that there might be photographers lurking about.”

  “Why?”

  “To get a photo of you. You’re the daughter of Wynn Felker’s mystery woman after all.”

  Sam is silent for a moment, staring straight ahead. And then, “You really think they’d want a photo of me?”

  “Probably.”

  “For like, a magazine or a newspaper or something?”

  “Yep.” I glance over to see a small smile on her lips. Oh shit. She probably thinks this is going to make her famous. “Listen,” I say sternly, “I don’t want you being exploited in the media. You are not to get your picture taken or do any interviews. Do you understand me?”

  “How do you mean ‘exploited’?”

  “Used! Humiliated! Embarrassed!”

  “But what if I just want to tell my side of the story?”

  “No photos. No interviews. Got it?”

  “Okay!” She slouches in her seat. “God!”

  We drive in silence for a while, but I can almost hear the wheels turning in my daughter’s head. Finally, she says, “It would be a good way to get back at Mom, though.”

  “What?”

  “If we did an interview! Maybe we could get Diane Sawyer or someone to do a prime-time special, and we could tell her how betrayed and grossed-out we feel.”

  I sigh heavily. “You need to give your mom a break.”

  “Why should I?” she cries.

  “Because she’s your mom and she loves you.”

  “Yeah, right!” Sam snaps. “She loves me so much that she, like, gets it on with the only guy I’ve ever really cared about.”

  We come to a red light and I stop the car. Looking over at her, I can see she’s serious. “The only guy you’ve ever really cared about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Honey … Cody is just a character; he’s just a poster on your wall. Wynn Felker is not a kid.”