by Lexy Timms
Except it wasn’t.
She almost threw the phone when it vibrated and suddenly started making noise.
What the…? It shouldn’t be ringing.
She hadn’t programmed in the number that came up on the screen. The phone was an official Doctors International phone, one she should probably have returned. Only she hadn’t gotten around to it, hadn’t wanted to let go of the connection to the clinic in Belize.
And now it was ringing.
No.
This isn’t happening.
It wasn’t that she didn’t recognize the number. Of course, she did. It was the sort of number one remembered, much the way one remembers 666. She caught herself on the third ring and hit the answer button.
“Hello, Mother,” she said in a voice very much like her own. Wow. Crazy. It was like she almost believed she was talking to her—
“Melissa! Where are you?!”
Mother...
Mel blinked a few times. Found that she’d drawn her feet up under her again, huddling in that ungodly wingback chair like a child. “I’m…in a… a bedroom in house in L.A.” It was best to be thorough. Sort of.
“Don’t be fresh! Are you with that boy? Brant? Please don’t say you’re in bed with him. That’s—never mind. Why are you there, and not here?”
More blinking. More puzzling things through. Was she supposed to have gone home for something? She mentally started listing birthdays, anniversaries, possible funerals, trying to find the item she was missing. “Mom, I don’t remember any plans to come back to Kansas.”
Too restless to sit, Mel bolted for the door. Let her feet carry her down to the kitchen. Learning about the crisis the clinic was in and her mother all in the same hour and without coffee was too much to ask of any mere mortal woman.
“Not Kansas, Mel! Here! At the airport!”
“Mom.” Mel stopped, a bag of fresh ground dark in her trembling fingers. “What airport?”
There was a short silence. “L.A. has more than one?”
“You’re in L.A.?!” Mel’s strangled yelp escaped her before she could stop herself. The bag of coffee dropped, landing on her foot and scattering dark granules to every corner of the pristine kitchen.
“I hope so!” Her mother paused. In the background could be heard crowds of people, something being said over a muffled loudspeaker.
My...mother…is…in…L.A.
“Of course, the real question is if the luggage got to the same place I did. I swear, sometimes I envy my luggage: it travels further than I do. ‘Course, the bag’s seen better days, but each and every tear and scrape is another memory. You’re not allowed to use stickers anymore, did you ever? I mean, I remember when I was a little girl, you used to use those stickers as bragging rights, all the places…”
“Tell her there’s a man there holding a sign with her name on it.”
Mel spun. Linda stood behind her, pouring a cup of fresh coffee and handing the mug to her. “I sent my driver to get her. He should be there by now.”
Linda looked like she’d stepped out of a ‘50s TV show. White slacks, pressed shirt, hair perfectly done. HOW DOES SHE DO THAT?
“How did…” Mel belatedly remembered to inhale. Her mother had the ability to bypass something as basic as inhaling, but it was a technique she’d never taught her daughter. “You invited her? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for you, dear.” Linda smiled brightly, showing white teeth behind lips with just the perfect amount of makeup. “I’m sorry, do you not get along with your mother? I was under the impression you did.”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean I do, yes, I get along with her fine.”
Linda smiled and indicated the phone. “She’s quite the chatterbox. I like that. Be sure to tell her to look for my driver. After all, we’re not going to trust your mother to one of those horrible Uber drivers, are we?”
Mel woodenly placed the phone to her ear.
“… but the cheese wasn’t nearly what they said it would be, so it didn’t really matter once the label was pulled off. I still feel bad about the cat…”
“Mom!” Mel yelled into the phone.
“What is it, Lark?”
“Mom, there’s a man there holding a piece of cardboard with your name on it.”
“How do you know that? Should I call the police?”
“No…” Mel took a breath. She watched Linda busy herself with the coffee maker. The woman was trying hard to not laugh. “No, Mom, it’s okay, he works for… uh… us. He’s there to give you a ride. He’ll get your luggage.”
“Oh. How nice. I really had hoped I wouldn’t have to lug it all over. Or even if it came to the same place I did. I’m not altogether sure it did. I followed the signs to a place where luggage was but I stood there for half an hour and never saw my bag. Then someone said I was looking at the wrong airline, which I can’t imagine was right because I wasn’t looking at the planes at all, I was looking at the luggage. Anyway, I was going to get one of those, what do you call them… red hats?”
“Red Cap,” Mel corrected her automatically. Her left eyelid was twitching. When was the last time her left eyelid had even done that? Belize…? No…Thanksgiving back in the States three years ago. At her parents’ house.
“Hat, cap, whatever, as long as it’s red, though I’m not actually seeing anyone in a red hat. There aren’t many hats here at all, really. I do miss the days when people wore hats.”
“Mom?”
“Can’t talk, have to go, Lark, there’s someone here waving my name around. See you soon, sweetie!”
Mel stared at the phone. A legendary actress whose career spanned decades and was one of the most famous faces in the world had calmly made coffee beside her, as though she made coffee every day of her life. Her mother was suddenly at the airport, her fiancé… fiancé was off being rich, and she was standing in a mansion wearing shorts and a t-shirt for a boy band she was ashamed to admit that she’d liked at one time. And still did. Kinda.
“Something the matter, dear?” Linda asked, lifting the coffeepot and offering a refill.
“I’m just trying to catch up,” Mel admitted, staring at the pot a long time before realizing there was a question implied and shook her head. “I don’t…” She held up the phone and used it to point to the room, the house, Linda. “I don’t…”
“Come, my dear. I think you need a good sit-down.” Mel found herself being led out of the kitchen and into the living room where she was sat down on the couch. “Sit right here, and I’ll bring you a bite as soon as the scones are done. Your mother should be here soon and I’m sure you’ll be wanting time together.”
“Mother? You mean my mom?” Mel asked, staring somewhere to the left of Linda’s shoulder, as if somehow all the answers in the universe would appear there. Sadly, the wall behind her remained rather blank.
“Oh my,” Linda tutted, reaching to right Mel’s coffee cup before it could spill. “Do you want to go lie down a bit?”
Mel shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said, pulling back the mug, and taking a long gulp that scalded all the way down and brought tears to her eyes. The coffee was black. She never drank it black. “Coffee is good. I really like coffee. Thank you.” And she drank again, just to prove to her that she was fine, just fine, thank you. She was crying for no reason at all, thank you very much.
A voice in the back of her mind protested. She was a doctor. She was educated. Tough. Independent. Strong.
She was becoming completely unstrung.
She told the voice to shut up.
Linda seemed to sense the inner turmoil and retreated to the kitchen. Mel very carefully set down the coffee mug and realized that she wanted nothing more than to take a nap just so she could disappear. Not think. Not worry about what was about to happen. Sure, it was escapism, but if Brant could find a way to exit out of this whole mess, why couldn’t she?
Maybe when she woke up this entire nightmare would
be over.
* * *
Mel sat on the couch, not sure if she actually slept or just lay there in a daze. She barely had time to try to gather her thoughts when the doorbell rang.
And then she was there. Her mother. All the way from middle-of-nowhere Kansas.
“LARK! This is one hell of a fancy hotel!”
Oh, please tell me no one heard that…
But, of course, several people had. That assistant, what’s-her-name, had apparently shown up while she was sleeping, and guided the very epitome of the middle-aged tourist from the hallway into the vast living room where, moments ago, Mel had been sleeping. Yup, she’d definitely fallen asleep.
She rose, facing her mother, noting her rosy face and thinking that Linda had probably sent the convertible. Top down, if short blonde curls in absolute wild disarray and glasses half askew was any indicator. That’s going to be a heck of a sunburn…
Still, scarlet nose and all, this was her mother. And, given how everything had been going, there was a certain relief in having her here.
Not that I’m ever saying that to her.
Truth be told, her mother looked pretty good. Like whatever fad diet that she’d been following lately had some measure of success. So what if the Bohemian peasant skirt she wore was about twenty years out of date and tackier than her daughter’s t-shirt? She looked pretty good.
And okay, yes, she was admitting it, she really did want her mother.
She stood and embraced her, in something that became more of little girl clinging to her mommy than she’d intended, then stepped back totally embarrassed and realized that star actress Linda Phelps had appeared behind them, and was watching the exchange with a certain amount of interest. “Mom, I’m not sure if you’ve been properly introduced at all, but this kind lady here behind you is Ms. Linda Phelps. Linda, as you probably know by now, this is my mother.”
Her mother turned quickly enough that her feet got tangled in her skirt and she stumbled a little. “Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Bell said, holding out her hand. “You’re so lifelike!”
“Welcome, Mrs. Bell.”
But then Linda was nothing but grace and charm itself. She took the offered hand daintily. Mel had the uncharitable image of a pedigreed prize-winning poodle introduced to a shelter rescued mutt. Fleas optional.
She mentally slapped herself. Her mom was a wonderful woman and she loved her greatly. They’d always been good friends, even if they’d never quite agreed on the whole Belize thing. She did not deserve to be lumped into such a disgraceful category. It didn’t help that her mother chose that particular moment to scratch her head.
“Lark, honey, this is Linda Phelps! She’s a very famous actress.”
Mel laughed. “We’ve met, Mom. Won’t you come in and sit down? We have scones...” Mel grabbed at her plate, nearly sending the pastry to the floor. “You must be exhausted from traveling.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m fine. I have to go grab my luggage—”
“Please don’t worry about that, Mrs. Bell.” Linda smiled and took Mel’s mother by the hand. In the same way she’d deftly led a poleaxed Melissa, she steered her mother over to the couch. “Tony will see to your bags.”
“Are… are you sure? Sometimes these taxies just take off and don’t check. Which reminds me, I haven’t paid him. And it was quite a ride! They do things very differently out here in California!”
“It’s not a taxi, Mom. Tony is Linda’s driver.”
“Oh.” Her mother looked at her. Hard. You could practically see the wheels turning.
Linda opened her mouth to ask. Mel held up a finger to forestall her in a “wait a moment” gesture.
It always showed when her mother worked out something in her head. She wasn’t a stupid woman by any means, but some things were far outside of her experience. The culture shock Mel had been going through since arriving was mirrored on her mother’s face now, and Mel had to concede there was a certain vindication seeing someone else going through the same stages of incomprehension.
“OH!” Her mother looked to the door as though she could see the driver from there. She then turned to Linda and looked around the room. Finally, she turned to Mel. “This isn’t a hotel, is it?”
Mel shook her head and smiled.
“Oh, my.”
“Mrs. Bell…” Linda said smoothly.
“Beth.”
Linda smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Beth. Call me Linda.” She extended her hand, this time not to shake hands, but to draw her forward. She tucked Beth’s work-worn hand in her own carefully manicured one, not seeming to care how many worlds they were apart. That she was a world-famous, award-winning actress, and that Beth was a hairdresser, and not a very good one at that.
“Oh, my.”
“How about we give you a moment? Please, let me show you to your room.”
“Thank you, Linda.” Mel’s mother positively beamed, not seeming to notice or care that her voice had traveled several pitches into the world of what would send dogs barking, she was so pleased. “May I say you have a lovely home! It’s awfully big! I can imagine that it’s a pain to keep clean, though I suppose if you’re not using all of it, you don’t have to clean the whole thing until you are.” She took a breath and walked down the hallway in Linda’s wake. Mel imagined she could see her tail wagging. “But I’m sure an important woman like you and big-shot surgeon like your son would hire someone to do the cleaning. But while I’m here, if you don’t have a cook, well, you’ve got one now…”
Mel stood in the living room and watched them go, groping like a blind woman for her mug of coffee, praying that it hadn’t already gone cold. Mel was suddenly insanely jealous. Not in a mean way, just in a… jealous kind of way. Just like that, her mother had acclimated to wealth and fame and chatting with a celebrity. For all of her, Beth’s daughter couldn’t get used to any of it after weeks. She looked around and swore that she would, starting now, drop the fears and the feeling of being unworthy, and learn to embrace a life with the man she loved and who loved her.
* * *
Four hours later and Mel was swearing again. Linda was laughing and happy—beside herself happy. Beth delivered her breathless, non-stop monologue as she always did, and instead of demanding the spotlight Linda sat back and took it all in. Within an afternoon, the two of them had become best friends.
They became a wedding tag-team. What’s-her-name-Tasha pulled out swatches and fabrics and flowers and boxes of things that smelled like perfume and held warning labels on the side about avoiding tipping things over. Poor Tony made six trips up and down the stairs, hauling everything.
Mel was running chocolate through her fingers and eating the silk by the time Brant returned home. She’d surrendered hours earlier, giving them anything they wanted. At this point she’d even give them troop movements and gun locations if she could get away, but they all chastised her for not taking an active interest in things when she brought up the Geneva Convention and tried to negotiate an escape.
The cavalry burst in in the form of one Brant Layton, unusually dressed in a suit and tie, looking like the business man he’d declared himself to be. Mel burst from her chair, satin and lace flying in several directions. She threw a sample bouquet behind in her flight; Tasha caught it.
Mel slammed into Brant so hard he huffed from the force of it. “Get me out of here, if you ever loved me, if you want to live with me, if you want me to live long enough to marry me, Get. Me. Out. Of. Here!” It all came out in a rush her mother should have proud to hear. She’d meant to whisper it, but it had somehow risen a few octaves as it came out.
Brant looked at the three stunned women and help up an imperious hand. “One second!” he called out sweetly. He took off his jacket and shook it out. Like a stage magician he turned it around, showing his captive audience that there was nothing in the jacket except the lining. He even made a drum roll sound as he draped it over his fiancée’s head. “Now, I shall make her disappear before y
our very eyes!” he shouted and bent down, threw her over his shoulder, and ran out the door. Mel shrieked and laughed.
“PUT ME DOWN!” she squealed, struggling in his arms. “I didn’t mean turn caveman!”
“Hush, you!” Brant swatted her butt. “You’ve been kidnapped, you don’t get a say anymore, you’re a hapless victim now!”
“Did you just spank me?”
“No,” Brant retorted. “Don’t be silly!”
Mel’s feet found pavement under them, but before she could get his jacket off she was being lowered into a car seat.
“Where are we going?” she laughed, and fought her way free of folds of material still wrapped around her.
“Where do all the best kidnappers go?” He turned to her with a wild, silly grin on his face and started the car. “To an undisclosed location!” He sped down the drive, tires throwing up rocks and gravel in their wake. “Do me a favor.” His tone was serious.
She dropped the jacket to her lap, suddenly worried that they’d forgotten something. “What?”
“Get out the GPS and look up directions to ‘undisclosed location’ since I didn’t plan this out.”
Mel laughed and threw the jacket in the back seat. “You’re a lousy kidnapper.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Yeah. But a great lover.” He actually waggled his eyebrows.
“Why, sir,” Mel said in a mock falsetto, resting the fingertips of one hand on her bosom, and batting her eyelashes at him though she highly doubted he saw. “I do believe you have evil intent.”
“Oh, HELL yes,” Brant said with enough emotion that Mel fell back laughing.
They rode in companionable silence for a while, holding hands.
“My butt hurts,” Mel said after a while.
This time it was Brant who couldn’t stop laughing.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I hope your hand hurts.”