Hideaway

by Roberts, Nora

  “He’s seventy-freaking-seven years old—ought to know better.” Lily reached for one of the candied orange slices on the tray on the table. “He has two ex-wives but no children. He’s obscenely rich and popped a twenty-five-carat diamond on her finger last night. The story broke this morning.”

  “Well, if I had a glass, I’d raise it,” Cate decided. “Eating burgers and planning a wedding should keep her too busy to take any shots at me.”

  The beat of silence told Cate differently. “What? Let’s just have it.”

  “She never misses a trick, sweets. Her hope, as she tells it, is that her daughter, her only child, will open her heart and stand as her maid of honor.”

  “She just couldn’t leave me out of it. She’s getting everything she could want—money, fame, a rich husband with no kids to get in the way. But she can’t leave me out of it.”

  It fired her up again, all over again.

  She paced the room where the fire crackled, the sea rolled outside the glass, the trees sparkled like wishes, and felt everything in her go hot, go hard.

  “And it won’t stop. If I try to work in Hollywood, in film, it’ll never stop because I’m wrong, there’s more she wants. She wants to crush me. She can’t damage Dad’s career, or Grandpa’s, they’re too big. But I’m just getting started.”

  “Don’t let her take this from you, Catey.”

  “G-Lil, she already has.”

  She dropped down on an arm of a chair in front of the window where her great-grandmother had once looked out to see her doing handsprings.

  “She’s used what she did to me, twisted it around, and she’s squeezed all the joy out of the work for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back. I don’t know if I want to try. I do know that I finished production because I was obliged, because I couldn’t just give up. And I did the best work I could. I can’t do it anymore.

  “I need a life. I need to see what else there is. I don’t know what I want to do or be, but I know I won’t find it in L.A. I need to be able to walk outside without a stupid wig and a bodyguard. I want to sit around with people my own age, meet a guy who doesn’t care what my last name is. Maybe I’ll take some classes, maybe I’ll get a job. I just want a chance to do something, be somewhere without everyone hovering and worried and putting up shields for me.”

  “There are paparazzi in New York, too,” Lily pointed out.

  “It’s not the same. You know it’s not. New York doesn’t run on movies, who makes them, who’s in them. I need this, and I’m asking you to give it to me. I can take it without asking when I turn eighteen, but I want you to give this to me.”

  The front door slammed, and the aggrieved shout of “Mom!” beat Miranda’s youngest to the room.

  “Flynn, there’s an invisible wall in front of you.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “It may be invisible, but it’s also impenetrable. I’ll let you know when I take it down.”

  With the abject disgust only a twelve-year-old could muster, Flynn stalked away.

  “Sorry, Cate. You were saying?”

  “I guess I said it.”

  “It breaks my heart,” Lily began. “It breaks my heart what she’s taken from you. You know how I love you—you’re my girl every bit as much as Flynn’s my boy. You did see he had a bloody lip,” she added.

  Miranda nodded, kept crocheting. “Wouldn’t be the first.”

  With a nod, Lily looked back at Cate. “I’d love to have you with me. You understand how busy I’ll be with rehearsals and meetings, even before we open. But you have family in New York, too. If this is what you want, I’ll talk to your father.”

  “It’s what I want. Right now, it’s all I want. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” She rose. “Well, why put off the hard stuff?”

  “I’ll go out with you.” Miranda put her crocheting aside. “Make sure Flynn puts some ice on that lip.” As she passed, she gave Cate’s arm a squeeze. “Well done.”

  “Let me grab a jacket.” Maureen got to her feet. “And you and I can take a walk.”

  “Maybe I should go with G-Lil to talk to Dad.”

  “Leave this to her.” She put an arm around Cate to lead her out of the room. “I happen to know a number of people around your age. So do Miri and her Mallory. Not all of them are actors.”

  “Any of them cute straight guys, say, eighteen, nineteen?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Cate knew Lily did what she could when Aidan knocked on her open bedroom door.

  “Hi. I was about to go back down. Later,” she added when he closed the door. She braced herself. “You’re mad.”

  “No, I’m frustrated. Why don’t you tell me when you’re unhappy?”

  “You couldn’t fix it.”

  “How do you know what I can fix?” he tossed back. “Damn it, Caitlyn, I can’t try if you don’t tell me.”

  “You are mad, so fine, be mad. But I wasn’t going to come crying to you. Again. I have a right to figure out what I want, what I need. And she’s got a right to spout her idiot bullshit the press laps up.”

  “She doesn’t have the goddamn right to make you so unhappy you’d talk about giving up what you want and need. I haven’t pushed certain buttons because I thought it could make matters worse for you. But Charlotte isn’t the only one who can use the press.”

  “I don’t want that!” Even the idea turned her insides to jelly. “She would. She’d love that kind of attention.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” Aidan replied. “Just because I don’t choose to play dirty doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

  “You could hurt her,” Cate acknowledged. “I think she underestimates you, all of us, really. She hates us, all of us, so she underestimates us. And . . .”

  To give herself a moment to gather the right words, to find the right tone, she trailed her finger down the carving in the bedpost.

  “I understand her better than you think I do. Lily called her soulless that day. A soulless excuse for a mother.”

  “You remember that?”

  She met his eyes again. “I remember everything about that morning, from you holding me when I woke up scared, and G-Lil singing a duet with me while I showered so I’d know she was right there.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he said quietly.

  “I remember Nina’s pancakes, and starting a puzzle with Grandpa. The fire snapping, the fog burning away so the sea broke through. I remember the things she said, and I said, and everyone.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed. “So does she—in her own way. She’ll have done a rewrite, cast herself as heroine or victim—whichever works best. But however she remembers it, however she rewrites it, for her it’s not about me. It’s how she can use me to hit at you, at Grandpa, at G-Lil, at the whole family, but especially you. You chose me over her.”

  “It wasn’t a choice. You were never a choice, Caitlyn.” As his temper drained, he took her face in his hands. “You were a gift. What if we went back to Ireland?”

  “That’s just hiding. It was right before, and it gave me what I needed when I needed it. It’s not what I need now.”

  “Why New York?”

  “It’s as far from L.A. as I can get and stay in the country. That’s one. G-Lil would have a place for me. There’s Mo and Harry, Miranda and Jack, the New York cousins, and you know they’d watch out for me. Maybe I wouldn’t be anonymous, not right off anyway, but I wouldn’t feel stalked.”

  “And you do here.”

  “Yes, I do. Every day. I don’t want to act, not now. I can’t feel it, Dad, and it’s never been just a job for any of us. I don’t want it to be for me. And she’ll think she’s won. We’ll know she hasn’t, but she’ll think she’s won and maybe move on. A rich husband for as long as that lasts who can buy her a few parts, who has the money and influence to push her up the social ladder.”

  “You do know her.” He walked away to her view of the sea. “I was
with her more than ten years, making excuses, overlooking.”

  “Because of me. I know you loved her, but you looked the other way or made excuses because of me. You would never have given her all those years of your life otherwise.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You haven’t had a serious relationship since, because of me.”

  He turned back quickly. “No, don’t take that on. Because of me. Trust issues,” he said, and walked back to her. “I think I’m entitled.”

  “I’d say you are, yeah. But you can trust me, Dad. Trust me enough to let me go.”

  “Hardest thing in the world.” He gathered her in. “I’m going to be making a lot of trips to New York. You’ll have to tolerate that. You already know your grandfather will—and doubly now, as it’s not just Lily but both of his best girls on the other coast.”

  “My best guys.”

  “I need a text from you every day, and a phone call every week. The texts for the first month. The call for the rest of your life.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  He rested his chin on top of her head, and started missing her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  New York City

  For the first few weeks in New York, Cate stuck to the Upper West Side, where Lily had her condo. When she ventured farther, she was with Lily or aunts or cousins.

  Since the weather in late winter in New York came as a shock to her system, she didn’t find sticking close much of a hardship.

  After all, she did get out—and was so bundled up when she took a walk the possibility of being recognized hit zero. And she enjoyed walking in a city made for it. While a far cry from the paths and quiet roads of Mayo, the long avenues, the jammed cross streets, the myriad of shops, cafés, restaurants all invited exploration.

  By the time the air hinted—pretty vaguely—of spring, she’d gained considerable confidence and learned to love the taste of freedom.

  Through her cousins, she met people her own age. Most were far too jaded to be impressed by her lineage. And actors of her father’s and grandfather’s generation were as ancient to them as Moses.

  She liked it.

  She learned to walk fast, like a native, and after some missteps learned how to navigate the subway system. She preferred long walks or subway rides to cabs, found both full of fascination.

  So many voices, accents, languages. So many styles and looks. Best of all, nobody paid any particular attention to her.

  Since she’d put herself, once again, into Gino’s hands before leaving L.A., she sported a sharp, swingy do with side-swept bangs.

  At times, she barely recognized herself.

  As Lily moved into rehearsals, Cate liked to drop into the theater once or twice a week, just hunker back in the house and watch the evolution. Voices again, big, banging Broadway voices, lifting up, lifting out, lifting back.

  Lily’s laugh, she thought, watching the stage, or Mame’s laugh now, just rolling. Some actors were born to play certain roles. In Cate’s opinion, Mame was Lily’s.

  She took out her phone—always muted in rehearsal—and sent a text to her father.

  Today’s news from NY. I’m watching the director and the cast adjust some of the blocking in Scene Five of the first act. Right now it’s just Mame and Vera. Lily’s wearing leggings, Marian Keene is wearing jeans, but I swear you can almost see them in costume. FYI, Mimi, Lily’s PA, had to fly back to LA to help her mom. Mom broke her ankle. So for now, I’m filling in. Tell Grandpa Lily’s excited he’s coming out next week. She misses him, and me, too. And you. Btw, I’m getting tattoo sleeves and my tongue pierced. J/k. Or am I?

  Grinning at herself, she sent the text. Then folding her arms on the seat in front of her, she propped her chin on them and watched the magic happen.

  When they took five, and the director huddled with the choreographer and stage manager, Lily called out.

  “Are you still with us, Cate?”

  “Right here.” Hauling up her massive tote bag, Cate got up, moved forward and into view.

  “Come on up.”

  Cate headed to the doors, house left, went through, went up to where chorus members warmed up for the next number, stretching limbs, doing vocals. Already reaching in the bag, she walked on, stage right.

  “Protein bar, room-temp flat water.”

  Lily took both. “Mimi’s going to fear losing her job.”

  “Just taking care of my G-Lil until she’s back.”

  “I can use it.” Lily dropped down into a folding chair, stretched out her legs, rotated her ankles. “You can forget how physical live theater is—double it with musical theater.”

  “How about I book you a massage later? I can have Bill there at six—I already checked—and have some of the penne you like, a nice salad, delivered from Luigi’s at seven-thirty. Carbs are energy’s friend.”

  “My God, girl, you’re a wonder.”

  “Mimi and her detailed list, her spreadsheet and endless contact information’s the wonder.”

  “How did I end up with a masseur named Bill? He should be Esteban or Sven.”

  Cate wiggled her fingers. “Magic hands, if I remember right.”

  “He does have those. Book ’em, Danno. Now tell me what you think. How are we doing up here?”

  “Dead honest?”

  “Oh Christ.” Braced, Lily cast her eyes up to the catwalk. “Hit me.”

  “I know you’ve never met much less worked with Marian before this. The same with Tod and Brandon, your young Patricks. The audience is going to believe Mame and Vera have been friends forever, and that Patrick is the love of your life.”

  “Well.” Lily took a long sip of water. “It turns out I like dead honest. I’d just love to have me some more.”

  “It’s so different from movies, G-Lil. You don’t do a take, another, another, then sit, wait. Wait some more. Reaction shot, retake, wait. It all moves so fast. And when you’re off-book, you’ll have to remember every line, every gesture, every step, every mark to hit, every beat, start to finish. Not a run of dialogue, not a scene. All of it. So the energy’s completely different.”

  “Catching the bug?”

  “Me?” With a shake of her head, Cate moved deliberately to center stage, looked out. All those seats, she thought, from orchestra to the upper balcony, all those faces watching.

  In the moment. In the now.

  For fun, she did a quick side shuffle, tap, flung out her arms to sell it. Laughed when Lily applauded.

  “And that’s as close as I ever want to get. It must be really scary and—I guess the word’s exhilarating to work live onstage. And you’ll do it eight times a week, six nights, two matinees. No, not for me. They’re both magic, right?”

  She walked back to Lily. “Magical ways to tell stories. I think it takes the amazing to be really great at both types of magic.”

  “My sweets. You’ve pumped me back up a hell of a lot better than this weird protein bar.” Rising, Lily rolled her shoulders. “Now, you’re dismissed.”

  “Fired?”

  “Not until Mimi’s back. Go, text some of your friends, go shopping or meet up at a coffee shop.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Scram. Just text me if you make other dinner plans.”

  “I will, thanks. Break a leg.”

  Grabbing her phone to book the massage, she went out stage right. Then pulled up short when one of the chorus stepped in front of her.

  She glanced up. “Sorry. Texting while walking.”

  “I got in your way. I’m Noah. I’m in the chorus.”

  She knew; she’d noticed. She’d watched him and the others rehearse numbers over and over, tirelessly—or so it seemed.

  Up close, like now, he gave her stomach a flutter. That smooth skin, like the caramel coating on the apples Mrs. Leary had made for All Hallows’ Eve. Golden eyes, sort of like a lion’s, tipped exotically at the corners.

  Inside her head, she went: Um, um, um.


  But a Sullivan knew how to hit her mark.

  “I’ve caught some of the rehearsals. I love the juggling bit you do in ‘We Need a Little Christmas.’ ”

  “My grandmother taught me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. She ran away to the circus—seriously—for a few years when she was a kid. So, hey, I should be done by four. You want to get some coffee?”

  Inside her head everything sizzled, then went blank.

  “I was just heading out, but . . . I could meet you.”

  “Sweet. Like four-thirty at Café Café? It’s right around the corner.”

  “Yeah, I know it. Okay, sure. I’ll see you later.”

  She walked away, casually, all the way to the stage door, stepped out, walked another ten feet to be absolutely sure.

  Then she let out a squeal, did a quick dance—an Irish pullback—right on the sidewalk. Since the sidewalk ran in the Theater District of New York City, barely anyone noticed.

  She made the booking for Lily, set an alarm to remind her when to order dinner. Then texted her Harvard-bound cousin, one she considered the most reliable and least silly.

  How soon can you meet me at Sephora? The one on 42nd?

  While she waited, she wondered if she should go home and change, or just buy a new outfit.

  Too much, don’t be an idiot. It’s just coffee. Do you want him to know he’s the first male not related to you who’s ever asked you to have coffee?

  Last class done at 2:45. Around 3?

  Perfect. See you there.

  What’s up?

  I’ve got a date! Just coffee, but a date.

  Awesome! See you there.

  Since she had time to kill, Cate slowed her pace, worked out some areas of conversation. When she reached Forty-second, she went into Sephora, strolled the aisles.

  Ended up filling a basket more from nerves than wants. And checked her phone half a dozen times even as she reminded herself Noah couldn’t text her to cancel because he didn’t have her number.

  Should she have given him her number?

  Then she yipped and jolted when her phone signaled an incoming text.

  Just walked in. Where r u?

  Meet me at the makeover counter.

  She spotted her cousin, romantic strawberry-blond hair swinging, serious-minded black-framed glasses over hazel eyes, and a loaded backpack over her shoulder.