Baby and the Beast

by Taylor Holloway

  “I started thinking seriously about it about five years ago,” he told me, stabbing at his Mongolian beef with a chopstick like he was suddenly suspicious about it. “About three years ago, I actually… well, the surrogate lost the baby.”

  I froze and swallowed hard. “She did?”

  How awful. Awful for him and for the surrogate. I prayed that wouldn’t happen to me.

  He nodded. “About at the first trimester mark. I know that’s a thing that can happen, and it was nobody’s fault, but I--” his eyes were focused on his food. “I didn’t take it well at all.”

  “That must have been devastating.” It was hard for me to imagine. I knew this baby wasn’t mine, and it was all so new, but even thinking about a miscarriage made me feel somewhat panicked. Even if I knew it wasn’t my fault, I’m not sure I’d ever be able not to blame myself. And Connor… he would hate me. I just knew he would hate me.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I was so excited, you know?” His expression made my stomach hurt. “I thought I was on this one path and then all of a sudden… it was just hard. I knew I wanted to try again, but differently. The surrogate offered to try again, but she wouldn’t agree to my new plan. I thought if I could control everything from start to finish, I could make sure there was no chance of it happening again. But that’s not how it works, is it?”

  I shook my head. “No. It isn’t.”

  “If I seemed like a control freak, and I’m sure that I did,” he added, “maybe at least now you know why.”

  I bit my lower lip. “I wish you’d told me that earlier. It helps me put some context around why you’re so…”

  “Well prepared?” he offered. His eyes were still sad, but he was joking now. He could officially joke. That was a good sign. My heart lifted. Maybe we were going to be alright.

  “Sure. Let’s go with that,” I conceded. “I was going to say something else, but well prepared is fine.”

  He smiled at me, another of those actual smiles that made my heart race like it was galloping on Slick. “So, am I forgiven now?” His smile faded into something more sincere and serious. “Are you really back on board?”

  I thought about it for a moment. One day of him not being a giant prick probably shouldn’t be enough to convince me after several weeks of prickiness. “I’m starting to get won over.”

  Connor nodded. “I’ll take that,” he replied, finishing the last of his glass of wine. I, of course, wasn’t drinking. I was only slightly jealous. “I’ve got one final surprise,” he told me, putting the glass down and staring at me interestedly.

  My heart banged against my ribs. What now? This whole experience had been entirely surreal. Twenty-four hours ago, I hated this man. Passionately. Now we’d just gone on a nice… date? Was this a date? I had no idea, but it had date-like qualities. I was wearing a dress. He’d picked me up. We were smiling and making small talk. It felt like a date.

  “I think we should relocate this whole operation back to LA,” he told me.

  “What operation?”

  “The surrogacy operation,” he said. “I still want you to live with me,” he clarified, “but not here. It’s too isolated up here. It’s obvious you don’t like it. And I want to be closer to you anyway. I’ve got to be near the studio while this insipid ‘Night Stalker’ movie is shooting.”

  “You’re working on Night Stalker?” I questioned. There were a lot of surprises in his statement to unpack, but for some reason my mind seized on this detail.

  He nodded. “You could say that. It’s my movie, or at least, it’s my production company that’s making it. I wasn’t supposed to be in it, but the guy who was playing the lead werewolf had some kind of a bad reaction to latex and—”

  I laughed. “I know. I was there, remember? I was working on the puppets that day we ran into each other on the elevator.” I shook my head at the memory. “So, you were the relief werewolf, huh? I guess I should have realized.”

  “Luc told me you got fired that day,” Connor said. “I think I can fix that, too.”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  His eyes had acquired a sort of rakish, mischievous look to them. “I heard a version of what happened on set.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “A version?”

  He was smirking. “According to what the director told me, you came onto the lead actor. When he wasn’t interested in you, you attacked him! Apparently, you were quite fierce. You were easily overwhelmed, but of course you couldn’t remain on set. Assaulting people is obviously terrible form.”

  I ground my teeth. “That isn’t what happened.”

  “That’s what all the rumors said too,” he said. “What really happened?”

  I took a deep breath, still angry about it a month later. “He kissed me. I told him not to and he did it again. So, I hurt him just as much as I could.” I challenged Connor with my eyes to dispute or second guess me. “I’m not sorry.”

  “Me either.” If I had to give his expression right then a name, it would be pride. Then he had to go and ruin it. “Especially because getting fired gave you the added financial incentive you needed to agree to my crazy plan.”

  I frowned at him. The new Connor Prince was still a bit… himself. “Gee thanks.”

  “Actually, I’m glad you put that creep in his place,” he told me. “I believe you a hell of a lot more than him. That guy just seems like the kind of guy who’d do something like that. I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, I’ve watched a few of his films and he just comes off as oily or something. He bugs me. I can’t put my finger on it, but he bugs me. Anyway, my point is that he’s going to hate that you’re the new visual effects supervisor.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I am?” My dad hadn’t been the effects supervisor. Just a lead. I’d been nothing. An unpaid apprentice. A glorified gopher. Practically a prop myself.

  Connor nodded encouragingly. “Yeah. I think you should be the new effects supervisor. Say the word and it’s yours.” He smirked. “There are a few benefits to owning the production company. Like making staffing decisions.”

  “Why?” I stuttered. “What about Rocco?” Rocco was the incumbent effects supervisor. I thought he was a bit visionless, but he wasn’t a total prick… I didn’t want him to lose his job.

  “Rocco had to drop the production,” Connor said. “After your dad left, it was apparent that he couldn’t actually do anything. He was good at delegating. Not so good at producing. He left on his own,” he clarified. “I didn’t fire him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I bit back a smirk. I was not that surprised to learn Rocco couldn’t produce much work product, at least. He’d been a master at taking credit though. “But you want me to be the effects supervisor now?” That part was still not computing for me. I heard the words, but it didn’t make sense.

  He nodded at me again, sending his new, shinier, less crazy-looking mane dancing around his ears. “Yes, I do.”

  “I made the werewolf puppets,” I ventured, still feeling stunned. “Did you like them?”

  Connor grinned. “I haven’t seen them yet. I know you can show me when we get there on Monday. The director said they were great. He took some convincing after the Radley thing, but he came around eventually. After I threatened him— or Luc did anyway.”

  “This isn’t a joke, is it?” I asked. “Because it would be a really mean one.”

  “It’s not a joke.” He looked vaguely sheepish. “I figured this would be a good compromise. We could both get more of what we wanted. I’d still have you close to me in LA, and you could have a job you liked…” he trailed off at my expression. “What?”

  “You’re really serious.” I felt like I needed to confirm it extra.

  “I really am.”

  I stared at him in disbelief anyway. I’d been praying to get myself promoted for a while now. It was so hard to move up in Hollywood. I’d been an apprentice, either paid or unpaid, for a while now. I’d been diversifying my ski
llset, taking on additional projects, paying my dues… and nothing had worked. As excited as I was about getting the money from this surrogacy deal and opening my own effects studio, it would all mean nothing if I had no credentials to back it up. Now, maybe, I’d have some of my own.

  I felt lighter than air. I’d told Luc that I would find the answer, and I did. The secret key to getting Connor to loosen his death grip on me had been pissing him off to the point where he nearly had a stroke, stealing a Jeep, almost dying in the snow, riding a horse, falling off the horse, staggering inside, fighting some more, stitching up a wound, and then spending a very uncomfortable night followed by a tense, heart-felt morning with Connor Prince. I should write it up and give it to Luc.

  And apparently the key to getting what I wanted professionally was included as a bonus when coming off house arrest.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I told him. “I thought for sure that the surprise would be a slice of chocolate cake or something.”

  “Is this better?” he asked. He looked vaguely concerned that I might have preferred cake.

  What kind of a dumb question was that? I could now have cake whenever I wanted. It wasn’t every day I got offered my dream job.

  “This is way better.”

  23

  Connor

  The Artist

  “So, you gave in, huh?” Lettie asked me as she applied layers of thick werewolf makeup to my face in my Night Stalker trailer. “That didn’t take long.”

  Lettie Arnolds was the best makeup artist I knew, and one of the few friends I had in the world. She’d been skeptical of my surrogacy plan from the start, declaring it ‘draconian’ and ‘insane.’ Now that she’d been proved right, she was going to be insufferable.

  “Congratulations, you were correct,” I told her grumpily in between brushstrokes, hoping that we’d get through the ‘I told you so’ phase pretty quickly. I was at her mercy in this chair, and she knew it. “Do you want a prize?”

  “If you have a daughter, you have to name her after me,” she replied, and I wasn’t sure if she was kidding. She rolled her eyes when I stared warily at her. “Oh, for God’s sake, Connor, it was a joke. Although Jolene and I did have a bet that you’d only make it a month, and I just won it. So that’s my reward.”

  The fact that my make-up artist/friend had a bet with her wife that I wouldn’t be able to keep my surrogacy arrangement in place for a single month was a bit of an ego blow, but I let it slide. We lapsed into a momentary, companionable silence.

  “So,” Lettie asked, “when do I get to meet Isabelle?”

  “Monday,” I told her. “She’s going to start working on Night Stalker. Or restart. She was working on it before we got here. She’s a practical effects artist.”

  Lettie almost dropped her brush, but she hid her surprise. “Oh really?” she asked casually. “You’re letting her work, too?”

  I nodded and then regretted it when Lettie grabbed my chin to keep me still. “No moving,” she snapped. “I’m about to start the snout.”

  Lettie was a key part of my secret identity as Connor, the nearly anonymous quiet stunt dude. She traveled with me on my projects, making sure that no one ever saw my real face for longer than strictly necessary. Thanks to her, I was usually so buried under makeup that nobody could ever guess that I used to be Connor Prince.

  “Are you going to be weird if I befriend her?” Lettie asked.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Why would I be?”

  I’d already considered the possibility and thought it would be good, actually. I knew I could trust Lettie to help keep an eye on Isabelle, and I could already tell they would get along. They were extremely similar in personality.

  Lettie shrugged her broad shoulders. “Good,” she told me. “I’ve had no other women to complain about you with for years.”

  “I’m sure she can give you an earful.”

  Lettie laughed. “You’re no prince sometimes, that’s for sure.”

  Between Luc, Jimmy, and Lettie, it was beginning to become clear to me that my immediate friends and advisors had been worried about me for some time and just too afraid to show it. They were clearly happy that I was making changes. It made me feel guilty to know that they were so frustrated.

  “You know,” Lettie added. “If you’re making all kinds of changes to your life and looks, these silicone prostheses would adhere much more easily if you were clean shaven.”

  “Don’t press your luck.”

  24

  Connor

  The Hollywood House

  “So, it’s no castle or anything,” I explained as Isabelle and I drove up the steep drive to the property, “but I used to spend almost all my time here when I lived in LA. Mostly now I just use it if I need to crash somewhere in the city for the night.”

  Isabelle stared out the window like she disagreed. “How big is this place?”

  “About four thousand square feet.” Small, based on what I was used to.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  I tried to see it through her excited eyes but couldn’t. To me, this modern, bright, stark white, hillside house was full of shadows and memories. It might be pretty, but it reminded me of ugly times long past. “I hope you like it.”

  “Connor,” Isabelle said, staring at me like I was being silly. “You do realize that this place is still a thousand times nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived before, right?”

  “That’s not true,” I said churlishly. “You lived in a castle for three weeks.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  I did. She was from a solidly middle-class background. Nobody in the middle class ever made it this far up the hills. The hills were only for the rich, spoiled, mostly awful people. Like me. Or like I used to be, anyway. Who knows what I was now?

  “Well, here we are,” I said, pulling up the circular drive to the double-height, glass front door. The whole place was uber-modern and space age, about as far from the castle as humanly possible. I’d been at a different point in my life when I wanted to live here. I’d literally wanted to live in a glass house back then. I shouldn’t have been surprised when that turned out exactly as expected. “Do you want to see it?” I asked Isabelle, trying to distract myself from my own moroseness.

  She nodded, giggled, and practically jumped out and ran to the front door. Isabelle was much happier now that she was back in LA. Seeing her happy made me happy. Weirdly happy.

  I hadn’t been so damn happy in years. I think I’d almost forgotten what it was like. I’d been glowering and sulking and ghosting around my castle for nearly a decade now, and I’d honestly forgotten what a good mood looked like. Enter Isabelle, transformer of bad moods.

  Every time I would try to circle back into my typical funk, I’d look over at her and it would vanish. Like magic. It must have been because she represented everything that was good and hopeful in my life. She was going to bring laughter and love back to me in the form of the baby.

  It was that, obviously. It wasn’t the fact that her round butt twitched temptingly back and forth when she traipsed up the stairs laughing. Or the way her brown hair was wild and free now that she was in a better mood, and I wanted to run my hands through it. It wasn’t the fact that having simple conversations with her left me more and more interested in everything she said.

  No. Definitely not.

  It wasn’t that at all. I wasn’t falling in love with her. I couldn’t be. I didn’t have the heart for that anymore. Any romantic possibilities I’d ever had were dead now. Ten years in the depression gyre had surely killed them. And she deserved someone better. Younger. More normal.

  But I could still enjoy her company. And I did.

  “There’s a pool!” she said, running back down the stairs. In the time I’d been lost in thought, she’d gone through the entire house like the Energizer bunny, running and dashing around like a mad woman. “And a hot tub!”

  “You didn’t even let me give
you the tour,” I scolded, but it was empty. I couldn’t scold Isabelle anymore. Not when she was so damn happy.

  “Oh, did you want to?” she asked. “I thought that was purely a function reserved for Jimmy.”

  I smirked. “He loves giving tours,” I agreed. “When I used to have big parties at the castle, it was like Christmas every weekend for him.”

  “I can’t imagine you throwing parties.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t throw a lot of them anymore.”

  “Maybe you should,” she said. She said it like I might do it, although less ridiculous words had almost never been spoken. I couldn’t have parties. I didn’t have any friends.

  “Why?” I grumped. “To placate Jimmy?”

  I might be in a better mood lately, but I was still a grumpy old man with no friends or sense of humor. Not everything changes overnight.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, a habit that was starting to do things to me physically that I couldn’t control. “To make some friends.” Isabelle cocked her head to the side. “You’re going to need to make some other single dad friends so the baby will have a play group. You should start living in the world now, so you’ll be ready when the baby comes.”

  Single dads play groups? I added that to the mental to-do list. There were so many things. Sometimes I wondered if I wouldn’t be better off with a partner for all this stuff. I’d still barely even considered the name problem. This baby was coming in just about exactly eight months. He or she was going to need a name.

  I shook my head to banish the invasive thoughts. “Isn’t that what I’m doing? Moving back here? Having a baby? Isn’t that living in the world?” It felt more worldly to be here in LA than hanging out at the castle all day, only emerging now and then to put on heavy makeup and play monsters. Hell, I think someone recognized me this morning. That was different.