by Scott, D. D.
But judging from the pages of their pregnancy bible, as well as their doctor’s orders, the third trimester of their high-risk pregnancy would be back to the no-action plan, meaning they had two weeks to live it up.
Two weeks to not just heat each other up, but also only two weeks left to remain hiding in their love nest.
Two weeks. That was it.
Audrey was about to let the world in on the secret her handlers had been so closely guarding. Not as if they’d been good enough at handling things to keep her out of the weeklies and evening news magazines. Not even the government was as sharp as the paparazzo.
Funny, she thought. Perhaps the government should start recruiting the paps as a new breed of agent. They sure knew how to find, track and verify what and who they were after.
Thanks to In Access Hollywood and Hollywood Extra, Audrey had got it loud and clear, plus in HD Surround-sound, that she’d never ever get past being Alexandra McCall.
Handlers or no handlers. Being a McCall was the story of her life.
A story the entire globe wanted to watch.
Her name was indeed opening doors she, and her handlers, simply could not keep shut.
So, she contemplated, taking an extra hearty swig of swamp juice to shore-up her resolve, she’d just have to control the thresholds, ensuring the doors didn’t hit her ass or her family’s on their way through.
What a harsh awakening. Although a truth that, unlike many other things in her life, she could count on.
Her name, her real name - Alexandra McCall - was her brand. And it was high time she started treating that truth as a business.
Just like she’d coached her clients, again and again, but had somehow forgotten or simply run away from implementing for her own benefit, she had to be constantly aware of ‘what do people think of me’, ‘do they recognize my name’, ‘do they trust that name’.
It was beyond obvious she harrumphed, while pouring herself a second glass of juice, that the world definitely knew her name.
And, it was fairly hit-over-the-head realistic to know what they thought of who she was. The world thought she was a crook just like her father.
And for that very reason, they certainly didn’t trust her.
The solution?
Audrey Holtz — scratch that, she corrected her right brain, knowing the left one was now in charge — Alexandra McCall had to be Celine Deion savvy on living life in a fish bowl.
In other words, she had to think of her name, not as an obstacle to her success, but rather as a springboard.
It was time to mitigate her own drama, or, in effect, do the damage control she often did for her clients.
Why should she continue to try to hide from the news when she had her own story to tell? And an audience head-over-heels to hear it?
She constantly counseled her clients that negative press was always better than no press. The real secret of the trade was to spin what was out there to suit you. And Audrey — Alexandra rather - was one helluva great Spin Doctor.
It was time for the weeklies, the evening news shows and all other media routes she chose to see who the real Alexandra McCall was.
From now on, she’d be controlling their opinion of her.
Oh, and she’d give ‘em what they expected, but with a personal twist all of her own making.
Her brothers may have chosen to live in her parent’s secret shadows, but Alexandra never had.
So why had she let her handlers convince her, for so damn long, that that was in her best interest now…now that she had more to lose than ever?
• • •
Damian stood behind one of the gigantic palm trees standing between him and the woman he loved more than anything, the woman carrying the children he never thought he’d wanted, but now couldn’t wait to hold in his arms.
He swore after their amazing night together that he loved her now more than ever.
But every day with her found him saying that once again.
He’d never imagined loving a woman could feel this good. This right. But this so God damn scary.
He didn’t even know how to begin telling her what he’d just read in The New York Times, probably why he was hiding behind this fucking tree like a complete chicken shit.
All he knew was he had to be the first to tell her.
He certainly didn’t want her reading it on her Kindle subscription. Or getting some mysterious note from her family. Or having the impersonal experience of hearing it from their handlers.
He watched her relaxing in her favorite pool-side seat, damn near chugging her juice. Seeing her make the green swamp-like froth disappear in record time made him chuckle. He really should buy stock in that company. And damn, if their twins liked it too, he’d need to have truckloads delivered to their home.
Thinking about home — their almost half-completed Tennessee home — that he’d only seen in pictures, made him wince at the same time it filled his well.
All they had to do was find the courage to get through Audrey’s, damn, he meant Alexandra’s plan.
Wow, he really needed to work on that. Although part of him thought she’d always be Audrey Holtz to him. That’s who he’d fallen in love with.
To have to tell her what he did now, he almost wished that’s still who she was today.
He took in a deep breath, letting the strong scent of the gardens covering their private terrace ease some of the strain.
He was glad she was there in the garden, juice fortified and relaxed, with a quiet but determined set to her jaw. She’d need some of her steel reserve to deal with the latest news.
Knowing he couldn’t afford to wait any longer, he tucked the newspaper under his arm and came out from behind the safety of the palm tree.
Planting a kiss on Alexandra’s head, reveling in the fact she now refused to wear any of Zoey and Roxy’s wigs, although yeah, a few of ‘em were kinda hot, he breathed in the exotic scent of her shampoo, letting the eucalyptus and mint soothe his nerves.
“Mornin’, Baby,” he said, taking the chair next to hers and setting the paper on the small table between them.
“Morning to you,” she answered with a sweetly suggestive look he so wished wouldn’t soon be gone from her face.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, fidgeting with the fringe on the sides of the plush cushions covering his chair’s iron frame.
“Must not be too good of a something since you’re wayyy too interested in that cushion,” she teased him, putting her hand on top of his and squeezing it, taking his heart with her.
Damn, he hated to do this.
And he so worried about upsetting her even more with still another round of bad news.
How much more could one very, very pregnant woman take?
“You’ll want to check out The Times this morning, Baby,” he said, tapping the top of the paper then turning it so once she unfolded it, she’d be able to read the lead story blurbs.
“Oh no, what are they saying about me now?” She asked, almost with a sarcastic but amused smile forming across her beautiful mouth.
“It’s not you this time,” he answered her, struggling to find the words of the real topic.
“It’s your brother, Mark.”
“Mark?” Alexandra unfolded the paper and began perusing the day’s headlines. “What the hell did he…?
“Oh my God,” she said, gasping, the paper slipping from her fingers to the cement patio.
“Are you okay?” Damian immediately moved the table from between them and scooted his chair over to join hers, settling her head onto his shoulder then wrapping her body into the side of his.
Feeling her tremble, tiny shivers escaping her body’s surface then jolting his, his heart took another desperate tumble into the darkness of her past.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her lips quivered as she looked up into his eyes, searching for answers he’d have to give her since she was too upset to read it herself.
“What happ
ened? Can you tell me? I just can’t. I can’t read it,” she said, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her ruby red sweater, a hue now almost matching the bright flush to her cheeks after seeing the headline.
Damian couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d take this kind of news.
Evidently, like Alexandra, Mark’s name was also his burden, but for him, according to the paper, a name “too big of a burden to bear”.
Mark McCall had been found dead in his downtown Manhattan apartment that morning, apparently the victim of his own suicide attempt. He’d hung himself, less than 24-hours after sending out the daily edition of his new and very promising real estate E-newsletter, his attempt at redefining himself following his father’s downfall.
“I just finished reading his newsletter this morning,” Alexandra whispered, almost unable to be heard over her soft cries.
“I know, Baby. Me too,” Damian said, not sure how much or what to tell her, kinda waiting to see what information she asked of him before spilling all the details.
“It was all just too much for him, right?” She asked, once again wiping her nose on her sleeves.
Damian reached for the cocktail napkin holding her empty glass of juice then gave it to her, trying to think fast on what all to tell her, finally deciding that this was Alexandra, the woman he loved, loved in part, because she always recognized then accepted the truth and lived by it, despite the costs.
Maybe if her brothers would have lived that way…well, in Mark’s case, at least, he’d still be living.
“Yeah, according to The Times, it appears that yeah, the continuing suspicion from the public, the harsh accusations, I think that’s what the paper called ‘em, the numerous lawsuits, and his exile from his beloved Wall Street was just all too much,” Damian said smoothing her out-of-control hair as it fed from the energy between them.
“I know the pressure of the last few months had been really, really weighing on him. Zoey told me that. She’d said his handlers had told ours that he was deeply angered and troubled by what Dad did,” Alexandra said, sighing between every few words as if she were having difficulty catching her breath.
Fuck, Damian thought.
He was just so tired of her past taking such horrible tolls on them.
They should be having the times of their lives, preparing for the birth of their first two children. And they just couldn’t. Because every other day it was the past once again haunting them.
“I bet after all the latest round of lawsuits the bankruptcy trustee filed this week, against both Mark and his children, he just couldn’t take it anymore,” Alexandra said, first wadding the cocktail napkin into a tight ball then unfolding it and shredding it into tiny pieces.
“You know,” she said, looking right at him, a pain he hadn’t seen like this piercing her eyes, “his lawyers and handlers swear by his innocence too. But I don’t think the public believed that because it was never Mark himself who came out and dealt with the accusations.”
“You may be right, Baby. You may be right,” Damian said.
Once, well, actually, less than 24-hours ago, doubting her plan to go public with her identity and innocence, now Damian wasn’t so sure that she hadn’t been right all along.
He continued holding her, staring out into the fountains streaming into the pool, watching the water fall over the edge of the travertine rocks, wishing somehow Mark could have been saved from going over his own personal edge. My God, he’d left a wife and three children to deal with what he couldn’t.
“I know I’m right, Damian,” Alexandra said, sitting up in her chair, squaring her shoulders, taking a giant sniff, then reaching for both his hands. “We can’t keep running and hiding. Letting the same kinds of anger that built up in Mark build in us and destroy us and our family. For us, and our babies, I’ve got to take a stand. The more lights, paparazzo, cameras, and Hell, hit men too, I guess, the better.”
Damian couldn’t keep tears from threatening the boundaries his eyes offered. He knew what Alexandra said made sense. But dammit the sound of the whole hit men too add-in about did him in.
Alexandra was his everything. And their babies too. And this whole mess made him feel so powerless to do anything to protect them.
“All I know for sure, Baby, is that I love you. And I love our babies too. More than anything. And I’ll be right beside you the entire way,” he said, doing everything he knew how to do by just never leaving her side ‘til they saw through her crazy plan, but perhaps their best option, given their current circumstances.
“Thank you sooo much for that. You’re being there for me, for us,” she said, moving her trembling hands around the rather large baby bump poking through her sweater, “that’s all I need to get through this.”
They both settled back into their lounge chairs, letting the sounds of all the water elements splashing and trickling into the pool, as well as into the collecting ponds throughout their terrace, soothe and restore their souls.
One thing he loved about his life with Alexandra was that they were as comfortable and strong together in silence as they were in loud and joy-filled occasions.
They were happy and full of love, whether in major morning sickness or a healthy second trimester moving right along to their third. Whether for better or for worse. Definitely better poorer than her beyond rich past. And beyond death taking their family apart.
Someday, minus the whole obey thing — ‘cause there’s no way Alexandra McCall would go for that ancient concept — they’d say those same things before God and family, maybe with their two little ones standing beside them.
Chapter Eighteen
Alexandra looked into the gorgeous beveled glass dressing mirror on the back of the door in the villa’s master bath. Gone were the outrageous wigs. Gone were the fabulous but way too concealing shawls. And no more uncomfortable and scratchy colored contacts.
Alexandra McCall was back.
In all her platinum-blonde and bob cut, sparkling blue-eyed glory.
Oh, but she had kept Roxy’s whole Chinese New Year red thing because she had a large number of multi-headed beasts to slay to protect her family.
So gone were the shawls, but Alexandra’s fabulous baby belly ensembles were always, from here on out to delivery day and perhaps beyond too, always going to have an element of red, whether in Roxy’s Raeve Maternity Wear or in the accessories she designed to rock her design house.
Today was the day of Alexandra McCall’s coming out party.
A red carpet marathon of totally her own doing, and it was about to start pool-side at The Bellagio.
She checked her appearance one last time, twirling in front of the mirror, like she used to each year as a child on the first day of school. Making sure her look captured just the right image and message she wanted.
And wow, had Roxy totally outdone herself this time.
From the fabulous wide-brimmed hot red hat, to the bedazzled Mom-To-Be swimsuit and matching sarong-style cover-up and super stylish wedges — why she couldn’t wear her new favorite Sketchers was beyond Alexandra, but she was willing to succeed that point to her favorite fashionistas.
Damian and the boys were out learning some defensive driving skills from Roman and Company, one of Roman’s conditions for going along with Alexandra’s plan. That left her and her posse ready to face the paparazzo at the pool.
And oh yeah, every last one of the news weeklies she had connections with had been called and appropriately tipped off to make sure their paps were poolside in about a half-hour.
After one last twirl in front of the mirror, Alexandra knew it was show-time.
The Bellagio specialized in water shows, and she was about to create her very own spectacle.
Precisely a half hour later, walking across the gorgeous decks and patios surrounding The Bellagio’s pool, finally outside the safety net the last cyprus tree provided, Alexandra felt as if she, Roxy, Jules and Zoey were their very own version of a Sex and The City movie.
> Thanks to Roxy’s brilliant, dare-ya-not-to-look designs, every head at the pool was now turned and staring at them.
Exactly what Alexandra had counted on.
They headed for the four chaise lounges she’d sent one of her villa staff to save for them, foregoing the private cabanas, which would destroy the image of normalcy she wanted to portray.
Once people knew the real Alexandra McCall, the one who’d never taken a penny from her parents since she’d turned eighteen, she’d go a long way to proving her innocence.
Her story would show how she’d been out of her father’s home and life, shortly before his Ponzi-scheming began. Instead, she’d made her own living, her own mini-fortune. And, it was a mini-fortune, when looking at her income compared to the one her father and Sonja amassed at other’s expense.
It was gonna be a real fight to show she was not “feeder” funded like her mother and brothers, but she could do it. She had to do it, if she ever hoped to give Damian and their children the normal life she craved.
Once settled into their chairs, all they had to do was wait for the show to begin.
“Oh my God, we’ve been here for what, barely three minutes, and look at these people. They’re fuckin’ lunatics,” Roxy said, watching them over the tops of her sunnies while she sipped a pina colada, giving ‘em back in her icy stares the same treatment they were receiving.
“This really is incredible, Alex,” Jules said, peering over the top of her nook to take in their new audience. “You so called this right. How can you stand this? It’s not like they just glance over here then go back to their business. Oh no. They stare. Then keep on staring. This is just creepy.”
“You haven’t seen creepy yet, JuJu,” Alexandra said, taking in all the madness, knowing she’d set the stage exactly like she needed to to begin to forever change the tides of public opinion currently hell-bent on drowning her.
“Wait ‘til their cameras start to come out of their bags, and they pretend they’re posing each other for shots, which just happen to be centered in front of us,” she said, laughing then laying her head back on the pillow-top of her chair waiting for the action to commence.