by Fifi Flowers
Nicolette was a great baby, she traveled well, liked everyone and had a great disposition. People loved seeing her around the job sites. It was while we were on the move that she experience life and many firsts: She took her first steps in a few different houses I was flipping or just decorating for real estate sales. Her first words were more along the lines of house, rug, window—not cat, dog, bird. Her first time eating a messy cherry-red Popsicle was from an ice cream truck in a neighborhood where I was doing another staging job. We were always off on a new adventure until school time rolled around.
“I’m sorry I missed out on all of her firsts.” His voice was low and filled with sadness.
“She still has lots of firsts to accomplish: She needs to learn to ride her bike without training wheels, I’ve been too reluctant—afraid that she’ll fall and scrape her knees. Swimming, she has yet to learn since she was more interested in running through the sprinklers. She’s been asking to try ice skating at the temporary rinks she keeps seeing on the television… and skiing, she’s never even been in the snow. There are so many things yet to experience with her.”
“A bit of a daredevil like her grandparents.” His words cause me to stiffen and it was my turn to be sad.
“My parents were a bit wild and adventurous…”
Always the outdoor types, my parents hiked and biked during the summer and cross-country skied during the winter. That was the reason I learned to ski in the first place; I was left on the bunny slope while they trudged off in their skis, poles, backpacks to explore the un-groomed snow. Their new lives after retirement were less than subdued as they took off to try rock climbing, mountain climbing, helicopter-drop-in skiing, skydiving and then base-jumping. I found myself often saying, who the hell are these people?! Unfortunately, their travel experiences were permanently ended when they went to Switzerland on a base-jumping expedition. The jump went very well according to the text messages, photos and videos I received. Their journey through the air was spectacular, it was their bus ride back to the hotel that they did not survive. The song Ironic by Alanis Morissette always comes to mind when I think about them.
I miss them dropping in to see how we were doing when they popped into town before heading off in a different direction. But I really miss their postcards. “Wish you were here” always started their quick message. I have them all in a book along with photos of them with Nicolette. It makes me sad that she will never remember them. I used to be sad that Nick may never meet his daughter. Now that sorrow was gone, making the loss of my parents a bit harder, unlike Nick’s reappearance in my life, there was no coming back for them.
“I’m sorry, Sugar. I had no idea.” He hugged me tight and kissed my forehead.
“It’s been a few years. Nicolette was three and a half at the time. She only knows them because I tell her that they bought this house for us and, of course, I have pictures of them in albums and a few framed that I need to put out.”
“Not that I didn’t think you had the money for the house—but I know the selling price was steep—I wondered…”
“My parents had invested well, apparently, when they were young. They had lots of old tech stock bonds, plus they had money from the sale of our family home, and life insurance policies. Along with the sale of their studio loft, it all allowed me to purchase the house outright. Otherwise, you’re quite right, my little business income—though successful—could not handle the mortgage on this place. It’s my parents’ final gift to me.”
“Strange that you selected the same house that I was interested in and did my damnedest to get, unsuccessfully.”
It was strange that our daughter was the one that closed the deal—the deciding factor. Maybe it was meant to be, maybe we were meant to be drawn to the same place… it spoke to us. And though I hate the reason that allowed me to purchase the house, maybe my parents were meant to bring parents to Nicolette—a mini version of Nick. Had he been the one to get the house, would we still have connected? Or did it all happen the way it was supposed to? I always had hope that somehow we would find each other. That was why I told Nicolette about Nick. And right or wrong, I made her believe that he would find us and made her talk to him…
“I have something to confess.” His expression was a questioning one, eyebrow raised. Remaining quiet, waiting for me to continue, I moved to stand and extended my hand. “Come with me.” Leaving the floor, Nick leveled with me, I reached down for a cushion. “We’ll need these,” I said and then carried one back to the sofa where it belonged.
“Nick?” I called out, realizing that he hadn’t followed me as I fluffed the cushion into place.
“Coming,” he called out. Appearing shortly after, balancing a tray with our goodies atop the other cushion he had grabbed for me, and draped with two throw blankets around his neck.
“Sorry, I should’ve helped you.”
I went to him, carefully removing the tray and placing it on the kitchen counter to clean up. Within minutes, Nick joined me—minus furnishings—and began to put things away in the pantry. Moving up behind me at the sink while I washed out the cups and the thermos, I felt him at my back, slipping his big arms around me, and moving my hair out of the way to place tender seductive kisses on my neck. Suddenly, I got the feeling that maybe he thought I wanted to give him something entirely different. And though I was quite tempted to give in to him and relive our magical Mammoth kitchen moments, I needed to make him feel better about his lost time with Nicolette, not me. There would be time for us after we talked and shared a bit more about what had taken place over the years. Yes, I had to admit that I wanted him to live with us, that I loved having him around, and I really liked how comfortable he acted—totally at home. And we would get to the more intimate parts in due time I told myself as I broke free from his sinful grip long enough to complete my last tasks. I had to make his night, make him feel right, or at least I had hoped that my plan would please him.
Moving toward a low entertainment cabinet where a large flat screen TV sat, I instructed Nick to grab a seat on the off-white sectional. Placing a disc in the DVD machine, I grabbed a remote control, and then moved to sit next to him. After pointing the remote and clicking, a series of photos flashed on the screen showing the growth of my belly before the first video began. And there I was—a younger version—in the delivery room holding a brand new pink bundle.
“Hi Nick,” I said in an exhausted voice. “Look at our Sugarbug. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Her precious little face filled most of the screen and I heard a deep intake of breath, followed by a sniffle as I spoke again from the past. “I’m going to name her Nicolette after you. She has your eyes and hair color. God, I love her so much. Thank you. Wish you were here.”
As tears escaped my own eyes, I was almost afraid to look at Nick as I felt his hand caress my back briefly. Instantly, I was rethinking my decision to share these videos I had made for him over the years. Maybe I should have given them to him to watch in private on his own time schedule. I hadn’t completely thought out my actions. It was just that when he mentioned missing out… I wanted him to know, to see, to feel what it was like being with Sugarbug at each stage of her life. I paused the video.
“I’m sorry, Nick… I…”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. These are amazing.” His voice cracked. “Look at me, Sugar.” I turned to look into his gorgeous blue eyes—that usually made me swoon—and saw what I would call sadness.
“But I should have told you before I just hit play or given…”
“Stop!” He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his strong arms around me. “Now hit play. Let’s watch our daughter together like we are reliving past memories.”
Nodding my head, I aimed the remote and the story of Sugarbug—from her early beginning up to just a few days ago—continued to play on with her parents watching it cuddled up together.
Chapter Thirteen
Nick…
Watching homemade videos of what I had
been missing over the last seven years had hit me hard, I was a mess; heartbroken and blessed all at once. I was totally amazed that Victoria had recorded so many moments in their life and made me part of them. I loved seeing Cupcake taking her first bath sitting in a seat attached to the bottom of the tub, splashing. Rolling over and crawling, “Look at our good girl, Daddy!” The cheers for the first potty feat, that one I might have gotten lucky missing, according to Victoria she was a stinky little thing. We laughed at that and several other moments.
I think I loved the videos best when Cupcake started talking about things so high strung. Listening to her call me Daddy over the years on the screen squeezed my heart and tugged on my emotions. Hell, every time I heard her little voice call me Daddy in person it got to me. And I couldn’t help it, a few times I cried like a baby and held onto my Sugar even tighter yet. I was so thankful to be reunited with them and there was no way I would ever leave them. I would do anything and everything for them forever and a day. They are my life!
And in light of the two new beautiful developments in my life, I was in dire need of shopping—not a favorite thing to do, but essential. I was suddenly thrilled that my parents were in town, namely Phyllis Granger who was a born shopper, and a woman. Who better to accompany me? Also a plus, my father agreed to come along, I’m sure it was to ensure that she didn’t go too overboard as she wanted to buy things for her new family as well. It was nice to have someone to sit with outside a few shops on a bench as I allowed her carte blanche on making her own selections. I was sure that the girly perfumes, lotions and lip balms along with doll accessories she was insistent on purchasing would be perfect. I pointed out the basic items that I had observed in her room and on her Santa list—at least the part that she allowed Victoria and me to see in her presence. A few stops, I had my father steer my mother off in another direction, I was not about to visit a lingerie shop with the woman that gave birth to me.
Though I’m sure she would love to shop and purchase a multitude of things for Victoria, she was over-the-moon with her. I believe she had dubbed her the West Coast Martha Stewart.
“Nick, is there anything that divine girl can’t do? Cooking, baking, decorating, photographing for her own book—a book, she created her own gorgeous cookbook! And from what she’s made from it according to you and the little samplings we’ve tasted, that book should be in stores!”
“I know. I’ve got Lulu lining up some things after the beginning of the year.”
“Oh! You must! She is beyond talented and you better put a ring on it. I didn’t notice you visiting any jewelry shops while we’ve been out shopping today.”
“Phyll, give the boy a break! I’m starving let’s talk about food.”
Satisfied with our filled shopping bags, Will Granger, lover of French cuisine and wine, treated us to lunch at Little Next Door Brasserie and Wine Bar down the road from the Grove. Seated outside on a perfect, warm December day, my father ordered a nice bottle of wine for us to share. I was really enjoying the time with them while Victoria was off with Nicolette having a mother/daughter afternoon, attending a Nutcracker ballet matinee that they had tickets to, long before our reunion. Not that I wished to be with them—I remember my own experience at the ballet with my mother and sister. About the only part of the Nutcracker I enjoyed was the fighting rats and the giant nutcracker. Other than that, it didn’t hold my interest at all and I dozed in and out, as I recall. So I was thrilled to be left out much preferring to hang out with my parents, especially the ending part which was all about good food and drinks. Unfortunately, the very end of our dining experience was not so enjoyable—nothing to do with the restaurant and everything to do with the industry I often defended and interpreted to my clients.
“Nick, isn’t that Victoria?”
I turned to see what my mother was pointing at—a tabloid newspaper someone had left behind on a chair at the next table. Leave it to her to spot a gossip rag and imagine that she saw Victoria on it, I thought to myself, until I realized that she was right. Sure as daylight, there was a very large photo of a famous rock star snuggled up closely with a caramel-candy-haired woman. Sitting at the well-known Ivy restaurant, they were the featured story and the headline read:
Smitten Rocker Stanz Mathieu to Take a Bride!
But who is this mysterious beauty?
And if the cover wasn’t enough, the inside spread revealed that the couple had been seen around town, having cozy breakfasts and lunches. Apparently, he was keeping her in at night—they hinted. It appeared that they were accurate with their time of day meet ups as several showed them outside various cafes in the daylight. Often huddled together looking down, some with his arm around the back of her chair and a few kisses to her cheek were snapped, as well. The photos alone had me sick to my stomach, but it was the article that my mother began reading that had me wanting to puke up my Moroccan Merguez wrap sandwich.
Word on the downtown LA streets is that Stanz was spotted in the jewelry mart, namely visiting Zellinger’s custom jewelry division. An engagement ring? Sounds serious! Looks like the mysterious woman will be receiving a Christmas proposal…
I was lost on the last words that she read as I remembered being up at Stanz’s house. Might be a good time to mention that Stanz Mathieu’s is my client. I had been up at his house weeks ago to talk about contracts for a future tour and a minor dispute with a member of the paparazzi. At least he had been behaving while out to lunch with Victoria—his Angel. That’s what he called her, I thought it was actually her name.
“Imagine me with a saint! Fuck! St. Davine Interiors. She’s a fucking angel, man. She’s totally blown me away with what she did to my house. She changed my fucking life too! Can’t get Angel out of my head.”
She had truly transformed his house, such an improvement since the first time I had been to his house. He was having a big party and I thought he had gone all out and had his house decorated in an old rock-and-roll theme. Only when I returned on a business call, it looked the same—tacky, cliché 70s rock star. Couldn’t figure out the appeal, he wasn’t even alive in that decade. But there it all was, obnoxious, over-the-top décor featured things like; shag rugs, giant hand chairs, lava lamps, large white globe and track lighting everywhere that highlighted framed old rock album covers on metallic and velvet wallpaper, and he even had a big round bed draped in leopard sitting in the middle of the living room next to a shiny white grand piano. The Hollywood hills house itself was amazing with a great view, but shit décor—in my opinion.
And then I remembered him telling me about his hot real estate agent who had asked his Angel to transform it, to make it sellable! She did such an outstanding job that Stanz decided to keep it, couldn’t give up her touch. In the process, he tried to talk the agent and the equally sexy interior decorator into having a threesome with him. He was disappointed that she wasn’t interested. Thank God! But what about all of the photos of them together in various places, was she interested in a one-on-one? Was Stanz the reason why she was hesitant about me moving in? I prayed that he had not been in our house!
And if sharing this news with my parents wasn’t enough, by the time we had returned home… to Victoria’s house, my cellphone promptly rang with Lulu on the other end of the line. I had hoped that she was calling me about something… anything other than what I had figured she was about to inform me of.
“Stanz is after your baby mama! Now I remember where I read about St. Davine…” Just as I had anticipated, her words had the hairs on the back of my neck standing up at full attention as I let her know that I wasn’t in the dark about the latest development between my client and the woman I love.
“My mother showed me the photos.” Unfortunately!
“It’s all over MTZ, E Chanel and it’s even on the Queen’s Daily Rag.”
“TMZ, E Channel and the Daily Mail is not ran by The Queen. I need to talk to Victoria—she’s at the ballet with Nicolette—but I don’t believe they have the story straight.
Stanz told me she wasn’t interested in him, that she blew him off, not literally which was a real bummer to him (pretty much his exact words).”
“You knew about Betty—who I cannot imagine with that crazy-sex-maniac-Stanz-rockerboy—designing his house?”
“Sort of, but only minor details about her…”
Thank God I had cut him off when he wanted to give me full descriptions of his planned moves with Victoria and his real estate agent. I was happy that I didn’t have visions of him and my Sugar in my head, more than the cuddling-up photos that had already been slapped in my face earlier thanks to my mother.
Hearing doors opening, feet shuffling, and my mother directing movers to place things in the wrong locations, I let Lulu know that I had to go.
“I need to make sure furnishings are being put in the right place even though maybe my things shouldn’t be in her house at all.”
My words garnered a heavy sigh at the other end of the line.
“I think you are overthinking things. I’m sure it’s not true about your baby mama. You know how those paps smear everything.”
That woman had a way with wording things that often had me shaking my head. I believe that her brain is always working overtime or on overload and inadvertently her words get jumbled together. Often I pointed them out, but sometimes it was better to just let them go, paps smear was one of those I chose to avoid.
Hanging up, I moved to greet the movers and directed them appropriately as to where everything was to go and then my father asked to speak with me alone. Walking into the library that had already been outfitted with a desk and two chairs, we sat down. And I was reminded of my earlier years as I listened to my father explaining that we both had lives and that some of the things that had come about were innocent until proven otherwise. He went on to reason his case like a true legal eagle and I knew he was right. He also told me that he was worried that I was pushing too hard and moving things too fast but he understood why I was doing what I was doing. He warned me that things in relationships rarely went according to plan and to be patient. Then he suggested that he and my mother look after Cupcake while Victoria and I had some alone time, to take her out for a nice dinner and listen. I knew that he was right even though I had never had the opportunity to experience any of the things he was saying to me about how marriage works, stating examples from his own relationship with my mother. I was happy that he was more level-headed, calm, and not so quick to dish out too much information as my mother usually did when she gave me a talk.