Somebody's Daughter

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  We return to the shoot and Mark’s choreography. He snaps pictures of Bobby and Jonny and then trains his lens on us. “Bobby and Emma, move in closer.”

  What should come naturally feels awkward and practiced, but we know how to fake it.

  “Now let me get a shot of Bobby alone with the girls.”

  I step aside and watch the three of them take position by the pool. Zoe’s gaze is far away. She fidgets with her dress, her hair. Lily dips her toes in the water. They’re told to hold hands and jump up in the air. Zoe barely gets off the ground.

  “Wow,” Mark says, “the dream shot,” and he passes me the camera. The digital screen comes into view and I zoom in. What I saw as hesitation and Zoe’s inner torment changes on the display. She’s ethereal and light. Magical.

  “The lens reads their faces,” Mark comments. “Exquisite. The dark hair and pale complexions are very Jenner-esque.”

  Bobby cringes, and Zoe ducks her head under one of the pool umbrellas. Lily appraises herself. I thank him, wondering what he’d say if he knew Zoe’s photo was already out there in living color.

  Back in the apartment, Shari the stylist has a wardrobe change waiting. The girls and I slip into blue jeans and white tanks, and Bobby puts on jeans and a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, untucked. Jonny had his interview last night, and tension between Bobby and him has him out the door fast.

  The interviewer, an attractive brunette named Lana, introduces herself and gives us a run-through on the questions while Mark snaps candids and Shari applies blush and freshens our lips. “We want to see a family working and living together. You’re a Miami Beach dynasty of sorts. Let our readers into your world. Let them see the glamour and glitz juxtaposed against the day-to-day.”

  Our stares are blank. The apartment feels hot, and I know it’s more than the lights shining down on us.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “Be yourselves. Be the family everyone loves and adores.”

  Bobby’s eyes meet mine, and we trade phony smiles.

  The first questions center on the history of the Ross and our city. Bobby goes into detail about old Miami Beach versus new. How Art Deco and an aging demographic shifted to a cosmopolitan landscape with eclectic tastes. “I miss the old-time glamour. The beach has changed. The younger, international influence has brought forth culture and a renewed interest in the arts, but the area is transient and fickle. My parents and grandparents were raised here. I’m still influenced by their sense of tradition and history.”

  Hearing him talk about the city he loves always enthralls me. His voice changes, his features relax.

  They discuss the competition and the newer hotels in the area and what makes the Ross stand out after all these years. “We’re a family,” he says. “We take care of each other. Every person who walks through these doors is one of us.”

  I glance at Zoe, and she’s watching her father closely.

  “Mrs. Ross.” I hear my name. It plucks me from Zoe’s soulful eyes. “Tell us how you two met.”

  The lights shine on me, and I feel strangely exposed. I’m not sure I want to retell our story, but Bobby’s eyes meet mine, and he signals for me to begin, though it’s a struggle.

  “We were eight. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long . . . I lived in Chicago, and our grandparents had a house on Lakeview Drive. We came down to Miami to escape the cold. My stepdad and his aversion to staying in other people’s homes, including his in-laws’, landed us at the Ross.”

  It’s easy to lose myself in the memory. There’s no scandal. No betrayal. I almost believe I’m back there. Reliving our youth. “Bobby and Jonny would paddle around the pool throwing a ball while my sisters and I would pretend they weren’t there. They’d splash us with their strokes, intentionally, unintentionally. I guess what started out as a game of pretend grew into something else.”

  “Make no mistake,” Bobby says, “I fell for her the first time I laid eyes on her. She played hard to get.”

  The blush crawls up my cheek. I slip inside the story. Click goes the camera.

  “Get used to this,” says Lily. “They’re weirdly mushy.”

  “This continued the first couple of trips down south. The Ross brothers were everywhere we went. There was a familiar push-pull that I suppose made us friends.”

  “When did it change?” Lana asks. “I’m sure it was easy to fall in love in such a magnificent setting.”

  Zoe meets my eyes, mildly interested.

  “Bobby had a way about him. It drew me to him from the start. He was confident, but never bragged. He was funny, but never mean. My sisters told me he was trouble, but it didn’t matter. He was different than the boys in Deerfield.”

  My mind pulls me back to those early days. My voice lowers as the memories emerge. He gets up from his seat at the bar and sits beside me. It feels good to be close. “I caught him staring. And I was always watching him. He had that ability to persuade us to follow him wherever he went.”

  “Did he mention the hotel in a proprietary way? Did you know back then he’d end up taking the helm?”

  I shake my head and laugh. The release warms my skin. “He never wanted to run the hotel. Bobby Ross wanted to be a rock star! He’d get out his guitar and play by the ocean. We’d make bonfires when we were allowed, and half the beach would come out to listen.” I turn to him when I say, “I think that’s when I fell. Hard. Rolling Stones. ‘Angie.’”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen,” we both say, catching each other’s eyes.

  “That night we stayed up all night talking. It didn’t feel like enough time.” I stop to let the redness recede from my face. The girls’ watching makes the story that much more sincere. “I couldn’t pretend anymore. As soon as our car pulled into the Ross driveway, Bobby and I were inseparable. He’d rearrange his entire week for my visits and show up wherever I went. He’d send my favorite flowers to our room. Peonies. And he made sure our beach towels with the monogrammed quotes had extra meaningful messages sewn into the fabric for me: Sweet as Tupelo Honey, My Gray-Eyed Girl, Heart of Gold. They always had to do with music.”

  I’m falling with every word of our story. Lana is, too. Her brown eyes are stuck in a wistful longing, and I feel myself embracing my role in the joyful scene. “The Ross opened its doors on the day John Lennon was born. And Bobby was born the same day, years later. To him it’s no coincidence. He worships Lennon. ‘Music royalty,’ he calls him. Fitting for the crown jewel of Miami Beach. I loved that he loved her so much, how he talked endlessly of her. And how he could just as deeply love me the same way. By the time we were fifteen I’d say we were . . . in love. We’ve been together ever since.”

  The number echoes through the living room, and Zoe rises. “May I be excused?”

  Lily chases after her.

  “You have nice girls,” Lana remarks. “Polite. Friendly. Are there challenges to raising teenagers in a luxury hotel on South Beach?”

  The glow that had captured our story scatters like sand.

  Bobby is quick to respond. “Raising teenagers anywhere poses challenges. Teenagers are scary people!” His eyes find mine, and we hold the stare longer than we should. “It’s not easy. Like every parent, we do the best we can.”

  The girls return and calmly take their seats beside us. My heart slowly picks up speed, and I have to embellish. “I didn’t grow up like this. We agreed early on that we wouldn’t let material things influence the girls. We talk about values a lot. Being good people. We have our own definition of what success means.”

  Bobby’s compelled to sell our perfect little family to this room of strangers. “We encourage the girls to give back to the community. Zoe volunteers at the Humane Society. Lily, well, she’s getting there.” He chuckles. “The girls clean their room and make their beds. Emma cooks dinner. People have this misperception that we have chef-prepared meals every night. I’ll never forget, when the girls were ten, I’m not sure which one it was . . .”


  “It was Lily,” Zoe replies.

  “Lily, right. Lily complained about her dinner from the restaurant, making a scene as if we were starving her to death. The next day, I took them fishing. Dragged them out of bed at five. I showed them how some people have to get their food. You know what? They never complained about a meal again. Most people don’t get it, but we’re a normal family living probably—to some—in an abnormal home, but it’s no different than anyone else’s.”

  Lana taps her pen against her pad. “It must be hard at times to watch them grow up.”

  Zoe’s fingers sweat in mine. I eye Bobby, and he repositions himself on the couch, crossing and uncrossing his legs. I wonder if Lana and her crew see the flame rise in me. They can’t possibly know what happened, but Zoe’s ordeal is sneaking into the conversation. Her eyes dart around the room, and she nibbles on what’s left of her nail polish.

  Lana must see she’s tapped into something, and she smiles. “You’re all so tense! Don’t worry, Mr. Ross. I’m asking these questions to paint a picture. There’s a misconception about family in today’s socioeconomic climate. Part of this piece is to illustrate how not all families conform to such stereotypes. The Ross is an upstanding name in the community.” And she looks at the girls when she adds, “You’re clearly raising delightful teenagers. I’d think all of our South Florida readers will find your story refreshing.”

  I’m frozen in my seat. This is a mistake. We are a fraud.

  “No problem at all, Lana,” Bobby answers. “There’s a lot of temptation out there. Emma and I try to provide the girls with the skills to manage tough situations. Like any parent.”

  “Well, you’re doing a great job,” she says. “Now back to the Ross. So you two fell in love . . .”

  “We fell in love,” he says, relieved to be steering us away from the hidden truths. “We did the long-distance thing for a while. Quite a while, actually. High school. College. Emma was an actress back then. A real performer.”

  I nod, still tightly wound. I was. The best. I pretend-smile again. Come on, Bobby, look closely. Can’t you see? “He never came to see me perform.” I jab him with my elbow. “He had a jealous streak this long.” I hold my hands far apart.

  “She was good,” he says, while I hold on to the memory and pretend it means nothing. “Except when she was kissing other men.”

  “Gross, Dad,” Lily says.

  I put on my best act, laugh, and playfully swat him. “He never got used to the roles I’d play or the job requirements.”

  “Gross, Mom,” Lily repeats.

  Lana smiles. “The jealous type, Mr. Ross. I think we found your one flaw.” She has no idea what her comment suggests, and after a brief silence, she moves to the next question. “Emma”—she turns to me—“you moved to Miami after college, and the two of you got married?”

  “Yes.” A whisper.

  “That’s a long time to be together.”

  Bobby pulls me closer. “Yes,” he says. “We’re very lucky. It’s always been the two of us. Solo tú, we say.” Snap. Click.

  “The wedding was here at the hotel?”

  “It was,” I say. “It was beautiful.” We were barefoot on the beach, smiling so hard our faces hurt. I feel as if I’m about to cry.

  “And then tragedy struck,” he says.

  “Yes.” I squeeze his hand. “Bobby lost both parents within weeks of our wedding.” I pause. “Laura went first, peacefully, in her sleep, while Tropical Storm Mayda battered the beach in a late June storm. Zane passed four days later.”

  Bobby lowers his head. Mark stops taking pictures, and the room silences.

  Lana motions with her hand. “Let’s take a break, everyone.”

  The crew takes five, and no one speaks. Zoe’s fingers play with her bottom lip, Lily brushes the strands of the knit throw, and Bobby holds my hand, though I know if I let go, nothing will hold us together.

  “I’m getting hungry,” Lily says.

  Zoe is quiet.

  “You doing all right?” I ask her.

  “I wonder what they’d think if they knew the truth,” she whispers to me.

  It’s a question I’d been asking of myself. “It’s none of their business.” But I can’t silence the voices telling me otherwise.

  It’s getting late, and I can tell the girls have had enough. When the crew returns, I ask them how much longer.

  “Just a few more questions,” Lana says. She begins by asking the girls to recount a typical day at the Ross, and the monotony proves that living in a hotel is not much different than a day in the life of their peers.

  “My mom still yells at us to wake up for school,” Lily says. “And would you believe we have to do homework every day? And clean up around the house?” She giggles and moves on to lacrosse. Zoe shares a few snapshots about her work with animals and debate.

  “What’s your favorite thing about living here?” Lana asks.

  Lily is first. “I can never pick just one. The beach is my backyard. I have a huge family. And it makes me proud to see what my parents have created. Oh, and room service is a nice benefit.”

  Zoe’s next. She’s not in the mood to talk. “Certainty.” We wait for her to say more, and when she sees she’s confused us she goes on. “The sun rises every morning outside my window. It sets each night. I like being there to see it happen. It’s reassuring, and I trust it.”

  Lana’s impressed, and she doesn’t hide it. “That was beautiful, girls. You were great. Now you’re free to go.”

  Lily and Zoe get up, thank Lana and Mark, and hug Shari, who tells them they’re superstars. When they’re out of sight, Lana begins again.

  The next hour is spent talking about the early years and how the brothers zigzagged through a real estate boom and a recession while remaining faithful to their parents’ intentions for the hotel: family values and commitment to the guest. It was a time of great change, and Bobby steered the hotel through some rough patches. The twins arrived, and the question of raising them in a “transient and untraditional” setting came up, but it was no longer a choice. The Ross was our home, and we’d raise the girls here. Bobby says, “I think growing up on the beach roots us to the earth. Keeps us grounded.”

  I add, “Bobby’s a great father. He used to take the girls every morning in their double stroller on his walk-through of the hotel and grounds. As they got older, it became board meetings and staff parties. The sounds of little girls infused life into the walls. And the hotel anchored them to their past, and to the grandparents they never met.”

  Bobby discusses his other properties sprinkled around Miami: the Mirage, the Water Tower, and the newly renovated Seaport in Sunny Isles. Lana calls us the “First Family” of Miami Beach. It should make me feel proud, but a rush of unease slides down my legs.

  When she asks about the future of the Ross, Bobby lets me finish. I’m thinking about the massive remodel ahead of us, but I don’t divulge many details. “Like all hotels, you have to adapt to the changing times and the shifting demographics, but change is good. Every part of this building contributes to the success of its whole, and we’ll improve where needed.” I pause. “The heart of the Ross remains unspoiled. That will never change.”

  “She’s the boss.” Bobby smiles, and Lana says we’re done.

  It is only then that I push back on the cushions and release a long exhale into the air.

  CHAPTER 9

  We’re sitting around the dinner table picking at our food when Bobby says, “I’m proud of you girls. Today wasn’t easy. You rallied, and it meant a lot to us.”

  I glance at Zoe, who’s stuck inside her head. Her eyes are fixed on her plate, but she’s not eating. She hasn’t said much since the interview.

  Bobby twirls pasta on his fork. By the way he scrunches his brow, I can tell he’s in deep thought. He directs his eyes on the girls. “All this talk about the hotel, I’m wondering if you girls have ever thought about living somewhere else? Like an actual hous
e?”

  I stop chewing and meet his eyes.

  Zoe remains unaffected while Lily’s intrigued. “What do you mean? We love it here.”

  He forks the food into his mouth, absently chews, and swallows. “At times I wonder if you girls would be better off away from all this.”

  I watch him closely.

  Zoe’s voice is a mixture of denial and defensiveness. “The Ross is all we know. We don’t have anything to compare it to.” She pauses. “And Daddy, it didn’t happen because we live in a hotel.”

  The cold, hard stare I give him clashes with his beliefs. You’re looking for an excuse. He brings the glass of water to his mouth and backs down. “I’m curious. It’s a conversation we’ve never had.”

  “Because we’ve always been happy here,” I bark. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  Lily gets up and drops her plate in the sink. “I’m going to read the most boring book in America: Jane Eyre. When are they going to assign us Sarah Dessen?”

  “Oh God, school. Do I have to go?” Zoe asks. “Everyone’s seen me! Everyone’s watched that video. How can I go? You think I can sit through a test?”

  Bobby mutters a snide remark, but we hear him loud and clear. “No. Because you barely understand the material,” and Zoe turns her back on him.

  I remind her she won’t be alone, that we’d be with her, walking her in, and there by her side when she meets with Dr. Mason.

  “As if this can’t get any worse. Dr. Mason knows about the video.” Her face has gone slack, and her shoulders sag. When she stands up and makes her way past me, I reach for her arm, but she slinks away. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  The rejection stings, but it’s no worse than being left at the table with Bobby and feeling alone. All the nostalgia threaded through our stroll down memory lane has vanished.

  “It was only a question,” he says. “You didn’t have to attack me.”

  I stand up and clear the table, too exhausted to argue.

  “I raised the question. I think it’s a good one, considering the situation we find ourselves in.”