Finally, Kemble knew he was beat. Now Lan came and went as he pleased. Not that he was pleased about anything these days. Numb was the best he could do and he didn’t manage to achieve that often enough.
Kemble handed him the plate. “Jane thinks you’ve lost weight.”
Lan crouched on the edge of a chair at the far end of the terrace, plate balanced in his lap, instead of joining them at the weathered, teak table. He concentrated on the sandwich to avoid everyone’s gaze. They’d be judging him. The sandwich was roast beef with cheese, and a slug of mayo and horseradish on the sourdough bread, under the tomato and lettuce. Just like Jane to remember how he liked his sandwiches.
“Are you taking care of yourself, Lanyon?” his mother asked. The question was tentative these days, like she was. Once she would have been standing in front of him, grilling him…no ordering him to stop taking the chance of Morgan capturing or killing him.
“Sure,” he said around a mouthful, not looking at his mother. Why hadn’t he brought in some booze from the living room bar? If ever he needed a buzz on it was now.
Oh, hell. He’d forgotten why he was here. Might as well get it over with. Then he could skip out any time. “Uh, happy birthday.”
His mother smiled, though like all her smiles these days, it seemed a thin cover for her sadness. “You’ll stay for the celebration tonight?” She must have seen the panic in his eyes. “Don’t worry. It will just be family.” The days of the huge parties his father had always arranged for her were gone, of course. He sucked in a breath as he realized there was another problem. What an asshole he was. He looked away so he wouldn’t see her face. “I didn’t bring a present.”
“Good going,” Tris muttered. He lowered Jesse to the flagstone terrace. The six-year-old dashed over to Maggie. “Leave your mother alone, Jess. She’s nursing.”
“She’s always nursing.” The boy pouted, kicking at nothing in particular. “I thought you said a little sister would be fun.”
“Give it a while,” Tris grumbled. “I…I think Kee is fun, and she’s my little sister.”
This prompted snorts from Kee.
“That will teach you to make promises,” Maggie admonished her husband.
All this love and affection was making Lan ill. At least it distracted everyone from his announcement that he was a cad of the highest order.
“You can still have something delivered,” Kemble said. Leave it to the Prince of Wales to keep him wriggling on the hook.
“Nonsense,” his mother said, with something of her old firm tone. “Why don’t you play for me tonight after dinner? That would be a great gift. It’s been quiet here without your music in the house.”
He tried to turn the guilt he felt at that into anger. All they’d ever wanted from him was background music. He needed the anger because he was going to disappoint her. He couldn’t trust himself to play here. Not with all the wild bitterness and negativity likely to pour out through his music these days. Anonymous clubs were okay. No one knew him. No one cared what the music said about him. And he needed the outlet. Otherwise he thought sometimes he might burst. But play here, in front of his family? Not on a bet.
“I’ve got to get back…” The expressions around the terrace were appalled or astounded, or they just hardened gradually against him. He kept his eyes away from his father.
“I understand,” Jane said in a soft voice. “But do stay for dinner. It’s adventure-cooking night. We’re having Moroccan. Tammy’s in charge of the chicken with preserved lemon. Kee’s doing a couscous salad. And Devin’s preparing dessert. He wants to surprise us.”
At Lan’s hesitation, his father spoke up. Lan was so shocked he looked directly at him. “The leasht you can….do…ish pay your mother shome… reshpect.” The painful difficulty of his father’s speech and the slurring was paired with a tremor that might have been partly physical, but seemed emotional, too. His father’s anger could be frightening these days. Yeah, yeah. Loss of emotional control was part of the post-coma recovery process, as Dr. Tanet had said, but it didn’t lessen the blow. His father wasn’t his father anymore, not in any way that Lanyon could understand.
“All you people do is want things from me.” His voice was louder than he’d intended. He glared at everyone. “Oh, fuck it. I need a drink.” He got up with his sandwich and strode into the house. They were probably all staring after him. What did he care? He wouldn’t be around for the lecture on treating his father with respect and how illness didn’t make him less Lan’s father…yada, yada, yada. He opened the door to the liquor cabinet. What went with roast beef sandwiches? He grabbed the bottle of Tennessee whiskey. What didn’t?
*
Greta tossed her book aside. Active Galactic Nuclei wasn’t up to holding her attention. Normally she’d find the notes of a lecture to the Swiss Society of Astronomy and Astrophysics fascinating, but for the last three days she’d been pretty much a basket case. She hadn’t even bothered to use Rover to track the Galahad comet as it appeared over the horizon each night.
She got up and went to the fridge. She didn’t need another Diet Coke. But she wanted one. Wasn’t that the definition of addiction? She popped the top on the can and grabbed some carrots. The very idea of addiction disturbed her. What a total loss of control.
Suddenly she didn’t care about the carrots or the soft drink. She put her hands on the granite counter and hung her head. What the hell is the matter with me?
She knew what the matter was. It was that guy she’d seen at Magma. She’d been trying to forget him for three days now and it wasn’t working. Really wasn’t working. She couldn’t get him out of her head waking or out of her dreams in what little sleep she was getting.
What she didn’t understand was why. She’d never gone gaga over some punk who could play guitar before. Or anyone for that matter. She was the queen of saying good-bye in a nice way to boyfriends that had always seemed expendable. She’d been fighting for control for years, and suddenly she just lost it for some guy she’d seen at a club? That was so not Gretchen Falk.
She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that looked out over West L.A. all the way down to the Palos Verdes peninsula and Catalina Island beyond. She’d bought this place at the edge of Westwood on a whim. It sat at the midpoint between the UCLA campus, the Sony studio in Culver City, and the Fox studio in Century City. She hadn’t realized the significance of the location at the time.
Maybe that was what was really wrong. Her problem wasn’t an obsession with some guy she’d only seen once. That was just a symbol of something else. She was trying to avoid decisions by getting all wound up in something irrelevant. Her real problem was that her life was in limbo right now until she could decide between two very different paths.
She leaned against the huge white cylinder mounted on a tripod. Who needed a pet? The telescope was almost like having another person living in the house, one who had a different perspective on things, clearer, more nuanced. In some ways, the Sky Rover was almost as good a friend as Jax. Which wasn’t saying much. Greta was acutely aware that Jax valued Greta only for the good she might do for Jax’s career.
Greta’s phone rang. She scooped it up from the side table by the door. Uh, oh. No use not answering it. He’d just keep trying, like he had been for three days.
“Hi, Bernie.”
“Where have you been? I’ve made every excuse in the book. Don’t tell me you’re not avoiding me. You’re usually so responsible it hurts.”
“Gee, thanks.” Greta flopped on the couch in resignation. She couldn’t be mad at Bernie. He had what he thought were her best interests at heart. She really was lucky to have such a high-powered agent.
“Gretchen, they want you.”
“I’m not reading for a girlfriend part. Well, not that girlfriend part. I don’t want to spend half my screen time shrieking in fear while I wait for the guy with the muscles to save me.”
“You don’t have to read. They want y
ou with no reading. Just come in and meet Anderson. He’s not doing the usual superhero movie. Let him tell you what he has in mind for the character at least. Talk to Jerry Gold. He wouldn’t produce just another superhero movie, right? And I can tell you, Jimmy DeBrett is a dream to work with.”
“Bernie, I don’t want to get tied down in a franchise again. I don’t know why they want me anyway. All I did for ten years was a series of kid’s movies about a society of mind readers. In the last two years I haven’t done anything but little Sundance films hardly anybody saw.”
“Listen, Gretchen. You were the best thing about a series that made billions, with a capital B, of dollars worldwide. You’ve shown in those little Sundance darlings you can really act. With a capital A. The world is your oyster. You do this, you’re set for life.”
Greta sighed. “I’m set for life anyway. I don’t need money, Bernie.”
She could hear him back-tracking before he even spoke. “I know, I know. It isn’t about money with you. But Gretchen, honey, you do this franchise and you can get projects you care about green-lighted just on your name. Do them between the series films. You know it takes them a year just to complete the special effects. Plenty of time for other projects. You’ll be able to make the movies you care about. Someday, if I know you, you’ll be a director too, or a producer. This can change your life.”
Did she want that path?
“Look, just come down and talk to Anderson. Meet Jimmy. Then decide. Do it for me. My reputation is on the line here.”
“It is not. You’re practically synonymous with CAC, and it’s the most powerful agency in town.”
“Not if I can’t get my own clients to agree to a meeting with an auteur of the stature of Kevin Anderson so she can star with Jimmy DeBrett in the next blockbuster of the decade.”
He wasn’t a master negotiator for nothing. She sighed. “Okay. I’ll meet him. But I am not letting you bully me into this, Bernie. I swear.”
“Of course not.”
She could practically see his self-satisfied smile. “I hate myself already for doing this.”
“By the time you’re done in this town, Greta, you’ll have way worse things to hate yourself for doing.” Did he think that was reassuring? An image of her mother and that horrible director she’d had when she was fifteen rose in her mind and had to be shoved back in the closet. Bernie was still talking. “I’ll call you with the day and time. Jennifer will send a car. And pick up your phone. Promise?”
“I promise.”
She clicked off the call. Knowing how busy directors and producers were, she probably had a couple of weeks before the meeting. This would bring to a head the decision she needed to make anyway. She thrust herself up off the couch. She’d probably go nuts trying to decide.
Unless she took her mind off the whole thing and just let the decision become self-evident. She needed distraction. She stopped. Oh, no. Not that distraction. That distraction was just as sick as tearing her hair out over what to do about the role. She was not going to let an obsession get the better of her.
But a club was loud and noisy and contained adult beverages. Just what the doctor ordered. At least she could talk Jax into going with her. Jax had been using texts and emails for three days to try to bully her into looking for the Ghost. Luckily, the chances of picking the club where he’d actually show tonight were slim and none. She was safe from obsession.
Her distraction would be a night out with a couple of martinis and some decent music. Maybe she’d dance with some guy. Live a little. Just be sure to drive yourself. When Jax found male company and dumped Greta, she wouldn’t have to wait for a cab.
She punched at her phone and called Jax. Jax worked at a publicity agency over in Century City. “Hey, girlfriend.” Was that really true?
“Greta.” Jax sounded relieved, then annoyed. “Why haven’t you picked up your phone? I’ve been reduced to taking Cecily clubbing with me.”
“I… I just had other things on my mind.”
“You were probably buried in some astronomy book,” Jax said, disgusted. “Either that or trekking out to some God-forsaken place with that telescope of yours.”
Greta didn’t confirm or deny it. “Want to go out tonight? I thought we might look for that Ghost guy.”
“You’re on.” Jax sounded so excited. “He was sighted at Diamondback just last night, but I was over at Hollywood Live.”
“Well, we’re going to Diamondback. I’m certain he’ll be back there tonight,” she lied.
“He never shows up anywhere twice in a row,” Jax complained.
“Then you’ll have to be content with a night out drinking with your friend.”
“Okay.” Jax didn’t sound enthusiastic. “But you’re buying the drinks.”
*
Lanyon was sloshed. That was probably the only way he could make it through dinner with the family. He sat in the huge, old Spanish dining room under the wrought iron chandelier, eating Moroccan food and weighing down his end of the table with the black cloud of his silence. At least no one talked to him. After his outburst this afternoon, no one dared. Even Tammy’s black wolf-like dog, Lance, studiously avoided him, though he’d once been considered a soft touch for table scraps. Susie, the rescued Rottweiler Tammy had given Kemble and Jane for their wedding present, followed Lance’s lead. Tammy said Susie was in love with Lance. That was an exercise in futility. They were both fixed.
Lan knew all about futility. He slopped a little wine lifting the glass to his lips. The family’s conversation drifted around him in a vague cloud. The candles in the center of the table flickered and gave the table a warm glow. Why had he stayed? He could have been getting drunk in a slummy motel instead.
Probably because his father was right. Senior was angry, damaged, and not the man he had been or ever would be again, but he was right; Lan owed his mother some respect. Part of him wanted to screw that obligation, cut the ties forever and just drift away. Part of him was frightened that he would. His family had always been there for him. But they were helpless against the forces ranged against them now. And they sure couldn’t count on him. He was no help at all. So he was here. Just barely. Technical compliance only while he decided how to cut the cord entirely.
His mother was wearing the scarf Drew had given her. Tammy had apparently helped Senior pick out an emerald ring. Little Jesse had made her some pictures of a robot eating the world. Those were the only presents he could remember. Little gifts. Back when Senior had thrown huge parties for her, all the guests had brought symbolic gifts that represented the charitable donations they’d made for the occasion. Those days were gone.
Lan watched through a fog of alcohol as the family chatted quietly. There was subdued laughter—not like in the old days. Maybe his presence was depressing their fun. Or maybe it was the prospect of their mother cutting Senior’s chicken for him.
Lan drained his glass and reached for one of the wine bottles at his end of the table. Drew stared at Michael with eyes that said, ‘conjugal relations are in store.’ Jesus. All this lovey-dovey shit was driving him crazy. “Any visions about me lately, Sister?” he called down to her.
Drew pulled her attention from her husband and cocked her head, eyeing him. “Yes,” she drawled. “A few.”
Greeeaaat. “You’ll singe your eyeballs.” He tried to put as much sneer in his voice as the alcohol would allow. “I’m X-rated these days.” Not true. But they probably thought it was.
“I’m not getting any of that.”
He wouldn’t ask her what she saw for him. He knew his future. Morgan was going to kill him. And that was just fine. She was going to get all of them sooner or later. He was just making sure in his case it was sooner. At least he could have that much control of his destiny.
But the family had gone on alert. When your sister had visions of the future as her power, people paid attention. Once Drew had been almost crazy with visions cascading over her. But she’d been getting a handle on them
lately, and that made her even scarier.
“What are you seeing for Lanyon, Drew?” their mother asked in a hushed voice. It cost her to ask that. She used to be very involved with the future. She’d read tarot cards, and she was good at it. Probably because Drew had proven they were descended from Merlin. The Merlin gene the Tremaines shared just might have given his mother a special gift for tarot. Since the attack, she’d quit throwing the cards at all.
Drew looked at her mother, a worried crease between her brows. “I see neon lights in green and gold. I see Lan silhouetted against the colors, surrounded by….flames. Palm trees. A pyramid. A starry night. I see something—I’m not sure what it is—maybe a garden. But it seems to be collapsing.”
“If I’m just a silhouette, how do you know it’s even me? You don’t. You don’t know when they happen or really anything about them, as per usual,” Lan scoffed. “Great power there, Drew. Oh, wait! A pyramid. Looks like I’m going to Egypt.” If the flames were from an explosion, maybe he was going to die in a big kablooey. That was how she got you. You couldn’t help speculating about what she said.
He saw Drew’s face fall. He knew she felt awful about her visions being hard to identify. Had he been cruel enough to stop her from making further revelations? But then she screwed up her courage. “I do know they’re about you. These days I get a sense of…of connection if the visions are about anyone I care about.”
“Big improvement.” He tossed back a glug of wine. He was way not drunk enough to endure a real discussion of his future.
“She’s seeing you in danger, dipshit,” Michael gritted out. “She’s trying to warn you.”
“I’ll be sure and stay away from neon lights and stars,” he sneered. “Oh, and pyramids.”
“Lanyon, dear, won’t you play something for us?” His mother effectively cut off their squabble. Wouldn’t do her any good. There was no way he was playing music. “Please. It’s been so long since I heard you play.”
The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) Page 3