“Animal!” Siena squealed in delight as the fuzzy orange Muppet wielding drumsticks came bounding onto the screen, headbanging. “I wuv dat one! I wuv dat one, Animal!”
“Sure you do!” said Hunter, tickling her. “You love Animal because he’s just like YOU! Noisy and rude and a little MONSTER!” She was terribly ticklish and, after only a few seconds, had collapsed into an exhausted, happy heap on the floor. “Do you surrender?”
She smiled up at him adoringly, her huge eyes alight with mischief, and shook her head no, screaming for all she was worth as he wiggled his fingers mock-menacingly in her direction. “God, for a baby, you sure are stubborn. I hope you’re ready for some more tickling?”
At that moment Suzanna came into the nursery and announced that it was time for Siena’s bed. The wails of protest were instantaneous.
“Can’t she stay up with me just a little bit longer?” pleaded Hunter. “At least till the end of the Muppets? It’s only ten minutes?”
Suzanna was very fond of Hunter and constantly amazed by the way he stuck up for Siena. She had lost count of the times she had seen him meekly take the blame in front of Pete or Minnie when Siena had spilled her juice or carelessly broken one of her grandmother’s priceless ornaments, suffering frequent, unjust punishments on Siena’s behalf. No matter how vociferously Siena insisted it had been her own fault, none of the adults felt inclined to punish their little cherub when Hunter provided so much more satisfying a whipping boy.
“I’m sorry, Hunter, but not tonight,” she said. His face was so pitiful she almost relented, but the only thing worse than Siena’s usual behavior was her behavior when she was overtired. Looking at her droopy eyes and enormous dark shadows, Suzanna decided it was definitely bedtime. “Little madam here has already been thoroughly overexcited today, and her mother wanted her in bed half an hour ago. Come on, you.”
She picked up an irate, struggling Siena and carried her off down the hallway to her bedroom. It made Hunter laugh, the way Siena fought everything all the time. Part of him wished that he could fight the world like that. But another part of him knew it would make no difference how loudly he screamed.
Nobody was going to pay a blind bit of attention.
CHAPTER NINE
There were two significant male figures in Siena’s childhood. Her father wasn’t one of them.
It was Duke and Hunter who became, in their very different ways, the foundation stones of her young life, the twin towers of her existence at Hancock Park. Duke was her idol. To her little girl’s eyes, he seemed as all-knowing and all-powerful as a god. His huge physical presence both excited and soothed her, and she felt that she could never come to any harm whenever her grandfather was near. Siena didn’t draw breath without trying to please him.
Hunter, on the other hand, was more of an equal. She adored him as her big brother, her playmate, and her best friend. Being brave as well as kind, he became her constant champion against the traumas and insults of the school yard and, increasingly, her faithful defender against her father’s wrath.
When Siena was seven, she came home from school one day in a state of high anxiety. She had totally flunked her spelling test—four out of twenty—and was not looking forward to explaining her failure to Pete.
“Do you think he’d believe me if I told him Mrs. Sanders forgot to test us?” she asked Hunter hopefully.
They were sitting at the kitchen table and Hunter was deep into his math homework, with files and books strewn all around him. He’d given up any hope of being able to concentrate, thanks to Siena’s endless worried chatter. She had perched herself on the opposite end of the table and was mournfully munching on a chocolate chip cookie while she contemplated her fate.
He sighed. “Honey, I’m sorry to say it, but I just don’t think he’s gonna buy that, do you?”
He was right, of course. Pete had to be the second grade’s strictest dad when it came to tests and grades and stuff. As soon as he got home, he was sure to ask how it went. And there was no point lying about her marks either. Her father seemed to have a sixth sense about that sort of thing and would be bound to check with Mrs. Sanders in the morning. Then she’d really be in for it.
“Afternoon, Antoine. Is my wife at home?”
Siena froze at the sound of her father’s voice. What on earth was he doing home so early? She looked at Hunter in desperation.
“Yes, sir, I believe she’s out at the pool,” the butler replied. “She got back from school with Siena about an hour ago.”
“Now, don’t panic,” said Hunter, seeing the terrified look on his niece’s face. “Just tell him what happened and get it over with. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“Oh yeah, right,” snapped Siena sarcastically, as Pete strolled into the kitchen looking tired and weighed down by his brown leather briefcase, squash racquet, and gym bag.
He dropped these burdens unceremoniously on the kitchen floor and, loosening his tie, bent down to kiss his daughter. Not with the slightest gesture or glance did he acknowledge Hunter’s presence in the room. Automatically, Hunter started gathering his books to leave, but Siena’s pleading face stopped him in his tracks and he sat back down.
“So, how was your day, baby?” Pete tousled her hair affectionately. “How’d you do with that spelling test?”
Siena felt her stomach give an unpleasant lurch. There was no getting around it. “Not so good, Daddy,” she mumbled, eyes glued to her lap. She was biting her lower lip, a sure-fire giveaway of either nervousness or guilt.
“I see.” Pete’s voice sounded suddenly icy. It was amazing, Hunter thought, how quickly his half brother could switch from friendly to furious. “And exactly what do you mean by ‘not so good’?” he asked.
Siena could hear her heart pounding but forced herself to look him in the eye. “Four out of twenty,” she said. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Four!” Pete’s voice was so loud that both the children jumped. He banged his fist down on the table and sent Hunter’s papers flying around the room. “Siena McMahon, that’s an absolute disgrace. Four out of twenty! You can’t possibly have studied.”
“I did, Dad, I totally did!” Siena remonstrated automatically.
In fact, she had stayed up late the night before watching movies with Grandpa, but she wasn’t about to pour even more fuel on the flames by telling that to her father. Anyway, she had glanced at her words in the car on the way to school, which was sort of studying, so it wasn’t really a lie.
“Then how do you explain your result, young lady?” barked Pete. “Because you sure as hell aren’t that stupid.”
Despite herself, Siena felt her eyes welling up. It was only a stupid old spelling test. Other kids’ parents probably wouldn’t even ask them how they did, let alone get so cross about it. Why did Daddy have to be so mean about everything?
Pete, in fact, hated these encounters almost as much as she did. But he knew that both Duke and, to a lesser extent, Claire let Siena get away with murder, especially when it came to schoolwork. Someone had to exercise a little control.
“It was my fault, really,” piped up Hunter, unable to bear Siena’s wobbling lower lip a moment longer. “I kept Siena awake last night. We were writing songs on my guitar, and I guess I just lost track of the time. She must have been too tired to sit the test.”
Pete knew he had been thrown a dummy—tiredness alone would not have caused his daughter to tank so spectacularly—but the opportunity to transfer his anger to Hunter was too good to miss. “I should have known.” He glared at his little brother. “Whenever there’s any trouble around here, you just have to be at the center of it, don’t you?”
Hunter’s twelve-year-old face flushed slightly beneath his thick black hair, but he remained composed. Pete thought bitterly for the hundredth time how incredibly handsome the boy was. He had his mother’s wide mouth and high cheekbones, but his coloring and facial expressions were all Duke’s. Pete found these physical reminders of his father
wholly repellent.
“I’m sorry,” said Hunter quietly, anxious not to enrage his brother any more than necessary. “But it really wasn’t Siena’s fault.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Pete, who had helped himself to a large glass of the kids’ Hershey’s chocolate milk from the fridge, into which he was dropping ice cubes from Hunter’s Tarzan ice tray. “But in the meantime, you can stay in your room for the rest of the evening. I don’t want to see you or hear you downstairs at any time, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Hunter nodded respectfully and hurriedly gathered up his books.
“And I’d better not catch you anywhere near Siena on a school night again, understand? You may be too stupid to make it to college, but she isn’t, and it’s my job to see that she gets there one day.” He took a long gulp of chocolate milk. “Writing songs indeed!”
Hunter blushed more deeply before slipping out of the kitchen door. Checking first that Suzanna and Leila were nowhere in sight, he kicked off his sneakers and performed a running skid along the marble hallway, sliding to a halt just in front of the front door. He wandered outside shoeless, his books under one arm, and sat down on the stone steps of the porch. From here, he had a clear view down the long driveway to the huge wrought-iron gates that protected the estate from the prying eyes of the outside world. It was a safe bet that a small cluster of die-hard fans would be loitering just outside, ever hopeful for a glimpse of his famous father coming or going. He knew what they must all be thinking: that life inside those gates must be perfect, like some kind of paradise.
It sure didn’t feel that way to him.
Hunter knew Pete was right, about his being dumb and all that. He had always struggled in class, despite working three times harder at his schoolwork than any of the other kids. His report cards had all been the same since first grade: He was a delight to teach, thoughtful and polite in class, helpful to his teachers and always kind to other children. But academically, he just wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box. Privately, this sense of failure was a source of deep unhappiness and shame to him.
Back in the kitchen, Siena, who barely had time to mouth “thanks” to Hunter before he had scooted off, was left alone with her father. Now that Pete’s rage had somewhat abated, her earlier terror of him had been replaced by righteous indignation on Hunter’s behalf.
“Why do you always have to be so mean to him?” She scowled at her father, pushing away her own empty glass in anger. “He works really hard at school. It’s not his fault if he isn’t as smart as all the other kids.”
Pete raised his finger at her in warning and fixed her with the threatening “don’t push me young lady” look that never failed to make her stomach flip over with nerves. But she wasn’t going to shut up this time. Hunter was always sticking up for her. The least she could do was repay him in kind.
“No, Dad.” She thrust her dimpled chin forward in a gesture of courage and defiance that was vintage Duke. “It’s not fair. I’m sorry I flunked my test, but it wasn’t Hunter’s fault. I don’t understand why you always want to blame him and put him down all the time.”
“That’s enough,” said Pete, wiping a smear of milky chocolate from the corner of his mouth and getting up from the table. He knew there was truth in what she said, but he wasn’t about to be given a dressing-down by his own daughter. “Your grandfather might think it’s acceptable to talk back to adults like that, but I most certainly do not.”
Siena opened her mouth, but something in her father’s eyes made her think better of arguing the point any further.
“I want you to go to your room, right this instant, and get on with your homework.” Pete moved over to the door and held it open, challenging her to defy him. “The next time you perform that badly on a test, young lady, let me tell you, your feet won’t touch the ground.”
With a last defiant toss of her curls, Siena picked up her Snoopy school-bag and strode, head held high, out of the kitchen. She wanted to run off straightaway and find Hunter, to thank him for going to bat for her yet again. But she knew her dad would totally lose it if he caught the two of them together now, so she reluctantly made her way up to her own room, her battered schoolbag bumping against each stair as she went.
She didn’t know what was wrong with her father. He always had to be mad at someone. If it wasn’t her, it was Hunter, or Mom. In fact the only person he seemed able to be consistently civil to was Grandma Minnie.
Most of all though, Siena had begun to notice recently, Pete was mad at Grandpa. Really, really mad. All the time. And try as she might, she just couldn’t understand why.
On the first morning of the children’s spring break, Duke had promised to take Siena down to the studio to watch the making of the new Mel Gibson movie he was financing. She had spent the previous night in a sleepless frenzy of excitement. Mel Gibson! All the girls at school were totally in love with him, even the sixth-graders. Everyone would think she was the coolest, getting to hang out with him and loads of other famous people.
Despite her privileged upbringing, and the ever present reminders of her family’s own fame—the ubiquitous bodyguards, the daily gathering of hard-core fans outside the gates of the estate, all of whom Siena knew by name, having grown up accustomed to their permanent presence—she remained desperately star-struck and enthralled by the glamour of Hollywood. She liked nothing better than to fall asleep in front of one of Grandpa’s old black-and-white movies in the estate’s huge underground screening room, dreaming of being one of his beautiful leading ladies.
Hunter felt faintly embarrassed whenever he saw one of Duke’s films. His father looked so young and handsome, and always played chivalrous, dashing heroes utterly unrecognizable from the aloof old man that he knew. Kids at school used to tease him about having such an old dad. Whenever he watched those films, which seemed to come from a time so long ago he could scarcely imagine it, Hunter felt he knew what those kids meant.
But to Siena, Duke was still every bit the hero. She knew the lines from every one of his movies by heart.
“Can Hunter come with us, Grandpa?” she pleaded, bouncing up and down excitedly on her chair at breakfast that morning, her bowl of Cheerios untouched. “Pleeeeease?”
Hunter looked up from his cereal hopefully, but one look at his father’s face told him he’d be about as welcome as a fart in a space shuttle.
“Sure,” said Duke, without an iota of enthusiasm.
The kid was okay, he supposed, but he had never had the same passion and love for the movie business that little Siena did. It was another thing that he and his granddaughter had in common, and he’d been looking forward to today being just the two of them. Still, he could see how much she wanted Hunter to come and he couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
“Yay!” Siena clapped her hands excitedly, oblivious to Hunter’s look of reticence. He didn’t want to come if his dad didn’t really want him there.
Caroline was the only other adult who had made it to breakfast. Pete was on business in New York and Minnie, Laurie, and Claire had left early that morning for a girls’ shopping trip in Palm Desert, from which she had been pointedly excluded.
Caroline had watched the exchange between Duke and her son with dismay, and felt a rare stab of real pity for Hunter. He’d have been happy with a fraction of the love and attention his father gave Siena, but Duke seemed determined to deny him even that. She remembered the close, loving relationship she’d had with her own father and wished her son could have known, if only for one day, what that was like.
“Actually, I’m afraid Hunter can’t come, Siena,” she said firmly. “He has Max coming over today, don’t you, darling? That’ll be a lot more fun than going to the silly old studios, won’t it?”
Hunter rather doubted that it would, but was grateful for his mother’s show of support all the same. Max De Seville was probably his closest buddy at school, the son of some old English friends of Caroline’s. His mom was right, they did always
have a good time together, especially when Siena happened not to be around. Max, unfortunately, had a zero-tolerance policy toward little girls in general, and Siena in particular, and had never been able to understand Hunter’s enjoyment of his niece’s company.
Still, Hunter couldn’t help thinking it would have been nice if, just once, his father had actually wanted to include him in one of his plans.
“Oh yes,” said Siena churlishly, pushing aside her cereal bowl with an almighty pout. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t spend the day with her. “Hunter can stay here and play with pig-face Max. Max the Spax!” The antipathy between Siena and Max was entirely mutual. “That’ll be much more fun!” She was a brilliant mimic, and had Caroline’s aristocratic English drawl down to a T.
“Now, honey, you mustn’t be rude to Caroline,” said Duke, but he was unable to suppress a grin. The kid really did have talent.
Ignoring this lack of moral support, Caroline got up from the table and sat down coquettishly on Duke’s lap. At forty-two, she had thickened around the waist and no longer had the perfectly firm breasts and concave belly that had so enthralled and delighted him when they first met, almost fourteen years ago. But she was still, without doubt, an extremely attractive woman. No hint of gray had yet found its way into her sleek blond bob, and only the faintest of frown lines marred her otherwise strikingly youthful face.
Neither had the years done anything to dull her rampant, wanton sexuality. Duke might not be faithful to her, but he still found her infinitely more desirable and intriguing, sexually, than any of the younger, perter playthings who occasionally made their grasping way into his bed.
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