Husband List
1. Justin Timberlake
2. James Van Der Beek
3. Rider Strong
4. Zac Hanson
5. The boy who sells ice cream at Ben and Jerry’s
More to come.
Chapter 20
“This is the life.” Spence lifted his empty hand as if he held a glass. “Here’s to Hollywood, my dear.”
Through her cat-eye sunglasses, Vivien looked at the script in front of her. She lay curled up on her side beneath the white canopy of her poolside cabana and read the stage directions: Dorothy feels ambivalent about the move to Hollywood and about her marriage to Alan. Just as she was about to say her lines, Spence’s phone beeped and he broke character.
“Christ almighty! Henry’s been texting me five times an hour.” He tossed his script on the mattress. “He’s definitely seen the cover of the Enquirer and he sounds pissed off.”
Vivien lifted her gaze. “So? Let him be pissed. I didn’t get him pregnant.” She tossed her script aside and stretched out within the linen pillows. Beyond the shade of the cabana, the California sun bathed twelve Greek statues in bright light as they poured water from urns into an elaborately tiled pool. The house had been owned previously by a twenty-five-year-old computer-game developer who had more money than taste. Although at night, Vivien had to admit, the sound of water spilling from the urns was relaxing.
“When do you plan to talk to Henry?” Spence asked as he rose from the cabana and moved to a chaise a few feet away.
“I don’t know.” She’d avoided the subject. She wanted to get her current film wrapped up before she thought about him, but at some point she would have to tell him or Henry would make himself unavoidable. “I wrap up shooting Friday, and then I’m going to sleep for a week. I’ll think about it after that.”
“I don’t know if he’ll be put off that long.” Spence whipped off his T-shirt and stretched out to sun himself. His chest was still pink from tanning the day before.
“Are you sure you don’t want sunscreen?” When and if she decided to talk to Henry was not up to him. It was up to her.
“I spent every summer on Coligny Beach. I’ll bronze up in no time.”
He looked like a blister just waiting to happen. Vivien snuggled deeper into the pillows and put a hand over her slightly rounded stomach. She closed her eyes and listened to the water falling from the stone urns into the pool. She’d been so tired lately. All she did was work and sleep. All of the pregnancy books she’d read said exhaustion was normal. The lists of dos and don’ts for pregnant women was mind-boggling. The dos were commonsense stuff like make regular doctor visits and get lots of rest. The don’ts list was frightening. She’d read that she couldn’t eat hot dogs or fish or soft chesses. She should avoid microwaves, cat litter, and herpes. Although really, avoiding herpes was a given, pregnant or not. The others though . . . What if she forgot and ate a microwaved hot dog? Or there was some brie hidden in a tostada? Would she need her stomach pumped?
The warmth of the sun through the cabana curtains lulled her into the relaxing space just before sleep. All the baby books differed, though, on when she might feel movement from the baby. One of the books said sixteen weeks, the other twenty-two.
She wished she had someone to talk to other than Sarah and Spence. She wished she had her mother. For lots of reasons—not the least of which was to ask why she’d lied to Vivien her whole life—and because a girl needed her momma when she was expecting a baby. Spence was her closest living relative, and his only piece of advice had been to avoid hard liquor. To which she’d replied, Duh.
It was still weird to think she had a brother. Especially Spence, but the same day she’d written down her list of cons, she’d reached out to him. Without hesitation, he’d dropped everything and hopped on the first available flight to L.A. He’d arrived at her house wearing yellow pants, a white-and-yellow-checked shirt, and a gray jacket. The choice had been bold for a man living anywhere but South Carolina, where even the most hetero of men weren’t afraid of pastels. Except maybe Henry. She just couldn’t see him in yellow pants.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” she’d said as he walked in the front door.
“Of course you called me.” He’d pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and dropped his suitcase on the floor. “I’m your big brother.”
That had sounded so odd. It still did. “I’ve always wanted a brother.”
“Now you have me.” He grinned.
“Yes. I have you and your brother’s baby.” She’d meant it as a joke, but her voice hiccupped and embarrassing tears filled her vision. She pretended she had something in her eyes and turned her face away, but he’d reached for her and she discovered that Spence gave the best hugs. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed just hard enough to mean it but not so hard that she couldn’t breathe. He smelled like cologne and starched cotton and not like his brother at all.
“It’ll be okay,” he’d said into the top of her head. “I’m here for as long as you need me.”
That had been three weeks ago, and apparently he didn’t have a job waiting for him in Charleston. As far as she could tell, he didn’t do a whole lot. During the day, he putted a golf ball on the putting green the previous owners had installed. He swam in the pool and tanned himself. At night, he flirted with Sarah over a pitcher of mojitos and took a cab to the local hot spots. At the Rainbow Room, he swore he saw Tom Petty. At Whisky A Go-Go he claimed he bought a Playmate of the Year a snakebite. Even if Vivien hadn’t been pregnant, she wouldn’t have been interested in accompanying him. She’d been there, done that, and wasn’t missing out.
He drank too much and slept too late, and every day he gave her the best hugs in the world. At night they talked for hours when she got home from filming. They talked about anything and everything, and the subject of Henry always came up.
“I knew there was something between y’all, but I didn’t think you were . . .” Spence paused to look at her beneath his lowered brows. “As my grandfather Shuler used to call it, ‘making honey.’” She wrinkled her nose and he laughed. “He was a good guy.”
Vivien should have known that. She should have known a lot more about her grandfather instead of believing Hurricane Kate had sunk his schooner off the coast of Florida. Even now, when she thought of the lie she’d believed all of her life, she was embarrassed to admit that she’d never even thought to question her mother. For one, her mother had been staunchly opposed to lies. For two, she never would have thought that her mother had the mental endurance it took to keep such a fantastical lie. “Do you think your grandfather knew about me?” she asked.
“No. Family was important to him. Not the way family is important to Mother. Mother’s biggest concerns are keeping bloodlines and appearances pure. The Whitleys care more about protecting the façade of a loving family. The Shulers truly love ‘their people,’ warts and all. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to the cousins.”
During those three weeks, Vivien was grateful to have Spence around. He helped her run her lines and brought her water or milk or juice when he thought she might need it. He was nice and funny and she discovered that he didn’t have mental issues as she’d always suspected. He cracked jokes and laughed a lot and nothing much seemed to bother him, but there had been a time or two when she’d glimpsed something cold in his ice-blue eyes. Then he’d crack another joke and melt the sudden freeze with laughter.
Her mind drifted from Spence to a few promising scripts she’d read. The actual filming wouldn’t start for at least a year. In some cases longer. The baby would be born by then and she’d hire a nanny to help out—Beneath Vivien’s palm she felt a soft little flutter. Her eyes popped open and she got very still. She held her breath . . . waiting . . . then it happened again. A flutter like gossamer wings. It was probably just gas. All the books said women often mistook gas for movement. It happened again, and in that instant, the baby became real to her, more rea
l than an outline on a monitor. She felt more attached and protective than before. Her life seemed to refocus, and suddenly nothing was as important to her as the tiny life making itself known.
“Viv?”
She looked over at Spence in the chaise and debated whether or not to tell him that she’d felt the baby. She decided against it because it just might be gas.
“Yeah?”
“You know I’ve always wanted a sister. Right?” Spence pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and looked over at her.
“You’ve mentioned it.” About a hundred times.
“A really good sister who invites hot friends over for a slumber party.”
Vivien laughed. “I always thought a really good brother should beat people up for me. The problem is that you and Henry were tops on my list of people to beat up.”
“I’ll tell you what.” He readjusted his sunglasses and pointed his face to the sun. “I’ll beat Henry up for you if you have a slumber party and invite your hot friends.” He paused a moment in thought. “Do you know any of the Kardashians?”
First Lottie, now him. “No. Sorry.” She didn’t feel more flutters and removed her hand from her belly.
“Katy Perry? She’s hot. So is Elisha Cuthbert. The two girls could have a pillow fight.”
She’d met Katy but seriously doubted the singer wanted to have a pillow fight at a slumber party. “Sorry.”
He named off a few more celebrities, and Vivien didn’t know if he was serious or joking with her. “How about that Kendra Wilkinson?” he continued. “I think her show is canceled now.” He tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t quite manage it. “After breaking it off with Hef and then Hank cheating on her, she might be desperate for a Southern gentleman who has a way with former playmates.”
She laughed. “I don’t know Kendra.”
His cell phone beeped once more and he dug it out of his short’s pocket. “Damn, he’s persistent.”
“Henry?”
“Yeah. He knows I’m going to forgive him.” Spence sighed and set the phone on the pool deck. “But he needs to suffer more than . . .” He paused and cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” In the distance a rapid whop whop came from the direction of Charlie Sheen’s house. It grew louder and more distinct, like it was coming up Mulholland. “Oh. That’s part of the helicopter tour that flies around Beverly Hills. It never comes this way.”
“Are you sure?”
It sounded closer than usual. “Yes,” she answered as whirling chopper blades rose from behind a row of trees at the far end of the property, whirling chopper blades that lifted a blue helicopter and whipped the treetops. Sitting in the open door, a man pointed the long lens of his camera right at her.
“Dammit!” This was her time. Her time to enjoy the first fluttering movement from her baby, or at least gas that she mistook for fluttering, and it was being ruined. She quickly dashed in the house, but Spence stayed right where he was, like he didn’t mind the attention at all. He might have even waved.
The paparazzi were relentless since the baby-bump picture, making her life even more hellish than ever before. They posed as tourists to get near the movie set and they waited for her to drive away.
After the helicopter stunt, Vivien hired a car service to take her to the studio because she feared that they’d try to block her in traffic. The limo she’d chosen had blacked-out windows, and Spencer rode in the car with her to and from Paramount in case she needed “muscle.”
“At least they’re not killing themselves to take a picture of you eating,” Sarah had pointed out.
True. Now they were fighting for pictures of her stomach and combing through her personal life more than usual.
On the last day of filming, Vivien only stuck around Stage Seventeen long enough to thank the production crew. She was tired and feeling harassed and all she wanted was to relax and concentrate on the tiny life that was sucking all her energy and making her queasy at night. She wanted to do the regular pregnant women things, like buy maternity clothes and look at baby shoes.
She slid into the dark limousine and leaned her head back against the soft leather. She could feel Spence’s presence across the seat and she closed her eyes. She needed a vacation. Maybe she’d run off to a remote island and go all Marlon Brando for the next few months. Maybe she’d never come back.
“We should run off to Fiji.” She rolled her head to the left and sat up so fast, it felt like her heart bumped into her ribs.
“Hello, Vivien. Is there something you need to tell me?”
Henry tilted his head to one side and waited for a response as the limo drove past building facades and continued beneath double-arched gates. Vivien looked just as he remembered. Her smooth, pale skin appeared translucent within the car’s dark interior; she wore a white sundress and looked angelic. God, he wanted to shake the hell out of her.
“How did you get here? Where’s Spence?”
“Spence is lying by your pool in deep contemplation about the many ways I’m going to kick his ass.” He understood that his brother was angry with him. We understood why, but that didn’t mean he was even going to try and understand why Spence would keep something so important from him.
She looked out the window, then turned her face back toward him. The color of her eyes was hidden in the shadowy interior, but he didn’t need to see her clearly to know they were the color of magnolia leaves first thing in the morning. When everything was bathed in dew and morning light. He didn’t need to press his mouth to hers to know the taste of her lips, and he didn’t need to hear her laughter to know it sounded like sunshine and honey to his ears.
“He’s bigger than you.”
“I’m meaner.” She was so close. A couple of feet, but it might as well be a couple of miles.
“That’s true.”
The last time he’d seen her, her beautiful eyes had been filled with tears and he’d felt like kicking his own ass. Why are you trying to hurt me more than you have already? she’d asked. If this was her idea of making him pay, she was doing a really good job turning the screws. She looked out the the window again, as if she could ignore him. He’d loved her more than he’d ever loved a woman, and she’d angered him more than any other woman, too. “Are you pregnant, Vivien?”
“What did Spence tell you?”
“That I should ask you.” Since neither would give a straight answer, he guessed he didn’t need one. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Assuming it’s yours?”
She wasn’t done torturing him. “Yes, but if not, you need to tell me right now.”
“It’s my baby, Henry.” She turned and looked at him. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you or Nonnie.”
“That isn’t your choice to make.”
The limousine made a right turn and an angle of sunlight slid across her lower face and throat. “You can go on with your life like before.”
Too late. He hadn’t been able to go on with his life. He was stuck in place. Somewhere between love and hate. Seeing her, he was caught between pleasure and pissed off. “Before what?”
“Like with Tracy Lynn. Just forget it happened.”
Pissed off won, and he swallowed against the anger crawling up his throat. “What happened at that time in my life isn’t even close to what is happening now.” She wasn’t going to be satisfied until she ripped him apart again. Things were different now. He was different. The thought of a child didn’t send terror shooting through his veins, nor was he going to leave the decision solely up to Vivien like he had Tracy Lynn. “You should have told me before I saw it in the magazine rack at the Kangaroo Express.” Although, he guessed, she’d already made a decision.
“I don’t owe you anything.” Her voice shook a little when she spoke. From hurt or anger he couldn’t tell. Perhaps both. “You lied to me. You made me think you cared about me when you didn’t. You took advantage of me at my time of grie
f.”
“You’re allowed to still be angry with me, but you’re not allowed to rewrite history, Vivien. No one took advantage of you.”
“You said I was important to you, and the whole time you were just playing me for a fool.” She took a deep breath and raised her hands to the top of her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it.”
It didn’t sound like she was over it to him, but he wisely kept that observation to himself.
“I don’t owe you anything.” Her hands dropped to her sides. “I don’t owe you my baby.”
“Our baby.” His gaze slid down the front of her dress, and he stared at her stomach as if he might be able see his child. Of course he couldn’t, but it was there. Safe and warm, growing beneath the heart of the woman he loved. He’d fought like hell to get over his feelings for her, but the second she’d slid into the car, they all came rushing back. He was powerless to stop the chaos churning through him. “I’m the baby’s father, and I’m going to be in that child’s life.”
“I was raised without a daddy, and I grew up just fine.”
Henry didn’t say anything. There was no need. He let the silence speak for him.
Vivien stared at the outline of Henry’s shoulders in the dark corner of the car. Every emotion she’d ever felt for Henry Whitley-Shuler came at her like a hurricane. Conflicting emotions like love and hate tumbled with anger and the pure joy of seeing him again. The sound of his voice added a tempest of fear and longing and scattered her senses like a debris field. She tried hard to delete him from her heart when she’d deleted him from her life, but she hadn’t. She thought she’d erased him from her soul, but she’d been fooling herself. Silence stretched between them and she heard herself say, “I didn’t have a daddy and look at me now.”
Again he said nothing. She was rich and successful. Men around the world wanted her. Women wanted to be her. Her life looked perfect. No, it was perfect. Perfect, except she was alone and pregnant, and even though she didn’t want to admit it, scared to death.
Just Kiss Me Page 20