by Dyan Sheldon
Unless you’re counting her followers on Facebook and Twitter (who, really, are following a woman named Natalie who lives in Long Beach, since it is she who keeps the pages going), Paloma doesn’t really have any friends. Although she did have one. Until her mother found out and broke it up. Seth. She’ll have to go to him. He’ll know Jack’s number.
Mrs Buckminster snuggles against her, making the kind of deep, gruff, snuffling sounds you’d expect from a bear not a grandmother. Paloma stares through the window at the night, thinking of all the other things she’s missed besides Lula Hirschbaum’s party. It’s starting to rain.
Waiting for Paloma
Monday morning arrives dark and scowling. The city is wrapped in curtains of rain and thunder rolls towards it from the mountains like a train. Oona’s mood when she wakes isn’t much better. Outside the wind moans and the trees rattle, but inside the house is tense with the silence of anticipation – as if it’s waiting to be attacked. For the first time, Oona is aware of the absence of Paloma Rose. Where is she? When is she going to show up? Oona lies there for a few minutes, barely breathing and listening for Paloma to start ringing the bell and banging on the door. Let me in! Harriet whimpers in her sleep, and Oona gives her a gentle shake. They tiptoe down the stairs. Oona puts on coffee and then she gets her rain parka and she and Harriet go for their walk. Usually, of course, she calls Abbot, no matter what the weather, but today she is watching every tree and bush and car and building, half-expecting to see a face very like her own looking back at her.
Leone doesn’t wake up in what could be called a good mood, either. Yesterday morning she was happy as a pig in mud, and now she’s about as happy as a pig on her way to the butcher. You’d think Paloma was psychic, picking now to run away from Old Ways, when so much depends on the interview with Lucinda – an interview that could mean the difference between permanent fame and permanent obscurity – to pull a stunt like this. “I’d swear she did it on purpose just to annoy me,” Leone mutters to herself as she marches into the breakfast room. Which does nothing to make her feel any better.
Oona is already there, drinking a coffee and staring out at the rain. She has, of course, been sitting here for a while, waiting for Leone with the patience of a fisherman. When she hears the sharp click of Leone’s heels, Oona turns, her expression as warm and friendly as a closed steel door. She skips the good morning. “So what have you done with Maria?” she asks. Now that she knows what she knows there’s no need to try to get along any more.
Leone doesn’t meet her eyes. “I haven’t done anything with Maria.” She puts her phone, her iPad and her notebook – the equipment of someone organizing a major event – on the table and continues on into the kitchen. “She wanted a few days off to help her cousin with the new bundle from heaven.” Leone says this last sentence with such casual sincerity that someone who doesn’t know her as well as Oona wouldn’t guess that she usually counts Maria’s hours the way a miser counts pennies.
“She didn’t say anything about that to me,” says Oona.
“Well, why would she?” Leone slaps a cup down on the counter. “You’re not her boss.”
“It’s the kind of thing she’d mention,” says Oona. “You know, because we talk to each other? And anyway, I thought you needed her. I thought you have to rebuild the house before the TV crew gets here.”
“Actually, darling, it’s probably easier to organize everything without having to stop every minute to explain things to Maria.” Leone lifts the coffee pot as though she’s testing its weight. “You know what she’s like.”
Of course Oona knows. Maria’s like the person who does everything in the house.
“You mean you’re going to do all the cleaning yourself?”
Leone sighs. Are all teenagers difficult, or is it only the ones she has to deal with? “If I have to, I can hire someone to blitz the place on Friday.” She comes back to the table, and sits to one side of Oona, not across from her. “If that’s all right with you, that is.”
“What about food? Who’s going to do the cooking?”
Leone’s smile could wither a rose. “This is the twenty-first century, sweetie. We have caterers.”
“But what about—”
“Excuse me.” Leone holds up the hand that isn’t gripping her cup. “I thought you wanted to be a vet, not a lawyer.”
“I’m just curious,” says Oona. “I came down for breakfast like usual and Maria was gone. It all seems pretty sudden if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask.” Leone touches her forehead. “And I think I may be getting a migraine. So, if you don’t mind, I could do without the cross-examination.”
Oona taps her spoon against her cup. “I didn’t know you get migraines.”
“It’s the weather,” says Leone. “All these thunderstorms. They play havoc with the electricity in your brain.”
Oona gazes at her with an expression that could be mistaken for concern. “I thought migraines were caused by things like stress and hormones.”
“That too.” Leone gets to her feet. “I certainly have plenty of stress dealing with you.”
Oona watches her go into the kitchen for another cup. “You really shouldn’t be drinking coffee, you know. Caffeine’s not good for migraines.”
“Thank you, Dr Ginness. But I didn’t say I had one. I said I thought I might be getting one.”
Oona’s still watching her with what might be concern – were Leone someone else, and she someone else, and the two of them on a different planet. “You’re coming to the studio, right?”
“I can’t, sweetie. I really can’t.” Leone waves at the tools of her trade. “We’ve less than a week to get ready. I have someone coming about flowers. And doing the carpets. And the caterer. And I have to get a new outfit. I’ll need at least half a day at the spa. So I’ll have to stay close to home.” A very small smile darts across her face. “I just hope I can trust you not to mess up without me.”
Oona finishes her coffee, saying nothing. She isn’t the one who can’t be trusted.
All the way to work, Oona stares out the window, her eyes sharp as new blades, looking for a girl standing on a corner who’s looking for her. The closer they get, the more her head flips from left to right and right to left, as if she’s watching a trapeze artist swinging across the road. But, of course, the acrobat is really Oona – who will catch her if she falls? When they reach the studio, she leans forward, searching the hive of fans and tourists, but there’s no one who looks as if she used to be on the other side of the security gate.
She calls Maria as soon as she’s alone in her dressing room.
Maria says she should have known that Leone was up to something. She wasn’t sure which surprised her more – that Leone gave her time off out of the blue like that, or that Jack Silk, who brought her the bag Leone packed, was able to find her cousin’s neighbourhood.
“It’s incredible,” says Oona. “Every single thing they told us and probably everything they told Paloma was a lie.”
“But are you sure?” Maria likes to hope that people are better than they often seem. “You didn’t misunderstand? Miss Paloma, she was very excited about this vacation. She said it was going to be just like being in Hollywood, only everybody would leave her alone.” Meaning Leone. She’d never been away from her mother before. She thought it meant that at last her parents were finally paying attention to her; not treating her like a little girl any more. “That is what she always say,” says Maria. “That Mrs Minnick won’t let her grow up. I thought she was going on some kind of cruise.”
“I misunderstood before,” says Oona. “I thought they were trying to help Paloma.” She can’t believe how gullible she’s been; not so much born yesterday as born two seconds ago. “But this time I haven’t misunderstood anything. They didn’t send her on any big-deal vacation, they sent her to a brat camp. I looked it up online.”
“A brat camp,” repeats Maria. “You mean like on TV? For children who are always
getting into trouble?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
“Dios mío, why didn’t I think… after last time…”
“Last time?” They’re becoming echoes of each other.
“Sí, last time,” sighs Maria. “Just before she went away. When the police brought her home…”
This, of course, is the first Oona’s heard of Paloma Rose’s relationship with the LAPD.
“It wasn’t a good day,” Maria says, “but Mr Jack he fixed it again.”
So now it all starts to make a strange if unpleasant sense. Mr Jack fixed it again. It was never about Paloma, except in the sense that she was causing them problems.
“I know she was being a little hard to handle, but…” Maria’s voice trails off. She’s never been known to criticize the Minnicks – though that doesn’t mean that she couldn’t. She has never expected much of them, and in this, if in nothing else in life, she has never been disappointed. Which is why, despite the tantrums worthy of a Castilian prince, Maria has always felt sorry for Paloma. It’s not her fault she’s a spoiled brat and useless. You can’t blame a pup for howling if it’s raised by wolves. This time, however, Leone has managed to surprise even Maria. She thought before that Leone’s heart is small and hard; now she doubts that she actually has a heart, be it small as a gnat and hard as steel. Imagine treating your own child like that. “But I still don’t understand why they would lie like this. Why not just tell her? Everybody in Hollywood gets sent away somewhere at some time.”
“Jack and Leone were protecting their investment,” says Oona.
“Dios mío,” breathes Maria. Nonetheless, Jack Silk has surprised her even more than the Minnicks. She knows how ruthless and controlling he can be when it comes to business, but he’s always been so much more pleasant than Leone. Charming. She touches the MP3 player in the pocket of her apron. Thoughtful. Kind even. She assumed that meant that he’s a nicer person. As if only good people smile. “Whatever will happen to her now?”
“They think she’ll come home.”
Maria doesn’t agree. “And why would she do that? So they can send her back? Or to somewhere else?”
“Well, where can she go?” reasons Oona. It’s not as if she has any friends.
Maria suggests the studio. “To embarrass her mother,” says Maria. “She would like that. She would make a big scene.”
Oona frowns. Thoughtfully. From what she knows of Paloma, embarrassing Leone is exactly what she would do. But that might not be such a good idea. Paloma can’t possibly know it, of course, but things are getting better for both the show and for her. A big scene would embarrass her as much as Lethal Leone. The publicity would all be bad, the sponsors would go into a tailspin of unhappiness, the new energy and enthusiasm around the show would be destroyed, and the grand prize – the interview with Lucinda – would be cancelled faster than you can step on an ant. What was it Jack said? If they go down, she goes with them. Oona believes him. Jack Silk is turning out to be the human equivalent of an iceberg; there’s a lot more of him that you don’t see than that you do – and most of it is dangerous. He’s “fixed things” in the past – who’s to say he couldn’t “fix things” now?
“She’s liable to hurt herself more than anyone else,” says Oona
“But she doesn’t know that. And she will have to do something,” says Maria. “She’s not going to pretend that nothing ever happened.”
“No …” Oona’s attention has started to wander off into a new thought. “No, she’s not going to do that.”
The new thought that occurs to Oona is that the important thing is not to embarrass Leone and Jack Silk, but to teach them a lesson. A lesson they can’t ever forget; a lesson that takes the control away from them and gives it to Oona and Paloma Rose, and makes things better for both of them. But in order to do that, she needs to get to Paloma before Paloma gets to anyone else.
There’s nothing to do but wait.
And possibly pray.
“Calm down, Leone,” says Jack when she finally stops for air. “There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s A-OK.”
Leone would like him to define “A-OK”. “It’s over twenty-four hours, Jack. Surely we should have heard something by now. What if Lovejoy decides to go to the police after all? He can’t keep quiet for ever.”
“He’s not going to the police,” says Jack. “I told him she’s back and we’re keeping her here. I told him she was just homesick and he’s done a terrific job. We’ll tell all our friends to send their delinquent kids to him. He’s not going to say bupkis.”
“That’s great Jack, but that doesn’t change the fact that she isn’t home,” Leone reminds him. “So where the hell can she be? What if—”
He cuts her off before she can launch into another of her macabre scenarios of what’s happened to Paloma. “There is no ‘what if’. I keep telling you, you’re worrying over nothing. Paloma has a very highly developed survival instinct. She knows how to look after number one.” As if bad things only happen to people who are too nice for their own good. “No news is good news,” says Jack. This, of course, isn’t necessarily true. No news is no news; the bad news may just be taking its own sweet time to get to you.
“You really think so?” Oh how she wants to believe him. If Jack Silk were a snake-oil salesman and not a Hollywood agent, Leone would probably buy the biggest bottle he has right now.
“Absolutely. There’s been no activity on the card.” Which means that she hasn’t hired a limo or bought a plane ticket or put herself up in some pricey hotel. “She’s holed up somewhere to make everybody worry about her. It’s just the kind of stunt Paloma would pull. High on drama, low on effort. She may even still be somewhere on the ranch. She’ll come out when she gets tired of pretending she’s in a war movie, hiding from the Gestapo.”
Leone suggests that Paloma has some cash on her. She’s always helping herself to what’s in Leone’s wallet; she should have quite a little nest egg by now. So maybe she took a bus.
Jack laughs. “Yeah. And then she got off at the first big town and took a job cleaning motels.”
Leone laughs too, but hers is a laugh that lacks confidence in itself. “OK, maybe not a bus. But what if someone gave her a ride? What if—”
“Look,” says Jack. “I’m in a public place, and I can’t really have this conversation now. Over the phone. Why don’t you try to relax?”
“Relax?” squawks Leone. “How can I relax? Not only do I have ten million things to do, I have to stand guard. The other one’ll be back from the studio soon. Can you imagine if Paloma does turn up and walks into her double? Somebody has to be ready or god knows what’ll happen.” And obviously, she is that someone. Leone sighs. It’s not easy being called Mom.
“Of course,” says Jack. “Of course you do. But try to chill. We’ll talk in the morning if not before.”
“Don’t worry,” Leone assures him. “If she does show, you’ll be the first person I call.”
Monday comes and Monday goes. Tuesday follows it like a tail. Leone busies herself with making the arrangements for the interview, but although this is the kind of job she loves, a lot of the joy has been taken out of it by the shadow of Paloma that hangs over her. She is skittish as a deer on ice – jumping at every creak and bang, pacing the rooms like a prisoner waiting for a reprieve, even sleeping with her phone on the pillow beside her. When Oona’s in the house, she watches her as if she thinks she might steal the silver, always trying to position herself so that if the landline or the doorbell rings she and not Oona will be the one to answer. The samples of pastries and finger foods from the caterers turn to ashes in her mouth. She might be a billionaire banker hosting a gala charity event, all the while waiting for the police to come and arrest her.
Wednesday comes and starts to go. Leone has been forced from the house to have dinner with Lucinda Chance’s PA to run through the agenda for Sunday. She’s just parked and is undoing her seatbelt when her phone rings. Perhaps bec
ause she’s afraid it might be Paloma and also afraid that it might not be, instead of answering it she throws it onto the floor, and then bangs her head on the steering wheel when she goes to retrieve it. It’s Jack Silk.
“We’ve had a breakthrough,” he announces.
Leone’s so surprised she almost drops the phone again. “What?”
“My man’s found something.” Jack laughs. “Turns out you were right. She did take a bus. Two buses. She came into LA on Monday. She was with some old lady.”
Leone thanks God. At least that’s one set of worries out of the way. “So where is she now?”
“Ah,” says Jack. There’s always some small complication. “We’re not really sure about that. He’s checked hotels, motels and hostels, but there was no sign of her. He even had a word with what’s-his-name, that scum-for-brains scriptwriter, but he swears he hasn’t heard from her.”