The Last Page: Book 1 of Living, Loving, & Laughing

by Lacy Camey

  I called Maycee, but she didn’t answer. I had forgotten she was with Josh, the blasted jerk.

  I had to stay focused.

  I called Chloe. “Chloe! You have to come home from wherever you are, please! Truett is standing outside my door, and he won’t leave.”

  “Oh, my word, are you for real? Well, I’m sorry, but I’m in some town, at some venue hearing Ryan’s band. I don’t have a ride home because, well, he picked me up, remember? I’m so sorry. Call your dad.”

  “Dad can’t come. He’s at the hospital.”

  “Call your mom.”

  “She’s visiting my aunt in Boston.”

  “Well, where’s Orien? I thought he was with you?”

  “That’s the problem. Truett showed up, and Orien got the wrong idea, and-“

  I heard a loud, screeching sound.

  “Chloe?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry it’s so loud. They’re trying to do a sound check. Are you there?”

  “I’m here!”

  “Norah, are you there?”

  “I’m here! I’m here!”

  And then she hung up. A text appeared thirty seconds later.

  I’m so sorry! I’ll take a taxi! If there’s one around here…

  I texted back:

  No, it’s okay. Really, I can handle it.

  I got up off the couch and yelled through the door, “If you don’t leave, Truett, I’m going to have you arrested. Wouldn’t look too good in the press.”

  I pushed the button for the privacy blinds and watched them lower. The house went from ultra-sunlight to near pitch-black. Having a chill run up my spine from the darkness, I immediately turned on the entry light, then the one in the living room. I double-checked the lock on the door, set the security system, and turned to a movie channel. I hated feeling like a prisoner in my home.

  I dialed Orien’s phone one more time. Voicemail.

  Just as well.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next day, the press had a field day. Pictures hit newsstands everywhere, and everyone was talking, saying everything from I had attempted suicide because of my bandaged wrist, to we were rekindling our hot romance and buying a castle in France. I did not want to face the awful press tour again. But there was one meeting I had to face later that night, dinner with Tim and Chris.

  All I could bring myself to do all day was to be still and keep my wrist elevated with ice. If I stood, I would become too anxious. I’d pace. I’d fret over all of the clothes I had yet to create. I’d fret about how dinner would go, since I was in such emotional anguish. Meanwhile, my phone was ringing off the hook from other ladies of leisure willing to pay me three to four times the amount of original lady of leisure number one. Apparently, there was this important lunch for ladies who lunch, and their pups were invited. Every one of these ladies wanted to outdo the rest.

  I was seriously considering it for the potential cash.

  “I did it,” Chloe said, as she handed me an iced tea, interrupting my thoughts. She sat down next to me in the living room.

  “You did what?”

  “I told my parents I’m going to Venezuela to assist two other doctors in an orphanage. I’m working with this philanthropic organization. Anyway, did you know with, like, one dollar a day, a child can have a mosquito net?“

  “That’s in Africa. You’re going to Venezuela,” I corrected.

  “Right, I know in Africa, Miss Smarty Pants. Anyway, in Venezuela, I can do the vaccines and common wellness. I can make a difference. I’m just itching to go, to be just me, without my family’s last name recognized. Oh, and speaking of itching, I have to take a few vaccines.”

  “Speaking of itching, Chloe, how’d your parents react? Were they itching with no’s?”

  “Well, I technically didn’t talk to ‘them,’ per se, I told Vivian to tell them.” Her mother’s assistant. She let out that last part of her reply as fast as possible.

  I nodded, thinking, I’d like to go. Would do me some good.

  With the courage to voice my thought, I opened my mouth to tell Chloe I’d like to go with her. But naturally, she beat me to it.

  “Don’t worry. I already found something for you to do.”

  “You know me too well.” I smiled.

  “And I found something for Maycee, too! Which speaking of, have you seen her? Or heard from her?”

  Honestly, I hadn’t. Between being shot by the paparazzi, the whole world thinking I was on suicide watch, Truett coming, Orien leaving, hearing Josh’s true intentions for Maycee, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. Paparazzi still lurked, hoping for another shot of me.

  But I sincerely hoped the truth would come out about Josh, that Maycee would see his true colors. On that note, I decided to call her.

  I dialed her from my Favorites on my iPhone. No answer. I tried again. I really didn’t feel like calling my mom and asking where Maycee was because I didn’t want to explain the whole Truett situation, hence my reply to her earlier text of:

  “Oh, honey, are you okay? Please call ASAP. Right now. Worried.”

  And my texting back:

  “I’m fine. Talk later. No, I’m not on suicide watch! You know that!”

  But putting all hesitation aside, I decided to call Mom and see what was going on with Maycee.

  I dialed and put her on speaker to avoid the headache talking on phone sometimes gave me, not to mention the recent release from the World Health Organization that cell phones were linked to possible brain cancer, which I knew all along. See, I could sense it!

  “Oh, Norah! It’s about time you called your poor mother!” my mom answered.

  “Mom, it’s only one in the afternoon. Who you should be worried about is sister dear, Maycee. Where is she? She didn’t come home last night.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I was trying to keep it all a surprise!” Mom couldn’t hide her excitement. “Josh flew her out to the Bahamas, to propose!”

  “Mom! You allowed that?” I asked in complete utter shock.

  “Why, separate rooms, he assured me.” She tried to defend her honor.

  “Mom, no. That’s not what I mean. Not to mention the fact that you’re naïve; meaning, I know Dad’s the type of man who would do such a thing, protect your honor. But Josh? He can’t be trusted. He’s a snake. He’s…” I grunted with annoyance. “Ugh!”

  Chloe gave me the thumbs up to keep going.

  “Norah, what on earth? You think-“

  “Mom, Josh is using her! And I’m going to tell Dad.”

  “What?”

  “Yes! Chloe and I heard him talking on the phone to his friend about faking this whole engagement and dropping her in three weeks after he finishes the residency program.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you heard? Maybe you took too many pain killers.”

  “I’m sure. Chloe heard it as well!”

  “Did she? Let me ask her.”

  Unbelievable. Knowing that my phone was on speaker and that everything I said could be heard, I loudly said, “My own mother doesn’t believe me!”

  My mom usually believes me, but clearly she was just in shock and needed to hear it from an outside source, a non-relative.

  “Hi, Mrs. Johnson.” Chloe smiled as if Mom were right in the living room, prim, perfect manners and all. She even sat perfectly straight, as one sits when playing the piano. The sight of such composure made me realize I couldn’t wait to see Chloe in Venezuela.

  Venezuela. Would I really be going? When was it? Where would my line be by then? Would I have a line? Would I have my boutique? Going away seemed like the right thing for me to do, yes. But what about Orien, what about-

  “Yes, it’s true. I’m sorry to tell you, but I heard it myself. You have another unashamedly unrelenting, unapologetic—”

  “Unfaithful, probably!” I chimed in.

  “Jerk,” we said in unison and looked at each other with smiles creeping on our faces.

  My mom sighed. “Oh, dear, we have a probl
em. Poor Maycee. Well, all we can do is just hope and pray she figures this out, and her high IQ will kick in, and her brain neurotransmitters will go into high gear telling her hypothalamus that Josh is bad news. Yes, I have faith that will happen. I need to start meditating on that right away.”

  Chloe and I stared at each other in shock.

  “Mom?” I spoke louder since Chloe had the phone. “Since when do you know all of those technical words for the brain?”

  “Why, ever since I started reading a book about the power of your subconscious mind and positive thinking.”

  I nodded. “Well, okay, then.” I motioned for Chloe to hand me the phone. “Well, that’s all I have for now.” I just knew she was about to ask about the tabloids with her next breath.

  “And no, Mom, I am not getting back together with Truett. No, we don’t secretly have a house in France. He is ruining everything for me. He’s ruined everything already.“

  “She means with Orien,” Chloe spoke up.

  I glared at her with an evil look.

  “Orien?”

  “Yes, it’s this guy and…”

  “Well, honey, wouldn’t you know, call waiting. Might be Maycee. Call you back. Promise. I love you!” And with that, Mom hung up.

  Chloe placed my phone on the coffee table. “What a circus all of this is.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m just glad you’re here, Chloe.” I sighed and without thinking, lifted my right arm over my head, causing the ice pack to fall on my head.

  “Ouch!” I switched arms.

  “Of course! That’s what I’ll always be for. I know you’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

  “So what are you going to do with all those doggie calls? You don’t want to neglect them or lose clients. That’s if you want to make those adorable clothes that can put your name on the Hampton map. I see a future.”

  I habitually tried to cross my arms to ponder it, but winced in pain. “Ugh! Seriously!”

  “Ah, Norah. No. Lay down. Ice.” She got up and put the ice back on my wrist. It came in handy being surrounded by people in the medical profession. Having a father for a surgeon, meant that I could get stitches right at home, if needed. One time in my teens, a glass fell and sliced my ring finger, and he was able to sew it in a jiffy. Forgo the ER. It was nice.

  Chloe was more than just a trained nurse. With her merely being in the same room, I felt that everything would be okay, even though chaos had knocked once again at my busy revolving door.

  “You don’t have to decide now, of course. If you like, I can play assistant and call the ladies back. If anyone knows how to work the socialites, it’s me. All I ask in return is that you promise me you’ll come to Venezuela with me.”

  She already knew me. I was going to go. I wasn’t going to let my best friend in the world go to Venezuela alone. I had come to our summer home to escape and still couldn’t really get free of the press. Venezuela would be even better.

  “Okay, done. Deal. But what am I even going to be doing? If you’re doing medical stuff, what will I be doing? Sewing clothes?” I asked.

  “No, this precious orphanage needs help with the kitchen, the wash, preparing food, etcetera.”

  “Oh, kind of like Nacho Libre?”

  “You could say that. It’s a three-month mission, and we leave in September.”

  September. Less than three months away. For three months?

  Again, reading my thoughts, she said, “You don’t have to stay the entire three months, of course. Just help me ease into the transition. They say twenty-one days makes or breaks a habit. So what do you say, twenty-one days?” She batted her eyes as she had been trained in her debutante years.

  Suddenly, my phone rang.

  “Hi, Norah, it’s Doctor Hood. I just saw you in the press today and, well, I just want to make sure it’s not true about the suicide attempt.”

  O.M. sincerely, seriously G!

  I tried to fake my lighthearted mood and laugh that fake girly laugh we all tend to make sometimes. “Oh, it’s completely not true, Doctor Hood! I fell off a horse. You know, trying new things. Obeying doctor’s orders.”

  “So, you’re okay?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  Was I really going to get into this with my therapist? About a guy? Sure, why not. What other dignity did I have left?

  “It’s just, there was this guy I started to…” Started to what? I wondered how to begin. “Who found my lost journal. And well, anyway, I met him and really enjoyed his company. And now he’s gone. He just completely disappeared. I mean I know he has his oral dissertation defense on Monday, but-“

  “Dissertation?”

  “Yes, his oral defense for his PhD in counseling, I believe.”

  It sounded like he dropped the phone. I jerked the phone away, hoping to spare a few eardrum cells.

  “Sorry about that, Norah. My hands were wet from doing the dishes. So what’s this fellow’s name?”

  “Orien,” I replied.

  “Orien, huh? Handsome fellow?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Very handsome. And sweet. Thoughtful and intelligent and knows about tea. Every girl’s dream. I never would have thought you could feel so connected to someone so quick. The fact that he read my journal and actually found it entertaining. He could really read between the lines. He even analyzed my handwriting and found that I was troubled but hopeful. Creative but stuck. Ambitious but felt trapped to a certain level. He was right on.

  “But anyway, he was, well, an innocent bystander of the whole Truett spectacle. I mean, I didn’t even kiss Truett. It wasn’t like that. If anything, I choose Orien. But now I can’t tell him that.”

  I heard him clear his throat. “Well, why’s that?”

  “He won’t answer his phone.”

  “Well, Norah. Everything will work out. Don’t you worry. I’m glad to hear that you didn’t try to do anything and, uh, keep the faith. Well, I have to go and make a few other phone calls for the day. If you need me, you know where to find me. Goodbye.”

  I dazedly put down the phone.

  Chloe said, “Wow, you gave your therapist an earful! Maybe I should go into therapy. I’d like to tell my deepest, darkest feelings. Yet I’d be afraid someone would tell someone.”

  “Well, they can’t,” I informed her.

  “But they could!”

  “Well, for now, you have me. But I’d be curious to be your therapist. I’m sure you have the greatest stories to tell,” I said, knowing her grand, private background.

  Her eyes danced. “The wildest. Maybe I’ll write a tell-all memoir, huh?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Later that night, I sat at an upscale restaurant with Chris and Tim. As soon as Chris saw my arm, worry, and concern plastered his face.

  “Norah, honey. Please tell me that what I’m seeing in the press is mere fabrication.”

  “Yes, and before you answer,” his friend, Tim, cut in, “I must let you know, you are much more beautiful in person. I absolutely love that color on you. Works perfect for your skin.”

  “Yes, it’s false. And thanks for the compliment,” I said half-heartedly, ready to move on with business. I didn’t even want to thank him to begin with because, was that really a compliment? It was like saying, “Oh, you look horrendous in photos, but actually okay in person.” Oh, well.

  “Truth is, I fell from a horse. Of all things. Anyway, let’s talk about business, shall we?” I urged.

  “I find that discussing one’s personal life is just so much more interesting! So tell me, is he a good kisser, honey?” Tim asked.

  Oh, puh-lease! Seriously?

  “Would you excuse me, please?” I asked.

  I saw Chris rebuke his friend who said, “What?” innocently and shrugged, as I got up from the table to go to the ladies room.

  After five minutes powdering my nose in the ladies room and keeping myself from crying, I rejoin
ed them. “Well, would you like to see what I’ve been working on?”

  I took off the cover of my garment bag. Chris sorted through the five pieces.

  “Well, this is just so hot,” Chris said.

  “I like it,” Tim agreed.

  Yes. Score. I pictured the fabulous magazine spread where I would be wearing fur, probably, sitting on an oversized suede chair in my creating room with the perfect view of the ocean in the background, and-

  “But, you know, Norah, what’s in right now is silk, not chiffon,” Tim continued.

  “Yes, I know, but this is a class-“

  “And the color, where’s the hot coral? That’s so hot right now.”

  “Right. Well, as I was saying, I was going for more of a classic-“

  “Norah, these are fabulous, but I want to see what’s hot right now.”

  This is hot right now! Let me explain!

  Defeated, I sat there, thinking about Orien, thinking about my wrist, thinking about the press, thinking about Coco and the ladies of leisure. Then I couldn’t control my tears from exploding. Right then and there in the middle of the restaurant, I started sobbing and got the hiccups.

  And for once, I didn’t apologize. No, I just continued crying and hiccupping, while the other guests looked at me with concern mixed with utter horror. My head rested in my hands as my earthquake-like convulsions continued.

  Chris said, “Look what you did, Tim. You made the poor girl cry!”

  “Oh, she’s not crying. She’s wailing.” Tim immediately kicked into effeminate gear 100%. “Oh, dear. Please don’t cry. I think you’re a gifted designer, really. Don’t take what I said to heart. I’m the owner of a magazine. We’re always thinking fashion forward. But if you’re going to make it in this industry, you can’t be so sensitive.” He played with his straw and stirred it around, making the ice clink and clang against the glass.

  I looked up and stared at his water glass.

  I’m not! my insides screamed. I’m making my way back to earth from emotional hell.

  He shot a look at Chris, as if to say, “I thought you said she was the next big thing.”

  “Thanks, Tim. Would you excuse us for a moment?”