All the Forbidden Things

by Jones, Lesley

  “But I can’t stay here!” she screams at me.

  “Why?” My voice sounding unnaturally quiet and calm after her outburst.

  “I don’t have any money. I can’t afford to stay here!”

  The door opens, and the nurse from earlier comes through it.

  “Get out,” I order. “She’s fine, I’m not touching her. My wife just tends to get a little melodramatic.”

  “You okay, Ms Federov?”

  “Yes, go,” Whitney tells her without looking up.

  “Where’s all your money gone, Whit? Your assets were listed as more than five-million sterling in the prenup, where’s it all gone?”

  I know where it’s all gone. Up Gardener’s nose.

  “I loaned it to Alix. Jerry says he can pay some of it back, but not all of it. If I go back to LA, my parents can help me out, and I’ve more chance of getting work over there. Plus, the press will never leave me alone here.”

  “So go, fuck off. I don’t care what you do, but you’re not taking Layla.”

  “The press will crucify me if I abandon my daughter.”

  She’s right, they will, and something that hadn’t even occurred to me until this moment is that they’ll also crucify me if I divorce my wife while she’s still paralysed after a fatal car accident.

  Fuck.

  I need to discuss how to handle this with Lennon and Aaron.

  I study my wife as I contemplate my options. The ice in her pale green stare should flay me, but it has zero impact. So, I match her sneer with one of my own and watch as, slowly, her chin lifts, her eyes close and she lets out a long slow breath. When she opens them, something like resolve creeps across her face.

  “Please don’t take her away from me, Max. I know you’re angry right now, but please think about it. She’s all I have left. I want to be a part of her life, and I can’t do that if I go back to the States.”

  I think back to how I felt when I contemplated Layla might not be mine, how just the thought of losing her stole my breath.

  “I’ve spoken to Deana, we’ve talked about sharing a place. She’s a physical therapist, so she can help with my recovery, and she can help with Layla when I go to castings. I thought that—”

  “No!”

  “No what?”

  “No, it’s not happening.”

  “Max, I need to go back home. I can’t stay here.”

  “Tough fucking shit.”

  “I have nowhere to go, no money for a hotel or apartment. Where am I supposed to live?”

  “Honestly? I don’t give a fuck, but the press will. I’ll have the formal dining room turned into a bedroom while you recover and get yourself together. That should give Jerry time to count his millions and work out what he can spare you. I’m sure there’ll be an insurance payout of some kind. Plus, you’ve been injured, so you’ll be entitled to make a claim against someone, or however these things work. Our life insurance includes critical illness and all that kind of thing. I’ll get Aaron to look into it.”

  I have no idea if that’s true, but I’m done talking to her. Done arguing. Done letting all of this consume me.

  Aaron will probably throttle me for making this offer, but I’m not entirely sure what else to do. Yeah, I could walk away, but then what do I tell Layla when she grows up? What sort of role model would that make me?

  I’m fighting not to let Whitney’s infidelity turn me into a bitter, vindictive person. I want to be the best version of myself for my daughter. Holding on to pettiness and grudges won’t do that.

  Max

  I chug on the bottle of water I helped myself to after arriving at my meeting with the head of our management agency and record label earlier.

  “Probably not your wisest move,” Lennon tells me.

  It’s something I already know, so I shrug. “She’s got me by the bollocks. I’ll file for divorce as soon as the marriage is a year old. She’ll be served with the custody order as soon as she’s out of the hospital. If I could, I would’ve already done it, but”—I shrug again—“how’s that gonna look to the public?”

  Lennon rolls the pen he’s holding between the thumb and index finger of his right hand as he studies me. “For fuck's sake. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  I raise my brows and shake my head in mock disappointment. “I thought I paid you to think of everything?”

  Lennon is like no other agent in the industry. Like no other anybody in the industry, really. He’s not fake or self-serving. He knows the business inside out, and despite some of the shit I’ve pulled in the past, he’s always covered my arse.

  Since managing his brother Marley’s band, Carnage, Lennon has expanded his empire to incorporate the agency and the label. He knows the business from every angle, and what he doesn’t know, Marley, now his business partner, does. They have a great set up, are prolific in the industry for their professionalism, and are just genuinely good people.

  “What are the chances of her going public with a sob story once you serve her?”

  I scratch at my chin. The stubble from last week is now a full-on beard. Whitney hated beards. That pettiness I wasn’t going to allow to creep into my life? Yeah, the beard was a big fuck you to her and to that, but, oh well.

  “I honestly don’t know, Len. I could threaten to withdraw my offer of letting her remain living at my house if she does, but she might get offered millions to sell her story.”

  “Has she got anything on you?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know? Sex tapes, drug taking, abuse? Anything you don’t want out there?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How desperate is she? How likely is she to make shit up?”

  My stomach does a couple of backflips as I blow out a breath. This is my biggest fear. “A week ago, I would’ve said absolutely no way would she do something like that. Now, though? I honestly have no fucking clue.”

  I finish the water left in my bottle. I’m not thirsty, I just need something to do.

  “Right, I’m not gonna bullshit, our biggest problem is your past reputation. Yeah, you’ve behaved the last couple of years, but if she spouts off and comes out with a load of crap, no one will remember that because it hasn’t made the headlines. They’ll only remember the stories that did. The bar and nightclub fights, the hotel rooms that were smashed up. The women, especially the mother and daughter debacle. All of that.”

  “But half of what got reported back then wasn’t even true.”

  “You really think anyone cares about that?” His sharp brown eyes study me.

  I crush my now empty, plastic, water bottle.

  “We’re prototyping a pair of trainers made by recycling those.” He gestures to the now compressed plastic.

  “I know, I donated five-hundred-thousand quid to the charity that’s funding the research.”

  He nods. “We need to make a press release about the progress and ensure your name gets mentioned.”

  We’re both silent for a few seconds. “Look, the last thing I want is for you to go public with anything that might influence the courts when it comes to granting you custody of your daughter. If you publicly call her out, tell the world she was cheating and was in that car with Gardener because she’d left you for him, she could play the victim and retaliate by making up a load of nonsense that might not be true but will be up to you to disprove.”

  I stand and walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows and take in the view of Canary Wharf and London’s bustling Docklands.

  “Taking all of that into account, inviting her to stay at yours while she recovers might actually be a genius move on your part.”

  I turn and look at him over my shoulder. “How so?”

  “What you could put out is that you and Whitney were separated at the time of the accident, but that you’d invited her to move back into the marital home while she recuperates and you attempt to salvage your marriage.”

  Lennon stands, moves around his desk, and paces in fr
ont of it. “This could actually work. We can portray you as the forgiving husband, then when you do finally kick her arse into touch, we can just put it out there that you’d tried, but the differences were irreconcilable.”

  Just the thought of divorce makes me wanna throw up. One of the main reasons I’d stayed single so long was because it was my biggest fear. Divorce equals failure. Especially if there are kids involved.

  But after being in her company this morning, aside from the anger which appeared from nowhere, there’s nothing, I feel nothing for Whitney, and I know I’m doing the right thing.

  “I’m gonna set up a meeting with you, me, and Aaron,” Lennon says, interrupting my thoughts. “I might even bring Jimmie in on it—”

  “Why Jimmie?” I ask, unsure of what Len’s wife can do to help.

  “Because she’s a fan. She’s up on all the gossip, her and my girls know things about my artists even before I do. She’ll give us a different perspective on how this might go down with the press, the public, but, mostly, your fans.”

  “How’s Paige?”

  Talk about his wife and kids reminds me that the last time we spoke, he was having some problems with his eldest daughter. She’s a well-known model in her own right, but coming from a family considered rock royalty in this country, the press and public felt doubly invested in every detail of her life, and she wasn’t handling it well.

  “Still keeping up with her attempts to be the death of me,” he responds.

  “You’ve got two girls, right?”

  “Yep. Two girls, two boys.”

  “How are the others doing?”

  “They’re good. Jimmy, my eldest boy, is working for me. He’s over in New York on a scouting trip right now, and Ziggy’s at uni studying business management and commerce, he wants to work here eventually but not in a music capacity. He’s all about numbers, strategies, and marketing. And Harley’s enrolled at St Martin's, studying some fashion design course I’m not sure the exact title of, but she’s also working part-time for my sister's clothing label.”

  “Quite the empire you’ve got going.”

  He slides his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, stares out the window, and smiles. The pride lighting up his face is palpable, and I’m hit with a wave of jealousy. I want what he’s got, that look of contentment. He’s been married forever, so what the fuck is wrong with me? I waited till I was in my thirties and still haven’t been able to make it work.

  “Yeah, they’re all finding their way.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s interesting, that’s for sure. We’ve tried to shield them from the shittier side of life in the limelight, tried not to allow them to become spoiled or pretentious, to be good humans. But it’s hard, I won’t lie. It’s hard, and it’s fucking scary.”

  “I’m terrified.”

  He turns and looks at me from where we’re both standing at the wall of glass, a soft smile on his lips. “Just enjoy her for now. It all goes by so quickly. Just enjoy every moment and deal with the shit if or when it happens.”

  We’re both quiet again for a moment, Lennon, no doubt reminiscing about his own kids growing up, and me thinking that I want Layla to grow up with siblings and wondering how that’s ever gonna happen considering my track record with relationships.

  “Have you thought about how having sole custody will affect your career? Recording, touring?”

  I let out a short sharp breath, feeling like I’ve been kicked in the chest. Because no, I hadn’t. I’ve thought about a million different things a day over this last week, but not once have I considered the impact being a full-time dad might have on my work.

  “Cal and Jay both have kids,” is my only response.

  “They also have wives.”

  “They’ve joined us on tours though. Mel, Marnie, and the kids.”

  “But Mel and Marnie have looked after the kids while you rehearsed and played. They met up with you at hotels, they rarely travelled on the tour bus after the kids arrived.”

  My hand nervously moves from my hair to my beard, unsure of what to do with itself as I walk over to the tan leather sofa that sits against the back wall of Lennon's office, and like a petulant child, I throw myself down onto it. “So, what? Are you suggesting that I don’t go for full custody? Because quitting the band isn’t what I want, but I’ll do it. If I have to choose Layla over the band, then that’s what I’ll fucking do, Len.”

  I watch him with narrowed eyes as he moves away from the window to the front of his desk and leans his arse against it. Crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms across his chest, he tilts his head and looks at me.

  “No. Calm down and stop chucking your toys out the pram. That’s not what I’m suggesting, not at all. But you do need to think about this. It’s October now, you’re due back in the studio in February. Enjoy this time with Layla, deal with all the shit you’ve got going on, but at the same time, build a support network. Surround yourselves with good people who’ll be willing to step up and help you out at the drop of a hat.”

  I take a moment to calm myself down then ask, “How the fuck did you do it?”

  “Like I said, it’s fucking hard. Relationships are hard, marriage is harder. Factor in the pressures of parenthood, life on the road, long periods in the studio. Everything you do being scrutinised by the press and the public just adds to the pressure, but I had Jimmie. I was surrounded by family, we made it work.”

  I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling like I might find some answers there. Blowing out a breath, I gather my thoughts enough to express how I’m feeling. “This isn’t the life I had planned for my daughter. It’s not what I want for her.” I meet his eyes again as he watches me talk. “Am I being selfish? Bloody-minded? Should I just try and work things out with Whit for the sake—”

  “No!” Len holds out his hand, gesturing for me to stop talking. “Do not stay with Whit for the sake of your daughter. Your relationship will become toxic, and it’ll affect Layla a lot worse than having parents who divorce amicably.”

  “Fuck me, you’ve got an answer for everything,” I joke. Kinda. I’m also in awe of this man and his take on things. When I grow up, I wanna be just like Lennon Layton.

  “It’s what you pay me for.”

  I shake my head. “Seriously, man, it’s not. I couldn’t afford the advice you’ve given me today, it’s been priceless.”

  “You’re a good bloke, Max. I’m sorry it’s come to this between you and Whitney. But it has, and we’re here to help you through. Carnage was built by a family on the values instilled in us as we were growing up. We try to run the business the same way. Anyone who works under our wing, in whatever capacity, is part of our family and gets treated accordingly.”

  “If I were gay, I’d have a massive crush on you right now.”

  “And I’d be flattered.”

  We both laugh.

  “Go home, be with your daughter, but start looking around for a nanny or some kind of permanent help. Get to know them now while you’ve got the time. You may get through a few before you find the right fit, but when you do, you’ll be able to create some stability for you and Layla and have the peace of mind of knowing she’s with someone you can totally trust when you’re not around.”

  I once saw an awful clip on Facebook of a baby being smacked by a nanny, secretly filmed on the home security camera, and the thought of that happening to Layla leaves me feeling sick to my stomach and totally overwhelmed by what lies ahead for us. But I shake hands with Lennon, exchange manly backslaps, and part on a promise to get together with Aaron and Jimmie soon.

  The world needs more decent humans like Lennon Layton, and right now, I’m exceedingly grateful to have him on my side.

  Billie

  I kiss Amelia’s head through her mop of soft blonde curls and turn to leave her bedroom just as the gate-alarm sounds to alert me someone is coming through them.

  Michael and Carmen have only been gone
a couple of hours, so I’m not expecting them home anytime soon . . . but, considering the volatility of their relationship lately, who knows what might have transpired between the two of them in that time.

  I hear the crunch of gravel on the driveway and head towards Oliver's bedroom at the front of the house so I can take a look out of the window. I spot Michael’s Mercedes in front of the house, the driver’s door still open.

  “Now what?” I whisper as I exit the room, making sure to close the door behind me.

  I’ve been working as a live-in nanny for the Bosworth's for a little over two years. Their children, Oliver, who’s eight, and Amelia, who is three, are great kids. Their parents, not so much.

  The first few months I worked here, their relationship appeared okay but then things deteriorated rapidly. The shouting, screaming, and smashing of things is a common occurrence, and if it weren’t for the kids, I’d have left months ago. They don’t hold back on the venom they spit at each other when the children are around. All of the “I hate you’s” and the “fuck off and die’s” are taken in by little ears.

  I’ve had to load them into the car and escape with them on more spur-of-the-moment trips to the mall, cinema, park, or zoo than most kids get in a lifetime, purely so they don’t have to witness the vicious demise of their parent's marriage. No child should have to witness their parents ripping the shit out of each other, especially these two. And when alcohol is involved, things escalate to a whole different level between them. The arguments become violent, and the hate and vitriol they spew at each other is shocking. I wish they’d just divorce, separate, or at least seek counselling, but there’s a lot of money involved, so the first two options will likely never happen.

  Michael is some top-dog Hollywood producer, and Carmen is a former Mexican television star. They’ve been married for around ten years, this being Michael’s third go around, which is probably why he’d rather live in Hell than divide his assets again. So, he’s been staying later and later at the “office,” and staggering about the place absolutely smashed whenever he is home.