Her Turn

by Allison Jones

  I turn and look at him. “That would be great. Will you come with us?” It surprises me that I’ve even asked. I hate being vulnerable.

  “I was already planning on it.” He grins at me. I roll my eyes to hinder the tears that threaten to fall. This man, he threatens my heart, and I can’t allow it because I won’t survive it.

  “I let the producers know that they could ask you about the Richard situation. This is our way of controlling the narrative. Share the story from your point of view. You can say as much or as little as you want, but we need to stay in front of this as much as we can.” He looks at me for a reaction. I simply nod in agreement. As much as I would like to avoid the topic, I can’t allow this situation to take away from all the good that’s happening in my life.

  He continues to hold my hand until we arrive at the studio. I don’t try to analyze it. Alright, you know I am analyzing it. What does this mean? Does he make a habit of holding his clients’ hands? I pop a chocolate in my mouth and close my eyes. Okay, so it’s before breakfast. Don’t judge me.

  We walk into the green room, where I hear a familiar voice.

  “There’s my girl!”

  I squeal and hurl myself at George. “What are you doing here? We just talked last night.” I giggle as we hug.

  “Well, a tall, dark, handsome man called me and invited me to hang with you for the rest of your time here. He felt like you needed a little cheering up. I was actually at the airport when you called. I got in late last night.” Searching my face, he says, “I’m worried about you. And now that I see what you’re wearing, I see this is truly an emergency.” He “tsks” me under his breath.

  I playfully hit him and laugh.

  “Let’s get you glamified.” He claps and then does a little dance complete with jazz hands. Even his ridicule doesn’t bother me because George has a way of helping me escape the dread and uncertainty that fills my gut.

  I smile—it’s a genuine, happy smile because, for once in my life, I realize that I am not alone. This quirky, unconventional group of people have crept their way into my heart. But I am still reserved. People leave. People can’t be trusted. And I have a knack for being a very bad picker. Still, who knows how many appointments George canceled just to be here for me. That is truly an amazing act of friendship.

  George and I chat nonstop while he swirls brushes around my face with an elegance that a ballerina might envy. Finally, he says, “Alright, beautiful. Ready to go wow your fans.”

  I look at myself in the mirror and smile at George. He is a magician.

  “Yep. I am ready to go.” I look over at Jameson. He is staring at me. Smiling. It is such a rare sight. His grin is so beautiful that I find myself staring back. Until the producer screams, “Five minutes!” and I am jarred back into reality. This dark, emotionless man brought George here to comfort me. He keeps chocolate in stock for me. He is kind to Owen.

  I am so screwed.

  Addie

  Candance Williams is the darling of morning television—or at least that’s what she’ll tell you. Tall, blonde, and built like a supermodel, I am wondering if she eats. Her bright green dress accentuates her very perky boobs—the kind of boobs that wave and say hello. She looks at me like an afterthought as she rubs up against Jameson. You know how cats rub against you as a sign of affection (or to mark you as their own)? Well, this is the human equivalent. He’s smiling at her, and I want to hurl. Ugh. The director ushers us to our chairs, calls, “One minute to air!” For the first time, Candance acknowledges my presence. The director points, and we are live.

  “Addie, we’re so excited to have you here!” She smiles at me like we’re besties.

  “Happy to be here, Candance.” I smile. Not my real smile. I save that for people I like.

  “Addie, your book has been such a phenomenon, but I know that some things have developed in your personal life that you want to talk about today. Tell us about the reappearance of your father.” She furrows her brow and puts her hand on my mine. Is this for real?

  “Yes, my father left us shortly after my brother was born. There has been no contact until recently when he showed up at my book launch in Los Angeles.” Short and sweet. Is this over yet?

  “That must have been difficult for you and your brother. Now, your brother Owen is disabled, correct?” She asks me like it’s some sort of death sentence.

  “Owen has Down syndrome, but he doesn’t allow that to define him. He is a vibrant contributor to the community. He holds a job at a local grocery store near our apartment and is involved with the Special Olympics, where he plays basketball and softball,” I say with pride.

  “Oh, that is lovely and so very sweet. Do you think that your father left because of your brother?”

  The question makes me cringe.

  “I don’t know the exact reason, but I do think there might be a correlation.”

  “It’s so nice that you’re still caring for Owen. The burden must be difficult.” Her brows are knitted, and her eyes glisten with fake tears. I really want to punch her.

  “We’re a team, Owen and I. It has always been the two of us, and it’s my honor to be his sister. Caring for him has never been a burden. He is one of my greatest teachers.” I try not to sound like a bitch or incredibly preachy, but I have never been able to control my tone or facial expressions. Oh well.

  “Addie, you are such a courageous woman. I am in awe of how you have taken on the challenge of such responsibility! Thank you for sharing this with us. Now let’s talk about this amazing book you wrote.” I want to revisit her insinuation that caring for Owen is somehow burdensome. that I am courageous for doing so. But instead, I simply focus on her next barrage of questions.

  Jameson

  Let me state for the record that Candance is a bit handsy. I mean, she is an attractive woman, but nothing about her is appealing. I see the glare from Addie. Honestly, it makes me happy that she might be jealous, even if nothing can become of us. Because, well, there is no us.

  While Addie is busy with the interview, I take some time to read the email Grady sent. He included some grainy photos of the woman in question, who is Dorothy. He’s trying to help me put the pieces of this puzzle together.

  My mind wanders. I still feel Addie’s hand in mine. Her warmth. Her vulnerability. I have never been drawn to a woman like I am to her. But it’s a moot point. I can’t blur the lines. Okay… I know—I’ve kind of already done that. It simply can’t happen again.

  I call Richard to arrange dinner. The conversation with her father is short. He agrees to the time, and I provide the address to the restaurant. As I end the call, I see Addie walking off the set and popping a chocolate. I should buy stock in Hershey. Her phone rings, and I know from the look on her face that it isn’t somebody she wants to talk to.

  Addie

  As I walk off of the set, popping a celebratory piece of chocolate, my phone rings. Well, shit—it’s Dorothy. I bite the bullet because if I don’t, she’ll stick around like a bad rash that simply won’t go away.

  “Dorothy.” My tone is flat and heavy with annoyance.

  “Addie! Oh my God, we just saw your interview. This whole situation is crazy, but you’re handling it so well. You know, I had a premonition that someone from your past would come back into your life.” Slow your roll, soothsayer.

  “That’s interesting. Anyway, it’s fine. We’re just taking it one day at a time.” I say this hoping that I might believe it. Plus, I don’t want to lay my cards on the table with her. I don’t trust her. Her agenda isn’t pure, and it has never been. She’s out for herself.

  “Addie, I’m family. You can be honest with me. I can only imagine how difficult this is for you to navigate. I’m happy to come, and support you. Just say the word, and I’ll be there for you.”

  What. Is. Happening? Seriously, I feel like I’m living in a very warped nigh
tmare. You know, the ones you have where you feel like you’re actively trying to wake up to escape the horror? Yep. That’s me. Right now. And how the hell would she fly here if she doesn’t have any funds? Oh right. I would be paying for it.

  “Dorothy, I appreciate you calling. Really, I do. I just have a lot of things happening right now. When I get back to New York, we can do dinner. My treat, of course.” I know the thought of a free meal will distract her.

  “Oh, Addie! I would love that. Can I pick the restaurant? I want to try that new upscale French place in Manhattan. I bet you can get us in since you have celebrity status now. I can’t wait to see you. Seriously, call me if you need to talk. I’m here for you.” Cue the exaggerated slow clap for her Academy Award winning performance. What a tool.

  “Will do, Dorothy. Take care.” I go to end the call, but apparently, I don’t take action quickly enough.

  “Addie, wait a second. Do you know how Richard found you? I mean, all of these years of silence, and then poof, he’s at your launch party? Just wondering if you know how that happened.” My gut clenches, wondering why she’s suddenly on a fishing expedition. The hairs on my neck bristle.

  “I have no idea how he magically appeared after all these years. I imagine it’s the publicity from my book because the timing is oddly coincidental.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this with her, but honestly, it isn’t anything the rest of the universe doesn’t already know.

  “Oh, okay. Just wondering if there’s anyone else involved.” Her line of questioning borders on weird, but I shake it off since it all leads to some sort of conspiracy theory, which makes me feel like I’m in James Bond movie.

  “Dorothy, I’ve got to run. Talk soon.” I hit the end button. Chills run down my spine. I shudder, and when I look up, my eyes meet Jameson’s.

  “I fucking hate my family—except Owen. When they were handing out relatives, I must have gotten the leftovers.” I turn away and pop another chocolate.

  Fuck my life. If it isn’t my father trying to mess with me, it is my cousin’s wife. I liked it better when I was ignored—when my name didn’t register with people, and I lived in a perfect state of anonymity. I feel like I’m in the middle of the perfect storm. Dorothy’s call was a little unnerving. She doesn’t need to know the details about what’s happening. Plus, I don’t trust her. I’m surprised she hasn’t sold my embarrassing photos from their wedding. You know, the one where I tripped and fell into their cake. The face-plant in the chocolate deliciousness, where I may or may not have settled in for a few bites. I figured if my mouth was already there, why not indulge? Damn, that cake was good. Anyway, Dorothy’s photographer got plenty of photos. Deeply rooted in my gut is the feeling that she’s up to something. I should tell Jameson, but I’m probably being paranoid. I’ll just be more guarded with her.

  “What did she say? You seem upset,” Jameson inquires. Concern crosses his face.

  “Oh, the usual. She wants to support me. She even offered to fly here, which means I would be footing the bill, of course. Oh, and she asked if I knew how Richard found me, which I thought was odd. And she acted as if she had a premonition of his reappearance. Did I tell you that she believes she’s psychic?” I’m rambling, but I still notice Jameson’s face transition from a state of concern to an unreadable slate.

  “Hmm, that is an odd line of questioning, but as you’ve always said, she is a little bit crazy.” His demeanor is off, too. I want to question him, but I get distracted by the chocolate goodness he presents me as he talks.

  Dorothy

  She hung up on me. That bitch. I’m only trying to gauge how much she knows. But so far, it seems like I’m in the clear. Everything is falling into place—as long as Richard continues to play his part. He is a little unpredictable, and I’m praying he doesn’t develop a conscience.

  I rehash the conversation he and I had yesterday at a nearby bar.

  “Dorothy, I’m not sure about this. Addie is going to find out one way or another. It’d be cleaner to bribe her directly.” He’s fidgety. Probably withdrawal from the pills he’s been popping.

  “Richard, don’t worry. I have this all planned out, and it will benefit us both. Trust me, you won’t have to worry about supporting your habits once this is all said and done. All the gambling you want, all the drugs you can handle—don’t worry. Now, here’s some cash. Call it an advance. You could use a fix, couldn’t you?” He eyes the money and quickly takes it from me.

  “I’m meeting them for dinner tomorrow night.” He seems eager to proceed with my plan once he realizes that he can feed his addictions.

  “Excellent. Make sure that you play the doting father, Richard. I’ve noticed that you aren’t overly affectionate with your son. You need to remedy that, or this will never work.”

  Matthew’s voice transports me back to the present moment, but I didn’t catch what he said.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I asked why you’re so lost in thought. You seem far away.” His eyes narrow. He knows me well. I won’t share every part of my plan with him; he is a weak link. I can’t allow anyone to get in my way—even my spouse.

  Addie

  We go back to the hotel. I’m doing my best to mentally prepare for this “family” dinner. Honestly, I would prefer to skip it, but this is about Owen, not me. George is coming over to help me dress, but as support for the three-ring circus that is currently my life. I can dress myself. Okay, maybe my fashion choices don’t match his, so yeah… he’ll probably end up dressing me anyway. But whatever. He’s bringing wine. I need a little liquid courage to get through this evening.

  As I wait for him, I scroll social media. I know, I know—Nina wouldn’t be happy. But Nina isn’t here right now. There are a crap ton of tweets about me. Seriously. Me. One Twitter twit, @goddess, keeps referring to the reappearance of my father, how my book is nothing but nonsense and keeps posting photos of Owen meeting Richard. Jameson has been able to control the press, but this “twit” is adding more shit to the current shitshow.

  @goddess:

  Addie Snyder shuns her dad. #diva #nofamilyties #heartless

  @goddess:

  What is up with Addie thinking she’s better than us? #herbooksucks #daddyissues #her15secondsareup

  @goddess:

  Addie is a chocoholic. #fatty #chubby #thescalehatesher

  Well, at least that isn’t a lie. I do like my chocolate. But seriously, this person is mean. Teenage girl mean—and she has over a million followers. What the actual fuck.

  I stalk out into the living room of the suite where Jameson is perusing his emails. His head jerks as I shove my phone in his face.

  “Who the hell is this person?” My face hurts from all of my scowling. He looks at the feed but doesn’t react.

  “I have no idea. The bottom line, Addie, this is par for the course. There are trolls out there, and they will say hateful things. This is all a part of being in the limelight, and you are going to have to develop a thick skin.” His tone is gentle. “And didn’t Nina warn you to stay away from social media? Didn’t she tell you that avoidance, in this situation, is your friend?”

  “This limelight sucks. This twit sucks. This whole situation with my father sucks.” I throw myself on the sofa like an unhappy toddler.

  “For a writer, you might want to expand your vocabulary.” He laughs. I glare and flip him off, stalking back to my room. As I slam my door, I hear him bellowing that I need to be ready by seven. Whatever.

  Jameson

  Something about the @goddess issue has me sure it’s someone who knows Addie. I would love to pin it on her father or perhaps Dorothy, but all I can do is pass this on to Grady.

  As usual, Addie is late. Since George arrived to help her get read
y, all I’ve heard have been giggles and squeals. It’s good to hear her laugh.

  “Addie, let’s go,” I call. She hustles out of her room dressed in form-fitting skinny jeans that hug her just right and a white blouse that provides a peek of skin. Her cheeks are pink from laughing, and her smile is bright. She’s heavily buzzed. I’m sure George doesn’t think I know he smuggled wine into her room.

  “Chill out! Where’s Owen?” She struts toward me with a little swagger in her step. George is laughing, and I’m trying not to smile. So I smirk instead.

  “I sent Owen down with Walter. They’re waiting for us in the car.” I watch her as she gathers her jacket and purse.

  “Well, come on. This dinner is going to suck.” She stalks toward the elevator, and I follow suit. My eyes linger on her ass. I’m not sure there’s enough alcohol to get me through this night.

  Addie

  The hostess, who, by the way, can barely speak as she surveys Jameson’s body, seats us in a cozy corner. It’s probably ideal to keep us tucked away from the general public. I search for the nearest exit, you know, just in case I need to escape. If I were in a different frame of mind, I would have appreciated the restaurant’s aesthetic. The mahogany bar is surrounded by leather stools, industrial lighting adding to the ambiance. It has a subtle retro vibe with its walls lined in vintage photos from the 80s. Owen loves the 80s, and he’s obsessed with music from that era, so this is the perfect place for him.

  It’s just as well we are hidden away since we don’t need to draw attention to what may happen tonight. It seems like a delightful place. Too bad I can’t enjoy it as I zone in on the one person who is messing with my life.

  My father is already seated, nursing his amber drink. Owen bounds over and settles in next to the sperm donor while I take the seat at the farthest end of the table. Where is the fucking waiter? I need a cocktail pronto—my buzz is dissipating. Owen is babbling on about all of the places he’s seen since he arrived. I keep glancing at my watch, which indicates each time that only thirty seconds have passed since I last checked. Jameson keeps looking at me. Occasionally, he prompts Owen about various topics to keep the conversation flowing. I use the word “conversation” loosely because my father isn’t engaging. He fidgets and doesn’t make eye contact—such an asshole. I am jolted into the present moment by a voice calling my name.