He swung around to fully face her, his face was tight and his eyes were narrowed. “Why else would you want to do Celebrity Ballroom, Mel? Because of the things it’ll buy you. The exposure it’ll get you. You’re not going to do it for free, are you?”
How dare he make her out to be some money-grubbing twit? Her mind raced through some of their past conversations and it made her visibly shake her head. No. She’d never ever given him the impression money and being in the limelight was all that mattered to her.
Now she was incensed. That he had no inkling of the person she really was stung like nothing ever had. “No, I’m not going to do it for free, but I would, Drew McPhee! Maybe I want to do it because I love to dance. Because I want everyone to love to dance the way I do. Because this could be a dream come true for me. That there’s a paycheck involved is an added bonus.”
His lips thinned into an angry line. “A paycheck that’ll cost you everyone in your life because you want things.”
“What is it with you and your ridiculous notion that anyone who has money or hopes to have money is evil incarnate? Yes, Drew—I like things.” She grated with a harsh rasp. “I like shopping and clothes and shoes. So what? Do they define me? Are they all I aspire to? Didn’t I do a bang-up job of surviving without them? Wasn’t it me eating a chili cheeseburger with you and Nate when it was zero below? Have you heard me whine even once because I couldn’t have whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to? I didn’t even do that when I was married to Stan. Damn you for making me sound like I’m frivolous and money hungry!” she yelled on a wheezing breath. The calm approach she’d hoped to take on this escalated to a new height.
His response was dry and cold as ice, his body language a direct reflection of his bitter view of her. “That’ll all change once the money starts rolling in again. Forgive me for having a bad taste in my mouth about it. Or have you forgotten what it did to me and Nate?”
A red-hot flash of fury shot up her spine. She backed away from him, the top of her head scraping against the ceiling of the tree house.
“Don’t you dare compare me to Sherry, Drew! Do. Not. I’m nothing like her, and I won’t defend possibly taking this job because she did something bad to you. Things don’t ruin a marriage, Drew—people do! Addictions do. You know who needs to suck it up here, Drew? You do! That you would even consider that I’d do something as horrible to you and Nate as Sherry did makes me want to shove my fist down your throat. I love Nate, and I—”
“Love a big paycheck,” he finished for her on an angry snarl, frozen in his place on the bench.
It was as if he’d slapped her in the face.
Her gut clenched in pain, her heart followed suit. So this was what it boiled down to. All this time she’d thought Drew knew she was nothing like the women he so despised, only to find he’d just been lying in wait for her true colors to show once she got her hands on some cold, hard cash. Like he was somebody to pass her impoverished time with until the money train rolled back into the station.
Drew’s voice was like a block of ice when he said, “If you took the job, you’d have to move to L.A. I don’t want a relationship with someone who only lives here part time. I want one that involves helping me raise Nate.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she was determined not to make the same mistakes again. Never. Again. “And I don’t want a relationship that means I have to sacrifice my dreams, big or small, filled with bags of money or not, just so I can prove I’m not like your ex-wife!”
Mel took one last look at Drew—angry, cold, and unmoving—before escaping down the rope ladder and running toward the front of the house.
That’s where her father found her when he arrived for Thanksgiving dinner.
Hiding in the bushes, red-eyed, and freezing.
But pride and self-esteem still intact.
She made a discovery in those bushes, though. Pride hurt like a bitch and self-esteem blew chunks.
Her father reached over and ran his finger down her cheek while the flash of headlights passed them by. “You okay, butternut squash?”
Mel tucked her purse under her arm and gave him a grim smile, her eyes sore from crying. “Well, that I didn’t buy chocolate frosting in bulk must mean I’m better this time than I was the last, right?”
Her dad nodded his head while he drove her toward the airport.
“I suppose so. Sure couldn’t tell from all the cryin’ you did while you were packing, though.”
Yes. She’d cried. Maybe sobbed like a two-year-old was more on target. Yes, Drew’s rejection had been an agonizing splash of cold reality. But at least she knew where he stood. He’d painted her with the same brush Sherry had handed him, and there was no changing his mind.
So, okay. It was done. Mel repeated the word over and over in her head so the pain would ease.
Yet, it clung like some kind of venereal disease.
But it would fade. While she hadn’t fallen in love with Stan the way she had with Drew, she knew it would fade. Oh, God, please let it be sooner rather than later.
“You sure you still wanna do this?”
Leaning her head on the truck’s window, she nodded. “Yes, Dad. I’m sure. Jackie and Frank went to bat for me in a big way. I called Jackie and told her how I felt, but she said maybe I’d change my mind after I heard what the producers had to say. Plus, she said it was a great way to see each other on the studio’s dime. The least I can do is show up. But I’m also still pretty sure I won’t take the job. Being married to Stan gave me a front-row seat to a lifestyle I never really wanted to be a part of. I just don’t think I was meant to be the star I thought I would be back when I was eighteen.”
“You’re still my star, Puddin’ Pop.”
“Well, it’s good to know I’m someone’s star.”
Joe cleared his throat, the rustle of his jacket when he reached for her hand penetrating her ears. “Drew’ll come around, Mel. He’d be stupid not to. I gotta tell you, though. I don’t believe his hang-ups are just about money. Somethin’ just isn’t right about that. Maybe it’s because he’s got a lot on his mind from what Myriam says. Maybe that’s what the trouble is.”
A lot on his mind. So much on his mind he’d labeled her shallow?
No go. It was too damned bad if there was more to his issues with her than the idea she was some cash whore. She wasn’t a mind reader. If he didn’t tell her what the real problem was, if there really was something more to it than what he’d hurled at her, she couldn’t address it.
“I don’t care what he has on his mind. He can’t shoot me down, Dad. I’m not going to let that happen again.”
“When your kid’s involved, you get tunnel vision, kiddo.”
She turned to face her father in the passenger seat, her fingers trembling in his. “Nate? What does this have to do with Nate?”
“Myriam was talkin’ the other day at Ping-Pong Paradise night at the rec center. Said she was worried sick Nate wouldn’t be able to finish out the school year because tuition went up at that fancy joint you both work at. Drew already works for half the kid’s tuition as it is. He’s there on a scholarship ’cause he’s so smart. Myriam said Drew was a stubborn shit. According to her, he’s had a couple of offers to go and work for some pretty big contractors for big money, but he won’t do it ’cause it sacrifices his time with Nate. Bet he sure wishes he’d taken one of those job offers now.”
Her heart pounded. Why hadn’t Drew told her? “Nate might have to leave Westmeyer? Dad, do you have any idea what that’d do to a kid like him? He needs what Westmeyer offers. He’s brilliant. He’d get lost in public school.”
“Then your Drew should rethink his game plan, huh? ’Specially when there’s a perfectly good paying job he could take to do it.”
Anger replaced the emptiness in her heart. “Drew thinks money and all people with money are evil. In his warped mind, Sherry, his ex-wife, drank because of it. He thinks his marriage was ruined by it. I’m sure he thinks money’s responsi
ble for volcanoes blowing and the Titanic sinking, too.”
Joe ran a hand over his face with a slow pass. “In some cases, I guess that’s true, but sometimes it’s just that people are weak. They like a good excuse for their vices.”
“Well, not in my case,” she responded, tears welling in her eyes again. “He was just too much of a Neanderthal to consider I might be different.”
Joe’s lips pursed. “I can’t help but feel like there’s something more to this.”
Mel made a face. “Well, then he should spit it out, shouldn’t he? That’s what adults do. Communicate. Maybe if Stan had communicated his wish to dabble in other women, things would have been different for me in the end. But he didn’t—and look what happened. Stan blindsided me. That’s not happening again. Drew never said a single word about any misgivings where Celebrity Ballroom was concerned. Sure, he didn’t ever bring the subject up, but he definitely didn’t clue me in to the idea that I was some money-hungry, vapid human being because I considered the job either. He should be happy because I’m happy, Dad. What he should have said was, ‘Hey, Mel, great opportunity for you! I know how much you love to dance. How can we make this work with our new relationship? Can we? Do you even want to?’ But he didn’t, Dad. He didn’t.”
And that’s what really hurt most of all. He only thought about how this might affect him.
“Sometimes men just aren’t as good at expressing their feelings, Melli.”
She snorted, slapping her hand on her thigh in exasperation.
“That’s a great excuse and about as old as dirt, Dad. If Drew isn’t new-age enough—man enough—to own whatever the problem is, money or otherwise, too bad.” She gritted her teeth with her last words.
Her father clenched her shoulder with his big hand. “He hurt you.”
Mel clenched her teeth. “Darn right he did, but I can’t give in, Dad. It would be just like doing what I did with Stan. Stan may not have said as much, but he expected me to let him have the spotlight, and I did, for many years. I might not want the kind of spotlight he wanted, but I want one that’s mine. The one where I have control of my life.”
Joe pulled to a stop at the departures terminal and turned to smile at her. “I’m proud of you, Mellow-Yellow. You’ve come a long way.”
Yeah. Long. Big flippin’ deal. “Thanks, Dad.” She threw a fake smile on her face and turned to her father before hopping out of the truck. “So wish me luck, huh?”
Mel gave him one last smile and opened her door, giving him a quick kiss before she hopped out onto the curb.
“You be safe, and call me when you get to Lala Land.”
“I will. You be safe, too.” She hurled her purse over her shoulder and dragged her carry-on bag from the backseat. Mel stood back and waved as her father drove off, keeping a smile on her face for as long as she could manage it until he’d driven out of sight, and only then did a fresh batch of tears arise.
Piss and fuck.
No more tears. As it was, her eyes were puffy and shadowed from lack of sleep. HDTV was not gonna love her, if she kept this up.
Trudging through the airport doors, it occurred to her that she’d come full circle. Mel Cherkasov had left L.A. broke, humiliated, and afraid.
She was returning not as broke, and employed, but more broken-hearted than she’d ever been when she’d been dumped by Stan.
Boo-yah.
She pushed her way through the crowd, trying to locate the security checkpoint when someone crashed into her, knocking her purse from her shoulder and stealing her breath.
“Sorry, lady,” he muttered, but didn’t stop to help her gather the strewn contents of her purse.
Mel made a mad dash for her belongings. God, she needed to organize her handbag. Drew had once joked that she probably could hide an elephant in it.
Drew. Damn you, Drew.
Her hand went to an envelope, and then she remembered her father had left it on the kitchen table for her and she’d never bothered to open it. She’d totally forgotten about it. The return address caught her eye, making her gasp.
Finklemeyer, Westin, and Garrett.
Stan’s attorneys. Why would Stan’s attorneys send her anything?
Hadn’t they taken everything already? Was there something left other than belly-button lint and her dental floss?
Angry, Mel tore open the manila envelope with trembling fingers.
Damn Stan for poking his head out of the sand today of all days, when her heart ached with every painful beat.
Mel yanked the letter out of the envelope, walking toward the lounge area to find a seat. Her legs began to wobble. She rubbed her eyes to be sure she was reading correctly.
No.
But her eyes said yes when she scanned the letter again.
Yes.
She grabbed the arm of the seat, clinging to it to keep from pitching over face-first.
Yes.
Finklemeyer, Westin, and Garrett had been directed to issue her a check in the amount of ten million dollars.
From Stan.
Drew sat on his parent’s front steps, a beer growing warm in his hand. Nate slapped him on the shoulder and nudged him over so he could sit, too.
Drew sighed. The last two days had been hell. He’d gone over and over his conversation with Mel, and just today realized what a total ass he was. “I did a bad, bad thing.”
Nate shrugged, the rustle of his jacket crisp in the silence of the night. “I sort of heard a little. But I promise I went inside as soon as I heard it was a serious convo. Swear.”
Remorse and shame took alternate stabs at him. “I blew it.”
Nate’s nod was as solemn as his blue eyes. “I’ll say. But I have an answer for why you did what you did. It’s a lot like post-traumatic stress disorder, I think.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Mom’s alcoholism traumatized you. It made you suspicious of all women.”
“You think?”
“No, Dad. I know. I read it in Psychology Today.”
“You need to lay off the smart, young man,” Drew teased, bumping his thigh.
“Well, I would, but you need my help too much right now. Wanna hear what I have to say—or are you going to ground me for life for telling you how big you messed up?”
“I’m all about honesty.”
“Swear it?”
“On my life.”
“I have a question, then.”
Drew nodded. “Go.”
“Didn’t you send me to Westmeyer so I’d be challenged by tougher classes, graduate, and eventually attend an Ivy League school?”
He sipped at his piss-warm beer. “That was part of the intent, yep.”
“Why would you want me to go to an Ivy League school, Dad?”
Drew shrugged. “Because you deserve the best education, one that’ll earn you a solid living.”
Nate nodded. “And make me a lot of money…”
“That, too. What’s your point?”
“It’s okay for me to be rich but not Mel? You don’t want me to go someplace like Harvard or Stanford to earn minimum wage, right?”
Drew’s nod was slow and muddled by Nate’s words. “I’d still love you if that’s what you decided to do.”
“But will you love me if I choose to make more money than Bill Gates? Will it make me a bad person if I choose to drive a Lamborghini and not a Honda?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d like to think I’ve taught you to be a good person no matter what your bank account balance says.”
Nate gave him a “duh” look. “So what makes Mel different? You just can’t seem to grasp the concept that just because a woman likes nice things, she can also be a good person. Just because Ms. Cherkasov says she likes an expensive dress, doesn’t mean she’s going to sell her soul to the devil to buy it.”
Drew frowned. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
Nate’s eyebrow cocked in a condescending manner. “Not in your case. You seem to th
ink Ms. Cherkasov would give up everything just to have back what she once had, and she’s never given you any indication to think something like that, has she?”
“No.”
“Exactly, and know what else?”
“There’s more?”
“Yep. You wanna know what it is?”
Drew’s nod was somber. “Full-on honesty.”
“This isn’t about money, Dad. That’s not the real issue at all. This is about you feeling like Ms. Cherkasov’s going to choose her dancing and a career over you. Mom chose her art and then her alcohol over us. You want Mel to love you more than she loves to dance, or at least as much, and you want to make her prove it by not taking that job—which is a little stupid.” Nate winced at the word. “Sorry, but it is.”
Yes. It was. He’d flung ugly words at Mel. Words that implied she was shallow, and he’d known it at the time because admitting he wanted to be as important to her as her passion for dancing was made him feel spineless and worthless.
Looking Nate square in the face, Drew said, “That’s absolutely the truth.” And he was a shithead for not telling her that from the start.
“But did it ever occur to you that she might love to dance, but she loves you, too, and maybe she’d find a way to work things out with you even if she did get the job on the show? Why can’t she want both things and still be a good person? I don’t get why she has to sacrifice one thing for the other. She can still love you in L.A.”
Waltz This Way (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 3) Page 27