Authors: Mariah Stewart
He nodded. He knew. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew.
May 2010
Diary ~
I saw Steffie Wyler the other day and the bags under her eyes were deep enough to carry mail. She says she’s already hired three more high school kids to work at Scoop because, well, doesn’t everyone want ice cream on a hot summer day? I’m afraid I committed a bit of a faux pas, however. You see, I saw her dancing with young Wade MacGregor at Beck’s wedding and it looked to my seasoned eye as if they were … well, let’s just say “interested in each other” is the most polite way I can think of to describe it. But when I asked if she knew if he’d be back in St. Dennis anytime soon, she darn near bit my head off with a short and snappy “How would I know?” I suppose if I really wanted to know I could ask Berry what she hears from her nephew
.
Speaking of Berry—I saw one of those tabloid papers in the market that said her grandniece, Dallas, had just wrapped up another movie. Well, I’m delighted to see she’s so successful—I’ve always been fond of the girl. But there’s a bit of scandal brewing, if those rags are to be believed: There were photos of her husband with yet another “mystery” woman! Of course, there have been rumors about him for years—Berry says that she’d put nothing past him
because he is totally without scruples. He and Berry never did get along—she’s seen through him from the very start. I certainly don’t know what Dallas ever saw in the fellow—oh, he’s handsome enough, if you like that Hollywood type, but Berry says he’s all style and no substance. She swears that the day Dallas filed for divorce from that man was the first time Berry had set foot in a church in almost thirty years. Hopefully, she’ll be able to say a final good-riddance-to-bad-rubbish before too much longer
.
You know, you never see pictures of Dallas with other men, or read tawdry stories about her. She’s always had much too much class for such shenanigans
.
Well, they do say opposites attract … though only the good Lord knows why
.
~ Grace ~
P.S. As a newspaper owner myself, I cannot conceive of carrying such rubbish in my paper. Why, the day I’m tempted to print trash in the
St. Dennis Gazette
is the day I hang up my notepad, and you can take that to the bank!
At the precise moment Dallas MacGregor was picking up her son, Cody, from his pricey summer day camp out near Topanga State Park, the home video starring her soon-to-be ex-husband and two of the female production assistants from his latest film had already been uploaded to the Internet. By the time she arrived at her Malibu home—she’d stopped once on the way from the set of her latest movie promo shoot to pick up dinner—the one-thousandth viewing had already been downloaded.
The phone was on overdrive, ringing like mad, when she walked into her kitchen.
“Miss MacGregor, you have many messages. Two from your aunt Beryl.” Elena, her housekeeper, cast a wary glance at Cody and handed her employer a stack of pink slips as the phone continued to ring. “About Mr. Emilio …”
“Would you mind answering that?” Dallas slid the heavy paper bag onto the counter. “And why are you still here? I thought you wanted to leave today by four?”
“Yes, miss, I …” Elena lifted the receiver. “Miss
MacGregor’s … oh, hello, Miss Townsend. Yes, she’s home now, she just arrived. Yes, I gave her the message but … of course, Miss Townsend …”
Elena held the phone out to Dallas.
“It’s your great-aunt,” she whispered.
“I figured that out.” Dallas smiled and took the cordless receiver from Elena. “Hello, Berry. I was just thinking about—”
“Dallas.” Her aunt cut her off sharply. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“Not much.” Dallas paused. “What’s supposed to be going on?”
“That numbskull you were married to.” Berry’s breath came in ragged puffs.
She was obviously in a lather over something. Not unusual, Dallas thought. At eighty-one, it didn’t take much to rile Berry these days.
“What’s he done now?” Dallas began emptying the bag, lining up the contents on the counter.
“Not
what
as much as
who.”
Berry was becoming increasingly agitated.
“Mommy.” Cody tugged at her sleeve. “Why are all those cars out there?”
“Berry, hold on for just a moment, please.” Dallas glanced out the side window where cars were lined up on the other side of the fence that completely encircled the gated property, cars that had not been there five minutes ago when they drove through the gates. It wasn’t unusual for paparazzi to follow her home, but she hadn’t noticed any cars tailing her today. She raised the blinds just a little, and saw more cars were arriving even as she watched.
“I don’t know, Cody. Maybe the studio put out
something about Mommy’s new movie. Maybe we should turn on the television and see.”
“No!” Elena and Berry both shouted at the same time.
“What?” Dallas frowned and turned to her housekeeper, who stood behind Cody. She pointed to the child, then raised her index finger to her lips, their silent code for “not in front of Cody.”
Keeping a curious eye on Elena, Dallas asked, “Berry, why don’t you tell me …?”
“Are you saying you don’t know? Seriously? You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“That idiot ex of yours—”
“Not ex yet, but soon, please God …” Dallas muttered. “And it’s long been established that he’s an idiot, so anything he’s done should be viewed with that in mind.”
“—managed to get himself filmed doing … all sorts of things that you will not want Cody to see …” Berry was almost gasping. “And with more than one person. It was disgusting. Perverted.”
“You mean …” Dallas’s knees went weak and she sat in the chair that Elena wisely pulled out for her.
“Yes. A sex tape. Not one, but
two
young women. I was shocked. Appalled!”
“Wait! You actually
saw
it?”
“Three times!” Dallas could almost see Berry fanning herself. “It was vile, just vile! You know, Dallas, that I never liked that man. I told you when you first brought him home that I—”
“Berry, where did you see this?”
“On my computer. There was a link to a site—”
“Hold on for a moment, Berry.” Dallas put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Elena. “Would you mind cutting up an apple for Cody? Cody, go wash your hands so you can have your snack.”
After her son left the room, Dallas took the phone outside and sat at one of the tables on her shaded patio.
“Dear God, Berry, let me get this straight. Emilio made a sex tape and it was put on the Internet? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, and not just any sex tape. This one had—”
“Wait a minute; they allowed you to download the whole thing?”
“No, no, not all of it, just a little peek. You had to pay to see the whole thing.”
“And you did? You paid to watch …” Dallas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The thought of her elderly aunt watching Emilio and his latest conquests burning up the sheets—and paying for the privilege—was horrifying and crazy funny at the same time. “Wait—did you say
three times?”
“Yes, and it was—”
“Berry, why did you watch it three times?”
“Well,” Berry sniffed. “I had to make sure it was really him.”
The rest of the evening went downhill from there.
Dallas made every attempt to remain calm lest Cody pick up on the fact that she was almost blind with anger at the man she’d been married to for seven years.
Seven years, she repeated to herself. Seven years out of my life, wasted on that reprobate. The only good
thing to come out of those years was Cody—and Dallas had to admit that she would have weathered a lifetime of Emilio’s amorous flings and general foolishness if she’d had to in order to have her son. When she filed for divorce eight months ago, following the latest in his long line of infidelities, Emilio hadn’t even bothered to beg her to reconsider: they’d done that dance so often over the years that even he was tired of it.
She managed to have a normal evening with Cody and ignored the cars that parked beyond the protective fence. They had a nice dinner and watched a video together, then Cody had his bath and Dallas read a bedtime story before she tucked him in and turned off the light.
It wasn’t until she went back downstairs, alone, that she permitted herself to fall apart.
There was no love lost between her and Emilio. She’d long since accepted the fact that he’d married her strictly to further his own career as a director. For a time, she’d remained stubbornly blind, insisting that her husband be signed to direct her movies, and for a time, she’d been equally blind to his affairs. Lately it occurred to her that she well might be the last person in the entire state of California to catch on to the extent of Emilio’s indiscretions.
For the past five years, she and Emilio had battled over the same ground, over and over until Dallas no longer cared who he slept with, as long as it wasn’t her. Looking back now, she realized she should have left him the first time he’d cheated on her, when the tabloids had leaked those photos of Emilio frolicking with a pretty up-and-coming Latina actress on a
sunny, sandy beach in Guatemala when he’d told Dallas he was going to scout some locations for a film he was thinking about making, but it had been so much easier to stay than to leave. There was Cody to consider: Emilio had never wanted the child, but Dallas had hoped—for Cody’s sake—that he’d come around. Besides, Dallas’s schedule had been so hectic for the past three years that she’d barely had time to read the tabloids. She’d had the blessing—or the curse—of having had wonderful roles offered to her, roles that she’d really wanted, so she’d signed on for all of them, and had gone from one set right onto the next, leaving her time for nothing and no one other than her son. It had only been recently that Dallas admitted to herself that perhaps she’d been deliberately overworking herself to avoid having to deal with her home situation.
Well, avoid no more
, she told herself as she dialed her attorney’s number. This time, Emilio had gone too far. When the call went directly to voice mail, Dallas left the message that she wanted her lawyer to do whatever had to be done to speed up the divorce.
“And oh,” she’d added, “we need to talk about that custody arrangement we’d worked out …”
While she waited for the return call, Dallas logged on to the computer in her home office. She searched the Web for what she was looking for. The link to the video appeared almost instantaneously, along with a running tally of how many times the video had been watched—all thirteen thousand, four hundred, and thirty-one viewings. Her stomach churning, she clicked on the link and was asked first to confirm that she was over eighteen, then for her credit card number.
“Great,” she murmured. “For the low, low price of
nineteen ninety-five, I can watch my husband … that is, my soon-to-be ex-husband, perform daring feats with his production assistants.”
The video began abruptly—“What, no music?”—and while the lighting could have been better, there was no question who was the filling in the middle of that fleshy sandwich. As difficult as it was to watch, she forced herself to sit through it, commenting to herself from time to time (“Emilio, Emilio, didn’t anyone ever tell you to always keep your best side to the camera? And, babe, that is decidedly
not
your best side.”).
When the phone rang before it was over, Dallas turned off her computer and answered the call.
“Hey, Dallas, it’s Norma.”
“Thanks for getting back to me right away.” Dallas leaned back in her chair and exhaled. Just hearing her attorney’s always cool and even voice relaxed her.
“I just got in and I was going to call you as soon as I kicked off my shoes.” Norma Bradshaw was not only Dallas’s lawyer, she was also her friend.
“So you heard …”
“Is there anyone in this town who has not? So sorry, Dallas. We knew he was a colossal shithead, but this latest stunt even beats his own personal best.” Before Dallas could respond, Norma said, “So we’re going to want to see if we can move the divorce along a little faster. We’ll file a motion to revise those custody arrangements we’d previously agreed to.”
“You read my mind.”
“I’ll file first thing in the morning. If nothing else, I think we should ask for sole custody for a period of at least six months, given the circumstances, which of
course we’ll spell out for the judge in very specific terms.”
“Would it help to know that that little forty-two-minute production was filmed in his house? The same one Cody and I moved out of just eleven months ago because he refused to leave?”
“Really?” Norma made a “huh” sound. “Are you positive?”
“I picked out that furniture,” Dallas replied. “Along with the carpets and the tile in the bath and the towels that were dropped around the hot tub.”
“That was really stupid on his part. Now you can say you don’t want Emilio to have unsupervised custody because you don’t know who will be in the house or what they’ll be doing. Or who might be filming it.” Norma paused. “How are you doing?”
“On the one hand, I feel devastated. Humiliated. Nauseated. On the other, I feel like calling every reporter who chastised me for being so mean and unforgiving to poor Emilio when our separation was announced and yelling,
‘See? I told you he was a jerk!’
”
“Anyone you want me to call for you?”
“No. I’m not making any statements to anyone. This is strictly a no-comment situation if ever there was one.”
“You know you can always refer people to me.”
“I’ll have Elena start doing that tomorrow. Thanks.”
“How did Cody react?”
“He hasn’t. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“Of course not. Why would I tell him about something like that?”
“Do you really think you can keep him from finding out? Isn’t he in camp this summer?”
“He just turned six. He’s only in kindergarten.” Dallas frowned. “How many of the kids at his camp do you think caught Emilio’s act?”