Joe answered. “Hey, Gail. I don’t know if Dad wants to
talk—”
“I’m not asking him to speak to me. I just called to tell you
both that I’m going to marry Simon,” she said, and disconnected.
10
S
imon had had every drop of alcohol removed
from his house, including the cooking sherry. He’d canceled all outings and
appearances, lest he be tempted. And he’d agreed to have his chef administer
random Breathalyzer tests every day for the first week, as a fail-safe to keep
him honest. If he screwed up, Ian and Gail would be notified and it would all be
over.
Those were extreme measures, and yet he was beginning to wonder
if they’d be enough. It was only day three of Operation Desperation, as he
secretly referred to it, and already he was having fantasies about gulping down
the rubbing alcohol under his bathroom sink—anything to give him a few moments’
peace from the constant craving. He’d let drinking become such a big part of his
life, had used it to create a buffer from all the things he’d rather avoid. When
he was too bored, he drank. When he was too angry, he drank. When he was too
frustrated or disillusioned, he drank. Alcohol even helped him sleep, if he
consumed enough of it. Now he had to deal with all the emotions he’d purposely
dulled, and he’d never felt more exposed to his enemies, more…
raw.
As he glanced around his son’s old bedroom, he suffered a
tremendous sense of loss. That was what he’d really been hiding from—his own
inadequacies and what they’d cost him.
“Simon? Where the hell are you?”
Hearing his manager in the hallway, Simon stepped up to the
window as if he was interested in what was going on outside. He didn’t want Ian
to know he’d been sitting here for an hour or more, just missing his kid. “In
here.”
The thump of footsteps stopped as Ian came to the open doorway
and leaned against the frame. If he thought it was strange to find Simon in Ty’s
old room, he didn’t say. His eyes swept over the stuffed animals in the hammock,
the portrait of father and son taken a few days after Ty was born, the
alligator-shaped rug on the floor and the extensive bug collection hanging on
the wall, but he said only, “Holy shit, man. You scared me. Why haven’t you been
answering your phone?”
Simon turned back to the spectacle of a woman with a camera
attempting to scale his back fence. “Don’t know where it is.”
“Might be wise to keep track of it for the next couple of
weeks, make yourself accessible to Gail and me, don’t you think?”
No, he didn’t. Keeping his phone close by would also make him
accessible to his other friends, and he wasn’t supposed to see them, didn’t even
want to hear their voices. Although he’d promised himself he’d get control of
his life many times in the past few months, now he had no choice. He had to hold
the line without a single mistake. Gail had been right when she’d said he was on
his last chance. His attorney had called this morning to tell him that Bella’s
side had been successful in convincing the judge to postpone the next hearing.
He no longer saw that as a bad thing, since it gave him a chance to prove he’d
changed. But it was absolutely imperative that the next several months go by
“without incident.”
There won’t be anything I can do,
his lawyer had emphasized,
unless you make this reprieve
work to your benefit....
He got that. He was trying.
“Figured you’d find me if you needed me,” he said.
“You could make it easier. Takes twenty minutes just to go
through this damn house.”
Simon preferred not to talk about why he’d been so hard to
find. He didn’t want Ian to realize he was hanging on by such a slim thread.
Somehow, despite the fact that he’d broken every promise he’d ever made to
himself or anyone else since the real problems with Bella began, he’d managed to
convince Ian and Gail that he could play the part of a sober, doting husband.
Why erode their confidence? Their expectations, their willingness to trust him,
were all that kept him going right now. That was why he’d sent Gail the
necklace. In his better moments, he could acknowledge that his publicist’s life
had been doing just fine until he’d come crashing into it.
He had a habit of bringing people down, whether he intended to
or not. The least he could do was compensate her with a nice gift. “How’s the
campaign coming along?”
Ian rubbed his hands. “Now that the weekend is over, the news
is spreading fast.”
Simon was glad
someone
was excited
about this. He was filled with trepidation and a sense of dread that he’d screw
up again. “Good.”
“You haven’t heard anything?”
“No.” He’d avoided the computer and the TV, had spent his time
in the woodshop, building a playhouse and jungle gym. He liked working with
wood, enjoyed the physicality of sanding, sawing and hammering. And constructing
something so elaborate for Ty helped him have faith that one day his son would
be back to use it.
“Hollywood’s in an uproar,” Ian said. “
Hollywood Secrets Revealed
put the pics online right away. I guess
they didn’t want to get scooped. Then everyone ran with the story. Facebook,
Twitter, celebrity blogs. They’re all buzzing about it.”
Simon had witnessed some added activity outside. He knew that
his security personnel were having more of a fight than usual keeping people off
the premises. “What are they saying about the rape accusation?”
“That it’s bogus, just like we wanted. Have you heard from your
attorney on that yet?”
Yes. Harold J. Coolridge, attorney at law, had used the false
accusation as his excuse for supporting a postponement of the hearing. He’d told
the judge that there were too many issues that needed to be resolved before the
court could make a fair decision, so he agreed with Bella’s motion. But Simon
didn’t want to go into that with his manager. The more intricate details of his
personal life weren’t any of Ian’s business. “No.”
“Then you will, and I’m sure he’ll be relieved.” He gestured at
the window. “What’s so interesting out there?”
“Some chick’s sitting on the fence. She just flashed my
security guys.”
“No kidding?” Ian hurried over to see for himself. “Hey, look
at that.” He whistled long and low. “Nice tits. God, it must be great to be
you.”
Simon rubbed his neck. “This place is crawling with crazy
people and paparazzi.”
Ian didn’t take his eyes off the spectacle unfolding outside.
“It hasn’t been this bad since Bella called the cops on you. How’s security
holding up?”
“They’re managing, I guess. Godzilla—” also known as Lance
Pratt, Simon’s best bodyguard “—had to knock some fat guy on his ass when he
slipped through the front gate along with the delivery truck that brings my
groceries, but…that’s been the worst of it.”
Ian shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to tangle with Godzilla.
He’s a bruiser.”
He was also a loyal friend. Simon knew Lance would get him a
fifth of vodka if he asked for it and not tell a soul, but that wasn’t the kind
of friend he needed at the moment. He needed more people like his hard-hitting
publicist. Maybe she wasn’t a barrel of laughs, or even particularly good for
his ego, but she demanded he follow the rules—more so than anyone else.
“How’s Gail handling the onslaught?” he asked. The paparazzi
had to be all over her; she’d never had to protect her privacy so was therefore
much easier to reach.
“Haven’t talked to her. She’s shut herself in her house like
you have and won’t come out.” Pointing outside, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, they
got her.”
Simon didn’t care about the girl with the camera. He had too
many other things to worry about. Besides, women acted in zany ways to get his
attention all the time. “Will Gail be able to handle the pressure when she does
come out?”
Now that there was nothing exciting going on, Ian turned from
the window. “Of course. She’s tough. You know that.”
Truer words were never spoken. Gail had such control of
herself, her life. Simon envied that. When he’d married Bella, he’d been so sure
he was doing the right thing, so sure he’d do a better job of being a husband
than his father had.
“When does she plan on surfacing?”
Ian clipped his sunglasses to his shirt. “Don’t know. I checked
in with Joshua this morning. He said Gail won’t pick up, even for him. I guess
the news that she was seeing you got her in some kind of fight with her
family.”
Simon felt his muscles tense. “They don’t think I’m good enough
for her?”
“You know how judgmental people can be. Give her father a
Ferrari and everything will be fine.”
Simon didn’t get the impression Gail’s father was that easy to
placate. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions. It’s none of their
business.”
“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want her with someone who has a
reputation for sleeping around.”
Ian’s words cut, but Simon had gotten damn good at pretending
nothing could hurt him. He was actually surprised that something this small
could
bother him. It was the lack of alcohol,
the new vulnerability. He had to figure out how to shield himself some other
way.
“On top of that she’s afraid her phones are bugged,” Ian went
on. “She won’t trust her cell, either. Even Josh insisted on calling me from
somewhere other than the office.” He chuckled. “She’s militant, man. That’s what
makes her so great at her job. I’m being straight up with you. I wouldn’t want
to go into this with anyone else.”
Simon agreed and—suddenly—wanted to see her. His manager meant
well but often did more harm than good. Maybe he could draw some strength from
Gail’s no-nonsense, do-or-die approach to life’s tougher choices. Maybe spending
a few minutes with her would give him a fresh shot of determination. “When are
we supposed to get together for that romantic dinner?”
“The one where we leak your location to the press but pretend
we’re shocked when they show up? We talked about next week sometime, right?”
“Let’s do it tonight.”
Ian straightened. “It’s already after noon. How will I get a
message to her if she won’t answer her phone? I guess I could text, but who
knows if—”
“Go over there.”
“And if the paparazzi follow me?”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s what this
whole thing is about.”
* * *
Simon wasn’t looking his best, but the restaurant was so
dimly lit Gail couldn’t discern any one reason. He was well-groomed,
well-dressed—more so than when she’d sat with him in the living room and plotted
out their marriage. So…maybe it wasn’t his looks that were off; it was something
else. The bravado that was normally such a part of him was gone. The way he kept
shifting, he seemed tired, stressed, restless. She would’ve assumed he was
bored, except that he’d drawn out the meal as long as possible, even though he
had no apparent interest in eating. He’d downed five Cokes while barely touching
the oysters on the half shell he’d ordered or the salmon and Italian sausage
pasta he professed to love. When she asked him why he wasn’t eating, he said he
wasn’t hungry.
“You okay?” This was the second time she’d asked, but she
didn’t dare say more. Not in public. Although a gaggle of people holding cameras
had thronged them at the entrance, the restaurant had done a good job of keeping
out the paparazzi. That didn’t mean she and Simon could forget the roles they
were playing until they had to emerge onto the street, however. The other
patrons and the restaurant staff were watching them carefully and could report
what they saw, especially if there was any money to be made.
To keep up the illusion of intimacy they’d come here to create,
she reached across the table for his hand, and he threaded his fingers through
hers. She’d expected him to be receptive. They were here to canoodle in public.
But she hadn’t expected the little hitch in her chest at his touch, or the
relief that came over his face when they joined hands.
There was more of the lost little boy in him tonight than ever
before. Usually, he hid it quite well; at times, she wasn’t even sure it
existed.
She cleared her throat. “Are you going to answer me?”
His chest rose as if he’d just taken a deep breath, but then a
smile broke across his face. It looked so natural she was tempted to believe it
was—but he was acting. She could already read him more deeply than even a few
days ago. “I’m fine.”
In case someone was using a device that amplified their voices
in an attempt to pick up on their conversation, she didn’t push for more. “My
dinner was delicious. Too bad you weren’t very hungry.”
“How do you like the pendant?”
Although she could tell he hadn’t been too invested in any of
their other chitchat, he seemed genuinely curious about this. The look on his
face gave her the impression that he’d truly meant to please her, which was
something new.
“It’s lovely.” She was wearing it; the solid weight of it
rested just above her cleavage. “But…I’m not sure why you sent such an expensive
gift. That really wasn’t necessary.”
“You’re worth it.”
More acting. Lies, false compliments and fake smiles were easy
to combat on an emotional level. But his touch seemed so honest it confused her.
It also set her on edge because she liked it. The movement of his thumb, rubbing
lightly back and forth on hers, put butterflies in her stomach.
“I knew it would look good on you,” he said.
For the sake of anyone who might be watching, she gave him a
smile to match the one he’d bestowed on her and resisted the urge to withdraw
her hand. “It was very sweet of you.”
“Finished with your meal?”
“I am.” She used the fact that they were about to leave as an
excuse to let go of him. But after he tossed a couple of large bills on the
table, he put an arm around her shoulders, which kept them in close contact. At
first, she thought it was part of the show but his sense of purpose soon told
her he was preparing for the crowd that awaited them outside.