I jump, caught skulking between the column and a massive potted plant. “MiShaun,” I gasp. “God.”
“Who are we hiding from?” She peers around the immediate area.
“My stepmother. She and my father just got here, they haven’t even seen me yet, and she’s already bitched out the desk clerk and the concierge. They’ll be here all week. They’re going to be interacting with everyone.” I close my eyes. “Oh. My. God.”
MiShaun takes my arm and leads me to the elevator. “Emma, let me share a liberating truth concerning our relationships with our parents, especially as we become adults.” She pushes the fourth floor button and the doors shut us in. “The people who know and love us will not hold our parents, or their crazy-ass behavior, against us.”
“But what about everyone else, all the people who don’t know and love me?”
“Screw everyone else.”
***
Chloe and my father have been invited to dinner by Adam Richter. This event would be doomed enough in itself, but a few of the cast members are going as well. I’m considering excuses (sore throat, seizure, untimely death?) when the concierge calls to say the taxi is here; an impending sense of disaster follows me down to their room. Chloe answers the door wearing a black dress and black patent stilettos; the dress is shorter and tighter than ideal, but for my stepmother, it’s practically demure. Just as I release the pent-up breath I’ve been holding since I got off of the elevator, her eyes sweep over me. “Emma, when are you going to start wearing adult clothing? Stylish jewelry might be an improvement, too.”
My outfit: aqua tank and gauzy skirt with a fluid watercolor pattern in various shades of aqua. I’m wearing small silver hoops in my ears and my mother’s ring on my right hand—a single princess-cut diamond, channel set into a solid platinum band.
Chloe sighs, refreshing her dark lipstick in the mirror. “And another thing.” She blots her lips with a tissue. “Some makeup wouldn’t hurt, either.”
My father exits the bathroom, knotting a tie. “I think I look beautiful just as I am,” he says, hugging one arm around my shoulders, oblivious to her attack on me, as usual.
“Oh, Connor.” She pushes him playfully in the chest.
Screw everyone else, screw everyone else, screw everyone else.
Chapter 17
REID
I arrive at the restaurant with Richter and one of the production assistants. “Reservation for Richter, party of eight,” she tells the maître d, whose eyes widen when he sees me. Waiters scramble to get our table ready as Graham and Brooke come in, followed by Emma and her parents. Her mom is hot.
At a circular table, Emma takes the seat between her dad and Laura, the PA, and I sit next to Brooke. Graham is on her other side, of course, and she leans pointedly away from me and towards him.
“Hi, I’m Chloe, Emma’s stepmother.” She drops into the seat next to me.
“And I’m Reid, her costar. Nice to meet you.” I extend a hand and she giggles. I shake her dad’s hand as well, smile at Emma.
“Emma,” the PA says. “Ready for tomorrow?”
“Yep, all set.” Her smile is nervous, and I wonder why until half an hour later when Chloe is on her third glass of wine, talking to me. My mother would say Chloe is not familiar with using her inside voice. Or any discretion whatsoever.
She rests her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the table, and leans close. “So what’s the wildest thing a woman has ever asked you to autograph?” With her free hand, she’s playing with her distractively flashy earring, after which she rests her hand on my forearm a beat or so too long—classic flirt mode. She couldn’t be more Emma-opposite.
I lean closer. “Well, I once had a beautiful woman ask me to sign her panties.”
“You’re kidding me!” Chloe’s laugh is loud and a little high-pitched, and when I glance at Emma, she looks ready to bolt. Her pulse quickens at her throat and her wide eyes flick to Richter, Laura, Brooke.
And then Graham. I register the fact of eye contact between them, though I can’t see his face from this angle. She inhales slowly. Her expression becomes more composed.
Hmm.
Richter asks her a question about her last movie, some holiday made-for-television crap about a deaf woman whose hearing daughter teaches her to play the violin. Chloe’s conversation with me, meanwhile, gets raunchier by the minute (“Was she wearing them at the time?”), and Emma’s doing everything she can to ignore it. If it was anyone else, I’d be amused at the way she’s letting this get to her. As it is, I find myself wanting to shield her, but I have no idea what to do. The concept of using a personal filter in public escapes this woman.
Brooke eyes Chloe briefly, then leans to Graham and whispers something. Straightening, she laughs. “Don’t you think so?”
Without replying, Graham refills her wine glass and then Emma’s, whose hand is clenching a fork as though she’s considering its effectiveness as a weapon. Or a suicidal device. Her eyes connect with Graham’s for a split second and she calms visibly, again.
I don’t like this at all.
*** *** ***
Emma
This evening is a nightmare. When I look at my father, he seems tolerant of his wife’s behavior rather than mortified. I’ve never understood their relationship, and I guess I never will. Towards the end of the meal, Chloe bats her lashes at Reid, loud and effusive over something he’s just said. His expression is veiled, but not enough for me to miss the fact that he’s regarding Chloe the way a scientist would examine a strange new species. Oh God.