A PORTRAIT OF OLIVIA (18 page)

What is it about controversial shit that brings ’em out of the woodwork? I wish I had a dozen more like them with horror stories to tell. Jesus…we should do a follow-up with more kids from dysfunctional families…kids raised by drug-gies and the like. What d’ya think?”

“A follow-up might be a good idea,” Brenda said, putting one of the reviews aside. “But I think the shock value was so great because Emily and Anthony both came from a supposedly decent and respectable family. People kind of expect drunks and drug-addicts to abuse their kids. What made that story so astounding was the wall of respectability that surrounded the family. The father, a successful and well-known businessman and the mother involved in social and charitable affairs. And it didn’t hurt a bit that both those kids looked great on camera.”

“Yeah, that’s true…” Olivia paused, fixing Brenda with a calculating look.

“Wait…the mother…”

“What are thinking?”

“What if we got
her
story?” She stood and walked around the dressing room while Brenda gaped at her.

“Are you kidding?’ she gasped. “You think for one moment she’d even entertain such an idea, after the way she was portrayed on your last show? The woman has got to hate your guts.”

“But I’ll give her a shot at vindicating herself,” Olivia replied with a self-satisfied smirk. “I’ll offer her the chance to answer the criticism and make up with her son and daughter. Think of it, Brenda. The reconciliation, the forgiveness, the tears…it’ll be even better than the last one…”

“No Olivia,” Brenda interrupted. “It has the smell of disaster all over it…”

She stopped and sighed. “What am I saying? The woman will never agree to appear on the show anyway. She doesn’t strike me as being the sort who wants millions of viewers to witness any part of her personal life.”

“You just might be wrong there, Brenda. Let’s send out feelers anyway. Find out where the old bat lives and send the usual letter of invitation to appear on the show. Make it sympathetic—make her think we feel her pain. She just might fall for it. Better still—why don’t you call her personally? She just might go for the personal approach.”

“Okay,” Brenda said. “I’ll get right on it—but don’t be surprised if she turns you down flat.”

J.P. Bowie

112

Justin paused as he walked into the kitchen, glad to be home after a tough day at work. Usually, he loved his position at Walker Entertainment, dealing with the many celebrities the agency represented, but today he’d had to deal with a new star’s over-inflated ego, and it had left him drained and disappointed. Still, as he now gazed at the young man he had fallen in love with three years before, he felt his heart lift.

He and Anthony had met in Los Angeles, shortly before Anthony had been almost raped by a madman who had broken into his house and held him, tied to a bed, for hours. Justin had relived that tortuous day many times over in his mind. If it had not been for Peter and Jeff alerting him to the danger Anthony faced, they might never have had the life together they now shared.

“Rough day?” Anthony asked him as he stepped into his arms and held him tightly.

“Yeah, just a tad. How about you?”

“So-so…” He kissed Justin’s ear. “Better now you’re home.”

Justin held him close. He knew Anthony was still depressed about the situation with his mother. Even the mostly positive reviews and letters concerning his appearance on Olivia’s show had not removed the deep sorrow he felt because of the strained relationship he now had with her. Strained? Justin thought. Not even the right word—non-existent was more like it. For Patricia refused to speak to her son when he tried to call her and did not return any of his messages. She had obviously chosen cold and contemptuous silence with which to punish him. He sighed and tightened his arms around his lover, kissing him gently on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Anthony trembled in his arms. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Justin. I’m sorry for being such a…such a drudge. I know this has got to be such a downer for you…me, moping around like this all the time…”

“Hush,” Justin said, putting a finger lightly on Anthony’s lips. “You are not being a drudge—whatever that is. You are being a loving son.” He did not add what he was thinking, that Patricia did not deserve her son’s love and if he, Justin, would ever come face-to-face with the woman, he would tell her just that.

So many times he had wanted to confront her and demand that she listen to him while he told her exactly what he thought of her and how he detested her for the suffering she had inflicted on her family. But he knew that would solve
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nothing and would, in fact, only make matters worse—if that were possible. It hurt him to see Anthony so sad and depressed. He was such a beautiful man, so warm and compassionate, so ready to forgive her for all her coldness and un-motherly behavior.

“How was school?” he asked, releasing Anthony and walking to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and held one up for Anthony who nodded and took the proffered bottle.

“Pretty good,” Anthony replied. He had been attending law-school for the past two years, encouraged by his cousin Gloria’s husband, Johnny. “I have a ton of text to study over the weekend though. Looks like I’ll be the proverbial dull boy.”

Justin grinned at him. “You’ll never be a dull boy.”

“Glad you think so.” He looked at Justin and managed a small smile. “You are the best, Justin.”

“Well, I’m glad we have a mutual admiration society going here,” Justin chuckled. “Now look,” he added, growing serious; “I know this situation with your mother has you all stressed out, but you mustn’t lose sight of what is important to you. You need to be concentrating on your studies and not worrying about what she might be up to next. Whatever it is, it can’t really harm us—not the way we feel for each other, I mean. She is not going to destroy what we have, no matter how hard she tries. If she would only see that she’s the real loser here—not you. You’re surrounded by people who love you, Anthony, and if those letters from Olivia’s viewers are anything to go by, Patricia has got to eventually realize she is in the wrong. She’ll come around one day—I know she will.” He had to admit to himself that he didn’t really know anything of the kind, but he wasn’t about to let Anthony hear any doubt in his voice. He took Anthony’s hand in his own. “Try to put it aside, won’t you?” he coaxed.

“I’ll try,” Anthony replied, curling his fingers around Justin’s. “Crazy as it may sound, I sometimes feel I’d like to lock her in a room with your mom and Peter’s. Maybe they’d manage to talk some sense into her. Maybe if she saw just how loving they are, she’d know what she’s been missing all these years.”

“Yes,” Justin sighed. “There’s the problem, in just what you said. She’s never been able to love her children the way she should, has she? Yes, she loved you in her way, but what about Emily and Paula? All those years of allowing that horror to happen…those are not the actions of a loving mother.” He stopped abruptly as he saw the look of anguish on Anthony’s face. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I’m not helping here, am I?”

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Anthony shook his head. “I know it’s hard for you and practically everyone else to understand why she did what she did. I’ve blamed my father for that for years, but recently I’ve come to realize that I’ve been fooling myself believing it was all his fault. He was a monster, yes…but she had free will…she could’ve taken us away from that hell if she’d really wanted to. That’s what I’m trying to deal with now—the fact that she just didn’t care enough.”

“Anthony, please don’t torture yourself with this.” He stood and pulled Anthony into a protective embrace. “Do you know how much I love you—and how much I hate to see you so unhappy? Please, just for tonight at least, try to put this aside…”

Anthony sighed against Justin’s chest and held him close. “Knowing you love me is the greatest feeling in the world…I want us to go on loving each other forever. I don’t want this to ever end.” He looked at Justin as if for further assurance. “Tell me that what is going on won’t make you change your mind about us.”

Justin tightened his arms around him. “Now you’re being silly.” He kissed him tenderly. “I think you need to come upstairs with me and let me show you, in every way I can, just how crazy I am about you.”

Anthony returned his kiss, then murmured against his lips; “I think I’d like that.”

c h a p t e r 1 2

s

The Reverend Jack Fellows was worried—worried that he had gotten himself into a very tricky situation with the Hastings woman. Nor was he certain that he could extricate himself from it without causing his already shaky reputation severe damage. He had cursed himself several times already for being so quick to take the madwoman’s money. He should have thought this through more carefully.

At first, he’d thought she was just another ultra-conservative woman without a sense of humor—a bit on the nutty side but one he could easily handle with his usual charm and dexterity. Now, he realized that the woman was in fact, insane, and liable to lead him into trouble with the police if he continued to do her bidding. He knew he had to tell her he could no longer be associated with her harebrained schemes. He also knew that she was not going to take it well—not well at all—but this latest episode still had him sweating at the mere thought of it. Hiring some out of work actor to intone words of warning onto a tape and then playing it over the phone. My God, if he were ever linked to it, he would be ruined.

No, he must disassociate himself from her immediately! He only had a little time before she’d be knocking at his door again with yet another list of people for him to contact and conscript to her ‘holy cause’. He groaned and put his head in his hands. If she ever found out he had not once contacted any of those people she’d referred to him…But he could not! He knew what their answer would be, and his credibility—what little he had left—would be out the window forever.

“What’s botherin’ you now?” The slurred voice caused him to jerk his head up and glare with dislike at his wife who stood, hands on hips, leering down at

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him through blood-shot eyes. “Somebody shove a plank up your ass?” She cackled at what she regarded as high wit. “You look like hell, hubby-mine.

Must be that Hastings broad is on her way over. Why the hell don’t you just tell her to fuck off?”

“Shut up, Christina,” Fellows growled. He was in no mood for his wife’s mockery. “She’ll be here any minute. I don’t want you anywhere she can see you in this state—got that?”

Christina cackled again. “Oh my, my, my. She’s really got you by the balls hasn’t she? Not that she’d know what to do with ’em. Ha, ha!”

“Christina, for the love of God, go to your room and stay there till she’s gone…”

“Naw, I think I’ll give the old gal a little treat when she gets here. She and I have never really had a good heart-to-heart, y’know? Do her the world of good to have someone like me listen to her ‘stead of you offering her all that bullshit.

Time she found out the truth ’bout what you’re doin’ with her money…”

“Don’t you
dare
,” Fellows roared.

Christina shrieked with laughter at the sight of her furious husband, his flabby jowls shaking with wrath, his face a mottled red. “You should just see yourself!” she screamed, doubled over with laughter. “Oh my Gawd, what a hoot you are.”

“Get out of here…you…you…
harridan
.” Fellows was practically foaming at the mouth as he screamed at his wife, who enraged him even more by flipping him off before she wobbled from the room, still laughing. Fellows glared at her retreating back, a murderous expression on his face. He had to get rid of her—he just had to.

The chiming of the front door bell brought him back to his senses with a jolt. “Christ help me,” he muttered. “She’s here…”

“I’ll get it!”

He blanched as he heard his wife call out. No! She must not. He lumbered from the room trying to head her off, but he was a microsecond too late.

Christina flung the door open with a drunken flourish and opened her arms expansively.

“Patricia—how great to see you,” she crowed. “Jack and I were just talking about you. Come on in, sweetheart.” She led the startled woman into the hall and smiled brightly at her husband. “Jack, why don’t you take Patricia into the den? Would you like a drinkie, dear? Scotch, Vodka…?”

Patricia’s face stiffened with shock. “I don’t drink,” she snapped. “And I would have thought that in this house, those excesses would not be tolerated.”

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Christina guffawed loudly. “Are you kiddin’? If you lived with this asshole you’d be as big a lush as I am. Ha, ha, ha…”

Patricia turned her shocked expression on Fellows. “Reverend Fellows, I really must…” She stammered to a halt as she saw the look of pure hatred on Fellow’s face.

With an effort that Fellows himself did not know he was capable of, he pulled himself together long enough to say in an almost controlled tone;

“Christina, please go to your room and lie down for a while. You are not yourself.” He turned to Patricia, the oily charm oozing to the surface. “Forgive my wife, dear Mrs. Hastings, she has not been herself of late, I’m afraid. The doctors are quite worried about her…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Christina sneered at her husband. Then, to Patricia’s horror, she reached out and slapped him hard across the face. Patricia staggered back, unable to believe the scene in front of her. Christina fixed her with a malevolent leer. “You poor deluded bitch…You think this moron’s a man of God don’t you? Well, let me tell you somethin’. He’s a thief and a liar is what he is. He’s bilking you like he’s bilked dozens more like you—stupid bitches with more money than sense.”

“Christina, I’m warning you…” Fellows grabbed his wife by the arm to silence her. She swung at him again, but this time he blocked the slap and twisted his wife’s arm behind her back.

“Reverend Fellows, enough of this.” Patricia stared at the couple, appalled.