Claire Voyant (29 page)

“Oh. Not good.”

“It's not?” I gulped.

“Drew is an extremely private person, Claire. He's not good with digging deep into the psyche for answers. And don't get me wrong, he's honest and open…but with limitations. His father was just like that, so I know what you're going through. You couldn't pry a button off his shirt with a crowbar.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I can't handle his being angry with me.”

“I know my son. Just give him time to cool off. He'll forgive you.”

“No, he won't. I saw the look in his eyes when he left. I pushed too far, and now he's checked out for good.”

“Well, you certainly don't have to worry about his going back to Marly, if that's what you're so upset about.”

“Yes, he will…she's pregnant.”

“What?”

“Oh my God. Oh shit. What did I just do?”

“She's pregnant? Are you sure?”

“Oh my God. I can't believe I just did that. On top of everything else, I betrayed his trust.”

“Claire, get a grip. He actually told you that Marly was pregnant?”

I nodded.

“Oh for God's sake…I can't believe that little…All this time he's been doting on her and supporting her. And then she goes back to Jonathan anyway and gets pregnant?”

“Wait. How can you assume Drew's not the father? I'm so confused.”

“Claire, stop rambling. It's almost impossible for Drew to be the father.”

“It is?”

“He's got something called varicocele. Lousy sperm production. He's damn near infertile.”

“Infertile?” I stood there with my mouth open. That's what this was about? But how could he be infertile? We bought condoms. He said that after the baby was born, he was going to order a blood test to confirm the identity of the father.

Naturally, I had a million questions. But I was so afraid of repeating my utterly inconsiderate performance from last night, I asked nothing. The last thing I wanted to do was alienate the one person who could explain everything when the time was right.

 

You know how broke I was. Let me refresh your memory. I had a total of $477 in my bank account. Oh, and a few savings bonds from my college graduation hidden somewhere. Maybe add another three, four hundred to the pot. And then my former fiancé, Aaron Darren, had invested a small amount for me in this upstart pharmaceutical company in New Jersey that was going to go public after they got the patent approved for their noninjectable version of Botox.

That was basically it. I was thirty years old, and for all intents and purposes, I had squat. No stock portfolio, no real estate, no life insurance. Not even an IRA. But I did have debts. Yes, sir. Plenty of
those. A car loan, credit card bills up the wazoo, back rent, and a small—well, not so small, a $10,000—loan I borrowed from Sydney's father when I thought I was going to need a down payment on a condo.

But did I return the money when the deal fell through? Of course not. Did I at least use the money to pay off my Visa bills? Are you serious? I blew it on a much-needed vacation to Italy, some new clothes including this red Badgley Mischka gown that would be perfect for the Oscars if, God forbid, I was ever actually there, and finally this exquisite dyed Persian lamb coat from Maximilian that was marked down to an amazing you'll-never-see-a-deal-like-this-again four grand.

Not smart choices for anyone, let alone an accountant's daughter. Someone who grew up with a better-than-average understanding of tax brackets, deductions, maximum contributions, cap gains, and the whole alphabet soup of personal finance. A lot of good it did me.

Until the day I ended up in an attorney's office, listening to a conversation between two estate lawyers, Uncle Ben, and my dad via speaker phone. It was the first time I was sorry that I hadn't paid closer attention to my father's business dealings.

But no matter that I didn't understand the exact details of what they were hashing out, one thing was crystal clear: I was going to walk out of this office a wealthy woman. Not Oprah rich, but I heard figures being bandied about that riveted me to my seat.

Bottom line? A man I had never met, let alone knew existed, had invested money in my name every year of my life. Set up a trust fund, with an honest-to-God trustee, whose job it was to invest and reinvest my assets, so that one day, as compensation for being abandoned, I would have enough money to live comfortably. Very, very comfortably.

You heard me. I, Claire Awful Person Greene, had just inherited a portfolio worth almost two million dollars. Do you have any idea how much money that is? Me, either. But my dad did. And as I listened to his booming voice crackle through the loudspeaker, talking about lump sums, and tax liabilities, and costs basis, and seeing tax
returns of the trust, I had never been happier to have him in my corner. He knew exactly what to say, unlike me, who would have sounded like a blithering idiot.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said to the silver metal box on the desk after the meeting ended.

“My pleasure, dear.”

Was he crying?
Oh God, don't cry,
I thought.
I'll never be able to keep it together.

“This is a wonderful day for you, Claire.” He blew into his hanky. “A wonderful day. I'm so happy for you. You've got your whole life ahead of you and not a care in the world. Now you'll be able to afford whatever you want, travel wherever you want…. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I love you…. I'll call you back in a little while.”

“No, call your mother.”

“Which one?” I teased.

“You only have one, dear.” He laughed. “And she's great, isn't she?”

“The best.”

O
F COURSE
I
WANTED TO CELEBRATE THE SINGLE, MOST EXTRAORDINARY
day of my life. Lunch was on me, but I had no takers. Uncle Ben couldn't have been happier for me, but he was already late for a meeting, so the best he could offer was to drop me at the house and promise a celebration later.

Mondays were Shari's standing (or should I say lying) appointment with Yogi Ron. And from the way it looked the week before, she wasn't going to pass up hot action on her yoga mat just to have shrimp salad with me.

Delia rarely woke up before one. And why give her an excuse to celebrate and get crazy? Not that she needed an excuse. Seventy-five and sunny was good enough for her.

Grams turned me down, too. Seems the jackpot was huge on Bingo Monday, and after that, she didn't want to miss the napkin-folding class.

Viktor was on his way to the airport for a pick-up. Pablo was busy training the new office manager (“Couldn't wait for you forever, darling.”). And I tried Drew's cell three times, but he never answered. Which made me so nauseous, I couldn't even leave a message.

And those were all the people I knew in Miami. So I had been rich for all of an hour, but had already learned that money couldn't buy you love. Or someone to have lunch with. Most of all, it couldn't mend a broken heart. It could only pay for the therapy.

Maybe I was supposed to take this dearth of companionship as a sign that my work was done here. I had come to Miami to help Grams, and that mission was accomplished big time. I had never seen her this happy. As for me, I could use a beach chair and a nice Robert Mondavi Merlot. In a keg.

I wondered if with my newfound wealth I could pay a therapist to join me on the beach, rather than
schlep
to some sterile office, with its requisite three P's: plants, paintings, and pillows. I was very aware that I needed to speak to someone professionally. But in which city? Miami, New York, or L.A.?

It didn't take long to answer my own question. I no longer had a reason to stay here, and the sooner I left, the easier it would be on everyone. Ben and Shari, Delia…Drew. So I headed upstairs to pack my bag and book a flight home.

I thought about crying, as it certainly felt like a good moment to let it all out. No one else was around, and given the emotional importance of the day, a rush of tears would be cleansing. Or at least better timed than my breaking down at the airport.

As I packed the clothes I'd arrived with (Had I really worn those awful gym shorts the day I met Drew? Yes!), I compared them to the designer duds Marly had picked out for me for Abe's funeral (Could I buy Versace whenever I wanted? Yes!), and the casual things Drew and I got at Target (Would
we
ever get to wear our matching T-shirts? No!).

I was just about to zip my suitcase, when I heard the doorbell. I assumed one of the maids would get the door. But when the chime rang again and again, it occurred to me that I was the only one home.

From Drew's window, I had a slight view of the circular driveway, and spotted the familiar white limousine. Of course. Viktor had come over to congratulate me on my hitting the inheritance jackpot. And, knowing him, to give me his expert tax advice so I didn't have to share my winnings with the government.

“Perfect timing, old boy,” I said as I flew down the stairs. “You're my ride to the airport.” I opened the door, only to be blinded by the midday sun. Best I could make out was that unless Viktor was a closet
drag queen, the visitor was a tall woman holding a small designer dog. “Can I help you?” I petted her pooch.

The woman took a long drag of her cigarette, put the dog down, and signaled for Viktor to leave. Oddly, the dog seemed right at home, and waddled in. Which drew my attention to the expensive Persian rug on which he or she peed, and the high-heeled feet of the dog's owner. Huge, gangly feet. Size ten, I was guessing. Just like mine.

“Oh my God.” A tremor ran through me.

“Hello, Claire.” She removed her sunglasses and took another drag. “How are you?”

I gawked so long, the dog growled. But I was completely stymied. Torn between wanting to slap the Hollywood legend and wanting to ask if she'd pose for a picture with me. She had such striking features up close. Such defined beauty.

“What…are you doing here?” I could barely speak.

“Mohammad wouldn't come to the mountain.” Puff puff. “So I've come to Mohammad…. I don't like it when my phone calls aren't returned.”

“And I don't like to be hung up on. But did that stop you?”

“I see we've got some anger stored in us.”

“Not me. You?”

“Endless,” she laughed. “Now, are we going to stand here all day or find a place to sit down?”

“You can sit wherever you want. I'm upstairs packing.”

I made it to the fourth or fifth stair when I heard that familiar, husky, movie-star bellow. “Get down here, Claire. I want to speak to you.”

“Oh wow.” I stopped. “You sure got that ‘Mom's mad' part down. Been rehearsing?”

“I'm surprised to hear you speak to me like that. I'd heard you were a lovely girl.”

“I am. Just not to people who lose interest in me as a baby, then show up thirty years later for a speed date. You know, check out the chick for five minutes to see if she's worth buying a drink.

“Furthermore, I hate cigarettes, so don't walk in here and blow smoke in my face, and expect me to heel like your dog.”

“Oooh. A feisty one.” She fluffed the dog's fur. “But we like 'em feisty, don't we?”

“I would appreciate it if you would leave.”

“Then what do you propose I do for the rest of the day? Sip mint juleps by the pool?”

“I don't care. You can't just waltz in here, exchange air kisses, and pick a place for us to lunch.”

“I can't!”

“You are unbelievable! Why would you think that I would want to spend time with you? Did I return your phone calls or e-mails? No. Did I thank you for the flowers?”

“No, and I found that rather rude. Who raised you? Barnyard animals?”

“Barnyard animals?” I nearly jumped over the banister to choke her, but unexpectedly I laughed. She was making a joke, and sick as it was, it was funny.

“Oh, so you can smile. I was afraid all that Botox had rendered you unable. It's a very serious problem these days. The studios are going crazy.”

“What do you want from me?” I wiped the grin off my face.

“Nothing, really. Just a chance to share some trade secrets. Talk about old times.”

“Old times.” I gasped. “That's funny to you?”

“Take it however you want…. Come with Mama, Bubby. Let's go clean up your mess and find us some lunch.”

I shook my head as Penny and the pup strode single file to the kitchen.

“Now, that is funny,” I said. “You didn't want a kid to call you Mama, but a dog was fine.”

“At least this one's not a bitch.” She sniffed.

I hurtled up the staircase and locked Drew's door. The nerve of that woman, walking in unannounced, expecting me to welcome her
with open arms. But still, I was in shock. That woman also happened to be my idol and, God help me, my mother.

Damn her. I was supposed to be relishing the most fantastic day of my life. A clean bill of health, money in the bank, and a grandmother with nothing to complain about. But this little stunt of Penny's was overshadowing the joy.

So typical of the Hollywood elite. There was no limit to the crap they got away with because the reporters and paparazzi were feeding the frenzy. But Penny Nichol didn't know me. I was not going all gaga over her because she was this big celebrity.

And yet it was impossible not to look at her and think of all her magazine covers, her
Letterman
appearances, her starring roles in films and how rare were her box office bombs…. I may have come off as a big mouth, but she should only know how my heart pounded in fear.

There was only one way out of this mess. I would beg Viktor to come get me. And then, voilà, the red light on my cell flashed. Wouldn't it be funny if it was him? Or, even better, Drew?

“Don't be such a baby,” Penny puffed. “Come down and talk to me. I'm not going to bite you.”

“Shit!”

“I'm making fresh coffee, and fortunately for you, I always travel with my own beans…Manolo Gold. Don't you just love their French roast?”

Oh my God, yes. And I would so love a taste of home
. “It's okay. Very overpriced.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black, one sugar.”

“Oh, me, too. Coincidence? I think not. Just don't blame me if it's not how you remember. There is nothing I can do about the dreadful-tasting water down here. I don't even know how people brush their teeth.”

When I walked into the kitchen, I said not one word. I just stared at this stranger, who was yet so familiar-looking. Not because I'd seen her on the big screen. It was the angled chin. The wide forehead and
half-moon cheeks. The long, sinewy fingers. The mile-long legs. The fair-haired girl. If not for the thirty years between us, it was like looking at me.

It reminded me of that moment in Drew's bathroom when I first met Marly and her mother, and felt so depressed by how similar their appearance is. I had always been envious of mothers and daughters who shared physical traits. The genetic before and after. But now that I'd discovered my biological partner with whom I could join the club, I no longer wanted to be a member.

“I'm sorry I left you.” Penny poured me a steaming hot cup. “It was wrong of me.”

“Uh-huh.” I stopped stirring. “Of course, you do realize that what you did was not only morally wrong, it was illegal? In fact, in all fifty states abandonment is illegal.”

“Oh that. I wasn't talking about back then. I was talking about last week. I should have stayed a little longer. At least introduced myself.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You're apologizing for not keeping me company in the hospital, but you have nothing to say about running out on me as a baby in the middle of the night?”

“Correct. I have no regrets.” She lit another cigarette. “I did the right thing.”

“Oh God. Put that thing out. It's bad enough having to sit here with you. Don't make it worse by blowing smoke in my face.”

“You must be a fantastic delight in Paris, darling…. Fine, I'll exhale over here. Is that better?”

“No. Shari hates smoking as much as I do, and it's her house.”

“Oh, like she actually spends time in this ostentatious museum…. It's Monday, right? Who is it today? The yoga guru? Or is he Tuesdays? Hard for me to keep track.”

“You call me a bitch?”

“Oh please, Claire. Get off your high horse. I'm not a bitch. I'm honest. Don't you like honesty?”

“Yeah, honesty is great. My favorite virtue, right up there with integrity and courage.” I looked at her. “And if you think I'm all impressed that you flew back just to talk to me—”

“It was nothing. John Travolta and his lovely wife, something or other. I think it's with a K…”

“Kelly Preston.”

“Right. Sweet kid. Does some respectable work. They offered me a ride on their private jet.”

“Unfortunately, it was a wasted trip. I'm on my way out the door, and the last thing I wanted today was to engage in obnoxious banter with—”

“To the contrary, you're the one who's behaving like a little snot. If you have something to say to me, just say it, for God's sake. Speak up…. Come 'ere, Bubby Baby.” She whistled. “Come to Mama. Sit like a good little girl. We're about to be crucified.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you? To have me spill my guts, so you could go back and tell everyone what a great lady you are because you let me get everything off my chest. Well, sorry to disappoint. But you're not worthy of that much of my time.”

“I see…. Good to know you're not easily intimidated.”

“By what? Your fucking stardom? Believe me, I'd kill for the success you've had. But not at the expense of being shallow and heartless.”

“Is that what you think? Well, then, you don't know anything about me.”

“And how would I? From your annual holiday card?”

Bubby Baby must have sensed her master's need for a little show of support, and jumped into my lap. “Hey, there.” I let her lick me. “You're a good girl…aren't you?”

“You're a dog person?” Penny said.

“Love 'em. She actually reminds me a little of my Millie. I miss her so much.”

“Oh. A shih tzu like her?”

“A Bijon.”

“Dumb as a brick, aren't they? I had one once. Had to train him not to pee on himself.”

“I had the same problem with a guy I dated.”

Penny laughed and took another puff. “You look like me.”

“I know.”

“Several friends told me about a young actress from New York who was practically my twin…but in a million years it never dawned on me that it was you.”

“Well, now you know…. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Did anyone know you were coming today?”

“My brother did. Yes.”

“So when he dropped me off, he knew we'd be here at the same time.”

“Seems that way.”

“And Shari, Delia, and Drew? They knew, too?”

“It's possible Ben told them.”

“So basically this whole thing was a setup to get us to talk?”

“Very perceptive. You'd be perfect on
CSI
…. I could make a call.”

“Some other time, thanks…. Why did you leave me?”

“You do the lawyer thing very well, too. I know the show runners on
Law and Order
.”

“Please stop trying to bribe me. I'm not six. You can't con me with a lollipop.”