Movie Star By Lizzie Pepper (26 page)

O
n Tuesdays and Thursdays breakfast for the boys was always oatmeal, prepared by me. Leo scarfed down whatever was in front of him, but Cap was particular about his oatmeal. Pancakes? French toast? A stranger could walk through the front door, serve him anything with maple syrup, and Cap would eat it up. But his oatmeal had to be all me. If Elsie so much as dared place the spoon in the bowl, Cap’s mouth shut in a straight line, and he shook his head slowly and mournfully, as if in apology for his own four-year-old irrationality. Or possibly in profound disappointment at his caregivers’ collective stupidity.

And so, on the Tuesday morning after Rob finally left, I set about making breakfast. As usual, Elsie had everything prepped. The oatmeal was in a bowl in the refrigerator, a shield of plastic wrap stretched wrinkle-free across its mouth. Beside it was a measuring cup with exactly the right amount of milk, and three small white bowls containing brown sugar, chopped walnuts, and dried cranberries, each similarly sheathed. I poured the ingredients into the small pot Elsie had left on the stove, while Elsie busied herself disposing of the discarded plastic wrap and washing the bowls as soon as I emptied them. It was an absurd charade.

“Daddy went on a plane,” Leo announced.

“That’s right, sweetie. Daddy went on a trip.”

“Is Daddy home?” he said. “Daddy’s
not
home. Daddy’s on a trip.”

“Daddy went on a long plane ride to a place called Turkey,” I said. “He’ll call you on the computer tomorrow morning.”

“Daddy is my only and my best,” Leo said, his lips quivering. Leo was his daddy’s boy, and Rob’s trips were hardest on him.

“Daddy always comes back,” Cap said, parroting what Rob and I always said when the boys asked about their father’s frequent absences.

“That’s right, sweetie. Mommy is here, and Daddy always comes back.” Cap always liked to know exactly what the plan was. He’d accept any new adventure—a plane trip, a boat ride, a museum visit—whatever it was, he was game, so long as he knew what to expect. His world was still so simple. Every question had an answer.

A sob threatened to roll over me, the storm of emotion I was using all my power to hold at bay. Leo needed his father. Cap did not like change or surprises.
Daddy always comes back.

I couldn’t leave Rob. I couldn’t even begin to think about what leaving Rob would do to my sons.

I knew what it meant to me. If I lost Rob, I lost everything. No friends, no career, and a worldwide reputation as a great man’s leavings.

I was reared to believe in lifelong commitment, and my father had ingrained in me that we were people who
did not fail
. To end my marriage would be humiliating—the most public failure I could imagine.

But all that I could stand, if it weren’t for our children.

Throughout high school, I saw my friends’ families crash and burn, and I saw what it did to the kids. Aurora’s parents had split up when we were in eleventh grade, and I watched the ground split open beneath her. My shiny, bold friend disappeared overnight, as if the electricity had gone out. For months, instead of dragging me to parties, all she could do was let me come to her house to sit in silence while we listened to her mother
keening in the next room. Slowly, over the years, the old Aurora had come back, but her relationships were brief and fraught. She didn’t trust men, and—somewhere deep inside—she didn’t believe anyone would love her.

I knew what Aurora would tell me to do.
Stay with Rob. Stay with him until the twins are grown.
But I needed to hear her say it.

Aurora. We hadn’t spoken since the baby shower, and with good reason. She had been leaking information about me to the press. When I’d stopped talking to her, the leaks—the verbatim quotes—had immediately ceased. She had reached out to me many times, trying to restore our friendship. And I had always intended to make peace with her one day. Aurora, for better or worse, would be my friend forever.

I still didn’t understand why Aurora had sold those stories about me. She’d never copped to it, and it was out of character. But surely it had something to do with envy, and at this moment my life was hardly enviable. Now, when her discretion was more important than ever, I was willing to risk it. I would swear Aurora to secrecy, and I felt sure she wouldn’t betray me again. Because when it came down to it, Aurora was the person who knew me best in the world.

That Tuesday I went through the motions of my day as if my world hadn’t been rocked. The boys and I ate oatmeal. I pretended to read the newspaper while Cap pretended to read books about a puppy named Biscuit and Leo built cars out of LEGOs. Then I helped them change into their bathing suits and we walked out to the pool for their swim lesson. Cap and I sat at the steps, playing with squirt toys while Dom, the swim teacher, supported Leo’s belly, chanting, “Paddle, paddle, paddle, kick, kick, kick.” He was a nursing student slash wannabe actor, and he looked like a Roman statue come to life.

The water flickered in the afternoon light. Leo floated on his back, arms and legs straight out like a starfish. He was still fearless.

That night, after Cap and Leo went to bed, I called Aurora. I didn’t
plan what I would say, and I didn’t need to. Aurora was a gushing font of apologies and forgiveness.

“I get it, Lizzie. I mean, I can’t believe I missed your wedding, holy crap, you were supposed to
hand
me the bouquet, but I totally get it. You’re, like, on a different planet. (Get it: planet Mars?) And I’m a goddamned blister. But I’ll try, okay? I’ve been trying to tell you that. But you needed space, I know. And you have
twins
. I’m supposed to be, like, their godmother and I’ve never even—”

“Oh my God, Aurora, give me a chance to say I’m sorry!” I said. “I’d love for you to meet Cap and Leo. But first I want to just catch up.”

I knew Aurora wasn’t sucking up to me. I assumed that she, like me, wanted our old friendship back. But I had no idea that she, like me, had a more specific agenda for our reunion.

Three days later, when I walked into the Polo Lounge expecting to pour out my heart to Aurora, I didn’t find her alone. She had a stranger with her, a guy who looked like a former football player, with colorless hair, ruddy cheeks, and kind-looking blue eyes. At first I thought she was going to introduce him as her fiancé. Why else would she bring a stranger to our lunch?

“You don’t have to say anything, Lizzie, just listen,” she said.

Then the man introduced himself. “My name is Buddy White,” he said. The name was familiar, but at first I couldn’t place it. “I used to be part of One Cell’s leadership. I believe you know my stepbrother, Geoff.”

That
Buddy White. The one I’d been warned about.

“The Studio isn’t what it seems,” he said. “They are watching you, and your life isn’t your own.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I turned to Aurora. “I wanted us to talk.”

“Wait, Lizzie. Please. This is important,” Aurora said.

“Let me just tell you what my experience was,” Buddy said. “I joined the Studio when I was at my lowest low. Broke, strung-out, another lost bum. A One Cell practitioner, Liz Forsyth, walked up to me on a street corner, and the rest is history. I used to say, ‘I came for the free coffee and stayed for the direct path to self-knowledge.’ One Cell saved my life, and I’ll always be grateful for that.

“It was the first time I’d been drug-free in twenty years, and I was ready to make something of myself. I became a Core Leader, and I introduced Geoff to the Studio. My goofy stepbrother took to the Studio like a fish to water. He started working right alongside Teddy Dillon. But before long, Teddy lost control to Geoff. Her vision—the Practice I’d so respected—became the hook. Behind the scenes, Geoff started leading the Studio in the wrong direction. The push to raise money—and attract celebrities—was more important than the Practice. Volunteers worked long hours and then were going into debt for the classes they took.

“My wife, Eva—we met at the Studio. She was a Core Leader like me. She was the best of the best, Geoff’s darling. All the celebrities flocked to her sessions. We were doing okay, a happy couple, until we decided we wanted a baby. Eva was having trouble getting pregnant. We wanted to try IVF, but we had no medical insurance and no savings. The Studio wouldn’t help, so Eva decided she would branch out, open her own Studio, so she could get paid for her work.

“I thought the Studio was trying to help. Eva was sent to Fernhills for a sixty-day silent retreat, and we were told that after she finished, they would help us get on our feet, start an independent business. Well, I wasn’t supposed to contact Eva while she was at Fernhills. And then, when the sixty days were up, I was told she wanted nothing to do with me.”

Buddy glanced over his shoulder as if worried that someone was listening. “It wasn’t until I myself left the Practice that I found out Eva had
been trying to reach me. For years. What happened to her at Fernhills—and she’s not the only one—I could tell you stories.”

“It sounds like you’ve had a very hard life,” I said. “But Rob has been involved with the Studio for a very long time. My husband is a good man.” I believed this. No matter how Rob had failed me—his intentions were good. I didn’t have time for this anti–One Cell crap. I had bigger problems. “Rob wants to help people, the way One Cell helped him. I know, I’m 100 percent certain, that if he saw anyone being mistreated, he’d put a stop to it.”

“Your husband— But before I tell you more I should warn you. If Geoff finds out we’ve spoken, you’ll put yourself—and your children—in real danger.”

This guy said “danger” and “your children” in the same sentence. I’d heard enough. Buddy White, whatever his beef, wanted a high-profile supporter. It wasn’t going to be me.

I turned to Aurora. “You’re being used. It’s too bad. I really needed a friend right now.” I walked out of the restaurant, holding back angry tears.

I was so freaked out and devastated by the discovery of my professionally scripted marriage that Buddy White’s story barely penetrated the fog. Ironically, what shifted my attention to it was the one person who wanted the opposite: Geoff Anciak.

The morning after my lunch with Aurora (and her unwelcome friend), I woke up at six, unusually early for me. I walked into the breakfast room to find Geoff himself sitting at the table, already halfway through an espresso.

I greeted him warmly, as if his intrusion was perfectly normal.

“Promised your man I’d check on you.” He smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. I smelled peppermint, and it made me faintly queasy. Geoff waited, as if I was the one who’d invited him. His narrow snake eyes were fixed on me.

Still ignorant of the reason for his visit, I offered him some breakfast—there was a plate of fresh almond croissants and jelly rolls that probably contained more simple carbs than I’d eaten in the past four years. But Geoff was all business. He took a large yellow envelope out of his briefcase. From it he withdrew a photo and laid it on the table in front of me.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you, Elizabeth?”

“What’s this?” I looked down at the picture. It showed me, Aurora, and Buddy at the Polo Lounge. Yesterday.

“You tell me,” Geoff said. “Buddy White is no friend to the Studio.”

I had no idea what I was up against. “Where did you get this picture?”

“Your friend sold it to us.”

Why would Aurora do that? She knew I had cut her off for leaking stories and that I’d do it again. She wanted my friendship back. I didn’t buy it for a minute.

Geoff went on. “Better she came to us than the press. This man is toxic. He’s been trying to extort the Studio for years, but we won’t let him bully us.”

“I don’t know him. My friend tried to introduce us, but I left.”

“Good,” Geoff said. “Don’t talk to him again. Remember, we’re on your side. We’re here to help you, to protect you.”

Did Rapunzel need protection?

On top of all I was processing, this man had walked into my kitchen, with his Altoids and his photos of my personal lunch. Accusing my old friend, violating my privacy, and trying to control me. His warning, his
protection
, sounded much more like a threat.

My husband was utterly entwined with this organization, which taught us to put our emotions to the side. It was One Cell that pushed Rob relentlessly toward his goals, regardless of the path. I now saw the connection between Rob’s philosophy and his deception of me. A man who believed emotions were a chemical reaction could mix the
language of love in a laboratory and feed it to me like a pill. It made perfect sense.

What, exactly, was Geoff trying to protect me from? My emotions? The truth?

“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.” In a bright, perky voice I added, “And please don’t worry about who I talk to. I’m a grown-up! I can decide for myself who to trust! Can I get you another cup of coffee?”

Geoff smiled, his pale lips stretched in a soulless grimace. “No, thank you, Elizabeth. I’ve said my piece.”

That night, I walked into my bedroom to find a single red rose, its stem snapped in two, lying on my bed. Just like the rose I had broken as a test on that first date with Rob so long ago. Nobody could tell me where it had come from, not even the security guards, but I got the message. Like it or not, I was being “protected.”