No Ordinary Life (40 page)

101

W
e are on the red carpet, walking toward the theater where the premiere of Jeremy's new movie is about to be shown. I take comfort in the fact that Jeremy's career is soaring, knowing that, like Helen, Kira, and Jules, if
The Foster Band
fails, he will be fine.

Molly walks on my left and Tom on my right. We smile politely at the cameras and wave to the reporters we recognize. When we reach the middle of the walkway, Tom and I step aside so the photographers can get a few shots of Molly alone.

Molly looks adorable. She wears a yellow satin dress with small daisies embroidered at the waist. She still prefers overalls, but on big nights out, her girly side has started to emerge, and already I can see the last remnants of baby leaving her.

As I watch, I think about the headline in this morning's paper,
Gabby Rodriguez Joins Sexual Harassment Class Action Lawsuit Against Fox
. The headline was printed above the photo of Gabby lifting her shirt as Mitten touched her arm. It is a very incriminating shot. It looks as though Mitten is encouraging her, and his smile, that only I know is consoling, appears lecherous.

It's been a week since the story broke. The first headline, which was printed over the photo of Gabby and Mitten kissing, read,
Sex Scandal on the Set of The Foster Band
. A day after the story ran, four young actresses came forward accusing Mitten of sexual harassment, claiming he threatened to have them fired if they refused his advances. Mitten adamantly denied the allegations, but Fox terminated his contract anyway, and his wife, stalwartly loyal, left with him.

I feel bad for what I've done to him but do not care as much as I should. Helen is right. This business changes you. It makes you stronger or weaker, better or worse, but it doesn't leave you the same. I am not the same. I am one of them now, as ruthless as Kira, Chris, or Beth. My only concern is for my family. Emily is not doing well. She has not returned to school, rarely comes out of her room, and refuses to talk about what happened.

Life has been cruel to her, and we need to return to Yucaipa where she can heal. Along with what happened to her physically, she has been battered emotionally. Since that fateful night, Caleb has cut off contact with her. Either out of shame or anger, he refuses to talk to her and has blocked her number. He avoids us on the set and is rarely seen outside his dressing room. More than one kid was destroyed that night, and there is little to be done but hope that both can find a way to move past it.

Sean's absence is also destroying her. She feels like she has been abandoned. Perhaps someday I will be able to explain it to her and she will find a way to forgive him, but at the moment, his desertion cuts like a knife, and she feels betrayed, helpless, and alone.

In six months after, I have filed for sole parental control based on legal abandonment, I might contact him, see if he would like to have a role in the kids' lives, but it will be on my terms and he will never again be in charge of their welfare or the decisions that dictate their lives.

One of the reporters asks Molly to spin for them to show how her dress flares, and she does a ballerina pirouette that causes a united “aw” from the audience at her adorableness. I suppress a yawn, and beside me, Tom sighs. It's the same pirouette she's done to the same “aw” a thousand times before.

I hope Chris is right, that the public has a short attention span and that, in time, they will forget what Mitten has been accused of. I will always regret that I was the one who did this to him. But it was the only way. Just as Bo said, the cast and crew know that without the Mittens the show won't be the same. The remaining shows for this season have already been written and the junior writers can manage the rewrites. It's next year people are worried about. The number one show on television is no longer a sure bet, possibly even a sinking ship, depending on who you talk to. The lead sound tech quit this morning. He's the fourth crew member to leave this week. More are certain to follow. Panic has set in and paranoia is spreading, eyes furtively slide to one another throughout the day and hushed whispers fill the corridors between takes, each cast and crew member attempting to divine what the others are thinking.

Despite the exodus, the lawsuit, the bad press, and losing the Mittens, Griff, Chris, and Beth are doing a remarkable job forging forward, each day somehow managing to get it all done. Griff holds the crew together, Chris, the cast, and Beth juggles it all with superhuman strength, efficiency, and stamina that boggles my mind.

Molly curtsies, and I step forward and take her by the hand, smiling sweetly for the cameras as we walk toward the theater and as I contemplate my next move.

102

I
glance over the top of the script I'm studying at the woman about to be destroyed and offer a smile. As always, my friendly greeting isn't returned, Beth's beady eyes blinking once before returning to her phone.

She never apologized for lying to the judge, for unjustly sabotaging me and nearly causing me to lose my kids, never felt me worthy of that sort of consideration. Yet I am the one who will cause her ruin.

Of all the things I feel bad about, this isn't one of them. She thinks she is immune. While everyone else scurries around in panic, Beth studies the day's schedule unconcerned. I watch as she unwraps another Werther's, then pops the candy in her mouth, and I am fascinated by how oblivious she is to the fact that her day of reckoning is upon her.

“Beth, I need to speak with you,” Chris says, appearing from the hallway that leads to the executive offices.

Beth looks up, her face tilting in surprise at Chris's civil tone. Then she stands and follows him toward his office, and when I'm certain they can't see me, I smile.

My comment to Henry was offhand and casual, a simple, “Who do you think set Mitten and Gabby up to take those photos?”

And for the rest of the day, Henry was off to his beloved gossip races, speculating with everyone who sat in his chair about the whodunit.
It had to be an inside job. It was definitely the sound lab. They must have been lying in wait. Someone who hated Mitten. Gabby was just an innocent victim.

I'm not certain how they figured it out, perhaps someone called Mitten and asked him, perhaps someone called Gabby, but by the time lunch rolled around, eyes were sliding toward Beth and jetting away when she returned the glances, and I knew she had been nailed to the cross. This is my kill move, planned over a month ago and set up bit by bit so, when I used it, the show would be at its most vulnerable.

Beth returns, and my pulse quickens. Her face is ghostly pale like she might be sick, her eyes darting side to side.

Gathering up her belongings, she turns to leave then pauses. Turning back, she looks at me then down at her phone, and I watch as she pieces it together, her expression changing from question to shock to fury.

“You goddamn bitch.”

When I walk into Chris's office, his head is in his hands. He looks up, his eyes weary as a field surgeon's.

“Hi, Faye.” He musters a small smile. “What's up?”

“We quit.”

He blinks once but says nothing, already the conversation so different from the one we had two months ago, the day we returned from Thanksgiving break, when I explained I wanted Molly to have a normal life, when I knew Emily was in trouble, when I told him I wanted to quit, and when he told me it wasn't up to me.

“When we quit is up to you,” I say. “The choices are simple. One, you can release Molly and Tom from their contracts, and we stay to shoot the last three episodes of the season, allowing the show to become syndicated and getting you to the dark season, which will allow you to regroup, get a new writing team, hire a new AD, and resume next year. Or two, you can refuse, and I will leave with Molly and Tom tonight, and you'll never see us again.”

His eyes narrow as he assimilates the threat, and as I look at him, I think,
Rumpelstiltskin, I know your name
. The balance of powers has shifted, the show no longer invincible. Losing Mitten was crippling, losing Beth a near-fatal blow. Losing Molly at this point, with three episodes to go and no one to rewrite them, would be the proverbial last straw that breaks the camel's back.

He leans forward like he'd like to tear my throat out but continues to hold his tongue.

“I suggest you choose option one,” I say, pivoting and walking out the door.

103

I
walk to the commissary to pick up Molly. In my purse are the release contracts for Molly and Tom. I feel like a gladiator returning from the Colosseum triumphant, not so much euphoric as relieved to still be standing, battle worn and exhausted, ready to leave the arena behind and never raise a sword again.

Henry and Molly sit with Mack playing cards at a picnic table. Each has a pile of Sweeties candies in front of them that look like they are being used as poker chips. Molly's stack is the largest by at least twice.

“Ready to go?” Mack says, standing.

“Now can I eat them?” Molly asks Henry, looking longingly at her winnings.

“Yep. You won them—now you can eat them.” He grabs a handful of his own winnings and fills his mouth, then around the candy, he says to me, “Hey girl, crazy news about Beth, don't you think?”

My skin flushes with guilt as I nod.

“Good thing that camera in the sound lab has a backup drive. Chris would never have believed it if she hadn't been caught red-handed. Of course Mitten and Gabby confirmed it. Both said Beth was the one who set them up.”

I swallow. “What backup drive?”

“Those shots of Mitten and Gabby, the camera they were taken from has a backup drive. Griff pulled the footage, and he said that clear as day, it showed Beth taking the memory card. Craziest part of it all is that it turns out Mitten is innocent. Gabby was coming on to him, not the other way around. Gabby caved as soon as Chris confronted her, and now she's saying she's dropping the lawsuit, that it was all a lie. She's been posting on Facebook and tweeting all afternoon saying how sorry she is for not coming out and telling the truth. Some sort of come-to-Jesus moment, saying how she owes Mitten her life, that he was the only one willing to give a Mexican migrant worker a chance, the only one who saw past her weight to her talent. She's getting serious props about it, like it's so brave for her to be so honest. There's even buzz about her being asked to be on the next
Dancing with the Stars
.” Henry stops then cocks his head. “You okay?”

I manage a nod and a strangled, “I left something on the set.” I whirl and race back toward the soundstage, tears flooding my eyes. He chose us. It came down to a choice between the show and us, and he chose us.

Ten feet from the building, a voice stops me. “I should never have trusted my heart to a squid.”

I turn to see Griff standing in the alley between the buildings. I start to move toward him but stop before I've taken a step, my shame overwhelming me. My eyes drop to the ground, and I wrap my arms across my chest. I want to say I'm sorry, then I want to thank him for what he did, then I want to tell him how much I love him, but I can't form words.

“Wasn't right what you did,” he says.

I nod and my chin quivers.

He steps toward me, closing the distance between us in a stride, then he lifts my chin, and his eyes lance me with his anger and his hurt.

“I needed to get them out,” I mumble.

“That wasn't the way.”

“There was no other way.”

“Bradley didn't deserve that.”

I nod, and again my shame decimates me, the tears I've been holding back leaking from my eyes. “Or Beth,” I say.

“No. Beth deserves what she got. Nobody messes with my family.”

It takes a minute for the words “my family” to register, and when they do, my eyes blink rapidly, refocusing on his to see the devotion piercing through the anger.

“What about the show?” I say.

“It will go on. They need a new AD, a couple new kids, a new director of photography, and possibly a new writer, but they'll regroup and be fine. Chris is very good at what he does.”

“A new director of photography? You're leaving?”

“I have some personal business to take care of.”

“What kind of personal business?”

His right eyebrow rises, he gives an Elmer Fudd grin, then his lips come down on mine.