The Game (20 page)

Once she had calmed down, I finished explaining to her how the whole arrangement with Rob came to be.

"We both needed each other and it seemed like a win-win situation at the time," I said.

My mother looked at me sympathetically before patting my knee. "And then you two fell in love," she said.

I stared at her in stunned silence. I hadn't yet told her about my feelings for Rob, so it surprised me that she knew. What was even more shocking was her belief that Rob felt the same.

"Don't think you can slip one past your own mother. I know you better than you think, Gina Marie. You love him, and he, if I'm not mistaken, loves you too."

She didn't say anything else and got up from my bed and left the room. I sat there and contemplated what she said. Could it be true? And did it even matter anymore?

***

The Golden Globe nominations had taken place this morning. I'd been informed of the fact by Charlotte. She called me at home and asked if I had watched. I didn't. In fact, I hadn't even realized it until she called me. Three months ago, I would have gotten up early and parked my butt in front of the television screen, waiting anxiously for my name to be called.

The Golden Globes was the official start of award season, and a nomination practically guaranteed an Oscar nod. For the past several months, I'd bought into the hype and believed that I was a shoo-in for the win, but after the recent events in my personal life, I had serious doubts now. I couldn't deny that I desperately wanted that nomination. Still. Even after everything, I wanted to feel validated and like I had something to offer the world.

"Do you want me to tell you?" Charlotte asked.

I paused briefly. "Y-yes," I said, my body suddenly tense with anticipation.

"I'm sorry. You weren't nominated."

All the air seemed to deflate out of my body at her words.
Not nominated
. I almost couldn't believe it at first. It wasn't possible. It'd been a foregone conclusion that I'd win only months ago, so how could I not even be nominated? Could a couple of weeks of bad press really turn the tide out of my favor? I wanted to scream--to punch somebody--but I felt so helpless and angry.

"Are you there? Emilia are you ok?" Charlotte asked.

"No, I'm not ok. How could they do this?" I asked, my voice a mixture of anger and confusion.

I heard Charlotte release a heavy sigh. "Who knows? They nominated Jessica Lendler instead."

"Who the hell is Jessica Lendler?" I asked. I hadn't even heard of her one month ago.

"She was in some indie film that has been getting a lot of buzz. People are saying she might be a dark horse to win," Charlotte explained.

I didn't really want to hear that, so I remained silent, trying to calm my roiling emotions. Charlotte hung up the phone soon after, and I lay back down in my bed and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think. I tried not to think of all the hard work and wasted effort, of all those times I'd had watch the plum parts go to actresses who had no qualms about fucking for roles. I tried not to feel anything either, but the anger was just under the surface, waiting to explode and consume me.

I don't know how long I lay there. It had grown dark by the time my father knocked on my door. He didn't bother to wait for my answer before barging his way into the room.

My father was a stout man. When he was younger, he'd been quite the charmer, according to my mother at least. He'd been fit and muscular and had hair to die for. I couldn't picture it now looking at him. The years of alcohol abuse had taken its toll, along with a life of hard work and bad diet. He was stocky with a protruding gut and a bushy salt and pepper mustache. That once luxurious hair had thinned in the back until his scalp shone through his crown.

When I was younger I'd looked up to him. He was my hero and I was daddy's little girl. As I grew older and his addiction became worse, I slowly grew to hate him. He could be charming and funny in front of his friends and a group of strangers, but to his family, he was mean and depressed.

Since I'd left home, we hadn't spoken much. Neither of us were very demonstrative or wore our emotions on our sleeves. We left that to my mother. I'd heard he had gotten sober and had gone to therapy to fix his demons.

My mother seemed happy, so that was something. Still, it was hard to erase years of painful memories. So I was surprised when he came to my room. I tried to brush it off like I always did.

"What's up with you, G?" he asked in his usual gruff tone.

"Nothing's up, dad," I said, still staring at the ceiling.

He flipped on the light switch and crossed the room to take a seat on my bed. I blinked my eyes several times, trying to adjust it to the sudden flood of light in the room.

"Don't lie to me. I know when you're moping, and you're doing a fine job of it now. Is it this thing with the Golden Globes?" he asked, kindly.

I looked at him slightly surprised. He'd never shown much interest in my career before. Whenever my mother would call, she'd always mention how proud he was of me, but I figured she would say something like that. Always the peacemaker.

"I'll tell you what; those bozos don't know what the hell they're doing. You don't need them to tell anyone how talented you are. Anyone who watched your movies could see that," he said.

"You don't have to say that," I said, surprised and a little touched at his kind words.

"I know, but it's still the truth. What they did was bullshit," he continued. My father went off on his rant about bribes, corrupt politicians, and the mafia again. Whenever something didn't go his way, it was always because someone got paid off.

"Thanks, dad," I said when he'd exhausted that line of conversation. We sat in awkward silence for a moment, not sure what to say next. Truthfully, I was surprised he was still here. Normally he'd shuffle off to his den and watch whatever sport was in season.
Wasn't there some type of basketball game on or something?
I wondered.

"Listen, G," he began hesitantly. My father ran a stubby, callused hand through his hair and sighed. He looked uncomfortable but determined and I sat up straighter, watching him with growing curiosity.

"I should have told you this a long time ago. Lord knows your mother's been on my back about it, but I could never seem to find the right time or moment. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a drunk and a bad father. For all those times you had to watch your mother and I screaming at each other, and all those times I came home from the bar stumbling drunk. I'm sorry for kicking you out of the house when you were a kid. I was a bad father and I know that doesn't make up for anything, but I am sorry," he said.

His voice trembled and his eyes shone with unshed tears. I was too shocked to say anything for a while. Out of all the things I thought he'd say, an apology was not one I was expecting. It was the furthest thing from my mind, and I didn't know I had been expecting one until he actually spoke the words.

"You don't have to say anything. Hell, you don't even have to accept my apology. I just want you to know that I'll try my best for you from now on," he said.

"Jesus Dad, where's this coming from?" I finally asked, once I had found my voice.

"It's something I've been thinking about for a while now. But last year I had a health scare that really got me thinking about my life, you know. When the doc tells you that you might only have less than a year to live, it makes you think," he said.

"What? When did this happen? How come no one told me?" I asked.

He waved his hand in front of him in casual dismissal. "It turns out it was only a false scare, but still, it got to me. I'm not exactly young anymore and one day, I'll meet my maker like everyone will. I didn't want to leave with all this regret and baggage around inside my heart. I spent too much of my life playing the role of someone I thought people wanted me to be. I was always the life of the party and everyone loved to be around me. I enjoyed that. But then one day I looked around and the party was no longer fun, but I didn't know how to change. I'd spent so many years living that life, I didn't know how to be any other way."

"I had no idea," I said.

"You wouldn't have. But the point I'm trying to make is that I see a lot of myself in you. You're stubborn, hardheaded and I don't want to see you go down the same road I did," he said.

"I'm not an alcoholic," I said.

"I didn't say you were an alcoholic, but you're got the same personality as your old man. You continue down this path you're on because it's what you know and what you think is expected of you. You don't have to live up to anyone's standards but your own."

"Er--okay," I said.

I had no idea why my father decided to pour his heart out right at this moment. The conversation came completely out of left field and I wasn't expecting such emotion from him. The words he'd spoken had left an impression on me, though. Were we really that much alike?

I'd spent so much of my life trying to distance myself from him and the rest of my family, but maybe he was right. Maybe I was just like him and headed in the same direction he was. Rob had even mentioned how similar we were. I shook my head. I couldn't think about Rob. Not right now.

As if reading my thoughts, my dad spoke. "That boy you brought home for my birthday. You love him?" he asked.

"What? Did Ma tell you something?" I asked.

"No," he chuckled. "Anyone with two eyes could see it."

I looked at him horrified. "That's impossible. The engagement wasn't even real to begin with."

"That doesn't mean there weren't real feelings involved," he said.

He left the room shortly after dropping that bombshell on me. I sat in bed and contemplated what he and my mother had told me. When I'd first come home, I was only looking for a place to lick my wounds and get out of the glare of scrutiny. Truthfully, I didn't know if I'd even stay longer than a few days, but here I was two weeks later. I'd never been home this long before. It was ironic in a way. I'd always used my career as a way to escape my past and family, and yet here I was trying to escape my career with my family.

Chapter 22: Rob

The phone went straight to disconnect. She must have had her phone number changed. I ran my fingers through my hair and tugged hard. At this rate, I'd pull all my hair out before I ever spoke to her. She'd left England weeks ago. I'd followed her back to LA, except she wasn't here. Her housekeeper had no idea where she was.

I stopped by Charlotte's office to try to get some information, but she was tight lipped, refusing to even acknowledge if Emilia was in LA. Obviously, she wasn't picking up her phone. I called her constantly until one day the number was just disconnected. I was feeling desperate. I hadn't slept well or eaten well since coming to America.

I decided to head back to New York and get myself together and try to come up with another way to see her. She couldn't disappear forever. And when she did finally emerge, I'd know just what to say to her.

I needed to apologize for my behavior. After the news broke about the fake engagement, I felt like my heart would drop out of my chest. I'd never felt such guilt before. And such anger. Cordelia had run to the press and blabbed to them everything I told her.

I honestly couldn't even remember much of our conversation that night, but I must have said something to her about our secret arrangement. The press ran with that story like a pack of rabid dogs and Emilia had been practically run out of town.

Judging from the cold reception I got from Charlotte, I could only imagine how Emilia felt. Not only had I humiliated her at my parent's party, but I had to go and add salt to the wound and blow our cover. She must hate me, I thought miserably.

I sat in my apartment drinking myself into oblivion for yet another night. My hope was slowly being drained out of me with each day that passed. The incessant buzzing of my door bell started to penetrate my consciousness but I ignored it. I wasn't in the mood to talk, or see anyone at the moment. The door flew open moments later with Ryan standing on the threshold looking like he was a goddamn superhero, with his hands on his hips, surveying the room until his eyes landed on me.

"Jesus Christ, Rob! Didn't you hear me ringing?" he asked, walking into my apartment and shutting the door behind him.

"I did hear it and I was ignoring you. How did you get in? Did you break my door?" I asked, sounding annoyed.

"Hardly. I've got a key," he said, holding up the key to my apartment. I'd forgotten I'd given it to him years ago when he needed a place to stay while he was apartment hunting.

"Well, aren't you going to welcome me back?" he asked.

He looked too happy and his voice was much too upbeat. I felt a sudden irritation at his existence. No one should be that happy. I ignored him, hoping my lack of response would make him leave. No such luck. He was an oblivious bastard when he wanted to be.

Ryan stepped closer and silently inspected me as I slouched down on my couch. I could imagine the picture I presented. My beard had grown scruffy over the past week without shaving. My hair was a mess with me running my hands through it in silent frustration. My clothes looked crumpled from not having changed in a few days. My eyes were probably red from lack of sleep and drinking. In short, I looked like a bum.

I heard Ryan click his tongue before he sank down on the seat opposite me.

"Don't you have other things to be doing besides standing here looking down your nose at me?" I snapped.

"Yes, I do, but yet here I am. I must be crazy," he said, nonplussed.

"What are you doing here then?"

"Well, Roman told me the craziest story and I just had to come and see for myself if it was true. Oh yeah, and your family is worried about you and they wanted me to check up on you," he added.

I could just imagine what Roman had told him. I clenched my drink in my hand, imagining their laughter over my foolish mistake. But I couldn't really be angry. After all the shit I'd given them when they'd fallen in love, it seemed like karma had finally gotten me. I'd laugh at me too if I were in their position.