The Truth about My Success (8 page)

“But I can’t go somewhere like that.” Paloma glares at her mother. “
She
cut up all my credit cards.”

“We’re getting you a new one with a high limit,” promises Jack. “It’s already been ordered.”

Paloma flings herself from her chair to give him a hug.

“I swear to god, Jack,” Leone says later as she walks him to his car, “you could sell a pot of boiling water to a lobster.” She laughs. “And get it to jump in.”

It’s nine-thirty. There is still one lobster without a pot in Jack Silk’s scheme, but he isn’t worried. It’s another interesting point of human behaviour that we tend to judge other people by ourselves. Jack Silk loves money. Because he loves money he believes that there is no one who wouldn’t do anything for it. Oona says she can’t leave her father? Father, schmather, is what Jack thinks. People have killed their fathers for less than he’s offered Oona. And he seems to be right.

He has just turned into his own driveway when his phone starts to play the Triumphal March from Aida.

“Hello?” Her voice is like a jab. “It’s Oona. Oona Ginness. I guess you have a deal.”

Jack Silk smiles into the night.

Splash!

Jack
Silk is not a man to leave anything to chance, or to anyone else – not even God – and so he has organized everything. With the smoothness of oil flowing over glass, he convinced Abbot Ginness that it is in his best interests, as well as Oona’s, to go along with Jack’s audacious plan. “The world’s a harsh place, where it’s hard to get a break,” said Jack, with his instinct for voicing other people’s feelings. “When we have a chance to help each other, we should take it.” He seemed to look around not just the apartment but the entire complex of El Paraíso and read Abbot’s whole unhappy history without moving his eyes from Abbot’s face. “That’s a great kid, you have, Mr Ginness. She deserves better. Much, much better. You owe her this.”

And what loving father would argue with that? Certainly not Abbot. It isn’t Oona that he doesn’t care about.

“But I’ll worry about her being so far away,” he admitted. “She’s all I have.”

Jack said that there’s nothing to worry about. He bought Abbot a laptop so he can talk to and see Oona every day. “Besides which, I’ll look after her like she’s my own,” promised Jack. “I’ll protect her with my own life. You have my word.” He had his lawyer draw up a contract guaranteeing payment from him and confidentiality from the Ginnesses. “I’m afraid it’s pretty iron-clad,” said Jack as he watched Abbot and Oona sign the agreement. “You know what these legal beagles are like.” He’s arranged for Maria to visit Abbot every two days to keep an eye on things and do anything he needs done, so that, said Jack, Abbot will hardly know that Oona’s gone.

Jack drives Paloma to the airport himself. He even does her the favour of taking her house keys from her so she doesn’t have to worry about losing them the way she often does; she doesn’t need them, he’ll be picking her up when she comes back, of course. Jack Silk stands waving and smiling as Paloma goes through the gate.
Bon voyage, sweetheart. Have a great time!

That very same morning, as Paloma’s plane noses into the clouds, Oona leaves El Paraíso for Paradise Lodge in the cab provided by Jack Silk. Abbot followed her around while she packed.
Don’t forget your parka. Don’t forget your vitamins. Make sure you drink plenty of water
. “I hope these people are good drivers,” Abbot fretted. “I don’t care what fancy cars they have, that’s not going to save you if they drive like kamikazes on a mission.”

Mrs Figueroa, who thinks that Oona is going to visit an aunt in Minneapolis, gave her an elaborately engraved silver locket that once belonged to Mr Figueroa’s mother for good luck. “So you come back safe,” whispered Mrs Figueroa. Abbot, who knows that Oona is only going across town and will talk to him at least twice a day, cried. “You text me as soon as you get there,” he ordered. “So I know you got there all right.” “I love you, Dad,” said Oona. Abbot said he loves her, too.

It’s a reluctant afternoon, muggy and close. The cab carrying Oona and Harriet slowly climbs the canyon, and eventually turns into a lushly tree-lined road. On the plain down below, the light is blurred and the air almost grey, but up here all is vivid and clear. When they finally come to the Minnicks’ driveway there is a splatter of men with cameras standing around or leaning against their cars. “Somebody pretty famous must live here,” says the cabbie. “Not really,” says Oona, “I think they must have the wrong address.”

Once they stop in front of Paradise Lodge, Oona sits in the cab for a few minutes, Harriet on her lap and her backpack beside her, just looking at her new home. It’s a house from a movie or a magazine. She tightens her hold on Harriet and concentrates on breathing normally. Up until now she’s tried very hard not to think about today. She has kept her thoughts focused on a few weeks from now – when it’s all over and she and Abbot have some money and things finally change for the better. But now, sitting here in the back of the cab, a miniature castle looming in front of her and a posse of paparazzi behind her, all Oona can think of is what happens next. She gives Harriet a hug. So the Minnicks live in a big fancy house and their daughter’s a TV star. So what? They’re still just people. They’re no different from anybody else. Everything’s going to be all right. Harriet’s tail thumps against her arm. It has to be.

“OK, this is it,” the driver says a little more loudly than he did the first two times. “I can’t get the cab no closer than this. She don’t do stairs.”

Oona will have to get out.

“Thanks.” She thrusts a few crumpled bills over the seat.

“Keep it.” He pushes the money away. “It’s all been taken care of.”

Jack Silk thinks of everything.

“Thanks,” she says again, and opens the door. On the flats down below, it smells like a traffic jam; up here, it smells like an expensive perfume counter.

Harriet jumps from the car and Oona follows. But with less enthusiasm.

“You have a nice day, miss!” calls the cabbie.

“You, too.” She stands with her back to the house, watching the cab disappear. What has she done? Not for the first time since she called Jack Silk (and not for the last time, either), Oona wishes that she hadn’t. She should have stayed in the cab and returned home. Contract or no contract, what could they do to her? Sue her? For what? A three-year-old cell phone and a rescue dog?

But Oona, as we know, is a practical person. She did call Jack Silk, and she didn’t stay in the cab.

“Come on, Harriet.” Oona climbs the steps and rings the bell.

The door is opened by a short, dark-haired woman with a dish towel in her hand and the smile of someone waiting to be attacked. She glances from Oona to Harriet to the empty drive behind them “Yes?”

“I’m Oona,” says Oona. “Oona Ginness. Jack Silk sent me.”

“Of course. Of course.” Maria knows about Jack Silk’s scheme – or as much as he felt it was necessary to tell her. If she’d been asked her opinion – which, of course, she wasn’t – she would have said that it, like so much about the Minnicks and the way they live, is ridiculous. Seeing Oona doesn’t make her change her mind. She eyes Harriet in a dubious way. “And that is your little dog?”

“Her name’s Harriet,” says Oona. “Jack Silk said I could bring her. He said the Minnicks love animals.”

The only animals the Minnicks love are ones you eat.

Maria shrugs. “If Mister Jack says bring her, then of course you bring her.” Now it’s Oona’s backpack that’s receiving the dubious look. “Is that all you have?”

“Uh huh. Jack Silk said not to bring any clothes or anything.” All she packed was underwear, a few old photographs, a comb, a brush, her cat slippers, a toothbrush and a sock doll her mother made for her when she was a baby. “You know, so I can get into being Paloma.”

Maria, who knows what lies in store for Oona in the teen star’s bedroom, might think Jack Silk should have told her to bring a shovel, but all she says is, “Of course. Of course. Come in, come in.” She flutters backwards. “Leave your bag here. Mrs Minnick waits for you.”

Mrs Minnick waits for her in the breakfast nook. Sunlight floods through a wall of windows, making everything shine and the woman at the round table with her jewellery and her tan and her dark blonde hair look as though she’s dusted in gold. A trade paper, an empty coffee cup and a cell phone (gold) are laid out in front of her. Although she’s sitting perfectly still, her eyes on an article about musicals, she gives the impression that she’s chain-smoking cigarettes and tapping her fingers in a restless, impatient way. Oona stops dead in the doorway. She has an urge to run, or at least walk backwards quickly. Leone Minnick often has this effect on people, but in Oona’s case it’s because it never occurred to her that Paloma’s mother might be the woman who was in Ferlinghetti’s with Jack Silk. Lady Make-sure-the-cup’s-clean. The snob with less charm than snot. Apparently Jack Silk doesn’t think of everything, after all. He certainly forgot to mention this.

“You must be Oola!” Leone cries as if she’s never seen Oona before. “I’m Leone Minnick!” As if she might be someone else. “I was so afraid I was going to miss you. I don’t have too much time. Wouldn’t you know that today, of all days, I have a very important lunch?”

Moving like a robot in need of oil, Oona manages to follow Maria into the room. “Actually, it’s Oona.”

Leone’s smile deepens, so that it could almost be described as shallow. “Actually, it’s Paloma.”

“Yeah, right, Paloma,” says Oona. “And we did kind of meet.”

But listening isn’t one of Leone’s greatest skills. Especially not when she’s playing a part, and right now she’s playing the part of a mother driven to despair with worry and concern for her only child, and she’s playing it for all she’s worth.

“I can’t tell you how grateful we are for your help.” She waves Oona to a seat. “Sit down. Sit down. Maria, maybe our guest would like a drink. Tea? Coffee? Something cold?”

Oona stays standing. “Thank you, but I—”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Leone gushes. “Really. A complete lifesaver. What would we have done if you hadn’t agreed to help us out?” A worried mother, and a grateful one, as well. “Naturally, poor, dear Paloma wanted nothing more than to be here to thank you in person, but that just wasn’t possible.” She puts on a brave smile. “I’m sure Jack must have told you how they persecute my little girl.”

Not in exactly those words. What Jack Silk said was that Paloma’s hounded by the press.

“Yes, he—”

“Well of course he did, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” If Leone’s smile gets any braver it’ll win a medal. “So the poor child can have a few precious weeks of quiet and peace. A little normality. It’s always been bad, but this last year has been truly horrible.” Tiny points of light glint off Leone’s earrings as she sadly shakes her head. “Truly, truly horrible.” And Leone starts to list the horribleness. The hacked phone. The outrageous lies in the press. The Internet pictures of Paloma crashing into fences and throwing up on sidewalks and posing in her underwear. “Her underwear!” Leone gasps with indignation. “Can you imagine? God knows where the camera was. Attached to some low-flying bird.” Leone holds up her empty cup to catch Maria’s eye.

“I heard all about it,” says Oona. Including the incidents Leone hasn’t mentioned; the YouTube video of Paloma throwing a glass of water at the famous talk-show host and the T-shirt in a teacup. 989,447,821 and 653,253,010 hits respectively, and still counting. “Jack—”

“But I’m sure no matter how sympathetic you are, and, obviously, you are sympathetic…”

Oona couldn’t care less.

“… you can’t really imagine how she’s suffered through it all,” insists Leone. “It’s one of those things that you have to experience yourself.”

And it looks like I’m going to have my chance
, thinks Oona.

Satisfied that Maria knows she needs a refill, Leone sets her cup back in its saucer. “It’s no exaggeration to say that my poor baby knows what it’s like to be crucified. Not with nails, of course,” she explains, mistaking the look on Oona’s face for dimness. “They crucify her with words. If the child so much as jaywalks they carry on like she robbed a bank. If she trips they say that she’s staggering drunk.” Leone sighs as the Earth would sigh if only it could. “Trust me, it’s not all glitter and gold up here, sweetie, no matter what people in your world think. There’s a very heavy price to pay for celebrity.”

“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’,” murmurs Oona.

“Tell me about it,” says Leone. “You don’t know the half of it. If they got one tiny whiff of this—this arrangement, they’ll be on her like a mob of vultures on a fresh corpse and they won’t leave so much as a bone or a tuft of hair behind.”

“I know.” Maria bustles past Oona with the coffee pot. “Jack ex—”

“What is that?” Leone’s eyes have finally noticed something close to the ground. “Is that a dog?”

“Her name’s Harriet,” says Oona.

Leone’s smile could only be more watery if she were a lake. “But what is she doing here?”

She’s collecting for the ASPCA, what do you think she’s doing?

“She’s going to live here,” says Oona. “With me.”

Leone sighs. “I don’t remember anyone mentioning a dog.”

Careful not to spill a drop, Maria finishes filling Leone’s cup. Maria has always felt sorry for Paloma, but not as sorry as she’s feeling for Oona at the moment. “Mister Jack said it is all right,” says Maria. “She is part of the deal.”

“Did he?” This is less a question than an accusation. “Well, then I guess we have a dog,” she says as someone might say,
Well I guess we have to hang off that bridge for an hour or two
. Leone picks up her cup. “Maria will get you settled today, and then tomorrow we’ll get to work on you. Maria will take you to see to the basics right after breakfast. Hair… eyes… nails… height—”

“I know. Jack—”

“I’d do it myself, naturally, but I think it’s important that you and I aren’t seen together until you’re complete.”

Oona keeps her expression impassive.
And how will we know?
she wonders.
Will a bell ring?