For a moment, she was back in the study on the blue chair being told she’d be sent away. A pulsing knot inside her made it impossible to hold the hurt inside. She had to let it go. Her lips had waited too long to relieve her of this rejection. “Do you have any clue how much you and Dad fucked with my head?” Anger spurted through her. Lifting her fingers, she wiped back her tears and choked on a sob. “I’ve never been the same since.”
Warner held her tight, letting Taddy know he was there. He didn’t stop her from speaking her mind.
For years, Taddy had imagined what it would be like to have parents who loved her. The only example she had of that was Blake’s family who’d accepted him and his homosexuality as a teen. They were the closest thing to normal she’d known.
The Morgans did simple things, which Blake would share with her. Sending him homemade sugar cookies with notes telling him how much they missed him. Taddy hated the pastries’ cardboard taste, but she ate the dessert knowing Mrs. Morgan had stood in her kitchen, decorating those treats for her son. Mrs. Morgan was often seen crying when she’d drop Blake back off at his dorm room after a holiday away. And when Blake was sick, Mr. Morgan came and picked him up.
“In the tenth grade, a bunch of us in class got mononucleosis. I was ill for two months. I felt like I was going to die. The nurse called you.” She swallowed and continued, “You never rang her back to see how I was doing.”
“We were in Sylt that summer.” Irma didn’t even blink. “I couldn’t get back to the States in time. We saw to it that you had great medical care. You didn’t die. It was just the flu.”
“Bullshit, Mother.” I did too die. I died inside. That was the catalyst that propelled Taddy into emancipation. Alone night after night for eight weeks, she was the only child left in the infirmary. “Everyone else’s parents had come to get their sick child.” She grabbed at her neck remembering. “I had lymph glands the size of grapefruits…and my enlarged spleen caused a constant abdominal pain. My skin had gone jaundiced.” So yellow she could’ve passed for Laa-Laa the yellow Teletubby. That was what the nurse had nicknamed her that semester, Laa-Laa, the unwanted teenager.
Irma leaned forward. “The first year you boarded at school I tried to visit you. I did. Mr. Constance was going to drive me out there to see you. But your father—”
“Did he prevent you from coming?”
“He broke my arm.”
Taddy gasped.
“Then my leg,” Irma added. “I had to keep you away from him. He was a dangerous man back then.”
She heard Warner’s breath quicken.
“After a while, I quit trying to see you. The school sent me updates with photos. I picked your father over you.”
“Why?”
“He threatened to leave me with nothing. I’d be divorced and gone from New York.”
“I remember you and Dad fought a lot back then.” Taddy didn’t buy the busted leg story. With all these years past, she still had failed to come and see her. Irma’s legs seemed to be working fine enough for her to greet her at the door moments ago. They’d walked her highfalutin’ ass around town to shop yesterday when she’d called. If anything, she’d broken Joseph with her actions.
“When Joseph ordered your paternity test and the results came back negative, he was devastated. He loved you more than—”
“More than you did, Mother,” Taddy finished the sentence for her. Had her mother ever felt anything for her?
Did Irma’s own mother treat her the same way when she was growing up? Taddy had never met her grandmother. She’d died a year before Taddy was born. Taddy couldn’t help but imagine Irma had learned this behavior from someone else. It didn’t seem natural.
“I’m not going to lie to you. You’re too smart for that. You always were. Years ago, Joseph’s physician diagnosed him as sterile. When your father and I married, we agreed no children. I didn’t want a baby. When I became pregnant and gave birth to you, your father took to you. He loved you. More than he loved me, at times. He believed you came as God’s miracle.” Irma paused and continued, “I understand this information isn’t what you wanted to hear.”
“It’s nothing new,” she admitted, wiping her tears. “I’ve raised myself since I was a kid.”
“You pushed for the emancipation.”
“What choice did I have?”
Warner listened. She could see the interest on Warner’s face but he didn’t say anything.
“That legal stunt pissed Joseph off further.”
During Taddy’s junior year, she and Vive had signed up for an elective class in legal studies with Mr. Kettle. She’d enrolled in the class because, at twenty-three, Mr. Kettle was Avon Porter’s youngest male teacher and also the hottest. Once in the class, she’d become fascinated with a subject they spent two weeks studying called Family Law. Taddy had yearned to discover how a teenager could divorce his or her parents. Vive, already a journalist for the school paper, wrote revealing celebrity stories on Drew Barrymore, who’d left her parents at thirteen, along with Juliette Lewis and Jaime Pressly, who’d both separated from their parents at fifteen.
“If these child stars can pull this shit off, honey bunny, then so can you,” Vive had encouraged. She even had a potty mouth back then.
Taddy had wanted to try.
In hopes her folks would react and fully come for her, take her home and parent and love her, she’d tested the legal system with Mr. Kettle and filed a petition citing reasons for separation from her parents. Taddy had assumed that would be the end of it. They’d call and flip out and pick her up.
But the Brillfords didn’t.
A children’s Connecticut law center gave her free legal aid to secure the case. The paperwork was processed and Judge Roderick had approved a hearing. The media had tagged the Brillfords as “Too Rich to Parent”, pushing Taddy sympathetically into the spotlight. It drove a sky-high wedge between them, more than she’d anticipated. “Joseph stopped paying for your tuition and boarding costs, saying he’d kill me if I ever spoke to you again.”
“Dad would never kill you. I don’t believe you.” Nothing added up. Shocked, she assumed her parents had done one thing right and made good on her high school education. “Who paid my tuition after I emancipated?”
“You became an independent then, an adult according to the law.” Irma defended and ignored her question.
“I didn’t understand all the ramifications. I went to the lawyers for help, to get your love. The case spun out of control and became more than I imagined.”
“We didn’t have any responsibility to you after the verdict.”
The lawyers she’d worked with, who’d won the case, wrote a book on teens emancipating from their parents and never even followed up with Taddy to see how she made out. As an independent, Taddy felt used and ashamed after the case ended. She sure as hell didn’t get any money from the lawyers who profited with the publicity. “Tell me who covered my junior- and senior-year expenses.”
“Birdie.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Easton sent the checks.”
Taddy stared, tongue-tied. “I didn’t know.”
Irma nodded. “Birdie and I argued over it. She stopped talking to us and vowed to look in on you going forward.”
All the horrible resentment toward Lex’s mother over the years had been misdirected.
“Why would Birdie do such a thing?”
“We both became pregnant at the same time. Birdie always treated you as if you were her own baby girl. I admired many things about Mrs. Easton.” Irma turned to Warner. “We were best friends throughout our twenties and thirties. Birdie and I did everything together. She was the best friend I always wanted.”
“I see.” Warner gripped Taddy’s hand.
Irma shrugged. “Eddie refused to have more babies. He wanted to tour and sing for the world. He never wanted a family. Contrary to his desires, Birdie felt it selfish to have only one child. She wanted more and took to you just a
s Joseph did.” Irma sipped from her teacup, hands shaking. Was she nervous? “People say the meanest things about that woman. Her demons and drug addictions were horrible. But when Birdie sobered, she became a great mom to Lex—and you.”
“Yes, when we were younger. I have some fond memories of Birdie’s sobriety. She just relapsed so often it was hard to trust her.”
“Birdie tried to show me how to parent you. I couldn’t get my head around mothering,” Irma confessed dryly.
“Obviously.” Taddy couldn’t help but raise her voice.
Warner released Taddy’s hand and patted her right knee, probably to calm her down. “She needs time to think about your request. We’re not going to get anything resolved here today.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I’m open to talking again.” Taddy sat on the edge of the chair. Their time together was coming to an end. She took a deep breath.
“Good.” Her mother leaned forward with anticipation. “I need to figure this out,” Irma muttered in a low voice, almost as if she’d slipped.
“Figure what?”
“Us,” Irma replied. “You and me. Our future together.”
“No, that’s not what you meant.” Taddy had heard enough. “You need to settle up with Dad. But you can’t do that until I agree to support you. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Don’t put it that way, please—honey.” Irma’s voice cracked.
“I’ll never give you any money.”
Irma’s body stiffened and her right brow shot up. “I feared you’d respond as such. I will make the support worth your investment.”
“How?”
“I will answer your most essential question. The one you asked in each and every letter you wrote me.”
Revulsion struck Taddy with a massive blow. “I won’t dignify your offer with a response.”
“I don’t understand,” Warner questioned, focusing on Irma.
Before clarifying, Irma adjusted the pin on her brooch, fixing the needle straight through the jeweled royal ornament. She relished the attention they were giving her. It wasn’t going to last long. “If you help me divorce Joseph, I’ll tell you who your real birthfather is. Who I carried on an affair with for many years. Who I should’ve married.”
Blood pumping, rage boiling, Taddy Brill, Manhattan’s number-one public relations professional, who’d penned over a thousand client speeches, trademarked the world’s best taglines, owned a repertoire for every conundrum—didn’t know what the fuck to say. But she figured calling the woman who sat across from her a selfish, cold-hearted, narcissistic bitch would be a really good start!
Chapter Twenty-One
Sheldon Truman’s Fudge Balls
Warner had learned many things since becoming a billionaire and moving into the ranks of the world’s one percent. Some behaviors he admired, such as financial contributions made by fellow billionaires Mike Bloomberg, Cargill Corporation heiress Margaret A. Cargill and Dietrich Industries chairman William S. Dietrich II. Their donations for education, feeding the underprivileged, and research inspired him to continue with his philanthropic work for bone cancer.
But there’d been others he didn’t admire. Women similar to Irma for example. Some called them leeches. Irma’s behavior toward her daughter stunned him more than when the doctors had told him his late wife was dying and more than when Rielle had faked her pregnancy. Witnessing Irma invite Taddy, whom she’d cast aside as a teenager, back into her life only to hold on to the posh lifestyle she wanted outraged him.
“Do you not want to learn who your father is?” Irma persisted.
“We’re done here, Countess.” Warner stood, extending a hand to his girlfriend. “Ready?”
Pupils dilated, Taddy gazed at him and managed, “Uh-huh.” Her face regained its coloring as she found her footing.
“Mr. Truman, you’re being rude. Let my daughter answer.” With her hand on her hip, Irma marched over. Her initial frailness at their introduction earlier had all but faded.
“One minute.” Taddy motioned for Warner to pause. She stepped over to Irma, placing her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Warner hadn’t noticed the contrast in their physical stature until now. “I came today for answers. Now I’m leaving more confused than imaginable. I’ll never be able to justify your choices, Mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why you threw me away.” Taddy’s voice rose. “Why you kept me from seeing Dad all these years. Why you’re now blackmailing me into giving you money.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“What else would you call making me pay you to tell me whose DNA I share, Mother?”
“Tabitha Adelaide, please.”
“My name is Taddy and you’ve never cared about me as your daughter. But I’ll be okay. I have my real family. I have Lex, Vive, Blake—”
“And me,” Warner added. “You have me.”
Taddy smiled at him and confirmed, “I’m loved, Mother. For the first time in my life, I know how love feels,” her arms came wide, indicating the Brillfords’ apartment, “and this isn’t it.” She grabbed her purse and slipped her arm around his.
He led her to the door.
She turned, facing Irma one last time. “The day you dropped me off at Avon Porter, I never got to say my farewell.” It was unfathomable as a child, but today, Taddy as an adult was different than the girl she’d been all those years ago. “Goodbye, Countess.”
* * * * *
Warner helped Taddy into the SUV as she texted her friends to meet them at what she called “their place.” It was Club Macanudo over on East Sixty-Third Street. It was early in the day for a cocktail. But Taddy told Warner she needed a drink. “Are you nervous to meet my peeps?” she asked.
“Should I be?”
“They’re a little outrageous.”
Anything would pale in comparison to Irma. Warner felt at a loss for words. There was nothing he could say to ease her pain from what’d happened with her mother. He could be there for her. Let her speak and love her. But that was it.
“I texted my brother, Sheldon, who wants to meet you. He’ll be here shortly.” Warner remained confident Sheldon would win at the shocking game.
“This is our home away from home.” Taddy walked into the cigar bar.
Living downtown, Warner had never set foot in Club Macanudo. An Upper East Side institution with lithographs along the walls, the interiors looked posh with Art Deco-styled leather couches stationed around the lounge with glass-and-marble cocktail tables. In a city where smoking indoors was prohibited, here it was not only permissible but deemed fashionable. This social establishment thrived as a secret gem.
He sat with Taddy as they talked about Irma’s behavior. Taddy confessed she’d almost given in. She felt a strong urge to help her mother. “Thank you for pulling me away from her, Warner. I’m still tempted to give her the money though.”
“So you can learn who your birthfather is?”
“No, I don’t care about that. It won’t change who I am. There’s a part of me that will always have hope. Hope that my mother and I can have a real relationship. I’d give anything for that—including money.” Taddy sighed. “I sound desperate.”
Warner’s heart broke as he heard her say this. “Not desperate. You’re a good person with so much to give. And from what I’ve seen, you give a lot to others. Maybe too much.” He was impressed with her ability to endure. It became obvious the worst in Taddy’s life had passed years ago. A strong urge to protect and love her even more came over him. It wasn’t pity or a savior complex. Rather, he admired her resilience.
From the entrance came a thin Scandinavian-type woman wearing her bleached white hair in a bob. She beelined it for their table. Warner tried not to make eye contact with her, but she looked familiar. He didn’t want to be rude. Then it hit him where he recognized her from. She was the woman he’d seen on the security video with Taddy at Secrète de St. Barth. As she closed in, her long
gold nails pointed at him.
Taddy laughed.
“Big fucking Daddy indeed,” the woman shouted.
“You must be Viveca.” Hands down, Taddy won for most eccentric friend with this one. A cross between a Las Vegas showgirl and a socialite auctioning her gold nuggets at Sotheby’s, he’d never seen a friend such as Miss Farnworth in his life.
“It’s Vive and don’t I get a kiss?” she flirted.
Taddy okayed the gesture with a wink. Afraid his lips might get glitter on them from her prominently applied rouge, he opted to kiss her right hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Blake and I came together. Poor guy is stuck outside on a call,” she said. “He’ll join us in a few.”
“Diego?” Taddy asked, remembering Blake and his husband were on the outs.
“Yup. Looks like they’re fighting again.” Vive scooted her chair closer. “I hate Diego.”
“Vive, don’t start in on him.”
“Diego is the biggest piece of shit to walk this town. But don’t you worry. I’m gonna write an article on him in Debauchery that will ruin him once and for all.”
“No. Blake wouldn’t like that.”
“It’s just a li’l blurb saying he has—you know—the same thing that my friend Ollie had in St. Barth.”
“The sprinkles?”
“Yup! So…let’s celebrate. What are we drinking?”
“Taddy ordered the Club Macanudo’s signature martini.” Opening to the beverage list, Warner passed Vive a menu.
“Sounds yummy to me. Make that two please with gin.”
“Two? But we’ve already ordered Taddy’s drink.”
“Those are both for me. I like doubles. The glasses here are small.” Vive’s eyebrows rose as if telling Warner he should know better than to ask questions.
“Right.” He walked over to the bar to order. A tall GQ-type came in from outside. “Blake?”