What I Did for Love

  “You mean in a theater?”

  “It’d be fun.”

  The word sounded strange on his lips. “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Then maybe lunch?”

  She needed to get this over with, and she hitched her equipment bag higher on her shoulder. “You don’t have to be so polite. It makes me nervous. Go ahead and say what you want to—that I’m a shitty, ungrateful daughter. That I don’t understand the business. That—”

  “You’re not shitty or ungrateful, and I don’t have anything more to say. I just thought you might want to go out for a while.” He pulled the keys from his pocket. “It’s all right. I have some errands to run.” He left through the front door.

  She frowned at his uncharacteristic retreat and followed him outside.

  She’d always loved the covered entry porch of Bram’s house, with its blue-and-white-tiled floor and arcade of twisted stucco columns. A purple bougainvillea formed a shady screen at the far end, and Chaz had recently added a few more terra-cotta pots along with a heavily carved Mexican bench and matching wooden chair.

  “Dad, wait.” Without thinking about it, she reached inside the bag.

  His expression shifted from quizzical to suspicious as she pulled out her camera and set the bag aside. “I had this dream,” she said. “Not really a dream. A memory…” The camera was her shield, her protection. She raised it to her eye and turned it on. “A memory of you and my mother dancing and teasing each other. You jumped over a chair. We were all laughing and…happy.” She moved in closer. “These memories I sometimes get…I’ve made all of them up, haven’t I?”

  “Put that camera away.”

  She winced as she bumped into the sharp bench corner, but she didn’t stop shooting. “I’ve made them up to cover the truth I don’t want to face.”

  “Georgie, really…”

  “I can count.” She sidestepped the bench and pinned him with her lens. “I know that you only married her because she was pregnant with me. You did the honorable thing. And you hated every minute of it.”

  “You’re overdramatizing.”

  “Tell me the truth.” She’d started to perspire. “Just once, and then I won’t ever bring it up again. I’m not going to blame you. You could have run out on her, but you didn’t. You could have run out on me, and you didn’t do that, either.”

  He sighed and stepped back up on the porch, as if this were a tedious meeting he needed to suffer through. “It wasn’t like that.”

  She circled him, moving backward, putting herself between him and the steps, so he couldn’t get away. “I’ve seen the pictures of her. She was so pretty. I know she loved having a good time.”

  “Georgie, put that camera down. I’ve told you that your mother loved you. I don’t know what more you—”

  “You also told me she was a scatterbrain. But you were only trying to be diplomatic.” Her voice grew unsteady. “I don’t care if she was nothing more than a party girl. A one-night stand that backfired. I just—”

  “That’s enough!” He thrust his finger toward the camera. A vein throbbed at his temple. “Turn that camera off right now.”

  “She was my mother. I need to know. If she was just another bimbo, at least tell me that.”

  “She wasn’t! Don’t you ever say that again.” He snatched the camera from her hands and flung it to the tiles, where it shattered. “You don’t understand anything!”

  “Then tell me!”

  “She was the love of my life!”

  His words hung in the air.

  A tremor passed through her. She locked her eyes with his. Anguish twisted his features. She felt dizzy, wobbly. “I don’t believe you.”

  He pulled off his glasses and sagged onto the carved bench. “Your mother was…enchanted,” he said in a husky rasp. “Enchanting…Laughter came as naturally to her as breathing. She was smart—smarter than I could ever be—and she was funny. She refused to see the bad in anyone.” His hand shook as he set his glasses next to him. “She didn’t die in a car accident, Georgie. She saw a pregnant girl being slapped around by her boyfriend and tried to help her. He shot your mother in the head.”

  “No,” she said in a soft whimper.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “The pain I felt when I lost her was more than I could handle. You didn’t understand where she’d gone, and you cried all the time. I couldn’t comfort you. I could barely find the energy to feed you. She loved you so much, and she would have hated that.” He rubbed his face in his palms. “I stopped going to auditions. It wasn’t possible. Acting takes an openness I didn’t have anymore.” His fingers tunneled into his hair. “I couldn’t live through that kind of pain again. I promised myself I’d never love another person the way I loved her.”

  Her chest constricted, ached. “And you kept that promise,” she whispered.

  He looked up at her, and she saw tears brimming in his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t keep it, and look where it’s taken us.”

  It took her a moment to understand. “Me? You love me like that?”

  He gave a rueful laugh. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

  “I…It’s hard to believe.”

  He dipped his head and nudged the broken camera aside with his shoe. “I guess I’m a better actor than I thought.”

  “But…why? You’ve been so cold. So…”

  “Because I had to plow on,” he said fiercely. “For us. I couldn’t fall apart again.”

  “All these years? She died so long ago.”

  “Detachment got to be a habit. A safe place to exist.” He rose from the bench. For the first time in her memory, he looked older than his years. “Sometimes you’re so much like her. Your laughter. Your kindness. But you’re more practical than she was, and not as naïve.”

  “Like you.”

  “In the end, you’re yourself, and that’s what I love. What I’ve always loved.”

  “I’ve never felt…very loved.”

  “I know, and I didn’t—I couldn’t figure out how to change that, so I tried to compensate by being scrupulous about your career. I needed to convince myself I was doing my best for you, but all the time I knew it wasn’t good enough. Not even close.”

  Pity welled inside her, along with sadness for what she’d missed, and a certainty that her mother, the woman he’d described, would have hated seeing him like this.

  He picked up his glasses. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Watching you after Lance left, seeing how you were suffering and not being able to comfort you. I wanted to kill him. And then your marriage to Bram. I can’t forget the past, but I know you love him, and I’m trying.”

  A protest sprang to her lips. She bit it back. “Dad, I understand I hurt you by telling you I need to run my own career, but I just…want you to be my father.”

  “You’ve made that clear.” He took the bench across from her, looking more troubled than offended. “Here’s my problem. I know this town too well. Maybe it’s ego on my part, or maybe overprotection, but I don’t trust anybody else to put your interests first.”

  Something he’d always done, she realized, even if she hadn’t always agreed with the results. “You’re going to have to trust me,” she said gently. “I’ll ask for your opinion, but the final decisions—right or wrong—are going to be mine.”

  He gave a slow, unsteady nod. “I suppose it’s time.” He bent down and picked up what used to be her camera. “Sorry about this. I’ll buy you another.”

  “It’s okay. I have a spare.”

  Silence fell between them. Awkward, but they stuck it out.

  “Georgie…I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but it seems…” He toyed with the empty camera body. “There’s a remote possibility—very remote—that I might…have my own career to concentrate on.”

  He told her about Laura’s visit, her insistence on taking him on as her client, and the acting classes he’d begun attending. He seemed both embarrassed and a little bewildered.
“I’d forgotten how much I love it. I feel like I’m finally doing what I should have been doing all along. As though I’ve…come home.”

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s wonderful. I’m shocked. Thrilled.” She touched his hand. “You were brilliant that night we read Tree House, and I never told you. I guess you’re not the only one who’s been holding back. When do you audition? Tell me more.”

  He did, summarizing the script and the character, telling her about his first class. As she witnessed his animation, she felt as though she were watching a man beginning to free himself from an emotional prison.

  The conversation shifted to Laura. “I can’t blame her for hating me.” Georgie’s guilt reemerged. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but I wanted a clean start, and I didn’t see any other way.”

  “You’re going to have a hard time believing this, but Laura seems to be okay with what you did. Don’t ask me to understand it. You’ve thrown a major monkey wrench into her income, but instead of being depressed, she’s—I don’t know—excited—energized—I’m not sure what to call it. She’s an unusual woman, a lot gutsier than I gave her credit for. She’s…interesting.”

  Georgie looked at him sharply. He rose from the bench. Another awkward silence fell. He rested his hand on the side of a column. “Where do we go from here, Georgie? I’d like to be the father you want, but it seems a little late in the game. I don’t have a clue how to go about it.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’m emotionally traumatized from all those beatings you gave me.” Once a smart aleck, always a smart aleck, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say except that she wanted him to hug her, just put his arms around her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Unless you want to start off with some kind of lame hug.”

  To her surprise, his eyes closed in pain. “I—don’t think I remember how.”

  His total helplessness touched her. “Maybe you could give it a try.”

  “Oh, Georgie…” His arms shot out. He pulled her against him and squeezed her so hard her ribs ached. “I love you so much.” He tucked her head against his jaw and started rocking her as if she were a child. It was clumsy, uncomfortable, and wonderful.

  She burrowed into his shirt collar. This wasn’t easy for him or for her. She’d have to lead the way, but now that she understood where his heart lay, she didn’t mind at all.

  Chapter 22

  The gray stone Eldridge Mansion had served as the setting for a dozen movies and television shows, but no one had ever seen the portico with two canopied entryways. The larger and more ornate, a pristine white canopy marked THE SCOFIELDS, led to the main entrance. A smaller green canopy positioned off to the side was marked servants only.

  The guests laughed as they emerged from their limos, Bentleys, and Porsches. In the spirit of the party, those garbed in gowns and tuxedos, tennis whites or Chanel suits, stuck their noses in the air and headed for the main entrance, but Jack Patriot was no dummy. The legendary rock star, wearing his most comfortable jeans and a work shirt, with a pair of gardening gloves and some seed packets tucked in his belt, cheerfully made his way to the servants’ entrance, his wife at his side. April’s simple black housekeeper’s dress would have been plain if she hadn’t modified it for the occasion with a boned bodice and plunging neckline. A pair of skeleton keys dangling from a black silk cord nestled into her cleavage, and she’d pulled her long blond hair into a soft and very sexy bun.

  Rory Keene, in a modest version of a French maid’s costume, joined Jack and April at the servants’ entrance along with Rory’s date for the evening, a debonair venture capitalist attired in a butler’s uniform. He was Rory’s customary companion for special occasions, a friend but not a lover.

  Meg’s parents used the main entrance. Actor-playwright Jake Koranda wore a garden-party white suit that accented his swarthy skin, and his wife, the glorious Fleur Savagar Koranda, modeled a swirly floral chiffon frock. Meg, who was dressed as Scooter’s hippie best friend, Zoey, elected to go through the servants’ entrance with her date for the evening, an unemployed musician who was a ringer for John Lennon, circa 1970.

  Chaz stood just inside the ballroom, wondering why she’d let Georgie choose her costume. Now here she was, dressed like a frigging angel, in a glittery silver gown with a halo attached to a big orange wig. If she lifted her eyes, she could even see a few orange curls dripping over her eyebrows. The inspiration had come from episode thirteen, “Skip Has a Dream.” When Chaz had bitched to Georgie about the costume, Georgie had given her this weird smile and said Chaz was an angel in disguise. What the hell did that mean?

  She was supposed to be helping Poopy the Party Planner make sure everything was running smoothly, but she’d mainly been gaping at all the stars who’d showed up. According to Poopy, this was the most important party of the summer, and a bunch of celebrities that Bram and Georgie didn’t even know had begged for invitations. Georgie kept telling Poopy, “No purse designers,” which Chaz hadn’t understood until Georgie explained it, and then Chaz had to agree.

  The ballroom’s polished walnut moldings and paneled wooden ceiling gleamed in the light of the crystal chandeliers. Lavender-and-blue-plaid taffeta overskirts topped the round, custard-yellow tablecloths. Blue mop-top hydrangeas inspired by the show’s opening credits served as centerpieces, the bouquets spilling from bright yellow teapots. A spun sugar model of the Scofield mansion rested at each place setting, along with a silver picture frame holding an engraved menu bearing both the Scofield family crest and a small paw print of Butterscotch, Scooter’s cat. Four large television screens set up around the room silently ran episodes of the show.

  Chaz saw Aaron coming toward her with a cute, but kind of nerdy-looking, brunette who could only be Becky. Aaron wouldn’t have had the guts to ask her out if Chaz hadn’t hounded him. Thanks to Chaz, he’d never looked better. “All you have to do is wear a really good suit,” she’d said when she’d talked him into coming as the Scofields’ lawyer. “One that fits. And make Georgie pay for it.” One thing about Georgie. She wasn’t cheap. She’d even sent Aaron to her dad’s tailor.

  With his good haircut, contact lenses, body that was getting thinner every day, and real clothes instead of those geeky T-shirts with video game crap all over them, he was like a different person.

  “Chaz, this is Becky.”

  Becky was a little plump, with shiny dark hair, a round face, and a shy, friendly smile. Chaz liked how hard she was trying not to stare at all the famous people in the crowd. “Hi, Chaz. I love your costume.”

  “It’s kind of lame. But thanks.”

  “Becky works in the H.R. department for a health care company,” Aaron said, as if Chaz didn’t already know that, just like she knew that Becky’s parents came from Vietnam, but Becky had been born in Long Beach.

  She took in Becky’s V-neck white blouse, short black skirt, dark tights, and four-inch black stilettos. “You make a great chauffeur.”

  “Aaron suggested it.”

  In fact, Chaz was the one who’d suggested to Aaron that Becky come as Lulu, the Scofield lawyer’s sexy chauffeur. She’d figured Becky would be super-nervous about tonight, and wearing something simple would be one less thing for her to worry about.

  “It was sort of Chaz’s idea,” Aaron said, even though Chaz wouldn’t have busted him if he’d pretended it was his.

  “Thanks,” Becky said. “The truth is, I’ve been kind of nervous about tonight.”

  “Pretty great first date, right?”

  “Incredible. I still can’t believe Aaron asked me.” Becky looked up at him and gave him this big smile like he was super-hot, which he wasn’t, even though he looked a lot better than he used to. When Aaron smiled back at her the same way, Chaz felt a stab of jealousy. Not because she wanted Aaron for a boyfriend, but because she’d gotten used to taking care of him. She liked talking to him, too. She’d even told him about all the crap that had happened to her. But if he and Becky got serious, he might onl
y want to talk to her. Maybe Chaz also felt a little jealous because she’d like to have some really, really, really nice guy who wasn’t a sleazeball look at her the way Aaron was looking at Becky. Not now, but someday.

  “That’s Sasha Holiday,” Aaron said, pointing toward a tall, thin woman with long dark hair. Half glasses dangling from a chain rested on the bodice of her sophisticated black sheath. She was just like Mrs. Scofield’s social secretary, except a lot sexier. “Sasha’s one of Georgie’s best friends,” Aaron told Becky.

  “I recognize her from the Holiday Healthy Eating ads,” Becky said. “She’s gorgeous. And even thinner than her pictures.”

  Chaz thought she looked too thin and sort of tense around her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

  She and Aaron and Becky stood there, trying not to stare at the stars who were showing up—Jake Koranda and Jack Patriot, all the actors from Skip and Scooter, plus a bunch of Georgie’s costars from her movies. Meg waved at her from across the room, and Chaz waved back. Meg’s date looked like a loser, and Chaz thought she could do a lot better. From the look on Meg’s dad’s face, he thought so, too.

  Chaz was surprised to see Laura Moody, Georgie’s old agent, come in, but not as surprised as Poopy, who looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Laura had been invited before Georgie fired her, and no one expected her to show up.

  “Where are Miss York or Mr. Shepard?” Becky whispered to Aaron.

  It sounded weird hearing somebody call them that. Aaron glanced at his watch. “They’re going to make a big entrance. Poopy’s idea.” He turned red. “I mean Poppy.” He frowned at Chaz. “Stop laughing. You’re being infantile…and unprofessional.” But then he laughed and explained to Becky that the party planner had serious attitude, and he and Chaz basically hated her.

  As they sampled the hors d’oeuvres, Rory Keene came over to talk to them, which was super cool, because it made everybody in the room think they were VIPs. Laura came over, too. She didn’t act like she was embarrassed being here, even though everybody knew Georgie had fired her and even though she didn’t seem to have a date.