‘Not exactly … more like the kind of car driven by a chauffeur.’
One eyebrow quirks up and her chin shrinks back. ‘A who? A what? Girl, you’ve got a man with money? No wonder you can afford to be a social welfare major.’
Shayma is studying international business, and plans to head for London or Hong Kong for graduate school.
I frown.
‘So he’s what – trust-funded? Or old? Oh shit – he’s from LA – is he Hollywood?’
My eyes widen. ‘Are you psychic, Shayma?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You know I don’t believe in that crap. The only things that don’t lie in this world are numbers. My mawmaw thinks she’s a seer. Daddy says she’s always claimed to have second sight, but ever since I was a little child – when she predicted Kelly Clarkson winning the first American Idol – she’s sworn she’s a bona fide clairvoyant.’
We laugh, and then I take a deep breath. ‘So. My boyfriend. He’s …’ another breath, ‘Reid Alexander.’
She stares, blinks once and shakes her head a little, like she’s trying to clear water from her ears. ‘Did you just say Reid Alexander?’
I nod.
‘Well. Forget what I said about “not on my bed”.’
BROOKE
Rowena: You in Austin?
Me: Visiting family. I’ll be back in LA for promos soon. Will text with details.
Shit. Even for an industrious and thriving – thanks to me – paparazza, Rowena is scary-connected. I don’t like when she knows things I’m not ready for her to know, and this is too close. I don’t want the media getting wind of River – not yet. She knows better than to cross me, but it may be time for us to have a come-to-Jesus talk – a favourite phrase of my mother’s, which is odd considering her lack of a personal moral compass. I think even Jesus would pick up his skirts and run in the opposite direction if he saw my mother coming.
My stomach drops when I think about this news coming to light, and how it will be portrayed. Of course I knew there’d be no escaping public conjecture about River, but I haven’t considered the best way for it to go public in the first place.
I’ve always believed that my sex life and sexual history is no one’s business, but that freaking questionnaire stripped away that delusion. The media will be just as interested. More so. To them, everything is possible news fodder and nothing is sacred. The number one thing they’ll want to know: Who’s the daddy? Five years ago, I scrawled unknown on the form. I didn’t care how it looked to leave that line blank on his birth certificate. For myself, I still don’t care. But for River – how will that affect him?
I’ll have to control it, and the best way to do that is Rowena.
Everything has been turned in to the court – questionnaires, criminal background checks and drug tests (thank God it’s been months since I smoked a joint and years since I tried anything stupider). Norman urged out-and-out candour about everything – the shoplifting to spite Mom at fourteen, the random recreational drug use, the abundant underage drinking, my sex life – the real one and the publicized one.
Lord knows there’s probably detailed evidence of every one of my sins somewhere. If I lie, something is sure to come back and bite me in the ass.
Now, according to Norman, we wait. Before we leave his office, he asks us to give him character references – three related, three non-related. Kylie and Kelley are going on my ‘related’ list, and, grudgingly, I decide my father would be better than my mother, given a choice between them – and Kathryn agrees.
Daddy. There’s a fun phone call for later. I doubt he’ll be pleased, but Kelley is pregnant, so it’s not like impending grandfatherhood could induce heart failure. I have no idea if he and wife Number Four plan to propagate, but with three ex-wives and five children, one would think he’d feel kind of been-there, done-that by now.
On the other hand, whenever he wants an empty nest, all he has to do is leave.
I nearly draw a blank on the three non-related sources, because the first person to come to mind is Graham. But of course, we’re not speaking. I stare at the form in my lap, swallowing the hot mix of guilt and grief. I print MiShaun Grant and copy her contact information from my phone. She’s the only actress in my age range for whom I have both respect and a working phone number. I add Dana Scatio – the director of Hearts Over Manhattan. She loves me, and (bonus) was my most recent boss, of sorts.
‘What about Janelle, my agent?’ I ask. Note to self: I need to inform Janelle about River.
Norman frowns. ‘She’s an option, if you can’t think of anyone else.’ His expression says That can’t possibly be true, can it? ‘Technically, she works for you and has a vested interest in getting you what you want, so she’s deemed a less reliably candid source. The caseworker will likely contact her when they do the sweep through everyone with whom you’ve had substantial interaction. These six are merely the ones you deem most likely to give a favourable, yet realistic depiction of you.’
I’m gripping the pen in my hand so hard that the metal clip bites into my palm, and my world goes a bit fuzzy at the edges. ‘Sorry – but did you just say they’re going to speak with … everyone?’
In what’s left of my peripheral vision, Kathryn’s head pops up. Her gaze swings between Norman and me, and both she and Glenn have stopped writing. I’m sure they’re both having a tough time narrowing down to six people who will speak favourably of them.