Ooh, La La!, page 32
“She doesn’t know.”
“What?”
Kate sighed. “You know how talkative Skye is. From the questions she asked and the way she babbled on, Wayne figured out she thought he was a regular Doctor Doolittle. He played right along.”
“Oh, hell. Kate, you’ve got to tell her.”
“I know, I know. But I want to wait until he’s gone.”
“For God’s sake, why?"
Kate looked down at the pavement. “He—he wants a chance to get to know her before she learns what a jerk he is.”
“Why the hell should you give him that chance?”
Kate sighed. “Because he wants it. And…”
“And what?”
Kate hesitated.
“Come on, Kate. Tell me.”
“Because Skye thinks I did something horrid to him, and he’s threatened to make up a story that will turn her against me.”
“The lousy S.O.B. Why, I ought to…”
Kate put a hand on his arm. “He’s threatened to try to get custody of her.”
Zack gave a disdainful snort. “No judge is going to give custody to an ex-con over a devoted, loving mother.”
“They might give him joint custody if Skye says she wants that. You know she’s always idolized her father. And Wayne will tell her anything she wants to hear.” Kate turned pleading eyes on Zack. “Please, Zack, I don’t want to make any waves. I don’t know what Wayne’s capable of, or how Skye is likely to take it when she finds out I lied to her all those years. She’s built her father up in her mind to be almost a superhero. You should have seen her with him. I think she'd rather think ill of me than him.”
She tightened her hand on his arm, her eyes imploring. “Please. I want to just ride this out. If we give him what he wants, he’ll be gone in a few days. And once he’s out of the picture, I’ll tell her the whole story.”
“What he’s doing is called extortion, Kate. It’s illegal.” Something about the way she averted her gaze deepened Zack’s frown. “Is there something else going on, something you’re not telling me?”
“Don’t you think this is bad enough?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Then help me out, Zack.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Give him a little part.”
Zack hissed a sigh through his teeth. He didn’t like this, not one bit, but he couldn’t refuse her. “Damn it all.”
“You’ll do it?”
He gave a reluctant nod.
Relief flooded her eyes. “Thanks, Zack.” She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek. He pulled her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, absorbing the warmth of her body.
He hadn’t even met Wayne and he hated his guts. The man had conned Kate, stolen her money, and abandoned her when he’d gotten her pregnant. He'd never even tried to contact his daughter, much less support her.
The man was the lowest of the low, and a convicted felon to boot. But of all the crimes he’d committed, one stood out in Zack’s mind as the most heinous of all: He’d once stolen Kate’s heart, then thrown it away.
“Hi, Dad!” Skye sprinted toward Wayne as soon as she arrived on the set after school and gave him a big hug. “Where were you last night? I waited up until eleven o’clock, and then Mom made me go to bed.”
“I, um, got tied up,” Wayne said.
Tied up? More like tied one on, Zack thought darkly. The man had shown up on the set for three days in a row reeking of beer and whiskey. Zack had to fight the urge to deck him every time he saw his face.
“Why didn't you call?” Skye asked. “I was worried about you.”
“Oh, um—because I was on the phone until really late. I had a—a conference call.”
Skye cocked her head quizzically. “At night?”
“It was long distance. From, um, overseas. It’s not night there.”
Jeez, this joker was pathetic. You could practically hear the rusty gears in his head creaking as he made this stuff up.
And Skye—hell, it was heartbreaking, the faith she put in him, the way she just unquestioningly accepted whatever he said. She acted as if this guy were the greatest thing since spring break. “Were you discussing an endangered species?”
“Yeah. Some, um, monkeys. From Nigeria.”
“Wow! What kind?"
“The, um, Kahlua monkey. They’re very rare.”
Really rare, Zack thought, his mouth twisting into an expression of contempt. As in nonexistent.
Skye’s eyes brightened. “Maybe you could come to my biology class and talk about them.”
“Um… sure.”
“I’ll talk to my teacher. I’ll bet she’ll be thrilled.”
Zack couldn’t take any more. He strolled around the corner and into the room. “Hi, Skye. Deb’s been looking for you. She needs some help in the wardrobe trailer.”
“Okay.” The girl gave Wayne a kiss on the cheek. “See you later, Dad.”
Zack waited until she’d scampered out of earshot. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just playin’ along.” He gave Zack a sly grin. “And showcasin’ my actin’ skills for you.”
“Yeah, well, you’re overplaying the role.” Zack leveled a hard look at him. “Don’t make any promises to that girl that you’re not going to keep.”
“I won’t.”
“If you hurt that kid, I’ll make you pay for it. You hear me?”
Wayne held up his hands, his teeth bared in a feral smile. “Hey, don’t take it wrong, man. I’m not the one who made up this cockamamy story.”
“But you’re doing your best to keep it going.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. I just want the chance to get to know my daughter.”
Zack took a step toward him. “What the hell do you really want, Wayne?”
“Whattaya mean?”
“Well, it’s kind of hard to believe you’re here because you’re motivated by paternal love.”
The man’s eyes widened in a patently phony attempt at innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I just want to get to know my kid, and while I’m at it, I’m hopin’ to break into acting.”
“I gave you a role as an extra.”
“What I really need is a speakin’ part. Somethin’ to put on my resume to help me get other roles.” He hitched up his baggy jeans. “I just need one good break.”
A muscle twitched in Zack’s jaw. “As far as I’m concerned, Wayne, you’ve had your break. Several of them, in fact. You had Kate, and you abandoned her when she needed you most. Now you’ve got a wonderful daughter, the kind of kid any man would be proud to have, a kid who just wants a little of your time, and you’re too busy partying on Bourbon Street to pay any attention to her.”
“I told you, man, I’ve been busy. But I’ll go see her tonight.”
“Don’t tell her you will and then not go.”
“I’ll be there.” He gave Zack a cagey grin. “So, what do you say? If I turn into a world-class dad, will you give me a speaking part?”
Zack blew out a hard sigh. Damn, but he hated doing anything for this sleazebag. The idea of bribing him into behaving like a decent human being was repugnant, but if that was what it took to keep him from hurting Kate or Skye, he’d do it. “Treat the kid decently and I’ll find you a line or two in the last brothel scene.”
Wayne grinned. “I’ll be so good you’ll wish you’d given me a major role.”
You’ve already got a major role—pretending not to be the jackass you are. Zack bit back the words and stalked away before his temper got the best of him.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Why are we parking here?” Ruth asked nervously.
Fritz manuevered Ruth’s car into a parking spot along the curb of Esplanade Avenue. “It’s as close as we can get. There’s no parking outside my place.”
“But it’s four or five blocks away!”
“It’s a beautiful night, Ruth. You’ll enjoy the stroll.”
Ruth’s heart pounded. “It-it’s not a safe part of town. There’s been a lot of crime in this area.”
“We’ll be fine. You’ll be with me.”
“Maybe we could take a cab.”
“It’s only four blocks, Ruth. We’d have to walk that far to find a cab.”
A raggedly dressed man staggered past. Ruth started to quake inside.
“Come on, Ruth.” Fritz opened his door and climbed out. “It’ll be all right.”
Why, oh why had she agreed to this? Ruth watched Fritz circle the car to open her door, panic mounting in her throat. It hadn’t seemed so terrifying when she’d first agreed to come to his rented apartment. She’d thought she could handle it, thought it would be a good way to convince Fritz that she was making progress on overcoming her fears.
“Come spend the night with me,” he’d said. “I want to hold you all night and wake up with you in my arms.”
It wasn’t something they’d been able to do at Ruth’s house. Fritz had a bad back and was unable to sleep on the sofa bed.
Fritz opened her door and Ruth cautiously stepped out of the car, gripping her flashlight.
Fritz took it from her hand and placed it back on the seat. “You don’t need that thing. We’ll be fine.” Putting his arm around her, he escorted her down the sidewalk.
The quaking inside her intensified the farther they got from the car. Ruth gripped Fritz’s arm as they neared the open door of a bar. Music spilled out into the air.
“It’s all right, honey.”
“I—I want to go back.”
“Come on, Ruth. It’s just a little farther.”
A wave of panic rose in her throat. “I-I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“It-it’s too risky. I want to go back to the car.”
“Ruth…”
She tugged on his arm. “I can’t do this. It’s unsafe. Take me back to the car."
Fritz blew out a lungful of air. His mouth took on a hard set, but he turned around and strode back to the car. Ruth nearly had to run to keep up with him. He unlocked the car, jerked open Ruth’s door, then rounded it and climbed inside.
“I-l’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.
Fritz started the engine and jerked it into gear.
“I just don’t want to be mugged.”
Fritz didn't say a word. He backed up the car, put it in forward and peeled out of the parking spot.
“That’s a rough section of the French Quarter,” Ruth said nervously.
Fritz stared straight through the windshield, his face like granite.
“You’re not from here, so naturally you wouldn’t be familiar with the neighborhoods, but there have been some terrible crimes committed around here over the years."
Fritz continued to drive in stony silence.
They were just a few blocks from Ruth’s house before she ventured another remark. “Just a couple of months ago a man was mugged just a few blocks from where we were.”
Fritz never took his eyes off the street. “You’re not afraid of being mugged, Ruth.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why, of course I am. Mugged or raped or assaulted or kidnapped or murdered.”
“Those aren’t the things you’re really afraid of.”
“Why, of course they are.”
He pulled into her driveway, killed the engine, and turned to her.
“You’re not afraid of being a victim. You’re afraid of being happy.” His face was hard and impassive. Something about his expression was so fixed, so final, that it chilled her blood.
“W-why do you say that?”
“Because it’s true. You’re afraid to let yourself experience joy, because you’re afraid you might lose it.”
“That—that doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He climbed out of her car and walked her to the door, unlocked her front door’s three locks, then handed her the key. “You need help, but you refuse to get it. If you want to live in fear and misery and loneliness, that’s your business. But you’ll have to do it without me." He turned to go.
“Fritz—wait!”
“You made your choice, Ruth. Good-bye.”
Ruth stood in her doorway and watched him stalk away toward the streetcar. Loneliness, deeper and more profound than any she’d ever known, swept through her like a desolate wind. She watched his receding back until he disappeared around the corner. Then she went inside and locked the door behind her, locking herself in, locking the world and all its dangers out. She listlessly headed to the sofa where she and Fritz had made love, plopped down on it, and wept.
It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that she realized she hadn’t even looked under it to see if a burglar was hiding there. And the funny thing was, she didn’t even care.
The grandfather clock in Ruth’s hallway solemnly gonged twelve times. Midnight. One day had ended and another had begun. It was funny, how the beginning of a new day happened in the dark of the night.
The last note hung in the air, echoing off the walls. As it faded, Fritz’s words reverberated in her mind.
“You’re afraid to let yourself experience joy, because you’re afraid you might lose it.”
Was it true? Was she deliberately pushing him away because she was afraid of losing him? It made no sense. If she was afraid to feel love and happiness because it might end, she’d never feel happy or loved at all. Was that the convoluted logic of her heart?
“If you want to live in fear and misery and loneliness that’s your business. But you’ll have to do it without me.”
How could those things be a choice? They weren’t things she wanted. They were things she simply endured. She had no other option.
Or did she?
“You need help.”
Ruth covered her face with her hands. She was ashamed of her silly fears, ashamed of being weak, ashamed of lacking gumption or guts or courage. If she were a stronger, better person, she’d be able to deal with these ridiculous problems herself. It was humiliating, having people think she needed mental health care.
Humiliating, and terrifying. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the gate clink shut at the Baton Rouge sanatorium, still see the zombie-faced patients in the sunroom, still smell her aunt’s urine-soaked clothes as a nurse led her back from shock treatment.
“We don’t talk about Aunt Helen outside the family, Ruthie,” her mother used to caution. “Mental illness runs in families, and we don’t want people to think we’re crazy, too.”
Ruth knew that mental health care had changed a lot since the fifties and sixties, and she knew people’s attitudes had changed as well. Dr. Phil was always on Oprah, lots of celebrities went to shrinks, and antidepressants were advertised on TV as if they were breath mints. She knew all that, but none of that knowledge alleviated her gut-deep sense that mental illness was shameful. Even worse than the sense of shame was the secret terror that had haunted her since girlhood: What if she became like her aunt?
Was she becoming like her aunt? Fear was restricting her, just as surely as a straight jacket.
You need help. Dear Lord, maybe she did. She’d had no success conquering her fears alone. She’d tried, and she’d failed. The failures were just one more source of shame.
Here she sat with everything to live for—a wonderful daughter, a terrific granddaughter, a new career, a second chance at love. Was she going to give it all up because she was too proud and scared to admit she needed help?
“No.” Ruth abruptly sat up straight and swung her feet to the floor. “No!”
By Jove, she’d rather be murdered by a maniac than die cowering in this house, locked in by fear. Heck, she’d even prefer to be labeled a maniac herself.
Life was a risk. It came with no guarantees. The only guarantee she had was that she’d end up all alone if she didn’t make some major changes.
Starting right now. She stood up, setting her mouth in a determined line. Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she grabbed her camera and her flashlight and headed to her car.
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when she angled her car into a parking spot in the French Quarter, near the one where Fritz had parked a few hours ago. Killing the engine, she slung her camera over her neck, pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder and grabbed her flashlight. Lifting her chin in defiance of her fear, she set out for Fritz’s apartment. He’d driven her by it once, so she knew exactly where it was.
She hoped she wasn’t too late. She hoped Fritz would forgive her. She hoped he still loved her, hoped he still wanted her, hoped he’d give her another chance.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that it took her completely by surprise when she felt a sharp tug on her purse.
Reflexively tightening her grip on the strap, Ruth turned around to see a thin man in a red-and-black ski mask trying to yank her purse off her arm. She gasped and put up her arm. He made a dive for her bag. His head hit her hand, and she snatched at his mask. It came off in her hand.
He was a youth, probably no more than seventeen, with bloodshot eyes and stringy dark hair.
Anger shot through her. How dare this punk slow her down when she was on her way to straighten out her life? “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she hissed.
He shoved her to the sidewalk. Ruth fell hard, but managed to land on her purse.
"Give me your pocket book, lady, or you’ll wish you had.”
She grabbed his foot, pulling off his sneaker, which caused him to fall to the sidewalk beside her. He tried to wrestle her purse away from her, but she kicked him in the groin.
“Owww!” he yelped, holding his crotch.
Ruth jumped to her feet, backed into the street, and raised her camera.
“Hey! Whaddaya think you’re doin’?”
Ruth flashed off a shot in his face. The boy struggled to his feet and started after her. Standing her ground, Ruth stomped her heel into the instep of his shoeless foot. The youth fell back to the sidewalk, clutching his foot and groaning. Ruth smacked him upside the head with the flashlight, then took off running. She didn’t stop until she reached Fritz’s doorstep three blocks later. It was an old Acadian town house made of stucco and brick with green shutters and a large door. The lights were off. Ruth knocked on the door, her heart pounding. Please, God— don’t let it be too late. Please let him forgive me. Please let him still want me.
