Susan Phillips - What I Did for Love

Just like that, she was eight years old again, and those same cold green eyes were judging her for letting an expensive bulldog puppy get away during a pet food commercial or for spilling juice on her dress before an audition. If only he were one of those rumpled, overweight, scratchy-cheeked fathers who didn’t know anything about show business and only cared about her happiness. She pulled herself together.

“Hi, Dad.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and patiently waited for her to explain.

“Surprise!” she said with a fake smile. “Not that it’s really a surprise. I mean…You had to know we were dating. Everybody saw the photos of us at Ivy. Sure, it seems fast, but we practically grew up together, and…When it’s right, it’s right. Right, Bram? Isn’t that right?”

But her bridegroom was too busy reveling in her discomfort to chime in with his support.

Her father studiously avoided looking in his direction. “Are you pregnant?” he asked in the same clinical voice.

“No! Of course not! This is a”-she tried not to choke-“love match.”

“You hate each other.”

Bram finally uncoiled from his chair and came to her side. “That’s old history, Paul.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “We’re different people now.”

Paul continued to ignore him. “Do you have any idea how many reporters are out front? They attacked my car when I drove in.”

She briefly wondered how he’d found her back here, then realized her father wouldn’t let a small thing like an unanswered doorbell stop him. She could see him now, tramping through the shrubbery and emerging without a single hair out of place. Unlike her, Paul York never got ruffled or confused. He never lost his sense of purpose, either, which was why he found it so difficult to understand her insistence on taking a six-month vacation.

“You need to get control of this publicity immediately,” he said.

“Bram and I were just discussing our next step.”

Paul finally turned his attention to Bram. From the beginning, they’d been enemies. Bram hated Paul’s interference on the set, especially the way he made sure Georgie never lost her top billing. And Paul hated everything about Bram.

“I don’t know how you talked Georgie into this charade,” her father said, “but I know why. You want to ride on her coattails again, just like you used to. You want to use her to advance your own pathetic career.”

Her father didn’t know about the money, so he was uncharacteristically off the mark. “Don’t say that.” She needed to at least pretend to defend Bram. “This is exactly the reason I didn’t call you. I knew you’d be upset.”

“Upset?” Her father never raised his voice, which made his disgust all the more painful. “Are you deliberately trying to ruin your life?”

No, she was trying to save it.

Paul rocked on his heels just as he used to when she was a child and she didn’t have her lines memorized. “And here I thought the worst of this mess was over.”

She knew what he meant. He adored Lance, and he’d been furious when they split. Sometimes she wished he’d just come out and say what he really meant, that she should have been woman enough to hold on to her husband.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed in you.”

His words bit to the quick, but she was working hard at being her own person, so she made herself manufacture another bright smile. “And just think, I’m only thirty-one. I have lots of years to improve my record.”

“That’s enough, Georgie,” Bram said, almost pleasantly. He let his hand slip from her waist. “Paul, let me lay it out for you. Georgie is my wife now, and this is my house, so behave, or you’ll lose your invitation to visit.”

She sucked in her breath.

“Really?” Paul’s lip curled.

“Really.” Bram headed for the doors. But just before he got there, he turned back, performing the old false exit as flawlessly as he’d done it in a score of Skip and Scooter episodes. He even started off with the identical dialogue. “Oh, and one more thing…” That was when he went off script, and he did it with a smile. “I want to see Georgie’s tax returns from the last five years. And her financial statements.”

She couldn’t believe it. Of all the-She took a step toward him.

An angry flush spread over her father’s face. “Are you implying that I’ve mismanaged Georgie’s money?”

“I don’t know. Have you?”

Bram had gone too far. She might resent the way her father attempted to control her, and she definitely questioned his judgment in choosing her latest projects, but he was the only man in the world she trusted completely when it came to money. All kid actors should be lucky enough to have such a scrupulously honest parent guarding their incomes.

Her father grew more outwardly calm, never a good sign. “Now we get to the real reason for this marriage. Georgie’s money.”

Bram’s lips curled with insolence. “First you say I married her to advance my career…Now you think I married her for her money…Dude, I married her for sex.”

Georgie rushed forward. “Okay, I’ve had enough laughs for tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, Dad. I promise.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“If you give me a couple of minutes, I can probably come up with a good punch line, but for now, I’m afraid that’s the best I’ve got.”

“Let me show you out,” Bram said.

“No need.” Her father strode toward the door. “I’ll leave the same way I came in.”

“No, Dad, really…Let me…”

But he was already crossing the gravel patio. She sank into a saggy brown couch right underneath Humphrey Bogart.

“That was fun,” Bram said.

She clenched her fists in her lap. “I can’t believe you questioned his integrity like that. You-the go-to guy for financial mismanagement. How my father handles my money is my business, not yours.”

“If there’s nothing to hide, he won’t mind opening the books.”

She shot up. “I mind! My finances are confidential, and I’m calling my lawyer first thing tomorrow to make sure they stay that way.” She’d also have a private talk with her accountant about disguising the fifty thousand a month she was paying Bram from her father. “Household expenses” and “increased security” sounded a lot better than “blood money.”

“Relax,” he said. “Do you really think I’d know how to read a financial statement?”

“You were deliberately baiting him.”

“Didn’t you enjoy it just a little bit? Now your father knows he can’t order me around the way he does you.”

“I run my own life.” At least she was trying to.

She expected him to debate the point, but he flicked off the desk lamp instead and nudged her toward the door. “Bedtime. I’ll bet you’d like a back rub.”

“I’ll bet I wouldn’t.” She stepped outside as he pulled the doors closed behind them. “Why do you keep pushing this?” she said. “You don’t even like me.”

“Because I’m a guy, and you’re available.”

She let her silence speak for itself.

The next morning Georgie carefully made the bed she’d slept in by herself and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she found a young woman standing at the counter, her back to the door, a colander of strawberries in front of her. She had dyed black hair clipped short on one side, but jaw-length and jagged on the other. Three small Japanese symbols tattooed on the back of her neck disappeared into a sleeveless gray T-shirt, and big safety pins secured a long hole in the side of her jeans. She looked like a 1990s punk rocker, and Georgie couldn’t imagine what she was doing in Bram’s kitchen.

“Uh…Good morning.” Her greeting went unacknowledged. She wasn’t used to people who didn’t suck up to her, and she tried again. “I’m Georgie.”

“Like I wouldn’t know that.” The girl still didn’t turn. “This is Bram’s special protein breakfast drink. You’ll have to fix whatever you want for yourself.” The blender roared to life.

Georgie waited until the motor went quiet. “And you are-?”

“Bram’s housekeeper. Chaz.”

“Short for?”

“Chaz.”

Georgie got the message. Chaz hated her and didn’t want to talk. Trust Bram to have a housekeeper who looked like she’d stepped out of a Tim Burton film. Georgie started opening cupboard doors, looking for a mug. When she found one, she carried it over to the coffeepot.

Chaz turned on her. “That’s Bram’s special blend. It’s only for him.” She had heavy dark eyebrows, one of which was pierced, and small, sharp, very hostile features. “The regular stuff is in that cupboard.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind if I have a cup of his.” Georgie pulled the carafe from a high-end coffeemaker.

“I only made enough for one.”

“Probably best to make a little more from now on.” Ignoring the poison darts being shot at her, Georgie took an apple from a Mexican Talavera bowl and carried it, along with the coffee, out to the veranda.

She drank half a cup of his coffee-it was delicious-and then checked her messages. Lance had called again, this time from Thailand. “Georgie, this is crazy. Call me right away.”

She deleted the message, then phoned her publicist and lawyer. Her evasiveness about what had happened over the weekend was driving them nuts, but she wasn’t telling anyone the truth, not even the people she was supposed to trust. She used the same script on them that she’d tried out on her personal assistant yesterday when she’d made arrangements for him to start packing up her things. “I can’t believe that you of all people didn’t figure out Bram and I were dating. We did our best to keep it quiet, but you can usually see right through me.”

She finally worked up the nerve to phone Sasha. She asked about the fire, but Sasha brushed her off. “I’m taking care of it. Now explain what’s really going on, not that cockamamie bull April told me about you and Mr. Sexy getting nostalgic over Skip and Scooter reruns.”

“That’s my story, and we’re all sticking to it, okay?”

“But-”

“Please.”

Sasha finally gave in. “I’ll let it go for now, but on my next trip to L.A., we’re going to have a long talk. Unfortunately, I need to stay in Chicago for a while.”

Georgie always anticipated Sasha’s L.A. visits, but she was more than happy to postpone what she knew would be a dogged interrogation.

She didn’t bother calling her agent. Her father would handle Laura. Trying to earn his love was like being on a perpetual hamster wheel. No matter how fast she ran, she never got any closer to the goal. One of these days, she had to stop trying. As for telling him the truth…Not now. Not ever.

Bram came out onto the veranda, finishing the dregs of something pink, thick, and frothy. As she took in the way his T-shirt clung to those unfamiliar muscles, she decided she liked his old heroin-chic look better. At least she’d understood that. She watched a final strawberry morsel disappear into his mouth. She wanted a foamy pink breakfast shake, too. But then, she wanted a lot of things she couldn’t have. A great marriage, kids, a healthy relationship with her father, and a career that would improve with age. Right now, she’d settle for a well-orchestrated plan to make the public believe she’d fallen in love.

“Vacation time’s come to an end, Skipper.” She rose from her chair. “The weekend’s over, and the press is demanding answers. At the least, we have to plan for the next few days. The first thing we need to do is-”

“Don’t upset Chaz.” He wiped a pink foam bubble from the corner of his mouth.

“Me? That girl is a walking, talking rude machine.”

“She’s also the best housekeeper I’ve ever had.”

“She looks like she’s eighteen. Who has a housekeeper that young?”

“She’s twenty, and I do. Leave her alone.”

“That’s going to be a little hard to do if I’m living here.”

“Let me spell it out. If I have to make a choice between you and Chaz, Chaz wins hands down.” He and his empty glass disappeared back inside.

They were sleeping together. That would explain Chaz’s hostility. She hardly seemed like his usual sex bunny, but what did Georgie know about his current preferences? Not a thing, and she intended to keep it that way.

Aaron Wiggins, her personal assistant, arrived half an hour later. She held the front door open so he could wedge through with her biggest suitcase and some outfits on hangers. “It’s a war zone out there,” he said, with the relish of a twenty-six-year-old still obsessed with video games. “Paparazzi, a news crew. I think I saw that chick from E!”

“Excellent,” she said glumly. Aaron had been her personal assistant since her previous P.A. had defected to Lance and Jade’s camp. He was nearly as wide as he was tall-probably three hundred pounds and barely five feet nine. His wiry brown hair surrounded a roly-poly face decked out with nerd glasses, a long nose, and a small, sweet mouth.