Relatively Famous (4 page)

“Dani!” Leila raced up to Dani’s door and knocked.

“Get away from me! I hate you!” Dani yelled.

Chapter 8

Dani lay in bed, one arm over her eyes. Leila had stopped knocking a while ago. It was almost six o’clock and Sam had called a few times, but she didn’t want to talk to her. In fact, Dani didn’t want to talk to anyone. From what she could hear downstairs, reporters were calling nonstop. She was afraid to turn on the television and computer for fear that she would see herself appear onscreen.

This was unbelievable. Of all the men in the world who could be her father, it had to be a famous, smarmy action star. This was horribly embarrassing. There was another knock at her door and Dani cringed. “Leave me alone!”

“It’s me. Can I come in?” It was Alan.

She sat up in bed and reached for a tissue. “Yeah.”

Alan sat down on the edge of her bed. “How you doin’, kiddo?”

Dani sniffed. “Were you making fish today?”

Alan wrinkled his nose back at her. “Bluefish. Do I stink that badly?”

“No. I like it.” She looked down in her lap.

Alan put an arm around Dani’s shoulder. “I hear you’ve had quite a day, huh? I bet you’re pretty pissed at your mom.”

Dani shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.”

Dani began to cry. “She said my father left because he didn’t want to be a father, but he never even knew about me. She lied about it all.”

“Yes,” Alan agreed. “She did. And she has had to live with that choice every day. She kept it to herself for all these years. But she was pretty young when she got pregnant and found herself with a very hard decision to make. Mark sounds like he was nowhere close to wanting a family
,
and from what I’ve seen, not much has changed for him. Maybe she didn’t tell Mark because she didn’t want to face his rejection. She loves you more than anything, Dani. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Dani sighed. “But Mark Ocean of all people? Seriously? Why couldn’t my father be some plumber from Ohio?”

Alan smiled. “You have every right to be angry, but maybe you could think about easing up on your mom a little. This is hard on her, too.” Alan spoke softly. “You think you’re embarrassed about having Mark Ocean as a father? Just think how your poor mother feels. She dated him!” Alan nudged Dani. “Yuck! All those glistening muscles and hair spray everywhere? Having to watch him pose in front of the mirror? It must have been awful…”

Dani couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, I guess I feel a little bad for her.” She tossed herself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “But what do I do now?”

Leila appeared in the doorway. “I don’t think you have to do anything, Dani. I just got a call from Mark’s assistant in Los Angeles. He says that Mark apologizes for the interruption in our lives and assures us he is trying to deal with the unreliable press.”

Dani opened her eyes wide and smacked her hands down on the bed. “Let me get this straight. Mark Ocean is denying that he’s my father?”

Leila bit her lip and crossed her arms. “Yes. He didn’t even have the decency to call and lie directly.” Leila looked at Dani. “The way I did to you.”

“Mom…I just…” Dani floundered for words. “I understand why you did what you did. I guess. He sounds like a jerk
,
and so you were right. If you’d told him you were pregnant
,
he probably would have bolted to Hollywood anyway. So, it’s done. It’s settled. He can pretend he’s not my father
,
and we can just go on with our lives.”

“Dani, I’m so sorry—” Leila started.

“Stop. I get it, Mom. I do. You don’t have anything to apologize for. Mark just proved you right, didn’t he?”

Leila sat down next to her daughter on the bed and held out her arms, hoping for a hug. Dani leaned in and let her mom hold her.

Chapter 9

Mark Ocean stretched his feet out and tried to get comfortable in the metal chair. Or what was posing as a chair. The silver contraption he was balanced on resembled an ultramodern sculpture more than a seat. It looked good, though, and that was what mattered. He surveyed the room, admiring his agent’s office. Renna Martin had impeccable taste. The furniture was from Italy and the walls were covered in modern realist paintings, but the real power display here was the view. The window provided a spectacular panorama over Santa Monica to the ocean.
Now this
i
s sitting on top of the world,
Mark thought.

He was looking forward to this meeting. Renna was back this morning from Santa Barbara
,
and Mark suspected she had a new offer for him. Thank God she had been out of town when that horrible story about him having a daughter hit the news—apparently there
was
an upside to Buddhist retreats. His publicist had done his best to put a stop to the illegitimate daughter story, but it had still shown up in the middle pages of the national tabloids. Fortunately for Mark, a Grammy-winning singer and a Victoria’s Secret model had eloped in Turks and Caicos at the same time that his story broke, and their wedding took front page.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mark.” Renna Martin entered the office and immediately switched on her computer. She planted herself firmly in her chair and adjusted her absurdly large glasses so that the thick black frames encircled her eyes perfectly. One look at his agent told him that this retreat had been a combination Buddhist retreat/plastic surgery getaway; Renna’s eyebrows were undeniably higher than they’d been the last time he’d seen her.

“How was your trip?” Mark asked.

“Fantastic. Refreshing. Rejuvenating. Have you ever spent time in a hyperbaric chamber? Words can’t describe it.”

“I’m sure they can’t.”

“And you must try a sensory deprivation tank sometime. You float in a shallow water capsule
,
and with no distracting physical stimuli, your nervous system is deactivated and your mind is free to attain its peak state of relaxation. I’m very in touch with my inner self.”

“I’ll look into having my nervous system deactivated,” Mark promised. “I didn’t know Buddhists were big fans of sensory deprivation. Or facelifts,” he added.

“It was a holistic approach to wellness, smart ass.”

“You do look well. Holistically speaking.”

“Good. Now, I’ve been your agent from day one, Mark, correct?”

Uh-oh
. Mark could tell he was in trouble. Whenever Renna started confirming the length of time she’d been representing him, it meant she was about to deliver a tongue-lashing. “Yes, you have. And you’ve done a wonderful job.” He did his best to brace himself.

“Eleanor! Get the lights!” Renna barked the order to her assistant
,
who materialized instantaneously and turned off the office lights. Renna hit a button on a remote control
,
and automatic shades smoothly closed over the window, sending the room into darkness. The glow of her laptop provided the only light.

“Renna? What’s going on?” Mark sat up straight in his chair.

“Take a look at this for a moment, will you?” His agent tapped a few keys on the computer
,
and the wall to Mark’s left lit up with his image.
Great, another slide show
. Renna liked visual demonstrations when she had a point to make. “Here you are at the L.A. Film Festival.” Renna zoomed in on Mark and then panned to the woman next to him in the photo. “And here is some nameless hot
young thing on your arm.” Renna hit the keyboard. “And here you are at the MTV Awards with a different girl. Barely half your age, I should note. Aha! Now we see you and a bubbly blonde leaving a bar at three in the morning, and it’s obvious you two weren’t sipping tea all evening.” Renna pulled her goggle-like glasses down to the tip of her nose. “Oh, yes, my friend. There’s more.” She tapped her keyboard, sending a flurry of larger-than-life images of Mark and various scantily clad women onto the wall.

Mark cleared his throat. “Um, Renna…so what? I’ve dated quite a bit. What’s the problem?”

“Eleanor!” Renna screamed again, and the lights magically came on. Mark’s agent sighed, folded her hands, and leaned across her desk. “Clean yourself up, Mark. You want to know how you went from being Matt Damon to Jean Claude Van Damme? Those pictures are why. You’ve got a crummy public image. No reputable producer or director wants to cast you in a good movie while you’re known as Hollywood’s perpetual playboy. You know who’s getting the best roles these days? Family men. Stand up guys. No one likes a gigolo anymore, Mark.”

He dropped his mouth open. “Gigolo? I’m hardly a gigolo!”

Renna rolled her eyes. “You want me to play the
Mark and Floozy
montage again? I didn’t think so. This was all fine when you were twenty-five, but you’re not twenty-five anymore. Grow up. The way I see it, you have two options. Option one? Rehab. We’ll send you to Promises and claim some vague addiction. Maybe a sex addiction? That’s probably the only one we could sell to the public. You’ll get out and the fans will love you.”

Mark’s face blanched—as much as was possible under his fake tan. “Promises? Like hell you’re sending me to rehab! For anything. Give me option two.”

Renna pursed her lips together. “Get a family. Find an attractive, normal American woman who is over thirty and has great teeth. A woman that women like and men want. Someone in marketing, sales, or publicity would be perfect. But somebody smart. Marry her. Actors, musicians, athletes? It doesn’t matter what type of celebrity you are. Bottom line? If you want the best press, the best gigs, the best endorsements, you’d better get your act together and family up. Pronto.”

Mark rolled his head in circles, cracking his neck. “What’s option three?”

“There is no option three.”

“Renna, this is ridiculous. What about George Clooney? He’s a perennial bachelor
,
and everyone loves him.”

“You’re no George Clooney, my dear.”

“Still, there’s got to be another—”

“You want proof? Here you go.” Renna crossed the room, removed a stack of magazines from a floating shelf, and dropped the pile in Mark’s lap. “Look at the covers. Go ahead, pick any one of those.
People
,
US
,
Entertainment Weekly
. See who they fawn over? David Beckham, Will Smith, Tobey Maguire, Johnny Depp, and that mouth-watering Brad Pitt with his four
hundred children.”

Mark thumbed through the magazines. Renna was right. Married men, or at least those in serious relationships, graced the covers.

“Here’s the cold truth, Mark. Nice guys with attractive wives and darling children get the covers and get the big, diverse roles that you want. Frankly, the ones I think you deserve. You’re a better actor than most people realize.” Renna thumped the glass table. “Become one of the nice guys.”

Mark rubbed his five-o’clock shadow and thought for a moment. Renna was right; it was time for a major change. And so, Mark Ocean made a monumental decision. He beamed at his agent. “What if I told you I’m halfway there?”

“What? You have a wife I don’t know about?” Renna looked doubtfully at Mark.

“Nope,” Mark practically giggled. “Not a wife.”

Renna’s jaw dropped and then her mouth formed a sly smile. “You have a kid?”

He crossed his legs and folded his hands. “So I’m told”

“Tell me everything,” the eager agent said.

As Mark Ocean detailed the little he knew about his mystery fifteen-year-old daughter, Renna Martin could barely contain her glee. She wasn’t overjoyed to hear that he had spent the past few weeks denying any relationship to his daughter, but that could be fixed. If they played their cards right, she told him, Mark Ocean’s movie career was about to take a turn in the right direction.

Chapter 10

“We made it!” Sam chirped happily into the phone. “We survived our first year of high school relatively unscathed. Next year we won’t be the newbies anymore
,
and we’ll finally be the popular socialites we’ve always strived to be. Of course, it would have helped if Mark Ocean had claimed you as his daughter,” Sam teased.

Dani shrugged. “Based on his recent movies, I don’t know whether that would have helped or not. It’s been bad enough around here with paparazzi following me. Mom told me not to talk to them, but I can’t help it. Did you see that hideous picture of me online? I was in the middle of telling one of them to suck it when someone took the picture. I look totally deranged.”

“Maybe it’s helped that Mark’s lawyers have done all the talking. Nobody cares about putting
them
on television.”