Sway (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Dinner was over and the boys had gone to bed. Outside, the darkness slowly pushed the sun beneath the ground. We sat around a low, circular table that had a fire crackling in its center, our chairs squished together so we could all fit. Charlie brought out marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate and some roasting sticks. The smell of fire burning and melted chocolate drifted around us.

The sound of quiet chatter echoed through the air. Next to me, Sophia Croft shrugged a sweater over her shoulders and then turned to me.

“Mari told me you still play piano,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied. “Not as good as Eric, though.”

“Nonsense. I remember Eric saying you were a wonderful pianist.” Sophia’s blue eyes bored into mine, reminding me of the way Eric could bring out things I wasn’t prepared to share just by looking at me.

I glanced at Eric. He sat snuggled up with Lacey, their chairs practically on top of each other.

“Do you do anything with it now?”

“I’m hoping to teach,” I replied. “I have two interviews in a couple of weeks.”

“Ava’s performing this summer too,” Mari broke in. Conversations died out, everyone looked at me. I squirmed in my seat. The center of attention had always been an uncomfortable place. “In an orchestra, right?”

“I’m playing with the California Philharmonic,” I said.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful.” Sophia turned to Richard. “We should get tickets. I would love to see Ava play.”

“It’s no big deal.” Hopefully the darkness covered the heat spreading over my cheeks. “I don’t have any solos, so…”

“We would love to hear you all the same,” Sophia insisted. “When is your father going? It would be nice to finally meet him.”

I looked down at my lap. “I doubt my dad will go. It’s not really his thing.”

Everyone went quiet.

“Not his thing?” Richard burst out. “His daughter is not his thing?”

“It’s more the crowds,” I said. “And the drive.”

Mari snorted. “Be real, Ava. Dad doesn’t like mingling with common people unless they’re looking for his autograph—which is never these days. He wouldn’t mind a crowd if they were all famous movie stars or something.”

Sophia looked at Mari askance. “Your father sounds…” She struggled for the right word, finally settling on, “interesting.”

“I like to say eccentric,” I said. It beat self-absorbed.

Sophia placed another marshmallow on her stick. “So, he was an actor?”

“He did a few movies and he was on that soap opera—
The Time of Our Life
in the eighties and nineties.”

“I’ve never watched soap operas, I’m afraid.” Sophia gave me an apologetic look.

“Me neither. Although I’ve seen every one of my dad’s episodes. He sort of made us.”

Sophia chuckled at that. “Still, I can’t imagine not wanting to see your daughter perform. I attend every concert of Eric’s I can manage.”

I sighed. It was impossible to explain my father. Even I didn’t really understand him and I’d lived with him most of my life.

“It’s hard for my dad to come out of his comfort zone. He likes people to come into his world instead of the other way around.” Both Richard and Sophia shot me dubious looks. “His world has always been acting and his family. Without the acting now…he clings to what he knows.” Which was Kellynch, which he had just lost, and Beth.

“You have a sister who still lives with him, yes?” Richard asked.

“Our
older
sister,” Mari said.

“He and Beth are practically inseparable,” I said. “I think he wishes all his girls would have stayed with him. It was really hard for him when he sent Mari to boarding school after my mother died.”

Mari snorted at that.

“Why did he?” Lacey asked.

“My Aunt Rose convinced him it was for the best. He was still working at the time and Mari was barely twelve. Beth and I were older and I think my aunt thought we could take care of ourselves.”

“
He
had a hard time?” Mari cut in. “What about me? I’m the one who got sent away from everyone I knew to stay at some strange school. It was awful. Scarred me for life.”

Mari had been pushed out of her own family at a young age, sent away like she didn’t matter. I’d tried my hardest to be there for her, to make her feel loved, but she’d been on her own for much of her teenage years.

“You turned out just fine to me,” Charlie said. “I don’t see any scars.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Mari smiled.

“Aw, you guys are the cutest,” Lacey said. She leaned into Eric as far as she could with the chair arms between them. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

“Your dad may be eccentric, but he’s famous,” Lacey said, as if that was a logical excuse.

“Was,” corrected Mari.

“I love knowing all these famous people. First your dad, even though he’s really not famous anymore. Now Eric.” She turned her face to his and rubbed her finger along his chin.

“Not to mention all the celebrities who come into your store,” Mari added.

Lacey sat up straight. “We need to become friends with Brad and Angie. It would be awesome, right?”

Mari nodded fervently. “Get a house in France so we can be neighbors.”

“If they even still live there,” Lacey said.

I pressed my lips together and glanced at Eric. He also had his mouth mashed tight like he was trying not to laugh.

“You need to have kids first so our kids can play with their kids,” Mari said.

Eric’s shoulders started to shake. I had to look away so I wouldn’t burst out laughing.

“My little Sailor and baby Moon can play with their twins.” Lacey stared into the fire dreamily.

My eyes met Eric’s. Unable to contain it any longer, we both burst into laughter.

“What?” Lacey asked, staring between Eric and me, her mouth pulled down in a frown. “It’s not like I’m going to put X’s in all my boys’ names like Brangelina. That’s just stupid.”

We laughed harder.

“Sailor? And Moon?” I asked between chortles. “That’s what you’re going to name your kids?”

“After my favorite cartoon,” Lacey said.

“Of course!” Mari exclaimed. “I loved that show!”

“I know, me too!” Lacey glared at the rest of us.

It took a while for us to stop laughing. Even the Crofts couldn’t contain themselves. Lacey was not pleased.

“I always wanted to do what your dad did when he named you guys,” Lacey said.

Sophia arched her brows. “You’re all named after a cartoon?”

I shook my head. “Dad named us after his favorite actresses.”

She considered me for a moment. “Ava Gardner.”

I shrugged. “It’s too bad I only got her name and none of her sex appeal.”

“All that sex appeal led to three failed marriages,” Richard said.

“Frank Sinatra,” Eric said.

Richard nodded. “And Artie Shaw.”

“Who’s Artie Shaw?” Lacey asked.

“Jazz musician,” Eric and I said at exactly the same time. Our eyes met and we shared a smile.

“Who was the third husband?” Mari asked.

“Mickey Rooney,” said Sophia.

“I never knew that.” I tried to picture beautiful and sophisticated Ava Gardner with short and kinda goofy-looking Mickey Rooney. I couldn’t do it. “What an odd couple.”

Sophia shrugged. “If you love someone, you love someone.”

I glanced at Eric. He leaned back in his chair. In the dying light, I could barely make out his features. I picked up my discarded roasting stick and pushed a marshmallow onto it.

“At least you look a tiny bit like her,” Mari said.

I opened my mouth to argue—the only similarity between Ava Gardner and me was our hair color—but Mari wasn’t done. She stood and gave a little twirl.

“I look nothing like Marilyn Monroe.” She slumped back onto her chair. “I’m not even blonde!”

“You were blonde as a kid,” I pointed out to make her feel better. “Dad didn’t know your hair would darken.”

“So Ava Gardner and Marilyn Monroe.” Sophia ticked the names off on her fingers. “What about your older sister? Isn’t her name Beth?”

I lifted my marshmallow from the fire before it could burn and grabbed a couple of graham crackers. “Elizabeth Taylor,” I replied. “Beth probably resembles her namesake the most out of all of us.” I snapped a piece of chocolate off the bar and squished my marshmallow between it and the graham crackers.

“Nah, Beth doesn’t look like Liz.” I looked up from making my s’more at Eric. He stared at me across the fire, his eyes glimmering in the firelight. “You resemble your namesake more than she does.”

Warmth spread through me, and not from the fire. “Beth’s got the confidence. The whole femme fatale thing going on that I could never pull off.”

Eric leaned forward, giving me an unreadable look. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’ve pulled off femme fatale before.”

And with that, all the warmth was gone. I stared at the trembling s’more in my hands. I should have known he’d find a way to insult me.

Richard cleared his throat. The only sound after that was the crackling of the fire. Eric had this newfound talent of making any moment awkward. Or maybe it was us together.

Eric looked down at Lacey. “Don’t you want to know what names I’ve picked out for my kids?” he asked, trying to get the conversation going again.

“What are they?” she asked.

He smirked. “I’m going to have all boys. And I’ll name them Frank, Dean, Sammy, and Peter. And Joey if I decide to have a fifth. Or if I have a girl I could name her Joey.”

“Like Dawson’s Creek!” Lacey exclaimed.

“Like the Rat Pack,” I said.

“What’s the Rat Pack?” she asked. Eric, Richard and I all groaned.

I passed my uneaten s’more to Charlie while Eric gave Lacey a brief lesson in American history.

“Eric would have fit right in the Rat Pack,” Richard said. “Sing us something. Show Lacey here what a real crooner sounds like.”

Eric rubbed his hands together. “I know the perfect song.”

I cringed inside, waiting for what was sure to be another jab in lyrical form. When Eric launched into “Found a Peanut,” I relaxed.

“No, no!” Lacey shouted over the laughter coming from the group. Eric stopped with a grin. “Sing ‘No Two Hearts.’ I love that one.”

“Yeah, sing that one,” Mari said. “Please?”

Eric hesitated. He shifted on his chair, his eyes darting to everyone but me. Then he took a deep breath and launched into the song. I leaned back, listening, an ache washing over me as if it were the first time. Loss, misery, loneliness. Pain and regret. I picked each emotion out and tried to toss them aside where they couldn’t hurt me anymore.

Mari snuggled into Charlie. Richard and Sophia shared a look across the fire. Lacey gazed adoringly at Eric, a perfect picture of puppy love. That could have been me. Used to be me. Instead, Lacey was the one he sang to while her hand stroked his thigh.

Clearly, I wasn’t as adept at tossing aside my emotions as I wanted to be.

Chapter Eighteen

It was our fourth date, and Gage Johnson had yet to disappoint. He’d taken me to the opera where I died over
Cosi Fan Tutti
. We wore cheesy Mickey Mouse hats and got wet on Splash Mountain at Disneyland. He made me dinner at his North Hollywood apartment—salmon teriyaki with grapefruit and fennel and chocolate covered strawberries for dessert. Even his abnormally white teeth had toned down to a normal shade.

Tonight we sat across a small table from each other in a cozy Italian restaurant. Votives adorned the tabletop and a vase of pink bougainvillea emitted a light perfume, barely noticeable amongst the scent of garlic and oregano. Mascagni played in the background. I recognized the intermezzo from his opera
Cavalleria Rusticana
, the notes humming through my head as if they were my own.

“Have you ever been in love before?” Gage asked, leaning toward me.

His question surprised me. We’d been talking about our favorite musicians and then
bam!
he sprang this on me, as if Schubert and Ella Fitzgerald had something to do with my love life.

“Twice,” I replied after a moment. “They were both musicians.” Their only similarity, really. Even my love for them felt different. It had taken me years to get over Eric. Kaz and I had broken up a month ago and now I rarely thought of him.

Gage raised an eyebrow. “You like the famous type, huh? Is that why you’re with me?”

“More like the artsy type. And since when are you famous?”

He put a hand over his heart. “Ouch. I think you hit an artery there. Medic!”

I laughed. “I’d like to think I go for men based on who they are, not what they do.”

“Admirable.” His lips puckered and I didn’t know if he was containing a laugh.

“It’s my way of rebelling.”

“You, a rebel?”

“I know. But with my dad, he always pushed us toward people based on how famous or important he thought they were. ‘Be friends with so-and-so, their dad is an Oscar-winning director.’ That kind of thing.”

Don’t date him. He’s a nobody and he’ll never make it
—something I heard more times than I could count.

“I could have skipped school every day to smoke crack and he probably wouldn’t have cared as long as I was smoking crack with a celebrity,” I said. Aunt Rose would’ve had a fit if she found out, of course, but I’d never wanted to rebel against her.

“What a childhood you must have had.” Gage grabbed the last thin wedge of bread from the basket and offered it to me. I declined.

“It wasn’t all that interesting, trust me.”

His face softened as he chewed. “My father was nothing like that.”

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. The night we had salmon at his apartment, Gage had told me how his father passed away a year ago. It still weighed on him, probably always would, much like my mother’s death never seemed to let me go. “What was he like?”

“Handsome, intelligent, debonair.” He stared down at our hands, stroking my fingers with his thumb. “He was very well-respected. Others always came first. I always came first.”

“You miss him.”

He nodded. “You know, he used to talk about you all the time.”

“Me?”

“You and your sisters. He met you when you were just kids but he would always tell me how sweet you all were. Little angels, he said.” He smiled. “He would say, ‘Son, when you grow up, marry one of those Elliot girls.’”

“Really?” I released his hand. “I don’t remember meeting him.”

His eyebrows lowered. I think he was disappointed. “You were probably seven or eight at the time. Maybe older.”

My fingers self-consciously played with the ends of my hair. “So what happened?” He shot me a confused look. “Between your dad and mine? Didn’t you say they used to be friends?”

Gage leaned back in his chair. “Some sort of falling-out. I’m not really sure.”

“Huh.” I didn’t remember Dad mentioning anything about it. But then, if I was just a child at the time, why would he? Or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention.

Gage took a sip of wine, studying me over the rim of the glass. Underneath the table, his leg rubbed against mine. “Maybe someday you’ll introduce us? I’d like to meet him.”

“You actually
want
to meet the parents? Doesn’t that go against every boyfriend convention?”

He reached under the table and slid his hand over my knee. “I want to meet anyone who’s important to you.”

It was the perfect thing to say but I wasn’t sure if I was there yet. His fingers began toying with the hem of my skirt and I couldn’t form another coherent thought until the waiter brought our dinner.

* * * * *

After orchestra practice, Lexi and I went to the beach near Mari’s house. We lounged on beach chairs while the sun tried in vain to penetrate our SPF-soaked skin. Lexi flipped through an issue of Vogue, every page earning some sort of comment.

“This dress is gorgeous.” She groaned in longing. “Elie Saab. It’s probably so expensive.”

I looked up from my worn-in, much-read Jane Austen novel. “Uh, yeah.”

“But look at it!” She held up the magazine so I could see the pale pink strapless dress with flowery lace overlay.

“Wow,” I agreed.

“A million times wow.”

“More like a million dollars wow.”

Lexi slammed the magazine onto her chair. “When I fall in love with a man, please let him be rich.” She raised her hands to the heavens as if in prayer.

“And sweet,” I said, joining my prayer to hers.

“And hot.”

“And smart.”

“And willing to take on a two-year-old.” She heaved a loud sigh.

I stared at the pages of my book without seeing the words. “I met someone,” I said after a few minutes.

“What? You did? Who?” Lexi was out of her chair and onto mine in a second.

“His name is Gage.” I moved my legs over so Lexi could fit more comfortably on the chair. “I met him at that dance club I went to a couple weeks ago.”

“No. Way.” Her face lifted in excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged.

“So?”

“What?”

Lexi rolled her eyes. “What’s he like? Is he hot? How many times have you gone out? You need to spill it.”

I pressed my lips together in amusement.

“Come
oooooon
.” She dragged out the word like a chugging engine. “Don’t make me beg.”

“We’ve gone out a few times. And he’s…he’s…almost perfect.”

Lexi was dissatisfied with my description of, “brown-eyed, lush-lipped, tanned and muscles like Hercules.” She wanted more details, intimate details—the kind I didn’t have yet. She also wanted to know everything he’d ever said, worn, and eaten for some reason.

She groaned when I was done. “He does sound perfect. You have all the luck.”

I tried not to grin.

“Have you paraded him in front of Eric yet?” she asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, come on.” Lexi rose from the chair and put her hands on her hips. The sun shone behind her silhouette, and I squinted up at her. “You’re not that naïve.”

“It would be—” The right word evaded me. “Weird. Besides, Eric wouldn’t be jealous or anything. He and Lacey are practically engaged.”

Lexi went back to her own seat. “Really?”

I lowered the back of my chair and then lay on my stomach. “Well, no, but if it were up to Lacey, they would be.”

“That girl needs to get her heart broken,” Lexi muttered. I scowled at her. “What? She needs to learn that life isn’t a chick-flick.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head on my arms. Lacey did expect her life to turn out perfectly. She was certain she’d marry someone famous, live in a mansion, and have beautiful babies. She had yet to learn that even if you got everything you ever wanted, it could all be taken away in an instant. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to learn that lesson or not. In a weird way her innocence gave me hope. Like maybe the chick-flick ending could happen once in a while.

“Whatever happened with that guy from your office?” I asked, opening my eyes.

She made a disgusted sound. “Don’t ask.”

“That bad?”

“He took one look at the picture of Elle on my desk and bolted. He’s barely spoken to me since.”

So much for chick flicks. I reached my hand out. She took it and held on tight, as if I was somehow keeping her afloat in the sea of sand beneath us. “You always have me,” I said.

Her lips turned up. “No offence, but you’re not my type.” She let go and her hand fell into the sand. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” I said. And this time, I actually meant it.