You Have Seven Messages (18 page)

“The thing you need to know, Big Girl, is Marion was never one for indiscretions. They were more like soul mates. She wanted to leave, but it was killing her. I know it sounds strange, but she really never wanted to betray or hurt your father.”

“When did it start?”

More people get seated around us and Richard lowers his voice a little. “They first met when she was pregnant with Tile. She wasn’t showing yet, and it was basically the last shoot of her career, in Capri. I joined her there … Cole was the skipper on the yacht where the photo shoot took place. I hate to say it, but Cole is a good person. He never wanted to hurt your family either. As a matter of fact, he tried to cut off their friendship a few times, sensing the direction it was heading in. Years later it turned romantic, but not all the time. Being the gentleman he is,
your father forgave her. She promised not to see Cole again. Then things got heavy—there was escalation in the weeks leading up to her death.”

I remember the awkward moment Tile caught on video.

“The night she died, she went to dinner with Cole, and lied to your father. She called me that afternoon.” He pauses and sips his drink, his eyes fighting back tears. “She told me she was going to end it with Cole once and for all.”

The waiter collects what is left of our steaks. A moment later they deliver our preordered soufflé.

“Was my father there?”

Richard remains silent, a pained look on his face. I stare at our soufflé, crumbling into itself at a sad pace.

“Do you think she was really going to leave Dad?”

He sips his martini and looks out the window, then back at me. His dark eyes are kind but tinged with regret.

“I can’t really answer that, Big Girl.”

It’s hard to get to sleep. Thoughts of my mother, and all the things she had hidden away from me, fill my head. What was it about Cole that made her turn her back on her family? I know it’s crazy, but there has to be more to find out.

I get up and go to the window, expecting to see the same pulled curtain in Oliver’s, but I see a figure darting
away, as if wishing not to be caught. Was he looking for me? I feel that familiar blast of rage in my gut. How could he be so shallow as to fall into the clutches of Rachel One? Yes, she is pretty. Duh. But we had so much more! I felt connected to him in ways that run deeper than Birkin bags filled with designer hair products.

I stay at the window, trying to tempt him back, but he is lost in the shadows.

In the morning we are one big family, minus my dad. Richard and Elise are hitting it off, discussing the latest David Sedaris book. Tile’s working on his treatment in his little notebook. I pour us all granola and cut up some fruit. Although I want to feel like I’m in the right place, something’s missing. A small gap left by something other than my mother, but I can’t put my finger on it. The last message, Oliver, my father, all out of my grasp even though I’m about to have my own photography opening. After a few moments we are all calm and quiet, thinking our own thoughts. I hear a crack of thunder in the sky outside and close my eyes for a second.
This is where it all begins
.

I overhear Elise as she calls to excuse me from school, and am quite impressed by her authoritative tone.
Richard takes Tile to school and she and I clean up. How does it become this easy? How come I am calm and at ease with this person who is not my mother? I am not sure, but after the dishes are dried and put away I feel that sinking feeling again. The place that Marion Clover used to fill. Model, writer … adulterer?

When Elise leaves I follow her out and sit on the stoop while she waits for a cab.

“I’m sorry I can’t come tonight,” she says. “I’m afraid I’ve got a crazy aunt to contend with. But I will make sure Tile gets there.” A cab pulls over and she turns toward me and sort of bows a little. “You will be great, I’m sure of it.”

As the cab leaves I stare across the street at Oliver’s front door for what could be an hour. I still can’t wrap my mind around why he would do such a thing. I think about leaving an invite on his doorstep, but the thought is fleeting, like our time together. Still, it was so good, so perfect, like the best bite of a sandwich, the middle part where all the flavors blend in harmony. Now all I’ve got is rice cakes.

I tell myself to snap out of it. This is my day. A launch at the hippest gallery in Brooklyn! How many fifteen-year-olds have that?

I take the folded-up guest list out of my pocket and my eyes scan it. Most of the celebrities are pretty random, but I recognize some names. If I could add one more, it would be Drew Barrymore. She was so nice to me when I met her that rainy afternoon. I think she’d like the
photos, too. I take a deep breath, brace myself, and call Christy, my dad’s publicist.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Luna, photography It-girl on the rise.”

“That’s me. Listen, I know it’s super-last-minute, but I wondered if Drew Barrymore was still—”

“On speed dial? Yes.”

“Do you think you could …”

“If she’s in town, consider it done.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to be red-carpet ready?”

As it turns out, the red carpet is more of a red doormat. But there is a long rope, and about ten photojournalists. Once word spread that I was the daughter of Jules Clover, a buzz was created. I am not so delusional to think any of this would be happening if I
weren’t
the daughter of Jules Clover, but what am I supposed to do, turn away from opportunities of a lifetime? I think not. The goal is for them to see it’s more than just nepotism that got me here. Before we get out of the car, Richard squeezes my hand and says, “Teeth.” I show him and he replies, “Splendid. I’m afraid you’re no longer my big girl. You’re a woman. Hear you roar.…”

The flashes start as I leave the car and are constant. I turn around and look back at the camera like Kate Winslet would’ve done. It’s all over the top, bright lights flashing. I am elated, but nothing could be better than
what I see when I finally enter the space: Tile in a tuxedo. Even though I see him every day, I can’t think of what to say.

“Your dress seems to be getting a lot of attention,” he says.

“What about the pictures?”

“One-of-a-kind.”

I smile and tell him he looks stunning. He bows a little in response.

I walk around like I’m just another attendee, but I have a secret. In the corner of the gallery is a stairway that leads into a brick wall like a dream cut short, and I can’t help but think of my mother. She would be proud of me, I know that.

I stand on the fourth step and scan the room.

Ms. Gray gasps at every picture even though she’s seen them all. Her pudgy, balding date looks really bored. I love her to death, but she does need to buy some clothes from this century.

Janine is with her mother, who already seems a little tipsy.

Richard lets Tile have a sip of his punch. I secretly watch the two of them comment on my photographs, pretending to be art intellectuals or something. It’s pretty cute.

Janine ditches her mom and comes up the stairs.

She points at the wall and says, “So much for a stairway to heaven.”

“I need a stairway somewhere. It sounds weird, but I
just really want to get out of here, go to Italy, and try to work some stuff out in my head. I haven’t asked Dad or Richard yet, but I’m going to. This show, I’m so psyched about it, but it came at such a crazy time, you know?”

“Duh. I think you’re in a good space, considering. You handle stuff so easily.”

“Well, I’m trying.”

“Oh, look! Yummers.”

The food looks really delicious: little canapés and blue cheese–stuffed mushrooms, lamb skewers. But I can’t eat. Everyone congratulates me, and I feel like it’s my wedding or something. I have a smile plastered to my face. After a while I go outside for some air.

I get past the smokers and go down the block out of sight.

I am staring at some steam billowing out from a grate in the street when I hear a familiar voice.

“Hey girl, I found something of yours.”

It’s Levi, and he’s holding my mother’s phone in his open palm.

My heart freezes for an instant and I say the words
Oh my god
but no sound comes out.

“The couch in our office, it eats things. I figured it was yours ’cause I went through the pictures.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.” I didn’t even think to go through the pictures before!

“How’s the show?”

“Overwhelming, but I owe you big-time. I’m not sure it would’ve happened without your help.”

He waves his hand like it was nothing.

“You can just send me checks when you’re rich.”

I stare at the phone as if it magically dropped from a tree. Levi realizes I need to be alone and says, “See you inside.” As he walks away, he turns around and adds, “Nice dress!”

I frantically call voice mail and sure enough, that mechanical voice I’ve come to know so well says,
“To listen to your messages, press one.”

It’s my father, and he’s slurring his words.

“I can see you, why are you still lying to me? I’m right here—”

In the background, I hear cars and what seems like screeching brakes. Then he gets cut off. I shudder and start walking down the alley.
I think I’ve just heard my mother die
.

The message loops over and over again in my head. There was something in his voice … I’ve never heard my dad so … 
desperate
. Well, at least I know for sure now. He was there. He watched her die. As much as I want to kill him, a small part of me feels sorry for him. Here was a woman he always loved, who he had to fight for, who not only betrayed him, but whose death he had to witness.

I grab my dress into bunches and turn around, walking faster. I have to talk to my father and get to the bottom of this. The only problem is, my father isn’t here yet.

I stop for a moment under a dim streetlight. I’m still wondering why, if my dad was in fact there when she died, he would keep it from me.

I know I must look strange, standing on Bedford in a gown by myself. I see a man across the street, looking at the numbers on the buildings, obviously confused. It takes me a minute to realize it’s my father. Even though I am furious with him, his presence makes my heart leap a little. The last I heard, he was stuck in L.A. and was definitely not coming.

“Dad! I thought you …”

He turns, and his face scrunches when he sees the dress.

“Are you kidding me? I had to borrow the studio’s plane, but I made it. One question, though. Where the heck is this place?”

I point it out. “Can’t you tell from the red doormat?”

He smiles and pulls me into him. After he lets me go, I say, “Dad, I know everything. I know what happened when Mom died. I know you were there. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He adjusts his tie and sighs.

“Are we really doing this now?”

“Yes.”

He puts down his bag and walks in a small circle.

“I didn’t want to burden you with all of it.”

His eyes start to get glassy.

“Moon, you know how much I loved your mother … 
she was, well, everything to me. But apparently I wasn’t enough for her. She always said I got too lost in my work, and I didn’t take the time to really appreciate her.” He starts to actually cry, which is kind of contagious. “But I did, Moon. And the whole thing with Cole, I didn’t want you to know because I was embarrassed. I was terrified that you would …”

I stop him by giving him a long, hard hug.

“Just don’t lie to me, Dad. You’re all I have.”

“I know, Moon. I won’t, I promise. You know, this last year I kept blaming myself. But more importantly, I’ve forgiven her. I never got to tell her that, Moon. And being with Elise … I don’t know if I can do it. I feel so guilty all the time, I just want to move on. Thankfully I’ve had this film to consume me, but it’s over now.…”

I turn him toward the entrance of the gallery and we stand there for a few minutes, looking at the red doormat, the stylish people mingling inside the windows.

“Well, for now we have to get our act together. I want you to forget about everything, have some punch, and look at your daughter’s photographs.”

He puts his hands on both of my cheeks, which makes me blush.

“You know, I’ve been a fan of your work since you were five. Have you seen the walls of my office?”

I don’t have to answer. As we get closer to the entrance, I remember something I wanted to tell him. I stop him just before the door.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I like Elise. She’s good people.”

He gives me a skeptical look.

“Don’t give up on her yet,” I whisper to him as we enter the gallery doors.

The event seems to have come even more alive. Ambient music is playing; people are chatting loosely. Les walks up to me and whispers something in my ear. I can’t hear him, so he says it again really loud.

“We’re going to need our own lab to make all the prints that have already been ordered.”

“Really?”

He looks animated. The cool artsy demeanor has vanished, and now he’s a giddy schoolboy. I’m wondering how this could be, and then the answer comes, in the form of a tipsy Daria, locking her arm into his. So that was her agenda. A date with Les. Why a stunning model with legs that reach the sky would pine over a mousy gallery owner with green glasses is beyond me, but I’ve stopped trying to form explanations for things. Life is complicated.

Just when I think the evening couldn’t possibly go any better, in walks Drew Barrymore, and the kicker is, she remembers me! She tells me she heard about my show and changed a flight so she could come.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. And the shot of the kid drawing the city in chalk? I want a huge print of that for my bathroom in L.A.”

The fact that she wants it for her bathroom is a little disconcerting, but I bet her bathroom could sleep ten, so I let it go.

“Oh my god, I’d be honored.”

“And who is that woman?” She is pointing to the portrait of Ms. Gray.