Page 1 of Child of Mine

Prologue

1982

“SERIAL UPDATES: Actress Isabelle York had a nice run onAs the Earth Revolves. In fact, she found herself to be quite popular as the incorrigible villainess Quinn Carter. She won’t say why she’s leaving the show, just that she looks forward to some projects she’s keeping under her hat for now. She did confess to me that “If I couldn’t act, I couldn’t live!” We wish her well in her promising future…”Daytime TV News, November 1982

BELLA

I’ve put off cleaning out this dressing room for a couple of reasons. One, it’s been my home away from home for the past nine years. Two, I’m kind of afraid of what I’ll find.

I’m not worried about dust bunnies or mildewed makeup sponges lurking in the corners—the TV network’s cleaning staff is too thorough to leave anything like that behind. It’s the tokens of past selves that might be tucked beneath fan mail in drawers, between shoeboxes on the shelves, or behind the boxes of wigs. My villainous character Quinn donned a variety of disguises when she snuck around trying to poison, kidnap, entrap, or you-name-it other characters in the soap-opera town of Elmwood.

Surprisingly, though, the process is somewhat therapeutic. When I come across an old marketing photo from my days on the kids’ showBoom, it’s hard to believe the girl in the photo is me. Izzy, the name I went by back then, was thirteen when she wowed the cameras onBoom’s very first season and had girls across the country working on their back walkovers.

She—that is, me—was an innocent. A free spirit. Fun.

Loveable.

All things this twenty-three-year-old hasn’t felt for a long time. My public persona, Isabelle York, may be wrapping up a successful soap opera career with what my agent calls good prospects for a leap to prime-time TV, but my heart is as selfish and self-destructive as Quinn Carter’s. Being in the public eye during one’s formative years will do that to a girl.

I consider hanging onto the Izzy memento for about three seconds before balling it up and tossing it into the garbage. Angry letters to Quinn I thought were funny when I first got them go in there, too. I’m ready to trash both identities because neither has served me terribly well. Izzy—too optimistic. Quinn—too hedonistic.

“Isabelle” is the name on my résumé, but the name I adopted last year feels more me. Initially, I used it to keep my presence in rehab a secret, but since my return to the real world a few months ago, I’ve been wondering if “Bella” is the name I could be a grown-up with. I’ve been a party girl since I was fifteen, even while working full-time. Maybe it’s time to be responsible. Reliable.

Boring!

The voice in my head that cuts off my own thoughts? That’s Quinn talking. I guess she’s not quite ready to be packed away with all these pretty clothes.

As I drag a hand over the rack of outfits sheathed in plastic, I have to admit that I’ll miss network-funded shopping trips to the private room at Saks Fifth Avenue, but maybe the next job will offer me something even more glamorous. Before I gear up for pilot season in LA, though, I have amends to make. My mom is at the top of the list, so I’ve promised to spend the time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s helping her at the family bookstore. Away from the prying eyes of the gossip rags, I certainly won’t need heels and sequins.

Once I’ve dragged the bags of trash out to the hallway, I take a quick shower, do my hair and makeup—all by myself for a change—and don a simple green dress. Long-sleeved, but with a flattering neckline and a stretchy fabric that hugs minimal curves.

Daytime TV Newsblast: “Isabelle York is still too skinny! Give that girl a milkshake.”

Thinking how refreshing it’ll be to have a break from the constant attention from the gossip pages, I take a last scan of the room, tuck my bag away, and gear up to make an appearance at the network’s annual anniversary party. It not only kicks off the holiday season, it’s the only time we actors have access to the writers. Get one drunk enough and she’ll reveal upcoming character twists. Or be susceptible to a suggestion or two. I’m pretty sure that’s how Quinn ended up switching the paternity test results of her baby’s with her sister’s.

The fallout of that escapade was a lot more fun than I’d like to admit.

However, playing a villain is one thing. Acting the villain in real life—well, I’m lucky I made it out alive. With that little reminder, I lock my past and the door behind me.

What I’m still not quite ready for? Getting through a work party without a drink. Or a pill. Or a line. I’ve only been back from rehab for a few months, after all. But I’m an actress. Maybe I’ll pretend to be drunk. Or maybe I’ll play the role of a confident young woman ready for the next chapter in her life. Pull up some of that Izzy energy, that girl the camera loved enough to rocket her from afterschool-kid-show phenom to soap opera stardom.

Life’s an adventureis what long-lost Izzy would say.

Life’s a bitch and then you diewould be Quinn’s line.

Whatever you want to call it—an adventure or a bitch—it’s all a game. As I stride into the sea of humanity that is a major network shebang, I channel both Izzy’s goodwill and Quinn’s nerve. I’m leaving chin high, no tail between my legs. They didn’t fire me. I’m just ready for something new.

Nodding and smiling, dodging the waiters and their trays of champagne, I make it through exactly seven and a half meaningless conversations. After squelching the memory of my first unchaperoned network party at age sixteen—of being handed cocktails and getting just drunk enough to make it something I wanted to do again—I decide I deserve a break.

Instead of fighting my way back through the overheated room, I head for the little hidden balcony where I can literally chill out for a few minutes. But after I slip through the door—a No Exit sign has never been a barrier for a rule breaker like me—I have to stifle a gasp of surprise. Someone else has found my escape hatch, and he’s using it to do what looks like an extremely silly victory dance.

* * *

HENRY

I know this party isn’t for me, but it sure feels like it.

Who’d’ve thought a Carolina boy with a state-school degree could beat out not one, not two, butthreeother guys—all of whom have Park Avenue parents and Ivy League educations—for the highly coveted spot of assistant producer on the hottest investigative news program in the biggest of the big apples?

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