Page 10 of My Puckin' Luck
Barbara continues. “I’m told we have almost topped the largest donation total we’ve received in the years since I’ve been hosting this event.Almost.Sadly…” Mom dabs the corner of her eyes, only for dramatic effect, to be sure. “This will be the last event I host. So if you find it in your heart to open your purse strings for this cause one final time, it would mean the world to me.”
“Last event?” I repeat, arching my brows, hoping this isn’t some ploy of hers to increase donations.
Mom always was a talented actress. Even at six years old when I tried to tell my dad that I saw her in the throes of passion with another man—although at this age I’d describe it more accurately as she was getting railed bent over the kitchencounter by the plumber stuffing his pipe into her—she put on quite the act saying I was simply a young boy confused by a scene I saw her acting on TV.
Then why did the plumber visit every day for a month like our million dollar home had the worst plumbing issues? And why did Esme appear nine months later?
As she exits the stage, I scoff and head for the nearest bar and a stiff drink. I untie this noose around my neck, letting the black fabric hang down. By the time I have a double shot of Irish whiskey in my hand, Anastasia has caught up to me.
“Want to talk about it?” Her voice sincere, she’s no longer fan-girling.
“Not much to tell. My father worked his fingers to the bone, building his company and his wealth, providing for his family, always choosing to look the other way from her…indiscretions. So excuse me if I stand here and don’t join her fan club.”
I expect Anastasia to console me. Instead, I get the voice of the woman I hate most. My mother’s from behind me.
“Miles. We need to talk.”
6
DRAMEDY
SAINT
We locatea private lounge off of the event floor and file inside. I pace away to the window, with Anastasia in tow, irritated that we have to face off like this at all. Mom shuts out the noise from the event. She and Esme eye Anastasia warily.
“Should I be here? I can go wait at the bar for you.” She whispers.
“Absolutely. You’re with me tonight. Mom, Esme, this is my date, Anastasia. She’s a screenwriter for the Life and Love Channel. Christmas scripts being her particular specialty.”
“A screenwriter? Well, that’s certainly an upgrade from the usual sluts Miles parades through these events.”
“Mother,” I grit through my teeth.
“I’m a huge fan of yours, Mrs. St. James,” Anastasia cuts in at the perfect time, flattering her. Mom can’t ever ignore a raving fan.
“Why thank you. And I adore the Life and Love Channel. I was so surprised when Jack Roberts stepped down. He’d been head over there for years. He would send me a script now and then, but nothing ever felt right. Is there um…something you’re working on now?”
“Yes, ideas are percolating. Slowly. Uh, but my first solo script, A Little Luck at Christmas, premieres this season.”
“Congratulations. Who is your studio head now?”
“Brandon Miller.”
“Hm. Don’t think I know of him.”
“He came over from the ScienceFly channel.”
“Ah. Well, if you ever come across a part you’d like me to consider, don’t hesitate to reach out.” My mother offers her hand to shake along with her signature smile, looking so genuine but obviously fake to me, having grown up with her for years. I know her well. That’s the actress in her coming out.
I marvel at the way these two can talk shop, but I know my mother. While Anastasia is probably giddy that a well-known celebrity is asking about her next project, my mother is working an angle here, and I need to get to the bottom of it.
“Miles, I like her. How refreshing to see you dating a woman with a brain in her head.” My mother is seriously annoying and I’m irritated as hell.
“Anastasia, can you wait for me by the door, please? I’ll only be a moment.” She nods and moves away, while I gesture to the far opposite corner for Mom to follow me so we can have a private family chat. “What are you doing, sucking up to my date like that when I’ve heard you say time and again you’d never be a Life and Love actress? What gives?”
My mother smooths her hair with one hand, sighing. “Things change, Miles. Or in my case,I’mbeing forced to.”
“What do you mean?”
