Page 11 of My Puckin' Luck
“The Light of Day producers are planning to kill off her character,” Esme interjects. Last thing I expected to hear, I jerk my head back.
“Those assholes.” Mom lashes out. “After all the years I put into that show—Iam the show—how dare they? But I won’t go down without a fight. When my agent last renegotiatedmy contract, the exit clause includes an all-expenses paid nationwide farewell tour. But I’ll have the last laugh because I’m writing a memoir, a tell all. I plan to hire the best ghostwriter in the biz. I’ve started spilling my guts into audiotapes every single night. As soon as my agent lands me a publisher with a multi-million dollar book deal, I’ll get my revenge. The minute my book hits the best-seller stands, they’ll be sorry. I’ll have a book tour around the world, a movie made of my life—starring me, of course. And?—”
I cut off her grand delusions and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mother. What does this have to do with the foundation and your little announcement on stage?”
“I simply won’t have time for this anymore.”
I grimace. “Fine. I’ll take it over.”
“You-you will? Oh, that’s wonderful, darling. What a relief. Your father would be so proud.” She laughs and exchanges a strange look with Esme. Dread fills me. These two are always up to something. “We’ll square up these donations tonight and have our lawyers draft up something to transfer the foundation over to you in a few months.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” I dare ask, bracing myself. They hesitate. “Mom? Tell me.” My jaw locks, preparing for the worst until finally her shoulders droop.
“Fine. The money is gone. Our portion of the trust anyway, and since I’ll be killed off the show… There goes my income,” she lowers her voice. I doubt Anastasia can hear a word of our conversation across the room and she has her nose in her phone, anyway. But that doesn’t stop me from blowing a gasket.
“Jesus, there were millions in that account. How could you spend it all?” I’m grateful my part of the trust is secure.
“It takes a lot to maintain our lifestyle,” Esme says. I don’t doubt it. Mom’s had more work done to keep her lookingyounger than her real age. She can spend a million on Rodeo Drive in a day like it’s nothing.
“Haven’t you ever heard of getting a real job?” I stab back at Esme.
“Hey, I work hard as her personal assistant. If not me, she’d be paying someone else. Might as well be me, and Mother and I work well together.”
“In other words, you’re Mom’s right-hand-yes-ma’am. You need to learn when to tell her no.”
Mom steals a look at Anastasia. “Please keep your voice down. Look, tonight we’re hoping to get ahead with these donations?—”
“Fuck!” The curse escapes my lips. Anastasia raises a brow across the way. I grumble lower. “What are you suggesting? Embezzling from your own foundation?”
“I’m so sorry, Miles.” She sniffles. Dramatic tears fall. And there’s Esme at her elbow with tissues as if on cue.
“Why didn’t you just ask me for a loan until you get this-this book deal or another acting gig?” I pace away, running a hand through my hair. I need these two cut out of my life and there’s only one way to do it.
I return to them, pissed that I’m even offering. “Send me an entire accounting of the past year. I’ll work up a reasonable living allowance and set you both up until you find work again. The money stops once you find work, though. And if you get a book deal in the millions, I expect to be paid back every cent.”
“Oh,” Mom gushes, lifting her hand to my cheek. “Thank you, my love.” The hug comes next. The entire time, I die inside. When Esme awkwardly tries to join in, I lightly push her away. The entire situation makes me ill. “You were always such a good, kind, caring man, like your father. He loved you so much.”
Something snaps inside of me and I pull her arms from around me. “Don’t talk to me about my father and love in the same breath when you’re the one who broke his heart.”
Mother’s sweetness turns sour, her eyes blasting a frost. She’s an expert at turning emotions on and off from one second to the next. “Are you ever going to forgive me for my little transgression? Your father did.”
“And he was a fool. Somewhere along the way, you stopped caring about him.”
“Ugh, Miles, please. I have a headache coming on the size of the San Fernando Valley,” she throws out with such dramatic flair. But it works. She got what she wanted out of me. “We’ll be in touch with the information.”
And with that, Barbara St. James struts to the door, but not without a final word to Anastasia.
“Darling, I wish you and Miles nothing but the best. Now, here’s my card. Will you pass it along to Brandon Miller? Tell him I’d be happy to entertain any and all scripts and offers the studio would like to send my way.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. St. James,” my date replies, apparently still star struck. Wouldn’t that be something if she actually proves the lifeline to Mom’s next starring role?
“Please, call me Barbara. With any luck, you could be practically family. Look at you and those beautiful child-bearing hips.”
“Mother!” My voice roars across the room.
“All I’m saying is if you were to finally have a child, I would be so pleased, Miles. I’m sure your father would be smiling from his grave knowing the St. James blood line continues.”
I’m fuming. If only she knew the heartbreaking reality of my past.
