Page 57 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
She seems satisfied with this. “I have to be. I run my entire business myself, and I have to know how to use all the technology involved, in multiple languages.”
“Everyone in your family is very smart,” I say. Now I’m just kissing her ass. But I can’t help myself. I really want her to like me.
“Well, not everyone,” Naomi says, squinting back through the glass at Rafe. “But we can’t all be super geniuses, can we?”
Excuse me?
I blink at her, a little confused and unsure how to navigate this sand trap. Am I supposed to ignore the fact that she basically just called her ultra famous, A-lister son the dimmest bulb in her bunch?What the hell?Just because he hasn’t pursued a highly academic career like her other children? He still speaks multiple languages, and I can’t even imagine how many zeros are at the end of his bank balance sheet. His net worth must be staggering, given the success of the films he’s done.
But success is relative, apparently. Because Titanium Man’s own mother just dissed him. Shame on her. How dare she? My desire to be liked by Naomi is at odds with my urge to defend Rafe.
“I’d say he does okay.” I shove my phone back in my pocket and frown at her. “I can’t believe you’re not bursting with pride!”
“Okay, fine,” Naomi says. “I realize he is handsome, and he makes a lot of money. But is he making the world a better place? Did his last movie save anyone’s life? End a coup? Fix global warming? He didn’t even finish college. Such a shame. I’m just saying.”
“You don’t expect much, do you?” I fold my arms across my chest. “You know I didn’t go to college either, right? And since when does making excellent hummus qualifyyoufor a Nobel Prize, Naomi?”
Too late, I realize that I actually have no idea whether Lorelei went to college. I don’t think she did? And that comment about the hummus? Where did that even come from? I’m just so annoyed with her. Everything was going so well, and bam! Sometimes I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.
I brace myself for Naomi’s wrath. But instead, she laughs. The criticism rolls right off her.
“Touché, darling. I deserved that, didn’t I?” She sighs and tilts her face back to bask in the morning sun. “I guess it bothers me that Rafe didn’t finish college because I never had the chance. And you know what? It bugs me thatyoudidn’t go, either. I blame your mother. She failed you there. I’ve told her as much.”
“You have?” I find myself asking. I play back what Lorelei and the recently fired PA have told me about Lorelei’s “momager” and cross-correlate this information with the story that Rafe told me on the patio.Rafe and Lorelei’s mothers are still friends.
Naomi seems surprised that I’m asking. Encouraged. “Your mom has really changed. Mellowed out. I mean, she’s still a little meshuggah, but she knows she made some mistakes with you. And she’s dying to hear from you. She’s not getting any younger, Lorelei.”
Oh wow. This must be that famous Jewish mom guilt I’ve heard tell of.
“Right.” I flip my phone over and back in my pocket, uncomfortably, feeling conflicted. What can I say?
On the one hand, I don’t know everything that went down between Lorelei and her mom. But on the other, I’d love to have a mom who was dying to talk to me. Better yet, a mom who wasn’t dying … or dead.
“Anyway,” Naomi is still speaking, “I’m sureyoucould have gone to any college you wanted to. If you were my daughter, I would have encouraged you to apply to Yale. They have an excellent drama department, and they like former child stars.”
If I washerdaughter? This cool, exotic powerhouse? It isn’t even something I can begin to imagine. All I can think about now is how unfair it is that I’ve lost two mothers in two different countries. And here’s Lorelei, rejecting two mother figures. Imperfect ones, perhaps. But certainly better than nothing?
Lorelei—who has all the money and resources to do whatever she wants, wherever she wants, with whomever she wants—and all she seems to want is to push people away. While I’m here clinging to the past, unable to make up my mind about anything, desperately afraid of being left alone. It’s too much. Too unfair. I excuse myself abruptly and head back to the guesthouse with what now feels like pilfered peonies.
Back at the guesthouse, I change into a bikini and a cover-up. I have every intention of going for a swim, but instead, I curl up in the hanging egg chair with a podcast, gazing at the three fragrant peonies sitting in a glass milk jug on the end table. I watch them opening in slow motion. Unfurling. Revealing their secrets. Pillowy, pink centers and sticky, yellow-gold-dust-coated stamen. The scent and the motion of the swing lulls me into a stupor. And then I’m asleep. Fast asleep at noon on a summer Thursday. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
I wake with a start when a June bug dive-bombs me, landing in my hair and getting tangled. What the …? Frantically, I shake out my hair, raking my hands through it till I am satisfied it’s bug free. Then I check my phone. One o’clock already? I’ve been out for an hour!
I slip on my slides and head for the pool.When did Rafe say Xander was coming? Two?With a little luck, I’m hoping that I’ll be able to spy on Xander and the dog-training session from there.
I’m a little surprised to find that I don’t have the pool to myself when I get there. Rafe is lying on a lounge chair, eyes half-closed, an open beer sweating on the table next to him, and a bowl of chips and guac on his perfectly taut, firm belly. He seems to be engrossed in some sort of a podcast. I pause for a moment to listen.
“Is that …Lit Lovers?” I ask, incredulous. There’s no way that Rafe Barzilay is listening toLitLovers. No freaking way.
He sits up slightly, placing the chips on the side table.
“Yes!” he says. “You know this podcast?”
“Of course,” I say. “It’s an Ephron classic. I know the hosts—Jackson and Chelsea, Emily and Alexis.”
“Right,” he says. “I’m still learning who’s who. Jackson and Chelsea are siblings, right?”
“Where is everyone else?” I sit down in the chair next to him and look around for the towels.
