Between You And Me

7~The Weekend

The moment we arrived at our rented condo overlooking the entirety of Hawthorne Peaks, tiny parcels of land, houses, and newly industrialized buildings looking more fit for dolls than people, cascaded with trees and roads, Dad took out his phone. The entire ride back had an eerie silence that made me hold my purse as though it’d protect me from his wrath.

It didn’t.

“Look at it,” Dad barked all of a sudden, barely inside the condo. He nudged his phone in my face, held horizontally, the beginning of a video that starred me on a couch during an interview. I felt acid cling to the back of my throat at the infamous video of my mental breakdown on live television. “Look at what happens when you can’t control yourself.”

“Dad—” I began, soon feeling his rough fingers grab me by the jaw, forcing me to witness my humiliation once more.

“Watch!” he hissed through his teeth, almost serpent-like.

Not wanting to aggravate him further, I took the phone from his hands and watched the spiraling of my entire career in one short interview as he let go. Filmed on a phone by an audience member, for a split second, I’d been talking to Cat Walker-Garcia of the Daily Tea about my upcoming starring role as Maggie Harold, an ambitious interior designer from America who falls for an MI6 agent in Manchester, England in a romantic thriller. It was said to be the most anticipated movie of the year. However, the next second, my eyes were drawn to something—or someone—in the audience and I completely lost it, screaming at the top of my lungs and clawing at my arms and hair violently.

Crew members first went to Cat to yank her away from my hysterical cries as the camera zoomed in on me, finally catching my breath, and muttering something incohesive over and over. The audience members were to loud for the video camera, and someone close by asked if I was having a seizure. Then my father quickly ran in to pick me off the floor as I started clawing at the velvety couch placed center stage, my voice growing louder.

“I’m so sorry she made me! I’m so sorry she made me! I’M SO SORRY…”

Dad took me into his arms and almost immediately, I lost consciousness and he quickly placed me on the floor, calling for the on-set medics, who rushed on set just as a large hand confiscated the device, with a reminder of no cellphones before it stopped filming.

My own breath hitched in my throat at the sight of myself, hardly remembering a thing about the interview, only that I passed out and had to be rushed to the hospital. Nonetheless, I could feel the heavy heat of embarrassment cling to my cheeks, clutching the phone tighter. I pondered for weeks about what I meant by that, having no clue why I was sorry and who ‘she’ was to me.

“That”—dad pointed at the phone, uncuffing his shirt sleeve—“can’t happen here, you understand?” He barely let me nod before continuing. “Ever since this movie was announced and your role in it, there have been vultures ready to tear you apart again in the headlines and being so close to the director before productions even start…” He snickered under his breath, rolling up his sleeve. “That won’t do. What if someone had shot a photo of you two holding hands? Why were you holding hands in the first place? You’re just so…urgh!” He stood up, now walking towards me with heavy feet and long strides until he loomed over me like a broiling tower about to ignite. “You don’t think! Which means I have to think for you! Do you know how that makes me look?!”

“Dad,” I muttered, trembling in fright that he’d hit me. He never did, but something behind his blue eyes told me he wanted to, just to knock some sense into me. My body recoiled at his body heat over me, looking away from him and almost breaking my knuckles at how tightly I gripped the phone in my hand.

Looking down at me, he caught himself, the anger on his face slowly dispersing with a deep breath, and gradually he took a step back, looking down at his right sleeve to uncuff it. “I need this movie to be a success, not just for you, but for all of us, you understand?”

Gulping down my apprehension of him, I nodded.

This wasn’t just for my own success as an actress but for him as a manager. Once upon a time, upon my debut, he had constant calls of potential clients day and night begging for him to make them a star, as he’d done for me. Now, he only gets calls from Cindy, weekly meetings, and collection agencies (although he didn’t think I knew I'd noticed the calls and mail and the stress of it all) for unpaid bills sinking us further down the financial rabbit hole.

“Whenever you’re with the director, it’ll be in a public space, in a professional manner.” He said that last bit between his teeth, fighting with the stubborn cufflink of his sleeve before it clinked to the floor. He bent down to pick it up. “There’s something about that man I can’t put my finger on, but I don’t need you causing any more trouble. And no more holding hands, for god's sake.”

At that moment, his phone rung in my hand, and I quickly handed it to him, thanking the heavens that it was Cindy, who’d prioritized a good hour or two about the latest gossip she’d heard from her pilates class or weekly mommy groups (despite Jaime almost being in middle school). He’d be too preoccupied with her chatting away in her ear to mind me as I maneuvered around him when he answered the phone with an already bored demeanor, “Hey, babe, what is it?”

Without looking back, I practically ran up the glass-railed staircase to my room and locked the door behind me with a huff. There were only a few times in my life (in which I could remember) that I’d caught the wrath of my father and it always centered around my success or his disappointment in me. But what could I do? It was never my intention to latch onto Director Cross so early after we'd just met. Nonetheless, I felt more comfort from him than I have around Dad, Cindy, or Jaime over the years since I woke from my coma. There was something particular and familiar about the way I felt comforted and safe with Cross.

Instead of dwelling on it though, I quickly grabbed a change of clothes and a towel for a quick, much-needed shower.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

By Sunday morning, I couldn’t stand another minute in the same house as that man who kept watching me like a hawk, as though I would find some way to embarrass him in captivity. He kept peaking out the blinds as though the paparazzi would notice me walking down the hall, slip on my own imagination, and take a picture mid-fall. Just to calm his nerves, Cindy said she’d send our bodyguard, Ralph, who’d been fixed at the door at our sunny villa in Los Angeles, swatting away bill collectors and repo men (although Dad claimed it was for his family's protection). Guilt nuzzled itself just below my rib cage, knowing I was the breadwinner of the family, and now everything we’d become accustomed to, because of a stupid video, would be taken away.

Grabbing my script to continue to study, I headed downstairs and snatched the car keys off the wall by the door before Dad could notice. I’d just drive down to a park or something like that for an hour or two, just a breather, and be back before he could notice my absence after his business meeting. I needed a breather and this would be better for the both of us as I’d be able to practice and better my acting talents so this movie wouldn’t have any more hiccups.

The shiny black BMW sat in the front of the condo lobby in its designated parking spot and I quickly unlocked it and jumped in, starting the engine with a single button. In the cup tray laid a pair of large designer sunglasses, so if a paparazzo did snap a shot of me, Dad couldn’t say I didn’t try to stay incognito.

The streets of the small town were clear and narrow, the car gliding down the hill that separated the who from the who-nots of Hawthorne Peaks with a shiny gold sign stating The Peaks, nursing the ultra-wealthy and politicians of the town. Upon request of my role as Lilah, Dad demanded an upfront p*****t, and Director Cross’ assistant, Neil, demanded I speak with a therapist on set that they’d be providing so there´d be no meltdown which would be filmed and wreck the entire movie. I couldn’t go through that shame again and Dad needed the money for the rental and to pay off a few necessities to keep up appearances (including Ralph), so we (he) agreed to the terms.

“...I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine. I know, ooh whoa oh…” the radio blared as I drove closer to a secluded park overlooking a very stunning church with a shiny gold cross, its shadow looming over the swingset. Dozens of cars were parked at the entrance and behind the overwhelmingly large church that could have been confused for a mall if it didn’t have a ‘Welcome to Saint Divine, formally known as St. John’s’ sign in the front. The stained glass dome sparkled in the afternoon sunlight as the enchanting voices of a graceful hymn greeted me when I cut the engine and stepped out.

The warm sunlight was a welcome all its own along with an angelic symphony that seemed to follow me to the bench in the park across the street. Taking in the beautiful scenery of freshly cut green grass and a circle of trees around the festive park, a patch of a community garden squared off with colorful borders of tulips, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Flipping to the mid-end of the script, the section where Lilah has a public stand-off with Hazel after their performance of The Crucible and Hazel’s disappearance, I noticed the little jolt of recognition in their words. Did Lilah really call Hazel a coward for not standing up to her own parents in public? I could see that Daphne (myself) had witnessed the entire thing, yet my mind wouldn’t allow me to vividly recollect the entire memory with just the script alone. And did Ezra really kidnap and kill her as a pawn in his demented ritual killings because…?

“That looks like a lot of reading you have there,” a handsome voice determined. The sun now sat upon his head when I looked up, beaming like a radiant halo as the rays shadowed his face for a moment until his recognizable smile shined brighter. Director Cross c****d his head to the side, examining the thick script in my hand before nodding his head in the direction of the seat beside me. With a shy smile, he took it as a sign to take a seat, his black wool trench coat fluttering at the ends. “Your boss is a bastard for having you study on such a pretty day.”

I cracked a smile, keeping my eyes on the script. “He is but he means well.”

He snickered, tucking his hands in his coat while he leaned back on the wooden bench. “Doubt it.” He let a few seconds of chirping birds and a storm of claps erupting from the church settle before speaking again. “Do you think I was too harsh canceling the shoot until Monday?”

For the first time, I looked directly into his lush green eyes cradling the burden of this entire project until we locked eyes and it all seemed to vanish with a content glow behind them. I tried not to get lost in them as I pinched the pages of the script tightly to keep me in the moment. “Every day counts when shooting a movie like this.”

His lips twisted discontentedly. “Now you sound like Neil. Three days I’ll never get back.” Then he shrugged, the burden of his choice falling off his shoulders within seconds, straightening himself up. Looking back over me, those hauntingly beautiful eyes that always felt like a dream I had before but couldn’t recollect fell on me and the script in my hands, still holding it to the page about Hazel. He sat back, his body heat grazing my short sleeve arms, and the comforting scent of sandalwood and mint greeting me like a long-lost friend. “May I ask you something?”

Straightening myself up and fidgeting in my seat, I nodded. “Sure.”

“Can you tell me what it was like waking up to your father with no memory of him and an entire world of media already having you as a household name because of a killer you hardly remember?”

I gasped breathlessly at the question, never expecting such a thorough examination of my most recent memories from six years ago. There was so much to the question he was asking. What did I think of a man who claimed to be my father? How did I move into stardom without an inkling of who I am or was before? Why did a man with storm clouds in his eyes and a sinister smile haunt me day and night?

“That’s a…heavy question, Cross…” I sighed.

His only reply was, “Hmm,” with an understanding nod.

With the ringing of the church bells, most likely done electronically as there were no church bells to be viewed within the dome, we sat peacefully as his question weighed on us. Weighed on me. To wake up to a man who claimed to be my father, brushing my hair back and calling me his ‘little daffodil’, startled me to my core, especially since I’d only dreamt of storm clouds while being hunted down like a dog. The only thing keeping me afloat was the hand I held in mine, warm and reassuring as she kept telling me, “We’re almost there.”

“First, it was overwhelming and…a bit degrading. I could barely wonder about who I was before he started scheduling interviews about what had happened and forcing me to read about my captivity that barely registered. The faces of Ezra, Lilah, and Hazel were everywhere yet they were blurry to me. I knew them. I talked to them. I ran away with Lilah but I don’t have a clue who they were…who they actually were.”

He nodded, granting me his full attention, lovely eyes cascading along my face as I spoke, drinking in every word. Stay focused, Daphne. “Umm…second, it was a bombardment of questions I didn’t have the answers to, and to this day, I’m still trying to figure out those answers. I only know what happened that night and to my friends through news clips, second-hand witnesses, and news articles. And they don’t…fit together. The pieces of my life, no matter what, don’t fit like I’m told they should, and no one seems to want me to find the real pieces.”

A moment of silence flowed through us and I could hear my own words repeating in my head, immediately regretting everything I said. Part of me wanted to walk away and hide in shame, while the other part felt relieved to finally speak about my confusion and hardship of waking up to a life I didn’t quite fit into at full throttle.

After the silence became too much, I sliced the air with a forced chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I kept my eyes on the script in hand. “Sorry, that’s probably confusing…”

“No.”

I felt the bench jolt as he adjusted himself, his heat inching closer and his voice soothing to my ears.

Crisp and clear.

“To someone else, maybe, but to me, no.” Turning towards him, we locked eyes, his handsome face only mere inches from mine, and I felt my cheeks heat up at our closeness. The closeness dad warned me about. But for a moment, I didn’t care. Something about him has been the closest to home I’ve ever felt and I wanted to know why. Why did Director Cross’ mere presence make me feel as though I were being enveloped by the warmth of a childhood memory long lost to me?

¨Cross…” I began, never removing my eyes from his. “May I ask…?

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

I flinched back at the sound of his phone vibrating loudly, which he slipped out of his coat pocket, smirked, and returned his attention to me. “May you ask…?

I gulped at the proximity of his lips so close to mine, his scent overwhelming all my emotions, and his arm which now dangled behind me on the bench had me yearning to lean back and feel him. Ooh yes! What was I going to ask?

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

This time he rolled his eyes at the phone. However, we soon heard a voice call out to us from across the street. “MR.CROSS!” A woman in a tight pencil skirt shouted from the entrance to the church, waving one arm frantically while the other held the phone. Once she had our attention, she pointed to the phone and then him, probably the one who had been calling. “THE DIVINES ARE READY!”

Twisting his lips, Cross sighed, and hesitantly, stood up, buttoning his trench jacket as he gave her a little wave. Then he surprised me by offering his hand. “Would you like to join me for a tour of the place, Miss Brookshaw?”