Chapter Seventeen

The paparazzi seemed especially determined this time, Tessa couldn’t help but notice. It had been a week already, and still they prowled the gates looking for a way onto the estate. As if that would happen. She was tempted to have Melody set up a tell-all interview with People, complete with photos of her and Eleanor with their arms around each other, just to piss off the slimy bastards camped out on her driveway. But she was pretty sure Melody would have refused.

The more malicious news stories had bothered Eleanor, Tessa knew. She remembered in the early days of her own career, back before she’d had Melody and Michael watching out for her, how devastated she’d been when she read a fabricated article that claimed she had to be homeschooled because she’d been unable to keep up with her public school peers in Brooklyn. The source of this report was an anonymous school official who probably didn’t even exist, not that she could convince anyone else of that fact.

Overall, though, Eleanor was handling the storm better than Tessa would have expected. No one had ever mentioned Eleanor’s name in print before, let alone put her photo in a national publication. This was her fifteen minutes of fame and despite some of the low blows, she seemed to be taking it in stride, even, on occasion, intrigued by the attention. Perhaps if Tessa had had Eleanor’s background or had come to fame later in life, she wouldn’t have been so vulnerable to the capricious nature of the entertainment press—lauding her one moment for her talent and progressive politics, knocking her down the next as a closet case unable to accept herself for who she really was. According to the current mood of the media, it had taken her daughter’s nanny to get Tessa to overcome her seething self-hatred and internalized homophobia.

“It’s such bullshit,” she told Will when he stopped by for a training session a little over a week into the siege. They were stretching out in the gym that occupied one-half of her garage, a two-story structure that housed her cars and a game room in addition to the four hundred square foot workout facility. Sometimes she felt as if she had spent half her life in this room. Her body had been her job for so long that over the years, exercising and eating right had become well-ingrained habits. At this point, she was addicted to the endorphins Will was an expert at inducing.

“What’s bullshit?” Will asked as he leaned against her shoulders from behind, stretching her lower back.

“The trash they’re writing about me. I’m starting to think I should go on national TV and tell the truth about Hollywood.”

“You mean name names?”

“Not that. More like I’ve been happily queer my entire adult life and the studio heads were the ones who were less than happy about it.” Tessa leaned forward, feeling her hip flexors tighten. They’d been seeing more action recently than usual.

“Don’t you think Americans already know that some of their action stars and romantic leads are homos, but they just prefer to pretend otherwise?”

“I don’t have any idea what Americans may or may not know. At this point, I’ve been away from real life for so long I don’t even know what goes on out there.”

“You’re probably better off that way,” he said. “After all, fifty percent of ‘real Americans’ voted for Dubya.”

“Not so fast, Fox News. Fifty percent of presidential election voters voted for Dubya. Allegedly. Although there was no paper trail in several states, so even those numbers might have been made up.”

“Whatever.” He grinned at her. “Come on, I have a new circuit I want you to try. Time to mess with your muscle memory.”

Will was Tessa’s best friend in Hollywood. They’d met when she was nineteen, new to the movie business and still in the process of losing her final ten pounds of “baby fat,” as he’d kindly referred to it. He was young then too, a newly minted personal trainer just starting out at one of Hollywood’s trendy clubs. Now he ran his own celebrity training business and gym, and Tessa was lucky to see him twice a month when they were both in town.

As she ran through the circuit he’d set up, Will filled her in on various celebrity reactions to her being outed. Some people were happy for her, but the predominant reaction seemed to be coming from the duck and cover quarter, stars who immediately wanted nothing to do with her in case proximity caused the press to look more closely at their personal lives.

“Oh, darn,” Tessa panted, throwing a medicine ball back at Will and dropping into push-up formation. “I’m so hurt.”

“Straighten your back,” he said. “Now hold it… No cheating.”

“I’m not, bitch,” she said, and jumped to her feet in time to catch the medicine ball and fire it back at him before resuming the push-up position.

“You’re looking very flexible,” Will said a little while later. “Is it the nanny keeping you fit?”

“Don’t you wish you knew,” Tessa said, glad her face was already flushed from exertion. Was blushing some sort of contagious condition? She and Will had always talked about their sex lives—at least, back in the day before he got married and she had Laya and they both retired from the scene. For a time, the press had been convinced that Will was the father of her child, a fact that still amused his partner, Scott, a special education teacher from Pasadena.

“Wait, are you blushing?” Will asked. “Must be serious. She’s not your typical slutty starlet, is she?”

“No,” Tessa said as she performed lunges in a line across the room, a ten-pound dumbbell in each hand, “she’s not. And it isn’t serious. It can’t be. She’s leaving L.A. at the end of the summer.”

He whistled, lunging next to her in a parallel line. “Bummer. So why don’t you do something about it?”

“Like what?”

“Like asking her to stay? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a fairly good catch.”

“I can’t,” she said, frowning. “It’s complicated.”

“The good ones always are,” Will said. “Straighten your shoulders, girl. No cheating.”

“I don’t cheat, unlike some people. How’s that open marriage thing going?”

“It’s mostly open in theory. Neither of us has been attracted to anyone else for a while.”

“My God, is the famous Will Knight settling down? Or are you just getting old?”

“If I’m old, you are too,” he said, reaching the far wall before she did. “Just for that, I’m going to make you wall-sit for an extra minute.”

“Aw, man,” she said dutifully, knowing he liked to hear his clients complain.

Later, as they pedaled a pair of stationary bikes to cool down, she asked, “How about we both ended up with teachers?”

“Something sexy about do-gooders, I guess.”

“Must be.” She hesitated. “Does Scott ever ask about your clients? You know, like gossip?”

Will glanced at her. “You know nothing you tell me goes beyond this room, Tess.”

“I didn’t mean that. I just think it’s odd—Eleanor never asks me for dirt on anyone. She knows I know Tom and Kate and Will and Jada, and everyone else I’ve worked with over the years, but she doesn’t ask me what anyone is like. Doesn’t that seem strange?”

Will laughed. “Not at all,” he said. “She must have figured out the big secret—stars are just richer, prettier people who aren’t necessarily any more interesting than the rest of us.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said, and threw a hand towel at his shaved head. “Jackass.”

“You know you love me. Hey, when the blockade is over, let’s have dinner. Scott and I would love to meet this woman.”

“Definitely,” Tessa said, even as she wondered if they’d have the chance.

That night, after Laya had gone to sleep, Tessa and Eleanor took strawberries and chocolate with them to bed and gorged themselves as they debated politics in their lifetime—the shallowness of the Reagan years when Baby Boomers discovered their capacity for greed; Bush senior’s short-lived reign and the first Gulf war; Clinton’s decade, a balm to the previous one; and, of course, the recent setback to democracy in America that was George W’s legacy.

Tessa told Eleanor that she’d met Obama once at a fundraising dinner. She, like the rest of Hollywood, had been happy to support the young, dynamic politician, though in truth she’d voted for Hillary Clinton in the California primary. Now she wished more than ever Hillary were president. Obama was doing an okay job, considering the state of the nation he’d inherited from his predecessor. Tessa just didn’t think he was living up to some of the promises he’d made, particularly to queer Americans.

“I agree,” Eleanor said, sucking on a strawberry until its juice leaked from the corner of her mouth. “He’s completely behind the curve when it comes to gay and lesbian issues. But other than that, he ran as a centrist Democrat so I’m not sure why people are surprised he’s leading as a centrist Democrat. What’s he like in person? Is he really as dorky as he seems?”

“He is. But he’s married to this awesome woman, so you know there must be something more there.” She paused. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve asked me about anyone famous. Why don’t you ever ask about other celebrities?”

Eleanor shrugged, staring at her with those clear, green-blue eyes. “Obama’s the president, so of course I want to know about him. But you’re the only celebrity I care about.”

She meant it, Tessa could tell. Leaning forward, she licked the strawberry juice from Eleanor’s mouth. “Good.”

The media siege unofficially ended two days later when a young up-and-coming actor overdosed on prescription drugs. In the space of an afternoon, all attention immediately shifted to the tragedy of his untimely death, and Tessa and Eleanor’s romantic involvement was relegated to pop culture’s back burner. Still simmering, according to Tessa, just no longer boiling over. Eleanor was relieved to see an end to the tales that had been spun about her (depending on who you asked, she was both predator and victim) but also disappointed, as she’d known she would be, that their extendo-vacation was finally, unavoidably over.

That night after dinner, Eleanor took Laya upstairs for her bedtime story. When Laya begged for a second story, Eleanor quickly acquiesced. She even read a third book without being asked. By the time she finished, Laya’s snores were echoing through the tree house bunk bed, amplified by the hollow faux trunks on either end. Eleanor tucked the blanket around her, placed the books back on the large shelf under the window and got her a glass of water. Then she stood in the doorway watching Laya sleep.

Tessa found her there a few minutes later. “Everything okay?” she asked, peering over Eleanor’s shoulder into the room lit by a nightlight painted to look like a tropical frog.

“Fine,” Eleanor said, not meeting her eyes.

“Come downstairs, then,” Tessa said, twining her fingers through Eleanor’s. “I made us a sundae, and it’s melting.”

Eleanor held tightly to Tessa’s hand and followed her downstairs, trying to ignore the words that kept looping through her head: Now what?

The ice cream sundae was delicious, and they took turns kissing chocolate sauce from each other’s mouths. Eleanor was beginning to think that maybe things could just stay the way they were when Tessa leaned away from the kitchen island and eyed her.

“You’re not going to mention it, are you?”

“What?” Eleanor stalled.

“You know—the fact that you’re finally free to leave.”

“Oh, that. I was going to bring it up. I assume you need to get back to work?”

“I have a meeting in the city tomorrow morning.” Tessa licked a dollop of hot fudge from her spoon. “So what’s the deal, Elle—do you want to start going back to Sasha’s again at night?”

Tessa was in acting mode, her eyes blank and unreadable, her smile of a distinctly professional variety. Eleanor looked down at the ice cream dish. “I can do that. I’ll just call her tomorrow and let her know.”

Silence hung over the room.

“I’m not saying I want that,” Tessa clarified after a moment, “not unless you do, in which case I completely understand.”

Always in the past Eleanor had scoffed at friends who moved in together at the start of a relationship, but this situation was different. They weren’t really living together. Anyway, it wouldn’t be forever. Couldn’t be. “I kind of like things the way they are. What about you?”

“I like having you here,” Tessa said. “But I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. Technically, I’m still your boss.”

Smiling a little, Eleanor leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. “You go ahead and keep telling yourself that.”

Tessa rolled her eyes, looking for a moment just like her daughter. “You know what I mean.”

“Don’t worry. If I don’t want to do something, you’ll know.”

“Really? Just a second ago you were all set to go back to Sasha’s. I thought you said Vermonters were tough.”

“We are. If you need someone to climb a mountain or make maple syrup, I’m your girl. But emotional risk-taking? Not so much.”

“Good to know,” Tessa said, and dug her spoon into the sundae.

Normal life, which Eleanor hadn’t been able to imagine while they were in siege mode, commenced the following morning when Tessa headed into the city after breakfast, leaving Eleanor to entertain Laya. The first thing they did was drive to Malibu for a long overdue playdate with Rayann, the six-year-old daughter of the woman who had produced the comic book trilogy that launched Tessa’s action film career. While Tessa and Rayann’s mother, Margot Trivers, were often too busy to interact themselves, their daughters usually got together once a week when both families were in town. Today Eleanor watched the two girls while Rayann’s nanny Olivia “ran some errands.” After a round of badminton, a game of indoor bowling, grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and an extended afternoon dollhouse session, Olivia returned and Eleanor drove Laya home, reaching the house just before Tessa arrived with plenty of time to hang out and make dinner before Laya’s bedtime.

The next morning they got up and did it all over again, minus the trip to Rayann’s house. Soon the days settled into a predictable routine. Eleanor rose each morning and breakfasted with the Flanagans and kissed Tessa goodbye (when Laya wasn’t looking) and planned a day that involved entertainment and education in equal measure for Laya, who had officially assumed the role of her favorite kid ever. Their post-siege summertime adventures included day trips to the San Diego Wild Animal Park (twice); Disneyland (only once—honestly, Laya was more interested in non-human-made attractions, she confided to Eleanor); Santa Barbara’s Zoological Gardens and Andree Clark Bird Refuge; and assorted other nearby natural landmarks and wild places they researched together online.

At night, after Laya went to bed, often so did Eleanor and Tessa. Occasionally they lay in bed just talking—about the foundation, about Laya, about their lives before they met. Other nights, they stripped down quickly, barely waiting to shed their clothes. As they moved together in the dark, skin sliding against skin, lips and hands caressing every curve and indentation, Eleanor still couldn’t quite believe her luck. Tessa became more and more beautiful to her as the weeks passed, not less. Each night when Tessa’s car sounded in the driveway, Eleanor’s heartbeat speeded up a little and she waited for the moment when Tessa would enter the house, a matching smile on her face and in her eyes. Eleanor knew the honeymoon period was working its mushy magic on them, but sometimes she suspected the reason they slept each night wrapped around each other might be the threat of separation shadowing them. The end of the summer loomed in the background of every interaction, the elephant in the room that neither of them seemed to want to bring up.

One Monday shortly after the Fourth of July, Laya had another playdate at Rayann’s house. This time, Eleanor dropped Laya off at the Trivers’ residence and poked around Rodeo Drive by herself, wondering if anyone would recognize her. No one seemed to, probably because in her ponytail, capris and cropped tee she looked nothing like she had in the photos the press had gotten their hands on. Her twenty-something buzz cut, flannel shirts, and the popular baggy jeans of East Coast dykedom were a far cry from her current bland private school teacher ensemble.

A little before noon, she left Beverly Hills and headed up the 101 to Universal City, where Sasha was waiting for her outside the shiny silver and glass building that housed Martin, Felpausch, and Stein.

“How’s Martin Fel?” Eleanor asked as Sasha slipped into the front seat of Tessa’s Hybrid Escape.

“Same old same old.” Sasha gave her a quick hug and pulled her seatbelt on. “Rolling in environmentally friendly style, I see.”

“I had to drop Laya off in Malibu and this gets better mileage than my car.”

“Right,” Sasha said, managing to imbue the single word with an impressive amount of sarcasm.

“You’re just jealous. Where to for lunch?”

They settled on Indian food and Sasha guided her to a restaurant in nearby Studio City. They picked a quiet table in the back well away from the sunlight streaming in the front windows, ordered a feast of their favorite foods to share, and set about getting caught up. They’d e-mailed and talked on the phone the last few weeks, but that didn’t really count, they agreed.

“What’s it like being involved with Tessa Flanagan?” Sasha asked.

“Incredible,” Eleanor said, tearing apart a piece of steaming naan. “She’s so different from what I expected. She’s a really good person, you know? She gives away obscene amounts of money every year, and not just for the tax benefits. In fact, she’s working on creating this charitable foundation so that she can give away obscene amounts of other people’s money, too.”

“She is? I’d heard rumors she was working on something, but nothing substantial.”

“Please don’t mention it to anyone yet,” Eleanor said, pretty sure she’d just broken the terms of the NDA she’d signed. “You have no idea how paranoid she is about her privacy. I can’t say I entirely understand it, but then I haven’t been living under a microscope my entire adult life.”

“Just the last few weeks,” Sasha said. “But don’t worry. My lips are sealed. I would hate to get you in trouble with your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Eleanor said.

“No? Then what is she?”

“We haven’t really talked about it. Anyway, how’s work going? Any exciting cases you’re not allowed to talk about?”

“As it happens, I am working on a case that involves a certain high-profile television journalist.” And she was off and running on ambiguous professional gossip.

Their entrees arrived, and they chatted about legal issues while they ate, cataloging the GLBT and other civil rights measures on the local and national fronts. Sasha was a firm supporter of GLBT rights, but she still bristled at times when Eleanor compared the battle for gay and lesbian rights to the black civil rights movement. Recently, though, she’d been willing to acknowledge that there were, in fact, more than a few similarities between the two.

“How’s Wisconsin for queer folks?” she asked at one point, dipping a chunk of naan into her chicken biryani.

“It’s the Midwest, so not great. There’s a constitutional amendment as well as a law on the books against gay marriage.”

“Sounds like overkill.”

“Some of us don’t like to use the words ‘kill’ and ‘homo’ together,” Eleanor said in her cheerful teacher’s voice.

“My bad. What’s the deal with grad school, anyway? You’ve barely mentioned it. Do you have a place to live yet?”

“No. I need to get out to Madison to look for an apartment, but to be honest, I haven’t been thinking that much about it. Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Sasha said. “You know anything you tell me stays between us. Probably. Most likely.”

“I’m serious.”

“Gotcha. Serious it is,” she said, frowning in mock concentration.

“It’s just that, well, I’ve been having second thoughts about going back to school.”

“I don’t blame you. It’s a massive amount of work. But what brought this on? Miss Flanagan and her cushy lifestyle, by any chance?”

Eleanor shook her head, toying with her fork. “I know that’s what it looks like, but I think it’s more about my mom. I’m just not sure the old life plan fits anymore. Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does. People change, Elle. You decided you wanted to be a psychologist when you were nineteen. I remember—I was there. But I’ve also seen what it’s been like for you since then. No one would blame you if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life taking care of other people.”

“It’s not that. I like taking care of people. But my sister said something when we were driving out here that made me realize maybe I had spent all of this energy on other families and not enough on my own.”

Sasha frowned again, this time for real. “Don’t let Julia revise history. Your parents are the ones who pushed you away after you came out. You were there for them as much they would let you be. I know it and you know it. Or at least, you should.”

Eleanor felt her throat tighten as they sat at their corner table, flanked by murals of elephants and pre-colonial India. “Thanks, Sash.”

Her friend reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m more your sister than that little soccer-playing kiss-ass, anyway.”

“I know.” She turned her palm up to Sasha’s. “Look out—someone might see you holding hands with me and suddenly you’ll be the reason Tessa and I break up next month.”

Glancing around surreptitiously, Sasha pulled her hand back. “I think we’re safe. So you guys are breaking up when you leave for Madison, then?”

“We haven’t discussed that, either.”

“Better get on it. The summer’s half over.”

“I know. I just have no idea what to say to her. I know what I want—”

“Which is?” Sasha prompted.

Eleanor released a breath. “A real relationship, as far-fetched as that might sound.”

“It’s not far-fetched at all. It has to mean something that you’re the only woman she’s ever been with openly. Or semi-openly.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean she wants a future with me. She can be pretty hard to read.”

“Duh, Elle, she’s an actor. But what do you have to lose by telling her what you want? Better to lay your cards on the table now than, say, five years down the road after you’ve already wasted your best years on the cheating bastard. Oh, wait,” she added, “sorry, that was me.”

“You didn’t waste your best years on Ben. Or not all of them. Kidding,” she said, as Sasha glared at her. “Thanks for the advice, as usual, and for listening. Now, what’s new with you? Any potentials out there on the horizon? It’s been almost a year since you and Ben broke up. Don’t you think it’s time the mourning period ended?”

Sasha took a sip of the wine she’d ordered with lunch. “Actually,” she said, “there’s a new associate at the firm who might have potential.”

“That’s great,” Eleanor exclaimed. “What’s he like? Where’s he from?”

“He’s black, for once,” Sasha said (she often blamed Smith’s monochromatic student population for her post-graduate tendency to date white men), “and you’re not going to believe this, but he’s from Orange County. We think our parents might know each other.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Eleanor asked carefully. Her former roommate had long avoided romantic entanglements with anyone of whom her parents might possibly approve.

“I am,” Sasha said, sounding surprised by this fact herself. “Told you, Elle. People do change.”

“Apparently.”

After lunch, Eleanor dropped Sasha back at work and checked her watch. She still had some time before she had to pick Laya up, so she headed down to Malibu and walked along the beach, dodging scantily clad teenagers and wondering where Tessa’s old house was located. Sasha was right. At some point, she and Tessa were going to have to talk about September. But as she thought about declaring what she wanted—a future together, somehow—she also pictured Tessa rejecting the idea out of hand. What if they weren’t on the same page? Then what?

She wasn’t ready to lose Tessa and Laya, she thought as she walked along the ocean’s edge, hands in the pockets of her capris. Not yet. She would have to be ready for that eventuality before she laid her cards on the table. That was the problem with gambling—you could never be sure what the other person was holding.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 689