SUMMER INTERNSHIP POSITIONS/DEPARTMENT 25 page

That was her mistake.

She'd pinned her happiness to a teenage girl's chest. Idiot. The realization made her almost smile. She certainly knew better than that. Feeling better, more in control of her silly emotions, she headed back to the party.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tully shouldn't have drunk so much. She stood on the stage, holding Johnny's hand to keep herself steady. "Thank you all," she said, flashing her smile to the crowd. "The Girlfriend Hour is so successful because of you." She lifted a glass to everyone, and they answered with applause. It occurred to her in a burst that her sentence hadn't been quite right, had maybe made no sense, but since she couldn't remember what she'd said, it was hard to tell.

She turned to Johnny, put her arm around him. "It's our turn to dance."

The band started up; they were playing a slow song. Tully took his hand and led him out to the dance floor. She was still laughing when she recognized the song: "Crazy for You."

Touch me once and you'll know it's true.

It was the song he and Kate had first danced to at their wedding.

Tully tilted her head and looked up at him; suddenly she was remembering what she shouldn't remember: the last time she'd danced in his arms. The song had been "Didn't We Almost Have it All?" and when the dance was over, he'd kissed her. If she'd chosen differently back then, reached for love instead of fame, maybe he would have loved her, given her Marah and a home.

In the pale golden light from the old-fashioned chandelier, he looked as handsome as she'd ever seen him. He had the kind of dark Irish looks that only improved with age. Somehow the way he looked at her, so seriously, reminded her of the old days, when he'd been just a little broken by life, and she'd made him laugh for that one romantic night.

"You always were a good dancer," she said, and as she said it, she felt a little flare of caution go up. She was drunk; she needed to draw away, but it felt so good to be in a man's arms, and it wasn't like anything would happen.

He twirled her easily around and pulled her close again.

The crowd clapped in approval.

"I shouldn't have had so much champagne. I can't follow your lead."

"Following has never been your strong suit."

And with those few words, she remembered all of it again, the details. Memories came crashing through the walls she'd built to contain them. She stopped and looked up at him. "What happened to us?"

"Was there ever an 'us,' Tully, really?" he asked quietly. The way he said it, so easily, so quickly, made her wonder if he'd been wanting to ask the question for years. She couldn't tell if his smile was rueful or indulgent; all she knew was that they were no longer dancing, but he hadn't let her go.

"I wouldn't let there be."

"Kate thinks I never got over you."

Tully knew that, had always known it. Without ever actually talking about their shared past with Johnny, she and Kate had tucked it away in the name of friendship. There in the dark was where it should remain, but as always with Tully, booze and loneliness weakened her, and so, despite her best intentions, she found herself asking, "Did you?"

By the time Kate returned to the party, the band had begun to play.

"Crazy for You."

The song always made her smile. At the entrance to the ballroom, she paused, looking around. The dinner tables were emptying out. Lines were forming again at the bar. She saw Marah in the corner, talking to a remarkably skinny girl in a dress that was smaller than a handkerchief.

"Perfect."

Tamping down a flare of irritation, she kept moving. That was when she caught a flash of emerald-green silk and the world seemed to drop away from her.

Tully was on the dance floor, hanging all over Johnny. He held her with an easy familiarity, as if they'd spent a lifetime together. Although they should have been dancing, they were just standing there, a still pair amid the colorful swirl of the other dancers. Tully was looking up at him as if she'd just asked him to take her to bed.

Kate couldn't draw a breath. For a terrible moment, she thought she might be sick.

You were always his second choice.

She knew that; making peace with it over the years was not the same as changing it.

The song ended and Johnny stepped back from Tully. Turning, he saw Kate. Through the jeweled array of gowns, their gazes met. There, in front of anyone who might be watching, she started to cry. Embarrassed, she walked out of the ballroom.

Okay, she ran.

Downstairs, at the elevators, she pushed the button impatiently. "Come on . . . come on . . ." She didn't want anyone to see her crying.

The bell rang and the door opened. She stepped inside, backing up against the wall, and crossed her arms. It took long seconds of impatient waiting to realize she'd forgotten to press a button.

The doors were about to close when a hand pushed through.

"Go away," she said to her husband.

"We were dancing."

"Ha!" Kate pressed the button for their floor, then wiped her eyes.

He stepped inside. "You're being ridiculous."

The elevator whisked them to their floor; doors opened. She walked away from him. "Fuck you," she yelled behind her, finding her key and opening her door. She went into the room, slammed the door shut behind her.

Then she waited.

And waited.

Maybe he went to Tully—

No.

She didn't really believe that. Her husband might carry a torch for Tully, but he was an honorable man, and Tully was her best friend.

That was what she'd somehow forgotten in her jealous snit.

She opened the door, saw him sitting in the hallway, one leg stretched out, his bow tie hanging slack around his throat. "You're still here."

"You have our key. I hope you're going to apologize."

She went to him, knelt beside him. "I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you'd think—"

"I don't."

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Dance with me," she said, hating the tiny emphasis she put on me.

"There's no music."

She put her arms around his neck and started to sway her hips, slowly moving closer toward him until his back was to the wall and she was pressing against him.

She unzipped her dress, let it fall to the floor.

Johnny glanced down the hallway. "Katie!" He opened her purse, got the key, and opened the door. They hurried into their room and fell onto the sofa, kissing with a passion that felt both familiar and new.

"I love you," he said, moving his hand down toward her panties. "Try not to forget it, okay?"

She was too breathless to answer, so she nodded and unzipped his pants, shoving the fabric aside. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't let her insecurities run rampant again, wouldn't forget his love.

Two weeks later, Tully stood at the window of her enormous office, staring out. She'd known for ages that something was missing in her life. She'd hoped that moving back to Seattle and starting her own show would somehow fill that empty place inside of her, but she hadn't been so lucky. Now she was simply more famous, endlessly wealthy, and still vaguely dissatisfied.

As always when she was unhappy, she turned to her career for the fix. It had taken her a while to come up with the answer, a course of action that would challenge and fulfill her, but in the end, she'd figured it out.

"You're insane," Johnny said, pacing in front of the window that looked out over Elliott Bay. "Format is king in television. You know that. Our ratings are second only to Oprah, and last year you were nominated for an Emmy. Companies can't line up fast enough to provide giveaways and promos to our audience. These are indicators of success."

"I know," she said, distracted for a moment by her own reflection. In the window glass, she looked thin and worn out. "But I'm not a rule-follower, you know that. I need to shake things up a bit. Mix it around. A live show would do that."

"Why do you need to do this? What more do you want?"

That was the $64,000 question. Why was it that she never had enough? And how could she possibly make Johnny, of all people, understand?

Kate would understand, even if she disagreed, but her best friend was too busy lately to talk much. Maybe that was part of what was wrong. She felt . . . disconnected from Kate. Their lives were on such different paths these days. They'd hardly spoken since the anniversary party. "You're going to have to trust me on this, Johnny."

"It could turn all Jerry Springer in an instant, and our credibility would be shot to hell." He moved in toward her, frowning slightly. "Talk to me, Tul."

"You couldn't understand," she said, giving him the only truth she knew.

"Try me."

"I need to make a mark."

"Twenty million viewers watch you every day; what's that, nothing?"

"You have Katie and the kids."

She saw when understanding dawned. He gave her the poor-Tully look; no matter how far she ran or high she climbed, that look seemed somehow to follow her. "Oh."

"I need to try this, Johnny. Will you help me?"

"When have I ever let you down?"

"Only when you married my best friend."

He laughed and headed for the door. "One try, Tully. Then we assess. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough."

The deal stayed with her in the weeks that followed. She put her nose to the grindstone and worked like a maniac, giving up her ever-meager pretense of a social life.

Now, finally, the moment of truth had arrived, and she was worried. What if Johnny was right and her brilliant idea degenerated into melodrama?

There was a knock at her office door.

"Come in," she said.

Her assistant, Helen, a recent graduate of Stanford, poked her head in. "Dr. Tillman is here. He's in the green room. I put the McAdams family in the employee lunchroom and Christy is in Ted's office."

"Thanks, Helen," she said distractedly as the door closed.

She'd almost forgotten how this felt, the scary/exhilarating feeling that you might fail. The past years had given her such insulation. Now it was as if she were new again, starting out, trying something only she believed in.

She checked herself in the mirror one last time, pulled the white makeup protector away from her collar, and headed for the studio. Onstage she found Johnny doing about ten things at once, barking out orders.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Honestly? I don't know."

He walked over, talking into his headpiece as he neared. Pulling the mic away from his mouth, he said quietly to her alone, "You'll be great, you know. I trust you."

"Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"Just be yourself. Everyone loves you."

At his signal, the audience began streaming into the studio. Tully ducked backstage and waited for her cue. When the red lights lit up, she walked onstage.

As always, she stood there a moment, smiling, letting the strangers' applause wash through her, fill her to overflowing.

"Today we have a very special show for you. My guest, Dr. Wesley Tillman, is a noted psychiatrist who specializes in addiction recovery and family counseling . . ."

Behind her, a huge screen played a film clip of an overweight man with thinning hair. He was trying not to cry, and losing the battle. "My wife is a good woman, Tallulah. We've been married for twenty years and we have two beautiful children. The problem is . . ." He paused, wiping his eyes. "Booze. It used to be just cocktail hour with friends, but lately. . ."

The clip showed the disintegration of a family in sound and images.

When it ended, Tully turned back to the audience. She could see how moved they were by the piece. Several women already looked close to tears. "Mr. McAdams is like too many of us, living lives of quiet desperation because of a loved one's addiction. He swears that he's tried everything to convince his wife to go into treatment and quit drinking. Today, with Dr. Tillman's help, we're going to try something radical. Mrs. McAdams is backstage, alone, right now. She believes she's won a trip to the Bahamas and is here to collect it. In fact, though, her family—with Dr. Tillman's professional help—is going to confront her about her alcoholism. Our hope is that we can force her to see the truth and seek treatment."

There was a moment of silence in the audience.

Tully held her breath. Go along with me.

Then applause.

It was all Tully could do not to laugh. She glanced over at Johnny, who was standing in the shadows by Camera 1, giving her a boyish grin and a thumbs-up.

This would help her, fill her up. She would genuinely help this family and America would love her for it.

She stepped back to introduce her guests and from that moment on, the show moved forward like a runaway train. Everyone in the room climbed aboard and loved the ride; they clapped, they moaned, they cheered, they cried. Like an expert ringmaster, Tully controlled it all. She was in the zone; no doubt about it. This was as good as she'd ever been on TV.

Winter came all at once that November, settling over the island in a gray and rainy pall. Naked trees shivered in the cold, clung to their blackened, dying leaves as if to let go would mean defeat. Fog rose from the Sound, morning after morning, obscuring the view and changing ordinary noises into muffled, faraway echoes. Ferries honked as they came in and out of port, the sound a mournful dirge in the haze.

It should have provided the perfect setting in which to write a gothic thriller. At least that was what Kate told herself when she began, secretly, to write again.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy as she remembered.

She reread what she'd just written, then sighed and hit the delete key, watching the letters blink out of existence one by one until she was left once more with a blank blue screen. She tried to come up with a better way to say it, but only more clichés came to her. The tiny white cursor mocked her, waited.

Finally, she pushed away from her desk and stood up. She was too tired to imagine worlds and people and dramatic events right now. It was time to make dinner anyway.

Lately it seemed that she was always exhausted, and yet, when she went to bed she rarely slept well.

She flicked off the light in Johnny's office, closed up her laptop, and went downstairs.

Johnny looked up from The New York Times. "eBay suck you in again?"

She laughed. "Of course. Were the boys good?"

He leaned forward, tousled their hair. "As long as I sing along with poor unfortunate souls, they're happy as clams."

She couldn't help smiling at that. Little Mermaid was this week's favorite movie. That meant they watched it every day if they could.

The front door banged open and Marah was home, looking excited. "You'll never guess what happened to me today."

Johnny put down his paper. "What?"

"Christopher, Jenny, Josh, and I are going to the Tacoma Dome to see Nine Inch Nails. Can you believe it? Josh asked me."

Kate took a deep breath. She'd learned to react slowly with Marah.

"A concert, huh?" Johnny said. "Who are these kids? How old are they?"

"Josh and Chris are juniors. And don't worry, we'll wear our seat belts."

"When is the concert?" he asked.

"Tuesday."

"On a school night? You think you're going on a date, with a junior, to a concert, on a school night." Kate looked at Johnny. "That's wrong on so many levels."

"When does it start?" Johnny asked.

"Nine. We should be home by two o'clock."

Kate couldn't help herself: she laughed. She had no idea how her husband could stay so reasonable. "Should be home by two o'clock? You must be joking, Marah. You're fourteen years old."

"Jenny's fourteen and she gets to go. Daddy?" Marah turned to Johnny. "You have to let me go."

"You're too young," he said. "Sorry."

"I'm not too young. Everyone gets to do stuff like this except me."

Kate's heart went out to Marah. She remembered being in a hurry to grow up, how sharp that need could be in a girl. "I know you think we're too strict, Marah, but sometimes life—"

"Oh, please. Not another lame life-is speech." With a snort, she ran upstairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Kate felt a wave of exhaustion so profound she almost sat down. Instead, she looked at her husband. "I'm so glad I came downstairs."

Johnny smiled. It came easily, too. How was it that he could do the same battles with Marah that Kate did, but manage to come out unscathed? And loved? "Your timing with her is always impeccable." He stood up, kissed her. "I love you," he said simply.

She knew it was meant to be a Band-Aid, those words, and she appreciated it.

"I'll go make dinner and then try talking to her. Give her some time to cool down."

He sat back down, returned to his paper. "Call Jenny's mom and tell her she's an idiot."

"I'll leave that to you." She went into the kitchen and started dinner. For almost an hour, she lost herself in slicing vegetables for stir-fry, and making Marah's favorite teriyaki marinade. At six o'clock, she tossed the salad, put the biscuits in the oven, and set the table. Usually that was Marah's job, setting the table, but there was no point in asking for help tonight.

"Okay," she said, coming back into the living room, where Johnny was sprawled on the floor with his boys, building something out of Legos. "I'm going in."

Johnny looked up. "The Kevlar vest is in the coat closet."

In the comforting wake of his laughter, Kate went upstairs. At the closed door to her daughter's room, which sported a yellow KEEP OUT sign, she paused, steeling herself, then knocked.

There was no answer.

"Marah?" she said after a moment. "I know you're upset, but we need to talk about this."

She waited, knocked again, and opened the door.

In the jumble of clothes and books and movies, it took Kate a moment to process what she was seeing.

An empty room.

With an open window.

Just to be sure, she checked everywhere—in the closet, under the bed, behind the chair. She checked the bathroom, too, and the boys' room and even her own. By the time she'd searched the entire upstairs, her heart was pounding so fast she felt light-headed. At the top of the stairs, she held onto the banister for support. "She's gone," she said, hearing the crack in her voice.

Johnny looked up. "Huh?"

"She's gone. I think she climbed out her window and went down the trellis."

He was on his feet in a second. "Son of a bitch."

He ran outside. Kate followed.

They stood beneath her bedroom window, seeing where her weight had broken the white wooden trellis and ripped through the ivy. "Son of a bitch," Johnny said again. "We need to start calling everyone she knows."

Even on a cold night like this, Tully loved being on the deck of her condo. It was a big, stone-tiled space that had been designed to replicate an Italian villa's terrace. Big, leafy trees grew from terra-cotta planters, their branches strung with tiny white lights.

She went to the railing and stared out. From here, she could hear the bump and grind of the city far below and smell the salty air of the Sound. In the distance, beyond the expanse of gray water, she could see the forested outline of Bainbridge Island.

What were the Ryans doing tonight? she wondered. Were they gathered around that big old-fashioned trestle table of theirs, playing board games? Or maybe Marah and Kate were curled up on the couch together, talking about boys. Or maybe she and Johnny had stolen a moment together to kiss—

The phone rang in her apartment. It was just as well. Thinking about Kate's family only made Tully feel more lonely.

She went through the open pocket doors and closed them behind her, then answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Tully?" It was Johnny. His voice was tight, unfamiliar.

She was immediately worried. "What is it?"

"Marah ran away. We don't know when exactly, probably about an hour and fifteen minutes ago. Have you heard from her?"

"No. I haven't. Why did she run away?" Before Johnny could answer, Tully's doorman buzzed her. "Just a second, Johnny. Hold on." She ran to the intercom, pressed it. "What is it, Edmond?"

"There's a Marah Ryan here to see you."

"Send her up." Tully released the button. "She's here, Johnny."

"Thank God," he said. "She's there, honey. She's fine. We'll be right over, Tully. Don't let her leave."

"Don't worry." Tully hung up the phone and went to the door. As the penthouse unit, hers was the only door on this side of the building, so she opened it and stood there, trying to look surprised when Marah stepped out of the elevator.

"Hey, Aunt Tully, I'm sorry to come here so late."

"This isn't late. Come on in." She stood back, let Marah enter the condo first. As always, she was struck by her goddaughter's remarkable beauty. Like most girls her age, she was too thin, a jangle of points and hollows, but none of that mattered. She was the kind of girl who'd be called coltish until she was thirty; that was when she'd settle into her body like royalty.

Tully went to her. "What happened?"

Marah flopped onto the couch and sighed dramatically. "I got invited to a concert."

Tully sat beside her. "Uh-huh."

"At the Tacoma Dome."

"Uh-huh."

"On a school night." Marah gave her a sideways glance. "The boy who asked me is a junior."

"That's, what, sixteen, seventeen?"

"Seventeen."

Tully nodded. "I went to see Wings in the Kingdome when I was about your age. What's the trauma?"

"My parents think I'm too young."

"They said no?"

"How lame is that? Everyone gets to do stuff like this except me. My mom won't even let me drive with boys who have their license. She still picks me up from school every day."

"Well, sixteen-year-old boys are notoriously bad drivers, and sometimes it's not . . . safe to be alone with them." She thought about that night in the woods, all those years ago. "Your mom is just protecting you."

"But we'll be in a group."

"A group. That's different. Nothing can happen as long as you all stay together."

"I know. I think she's worried about their driving."

"Oh. Well, I could take you guys in a limo."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. Solves all the problems. Chaperone. Driver. We'll have a blast. I'll make sure no one gets hurt."

Marah sighed. "It won't work."

"Why not?"

"Because my mom is a bitch and I hate her."

That caught Tully off guard, shocked her so much that she couldn't think of what to say. "Marah—"

"I mean it. She treats me as if I'm a child. She doesn't respect my privacy. She tries to pick my friends and tell me what I can do. No makeup, no thongs, no belly ring, no staying out after eleven, no tattoos. I can't wait to get away from her. Believe me, once I graduate, it's sayonara, Mom. I'm going straight to Hollywood to be a star like you."

That last bit flattered Tully so much she almost forgot what had preceded it. She had to force herself back on track. "You're not being fair to your mom. Girls your age are more vulnerable than you think. A long time ago, when I was your age and thought I was invincible, I—"

"You'd let me go to the concert if you were my mom."

"Yes, but—"

"I wish you were my mom."

Tully was surprised by how deeply she felt those words. They found a soft spot inside her. "You two will get past this, Marah. You'll see."

"No, we won't."

For the next hour Tully tried to crack through Marah's anger, but it was a durable shell, impossible to breach. She was stunned by how easily Marah claimed to hate Katie, afraid that these two would never repair their damaged relationship. If there was one thing Tully knew, it was how ruined you could be without a mother's love.

Finally, the intercom buzzed and Edmond's voice came through: "The Ryans, Ms. Hart."

"They know I'm here?" Marah said, popping to her feet.

"It couldn't have been hard to figure out," Tully said, going to the intercom. "Let them up, Edmond. Thanks."

"They're going to kill me," Marah said, pacing, wringing her hands, and all at once she was a child again, gangly and tall and gorgeous, but still a child, scared that she was going to be in trouble.

Johnny was the first to walk through the open door. "Damn it, Marah," he said, "you scared the hell out of us. We didn't know if you'd been kidnapped or run away—" He broke his sentence off, as if he were afraid to say more.

Kate came up behind him.

Tully was stunned at the sight of her friend. She looked tired and sick and smaller somehow, as if she'd just taken a beating.

"Katie?" Tully said, worried.

"Thanks, Tully," she answered, giving her a wan smile.

"Aunt Tully said she'd take us to the concert in her limo," Marah said. "And chaperone us."

"Your aunt is a moron," Johnny snapped. "Her wacko mother dropped her on her head. Now get your stuff. We're going home."

"But—"

"No buts, Marah," Kate said. "Get your things."

Marah put on a real show—sighing, stomping, uttering, whining. Then she gave Tully a fierce hug, whispered, "Thanks for trying," and left the condo with Johnny.

Tully waited for Kate to say something.

"Don't promise her things without asking us, okay?" was all Kate said; her voice was a monotone, not even angry. "It just makes it harder." She turned to leave.

"Katie, wait—"

"Not tonight, Tul. I'm exhausted."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tully was worried about Kate and Marah. For most of the past week, she'd tried to figure out how to fix things between them, but nothing had come to her. Now she was at her desk, looking over her script notes for today.

Her phone rang. It was her assistant. "Tully. The McAdamses are here. From the rehab show."

"Send them in."

The couple that walked through her door on that icy November morning bore only the most surface resemblance to the people who'd been on her first live show. Mr. McAdams had lost at least twenty pounds and no longer walked hunched over, with his head pulled down into his shoulders. Mrs. McAdams had cut her hair, put on makeup, and was smiling. "Wow," Tully said, "you two look great. Please, sit down."

Mr. McAdams held his wife's hand. Together they sat down on the expensive black leather sofa that faced the windows. "We're sorry to bother you. We know how busy you are."

"I'm never too busy for friends," Tully said, giving them her PR smile. Hitching one leg over the end of her desk, she looked down at them.

"We just wanted to say thank you," Mrs. McAdams said. "I don't know if you know anyone with a drug or alcohol problem . . ."

Tully's smile faded. "I do, actually."

"We can be mean and selfish and angry and resistant. I wanted to change. Lord knows, I wanted to quit every day, but I didn't. Until you put the spotlight on me and I actually saw my life."

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 524