22
An hour later there was a knock on my bedroom door.
I opened it to find Marc outside. “We’re having dinner in half an hour.”
“They’re staying?”
“Just for dinner. Mom will take Ruby back to her place after.”
“That’s OK. I don’t want to intrude.”
“Lena.”
The way he said it made me grip the door tighter. “Yes?”
“Unless you want to break an eleven-year-old girl’s heart, please join us for dinner.”
I laughed and a wicked part of me wondered what it would take to make him beg. “When you put it that way, I’ll be there in a sec.”
When I joined them in the kitchen a few minutes later, Ruby was sitting beside Jay at the island bench. She had a page full of notes in front of her.
“Hi, Lena! You’re next.”
I hesitated in the doorway. “I’m next?”
“Yeah,” said Jay. “I think she’s going to be a journalist, not a writer.”
“I can do both,” Ruby said.
“I agree,” I said, and sat down on her other side to wait my turn.
Marc and his mother were preparing something together. Whatever it was smelled exotic. I inhaled greedily. “Mmm,” I said to no one in particular. “I really should learn to cook.”
Ruby swiveled to face me. “Do you have a cook?” Her pencil was poised over a fresh sheet of paper.
“On the record?” I asked, and heard Heather laugh.
“On the record,” Ruby replied.
“Yes, I have a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener, and you’ve met Jay.”
“And the others?”
“The others?” I asked, wondering what she knew that I didn’t.
“All the other bodyguards. You’ve upped your security detail since the incidents.”
My mouth dropped open. Holy cow. Jay was right. Give her a few years and she’d have an internship with a major publication.
“Told you,” said Jay, sipping a beer.
“I might have a wine,” I said.
“Not with your painkillers you won’t.”
I glared at Marc’s back.
“Try having him as your dad. Have a lemonade instead,” Ruby suggested. “So Dad says I can’t talk about the bad stuff, but that’s OK because there’s plenty of good stuff to talk about. Like what’s been your favorite movie role so far?”
Relieved we were on safer ground, I answered her questions. For the next half-hour, Ruby grilled me about my acting career and I found myself enjoying the girl’s company more than I wanted to. It reminded me of the close relationship I’d had with my own mother, but I did my best to push the ache those memories created aside and focus on Ruby.
By the end, I was convinced she would make an excellent reporter if that was still what she wanted to do in another five or so years time.
“Can I ask one more question?” Ruby asked when Marc and Heather were serving dinner.
“Sure.”
“Do you miss your mom?”
I blinked. The question had come out of nowhere. Everything we’d talked about so far was related to Hollywood.
“Ruby,” Marc warned. “It’s time for dinner.”
Ruby shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I heard your speech at the Oscars and you mentioned your mom. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
I cleared my throat. “I don’t.” It had been hard for me to talk about my mom in front of the whole world like that. I’d never opened myself up so publicly before, but I didn’t regret it. I’d dedicated the award to her because without her, I wouldn’t be where I was now. “And yes. I still miss her. Every day.”
Ruby nodded seriously. “That’s what I thought. Just because someone dies doesn’t mean you love them any less.”
“Sometimes you love them more.”
Ruby put her pen down on the pad, her face still serious. “That makes sense. When we thought Dad wasn’t coming home, my heart hurt so bad.”
The kitchen fell silent. Heather stood beside Marc, distress written in the lines of her face. Marc’s lips were set in a thin line and for the first time I registered something I hadn’t seen in his dark eyes before: pain.
“But I did come home, Ruby,” he said, his voice rough.
“I know, but some of your friends didn’t. You were lucky.” Ruby turned back to me. “Five guys died. Some had families just like Dad, too.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say. Sorry didn’t seem enough, and I was also painfully aware this was the sort of personal information Marc would like kept private.
Ruby seemed oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. “So, anyway, after that, Dad stayed home. He says there’s enough bad guys here to deal with. Plus he gets to meet cool people like you.”
“I’m not that different to you.” I smiled at her, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject.
“Um, duh. Yes, you are! You’re a famous movie star.”
I saw Heather smile and Marc turned back to the food. I was relieved the tension in the room had dissipated.
I leaned in closer to Ruby. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Movie stars are ordinary people, too.”
“I know that, silly. But lots of my friends don’t. Wait till I tell them I met you. They’ll be so jealous!”
That earned a few more smiles, and then it was time for the food to be served. For the next half-hour we enjoyed the meal Marc and his mom had prepared. Any conversation avoided personal topics. I chatted with Heather about the house—she had decorated it herself—and learned more about her career in set design.
When it was time to go, Jay and I said our goodbyes to Heather and Ruby. I was just about to leave the room and give Marc some privacy to say his own goodbyes, when Ruby caught my hand in hers.
“Lena?” Her big brown eyes had turned shy again.
“Yes?”
“Can I, maybe, um, keep in touch?”
When I opened my mouth to reply, she rushed on.
“I’d really like an opinion on my stories. I figure you read a lot of scripts and stuff, and maybe you’d be able to help me?”
“Ruby—”
I ignored Marc. “Of course. I’d love to.
Ruby clapped her hands together, looking more like the young child she was. “You mean it?”
“Yes, of course. One day I’m thinking of making my own movies.”
“You are?”
For some strange reason, I almost felt shy at the girl’s awed tone. I wasn’t sure why I’d said it. It was an idea I’d thought about on and off for the last couple of years, but more so since Duncan and I had split up. “Maybe. If I find the right stories.”
“What sort of stories?”
“Well, they could be anything,” I told her. “So long as they have roles for strong women characters.”
Ruby nodded fiercely, her auburn waves jumping up and down. “Oh, I totally get that. Hollywood needs more girl power.”
I laughed. “Yes, I often think so.”
“That’s why you’re so awesome.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re different to a lot of the other actresses. Some people try to make out like you’re not because of your modeling career and all that, but that’s just the patriarchal machine that is Hollywood. Anyone with half a brain can see you’re fighting against it.”
“Do you think so?” I managed. I had no idea how a girl of her age had learned to use ‘patriarchal’ in context, nor was I about to suggest that her father might have less than half a brain.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “And I can’t believe there are people out there who try to dismiss you based on your appearance. So you’re a sexy woman? What’s wrong with being sexy and a seriously talented actress?”
“Nothing, I hope,” I said, impressed by Marc’s feisty daughter.
“That’s why I want to be a writer. To give more females a voice.”
“I think that’s a very noble goal.”
“Daddy doesn’t think so.”
“Ruby—”
“It’s true, Dad. Don’t deny it. He thinks stories are stupid.”
“Ruby, I don’t think—”
“But I don’t care. He’s not creative like the rest of us, but he followed his heart and served our country. I’m going to follow my heart, too.”
“Well, there you go,” said Heather, with a broad smile. She gave me an amused look. “On that note, I think we should probably head home.”
I nodded and stepped back, giving the girl a small wave. “Bye Ruby. It’s been really nice to meet you.” I slipped into the living room so Marc could say goodbye.
I settled into the sofa to contemplate the script I’d been reading again. Except I couldn’t concentrate. My head was filled with thoughts of Ruby. I hadn’t spent a great deal of time around children. When I’d been with Duncan, the possibility of children had never come up. He was as focused on my career as I was. His children from his first marriage were grown and they had children of their own, but we rarely saw them. Duncan was a workaholic and it was a situation that suited me well at the time.
Now I questioned why that was. Was I really that career-focused? Plenty of actresses managed to have children. Or was it because I was too scared to even remotely consider the idea of having children of my own? My family life had been wrought with tragedy, but that didn’t mean I was destined for the same if I chose to have my own children. Maybe it was time I opened myself to the idea?
I grimaced. No matter how open I was to it, I wasn’t in a position to do anything about it anyway. One thing I knew with absolute certainty was that the only way I would choose to have children would be if it were with a man who was one hundred per cent committed to being a parent. And who knew if I’d ever find that man?
I was so lost in my thoughts that I only noticed Marc standing in the doorway when he cleared his throat.
“Thanks for that,” he said.
“What for?”
“For going along with Ruby.”
I put the script down. “Going along with her?”
“Yeah, she can get carried away sometimes.”
“I didn’t think she got carried away at all. I love her passion.”
Marc grimaced. “Is that what you call it?”
I stood up and walked over to him. “Yes, actually. Or does having a daughter who’s a feminist bother you?”
His eyebrows shot up. “A feminist?”
“Yes.”
“She’s eleven. She’s not a feminist.”
“And I quote, ‘The patriarchal machine that is Hollywood’.”
His lips quirked. “Should I be worried?”
“If I were you, I’d be terrified.”
I laughed and Marc finally cracked a smile. A warm feeling spread in my belly at the sight. Gosh, he was a different man when he smiled.
“You want to produce movies?”
His question took me off guard. “Why not?”
He nodded slowly. “You could do it.”
“That’s quite the vote of confidence.”
Frustration flashed in Marc’s eyes and I was immediately sorry for my quick tongue.
“Sorry. Too much time hanging out with your daughter,” I joked.
“Why?” he asked.
I stared at him, trying hard to keep up with the abrupt rhythm of his conversation. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to produce movies?”
“Because of the stories that need a voice.” I’d never had to put it into words before, but now that I had it was like a piece of a puzzle had fit into place.
Marc eased back and leaned against the wall, regarding me. “That’s very altruistic.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. I just don’t get creative people. You’re always looking for the next thing.”
“No, it’s human nature. And so is telling stories.”
“Maybe. I won’t pretend to understand.” He straightened and went to walk away.
Before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and grabbed his hand. My fingers slipped easily into place with his.
He stopped and looked down at our joined hands.
“‘Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth,’” I quoted.
He met my eyes and I didn’t let go of his hand.
“It’s Pablo Picasso. Stephen King said something similar: ‘Fiction is the truth inside the lie.’”
Marc still didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t sure why I was trying so hard to make him understand. Maybe it was because of his beautiful daughter or perhaps my motivations were entirely self-serving.
“Stories helped me to grieve my mom. They allow us to understand the world around us. They’re a cultural lens and let us make sense of things.”
Marc glanced down at our hands again, then carefully extracted his hand from mine. “It’s a noble idea, but not all things make sense. And no amount of fiction can change that.”
I watched him walk away with a heavy heart, wondering at the atrocities he’d witnessed.