7. Will
WILL
Tiffany snaked her arm through mine. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet your mother.
Though I feel bad. All I really know about her, thanks to you, is that she used to be hot, which is not exactly the best conversation starter.
Do you think she’ll be offended that I haven’t seen any of her movies, but I’ve seen, like, all of your dad’s? ”
I shrugged. “She was a Bond girl, not Meryl Streep. She gets fucked and then murdered. There, saved you the trouble.”
I’d been shocked when Tiffany showed up at my doorstep that morning, waving the TMZ article in my face and demanding to know why I’d never told her about Ryan Ashbury.
I nearly puked when I saw my name and mug in print again.
But as far as tabloid stories went, I couldn’t have asked for a better one, especially after last night’s wine-soaked reunion, and as a consolation prize, Tiffany was now coming to brunch with me instead of Miles, which meant my mother was going to have to pretend to be nice.
“That’s just one movie, though,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine, you want a detailed account of her filmography? In Delta Delta Delta, she played a sorority girl who gets tricked into screwing the wrong guy in a hot tub, then exacts revenge by getting her sisters to win a fundraising game of strip football. In Alley Girl, she was a sex worker named Alley who’s mistaken for the new governess of a wealthy family. Think The Nanny meets Pretty Woman.”
Tiffany nodded.
“My dad must’ve really liked that one because here I am,” I continued.
“Then she tried her hand at TV, filming three pilots in five years. First, she was a detective who was also a mom. Then a lawyer who was also a mom. Then a mom who was also a Russian spy. None got picked up, though, so probably best you don’t mention them. ”
I sighed. “Then, after almost ten years of marriage, essentially the longest relationship in Hollywood history, she divorced my dad. That’s right, she divorced him.
My dad wrung every ounce of sympathy out of his heartbreak and continued racking up Oscar noms—no wins, of course—while my mom, now past her ‘fuckable years,’ got stuck in Hallmark movies.
You know the drill. An ambitious young woman gets stranded in a picturesque small town with a huge budget for Christmas decorations and gives up her high-powered career to help raise the kid of a widowed mechanic. ”
I glanced at Tiffany. “Now, she’s in that awkward stage where she’s too old to be the heroine and too hot to be the grandma, so she produces movies and fucks aging European models, and by aging I mean, like, thirty-five.
She likes to get them when their careers are over and their self-esteem is hanging by a thread. ”
Tiffany steered us down 58th Street. “I think your mom might be my new hero.”
I snorted. “She’s a ruthless bitch.”
She elbowed me. “Don’t talk about your mother like that.”
“Well, anyway, now you know her whole career.”
I spared her my sob story of being raised by nannies while Mom filmed inspirational family dramas and Dad chased Oscar gold through every trick in the book: dying in the Holocaust, wearing a false nose, overcoming paralysis, and playing an autistic savant.
Rich kid problems weren’t going to win any sympathy here.
“Do you think they’ll let me in like this?” Tiffany glanced down at her shorts and flip-flops, which showed off her dark, toned legs and bright red toenails. “I wasn’t planning on going to a fancy restaurant today.”
“Shit, did that guy just recognize me?” I ducked my head and pretended to inspect a crack in the sidewalk.
She laughed. “No, he probably just thinks you’re hot. Or maybe he’s wondering why you look so sweaty. It’s not like anyone actually watches TMZ.”
I glared at her.
“I only know because I got Jennifer those Ryan Ashbury pillowcases for her birthday last year, and now Google thinks I need to be kept abreast of everything he does. Did you know he’s a vegetarian and owns a pit bull rehabilitation center?”
Tiffany and I arrived at the Four Seasons five minutes early and were shown to our table in The Garden.
My mother, who liked to make an entrance, showed up ten minutes late.
She wore a long white dress that showed off far too much freckled boob and large two-toned sunglasses, which she pushed up into her glossy red hair the moment she stepped into the restaurant.
Her high heels tapped across the wooden floor like snare-drum flams. “I thought you were bringing Miles.”
“Nope, this is Tiffany.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Wells.” Tiffany stood and did some cross between a bow and a curtsy.
“Call me Donna.” My mother shook Tiffany’s hand. “You have really nice skin.”
Tiffany acted as if Mom’s comment wasn’t problematic and held her hand out like she was showing off an engagement ring. “Thanks. I recently discovered this hand sanitizer that’s also a lotion. I use it, like, a hundred times a day.”
“I take it you work with my son, then?”
“Yeah, I also teach kindergarten.”
It was generous of Tiffany to use the word “also,” but it wasn’t accurate.
Tiffany actually taught kindergarten. Her students sat at circle, read from their book baskets, and did their writers’ workshop.
Meanwhile, my students ran around the room dipping their shaving-cream-coated hands into the sand table and soiling the Jurassic Sand, which was very expensive, a fact my principal never failed to mention whenever she popped in to see what all the screaming was about.
“That’s good,” my mother said. “It’s important for those kids to see someone who looks like them in a position of power and respect. Are you looking forward to summer vacation?”
“Definitely,” Tiffany said. “Though I’ve got two teenage daughters at home, so it’s not really going to be much of a vacation.”
Mom stared at Tiffany in awe, no doubt trying to decide whether she looked good for her age or had gotten knocked up young. Then she turned her critical gaze on me.
“I see you made it to the bachelor party. Andy was sure you were going to come up with some excuse not to go.” She frowned and studied me like I had spinach in my teeth. “You should drink more water. It will help reduce the bags under your eyes.”
I was about to take a sip of my water, but set the glass back down.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, as if she cared.
“Fine.”
“Good, your father still needs you. So don’t go making any plans for the summer.” She pulled her phone from her bag and checked the time.
“What?”
“Well, you know he can’t play a man dying in front of his sons without at least one of his sons present. And Andy’s busy with the wedding. Plus, you know how much he likes running lines with you. It will be just like when you were a kid.”
“Since when do you give a shit what Dad needs?” I couldn’t go to Vermont. Derek was going to be there.
“Since I’m producing.”
“You’re producing? Why?”
“I can’t say.” She turned to Tiffany. “No offense, honey, but this is all very hush-hush.” She patted Tiffany’s hand.
“None taken.” Tiffany looked between us as we stared each other down.
“I’m just going to tell her anyway.”
“I wish I could, hon. I really do. But I’m not even supposed to tell you.”
“I can just go to the bathroom or something,” Tiffany suggested.
“Don’t you dare.” I pinned her hand to the table. “What is it, Mom?”
“I’ll tell you this much. I bought a house up there, and it’s only a mile from the set.”
Of course she’d bought a house. “There is no way I’m spending my summer in the middle of the woods just so I can read lines with Dad.” And there was no way in hell I was going to share a house with her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hardly be there,” she said, reading my mind.
“I’m headed to France and then Italy. But I’ll be in and out.
Oh, and I need you to watch Atticus for a couple of days.
” She glanced at the floor where she’d set her purse.
Inside sat Atticus, who was more like a ten-thousand-dollar houseplant than a living creature with agency.
“He had an appointment this morning, and the vet says he’s got inner-ear problems and shouldn’t fly anymore. ”
“I’m not babysitting your dog.”
“Oh, stop. It’s just for a couple of days. I already called the agency, and they’re going to send someone to collect him. Besides, I already sent his stuff over to your apartment.”
Before I could protest further, the waitress came to get our orders. Tiffany and I had already decided to split the “legendary” ricotta pancakes, but Mom found that objectionable.
“Oh, stop. It’s on me. Get whatever you want.”
Tiffany, who for some reason cared what my mother thought, felt guilty and ordered the cauliflower steak. Now I was going to have to eat all the pancakes myself.
“Just an iced tea for me,” Mom said. “I can’t stay. I have a four o’clock flight.”
As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, I turned on her. “Why did you drag me here, then, if you can’t even stay?” We were supposed to be discussing agents and publicists, not me being Dad’s unpaid intern.
Mom took a sip of water, her rings clanging against the glass.
“I invited you to breakfast, not lunch. It’s not my fault you were too busy drumming up a scandal to get up on time.
This is the last thing your father needs, and now you’ve dragged Ryan into it, too.
This whole movie is going to be a disaster.
” She turned her ice-cold stare on Tiffany.
“Don’t tell anyone I said that. Actually”—she reached into her purse and pulled out a manila envelope—“I brought this for Miles to sign, but you should probably sign one, too.”
“What is it?” Tiffany asked.
“It’s an NDA, a non-disclosure agreement.”
I threw my hands in the air. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”
“No, this is awesome.” A large smile spread across Tiffany’s face. “I’ve never signed one of these before. Do you have a pen?”
“Yes, right here.” Mom pulled a pen from her purse. “You should come up to Vermont, too. Bring your daughters. There’s plenty of room. And it’s a perfect place for kids. There’s a speedboat, and the stables are less than a mile away.”
“Can we, Will?” Tiffany batted her long eyelashes at me. “Please.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Besides, we could really use your help with the wedding. Bring Miles, too. We had to promise Nandi there would be swans in the marsh to get her to change the venue at the last minute. Do you have any idea how mean swans are? I’m going to need my son-in-law there for protection.”
“Son-in-law?” Tiffany’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“He’s not my real husband.” My hangover headache came roaring back.
“Just because you have an open marriage doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Tiffany clicked the pen like a metronome. “What is she talking about? You’re married?”
“No, Miles just needed this operation a while ago, and he’s got really shitty insurance because he’s self-employed, and—”
“Oh my god! How did I not know this? This explains so much.”
I threw my hands in the air again. “Just sign the NDA already.”
Before the food arrived, Tiffany got up to use the restroom. I shot her a don’t-you-dare stare, and she answered with a don’t-be-such-a-brat glare that hit like a viper strike. No wonder her class was so well‐behaved.
As soon as she was gone, Mom started in on one of her guilt trips. “It’s not my place to tell you this. And I promised your father I wouldn’t. But like you said, when have I ever given a shit what he wants? I’m the one who’s going to be left cleaning up the mess.”
“Mom, save your breath. I don’t care.”
She set her hands flat on the table. “The cancer is back, and this time he’s decided not to fight it.”
My throat closed. “What?”
She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away. “That’s why everything’s so rushed. Originally, the doctors gave him six months, maybe a year. Now they’re saying it could be less.”
I sat there, unable to swallow the spit in my throat.
“Andy doesn’t know yet,” she continued. “Your father wants to wait until after the wedding to tell him, so he doesn’t draw focus.”
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Was this another Oscar ploy? Was he refusing chemo just so he could actually die while playing a dying man?
“He really wanted you to have the part,” Mom said, checking her phone. “He just couldn’t put you through it.” She slid a leather‐bound notebook in front of me. “I had my secretary make you a manual for Atticus. Everything you need to know is in there.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Does Derek know?”
She sighed. “He does. Your father’s planning to tell the cast and crew, but no one else. If word gets out, the set will be swarmed with paparazzi, even up in Vermont, so you can’t tell anyone, not even Miles.”
A minute later, Tiffany slid back into her seat beside me and gave my knee a quick squeeze.
My mom leaned forward one last time. “By the way, do either of you need any supplies for your classroom? An overhead projector, maybe? A girlfriend of mine just got her grandson an inflatable bounce house. Think you could fit one of those?”
I threw my napkin on the table. “Jesus Christ, Mom.”
Tiffany grinned. “I’ll take a bounce house.”