Chapter 8
Max
W aking up in Flynn’s guest room is surreal. The events of yesterday replay in my mind like a slow-moving train wreck I wish I could forget. I already know I’ll never forget the sick feeling in my stomach from knowing I hurt the person I love the most in this world. I love my kids and grandchildren passionately, but Stella… She’s the sun around which my whole world rotates.
The horrified look on her face when my words registered with her, when she learned I was once married to the only person in this world she hates, will stay with me always.
Having to tell her that will go down as the worst moment of my life, and yes, I know it makes me incredibly privileged to not have had something worse happen to me. I’ve been incredibly blessed in this life, thanks in large part to her.
I can hear Flynn shushing his kids, telling them there’s a surprise guest and they have to be quiet until the guest wakes up to play with them.
Smiling, I brush aside the tears that wet my cheeks and force myself to get up to see the kids and figure out what the hell I’m going to do about my wife, our anniversary, the party, Christmas, the trip to Mexico…
Not to mention the rest of my life.
I shower, shave and get myself together so I won’t scare the babies, who’ll expect their usual jubilant Pappy and not the sad sack I am on the inside. When I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to face this day without my Stella, I walk into the living room where Flynn is on the floor, surrounded by kids, while Natalie snuggles with baby Ben on the sofa.
Flynn sits up, concern etched into the expression on his handsome face. “Did you sleep?”
“A little.”
The kids require my full attention, and I give it to them the way I always do.
Flynn brings me a cup of coffee that I drink carefully, between hugs and kisses from the girls and wrestling with Rowan.
“Don’t hurt Pappy, Rowan,” Natalie says.
He’s so different from his gentle sisters, who’d rather give me a manicure than wrestle.
“Where’s Grammy?” Cece asks.
“She had rehearsal.” I feel guilty for lying to her. But I can’t very well tell her that Pappy fucked up bad and Grammy kicked me out of the house on the eve of our fiftieth anniversary.
“Dad,” Flynn says, “come into the office.”
I give Cece a kiss on her silky dark head. “I’ll be back.”
I follow Flynn into his home office and shut the door. “I’ve got the others ready for a conference call to plot our strategy.”
“I guess that means they all know?”
My son gives a grim nod. “We need their help.”
This entire situation is mortifying, and that Flynn feels it’s serious enough to call in our cavalry makes it that much worse. I’m well aware that his partners and friends look up to Stella and me and consider our marriage one to emulate. Many of them came from difficult upbringings and have often told us how much our family means to them. I hate feeling like I’ve disappointed them in addition to my own kids. “Are the girls on the call?”
“We’re here, Dad,” Aimee says.
I’m so ashamed by the sadness and fear I hear in her voice.
“We’re damned sorry to hear about all this, Max,” Kristian Bowen says.
“Hard to believe it’s anything more than a blip,” Hayden Roth adds.
“I appreciate the support, and I know Stella would, too.”
“What can we do?” my son-in-law, Jasper Kingsley, asks in the crisp British accent we all adore so much.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Flynn says, “and I’ve decided I’d like to try to see Vivian and get a sense of what we need to be prepared for?—”
“Absolutely not,” I say before he finishes the sentence. “We’re not going anywhere near that woman. Do you have any idea how much she’d enjoy having you show up on her doorstep, hat in hand, asking her to tell you how badly she’s going to annihilate your father? No way. And don’t you dare get any ideas about defying me on this.”
I don’t care that he’s a superstar in his own right. At the moment, he’s my son, and I’m still the dad around here. Involving her is a hard no for me.
“Simmer down, Dad,” Flynn says. “It was just an idea.”
“I have a thought,” Marlowe Sloane says.
She’s our honorary fourth daughter, so I welcome her input. “What’re you thinking, sweetheart?”
“What if you make a joke of it? When the book goes public with whatever secrets she’s daring to tell, act like Stella has known all along and how you regularly have a good laugh about you once being married to Vivian.”
“I really like that idea, Mo,” Flynn says. “What do you say, Dad?”
“I love it, but I’m not sure if your mother would go along with it.”
“She was a heck of an actress back in the day,” Hayden says. “I bet she could pull it off. It’s not like the rest of the world knows how much she continues to revile Vivian after all these years.”
“That’s true.” I pick it over from all angles, and the more I think about it, the more I like it.
“Dad, you have to take a huge mea culpa on this.” As the lawyer of the family, Annie is looking at it logically as well as emotionally. “You have to pour your heart out to Mom and tell her how the only reason you kept this from her was because you feared you’d never have a shot with her if she knew.”
“I agree,” Ellie says. “You have to take all the blame and tell her anything else she doesn’t know before that book hits the shelves.”
“You’re right, and I will. If I can get her to talk to me.”
“Text her,” Annie says. “Put it all out there, and don’t leave anything unsaid.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you for the good advice.”
“What’re we doing about the party?” Ellie asks in a small voice that’s so unlike her, it pains me to hear it.
“Mom said to go ahead with it,” Annie says. “Canceling would draw attention no one needs.”
“I want to bring Liza in on this,” Hayden says of the Quantum Productions publicist. “She can help us plan a strategy, and if we’re going ahead with the party, I’d like to suggest we sell exclusive photos to People or some other top-shelf outfit. Let’s get those amazing family photos published before that book hits.”
“That’s an excellent point,” Emmett says. “It’d put you and your happy marriage out there ahead of the book.”
Stella and I disdain celebrities who seek out publicity for everything they do, especially private family events, but in this case, it could only help. I hope my wife will agree when I nod to give the go-ahead to bring in the publicist.
“That’s a yes to Liza,” Flynn says to the others. “Where are we with the injunction, Emmett?”
“Getting nowhere fast. It’s very tricky to stop a book from being published if the info in question is true.”
“Even if it libels someone else?” Aimee asks.
“It’s not libel if it’s true,” Emmett says.
“He’s right,” Annie adds. “Dad was married to her, so if she reports that, she’s not lying.”
“What I want to know,” Hayden says, “is how did that never come out, especially after you got together with Stella? I did some reading about what went down between Stella and Vivian back in the day, and it was big news. To have one up-and-coming actress call another a whore in public was a huge deal in the seventies. How were you not outed right then and there?”
“As a condition of our divorce, I made Vivian sign a nondisclosure agreement that basically said she could never talk about our marriage. I didn’t want to be tied to her after the way it ended. I’d completely forgotten about that until this very moment, which says a lot about my state of mind.”
“Wait,” Emmett says. “Do you still have a copy of that?”
“Oh jeez. I wouldn’t know where to look. It was fifty-three years ago.”
“Max… If you can find that NDA, we can stop the publication of the book if it mentions you or your marriage.”
My mind races with thoughts about where it could be, but I’m fairly certain I left all the documentation of my brief marriage to Vivian with my attorney at the time. But that attorney’s son, my friend Corbin Remington, might be able to help me. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hurry, Max,” Emmett says. “We need to act fast to stop the book’s publication on January twentieth.”
“God,” Flynn says, “that’s right around the corner.”
“If it’s still findable, I’ll get it.” It’s comforting to think there may be something I can do to stop the publication of the book, even as I realize that won’t fix what’s wrong in my marriage. Only I can do that. “Thank you all for rallying around us. It means the world.”
“I know I speak for everyone when I say we love you and Stella very much,” Kris says, “and we’ll do whatever it takes to protect you and our family.”
Once upon a time, I caught Kristian Bowen stealing food from a craft services table on a set in Compton. That he’s now one of Hollywood’s top producers is due in part to my interest in a kid who showed potential. “Thank you, Kris,” I say in a hushed tone. My emotions are raw after the last surreal twenty-four hours.
“Whatever we can do,” Hayden adds. “You need only ask.”
“Love you all,” I say.
“We love you, too,” Marlowe says for all of them.
“We’ll be in touch,” Flynn says before he ends the call. “Where would that NDA be, Dad?”
“It might be in Corbin’s archives with the divorce decree. I’ll call him right now.”
When I pull my phone out of my pocket, I see a text that lets me know the flowers I ordered weeks ago for Stella have been delivered.
I hope she didn’t put them in the trash, not that I’d blame her if she did.
I find Corbin Remington’s number in my contacts and make the call. His assistant tells me he’s with a client and will get back to me shortly. I convey that information to Flynn.
“Should we go over there?”
My son is like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof this morning, and I hate to be the cause of that. “I’ll wait for him to call and go from there. In the meantime, I’d appreciate a few minutes alone so I can compose that text to your mom that the girls suggested.”
“Sure, Dad.” He gets up, comes around the desk and squeezes my shoulder. “Take all the time you need.”
I look up at him, amazed as always about the handsome, kind, talented, loving man he grew up to be. “Thank you for bringing in the others. I feel better after talking to them.”
“I’m glad. The whole family is here for whatever you and Mom need. I hope you know that.”
“I do, and it’s very much appreciated.”
Flynn looks at me with his heart in his warm brown eyes. “My father likes to say that you reap what you sow in this life. You’ve sown nothing but love and kindness and support to all of us. It’s the least we can do to return the favor.”
“Your father is a wise man,” I say with a small smile.
“He’s the wisest man I know, and if he kept this from his wife for all this time, he must’ve had a very good reason.”
“She wouldn’t have even talked to me if she’d known.”
“When you remind her of that, it’ll help. Right?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“Take all the time you need. My home is your home.”
“Love you, son.”
“Love you more.”
After Flynn leaves the room, shutting the door, I close my eyes and try to calm my racing thoughts so I can say what needs to be said to my precious wife. I stare at the blank text message screen, trying to find the words to repair the damage I’ve done to the most important thing in my life. Knowing what’s at stake, I leave nothing on the field.
My face is damp with tears as I press Send on the message.
Almost immediately, I can see that she’s read it.
For long minutes, I stare at the phone, holding my breath, praying she’ll reply, that she’ll talk to me, that maybe someday she’ll forgive me for ruining what should’ve been one of the best days of our lives together.
The wait is interminable.
At one point, I see bubbles appear that indicate she’s replying, but then they disappear, which crushes me.
Then the bubbles reappear right before a two-word message arrives, the best two words I’ve ever seen in my life.
Come home.
I burst into tears the likes of which I haven’t shed since our four babies were born. My shoulders shake with sobs of relief as I drop my head into my hands. It takes a full ten minutes to get myself together, to wipe my face and catch my breath. I go into the bathroom attached to Flynn’s office and splash cold water on my face. When I look in the mirror, I gasp at the ravaged look on my face.
I go back to the office to retrieve my phone. I’m coming, I say in response to her.
I’m afraid I’ll scare the kids if I go out there looking like this.
I text Flynn. I sent the text to Mom. She asked me to come home. I look rough… Will you tell the kids I’ll see them tonight at dinner? Tell them I had something I had to go do and I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye? Thank you—and Natalie—for having me. I love you all.
Of course. Go take care of things with Mom and keep us posted. I’m glad you’re going home.
Me, too, but still anxious about it all.
One step at a time. You’ve got this.
I guess we’ll see, won’t we?
Stella
After I get Max’s message that he’s on the way, I run upstairs to make myself presentable, which, at seventy-five, is harder than it used to be, especially after a nearly sleepless night. I employ all the tricks I’ve learned over decades in makeup chairs to hide the dark circles under my eyes and to play up all my still-considerable assets. I spray my signature scent of Joy onto my neck and wrists. I’ve always thought it was a fitting fragrance for a life mostly filled with joy.
As my peers were running to the plastic surgeons to ward off the ravages of time, I took a subtler approach with some Botox here and there, but nothing too dramatic. While I’d never be mistaken for fifty, I probably could pass for early sixties, which works for me. I get dressed in the outfit I bought for today… sleek black pants and a top that flatters the rest of me. I’ve managed to stay mostly slim and trim through yoga and regular workouts with my trainer, but I’m under no illusions there either.
Time is catching up to me, as it does to all of us.
As I get myself ready for what could be the most important conversation of my life, I much prefer to think about things that don’t matter than to worry about what else I might hear that can never be unheard or forgotten.
I’m going to want details. About her. And him. And them together. I probably shouldn’t go there, but the not-knowing will drive me mad. He’ll say it doesn’t matter, that it was a lifetime ago, before he knew me, before there was an us.
I still want to know.
I’m a bit ashamed of the rancor I still feel toward her. I’ve never held on to a grudge in my life like the one I have toward her. In the seventies, women were still coming into their power and were often treated as second-class citizens in life and in show business, even as we were conquering the town with massive hit shows like Charlie’s Angels .
My close friends in the business were like me, the kind of women who stuck together, who had one another’s backs and didn’t add to the problems we all faced on sets run by misogynistic men in a business dominated by them. We’d all run up against producers, directors and casting agents who wanted a sexual quid pro quo in exchange for a part. When that happened, far more often than it should have, we’d turn to one another to vent our outrage while keeping our mouths shut about it publicly, lest we be branded troublesome to work with.
So to have Vivian storm onto the set where I was working, take one look at the man she knew I was engaged to and decide she wanted him for herself, disregarding me and the girl code most of us tried to live by, was galling to say the very least. I’d heard she was more like a guy than a gal in how she approached her career, but until I experienced it for myself, I didn’t believe any self-respecting woman would want to be viewed as such.
Vivian was a different breed. Men and women alike were bowled over by her beauty, her brashness, her brazen sexuality and her take-no-prisoners approach to life and work. Had she not stabbed me in the back and then reveled in my downfall after I called her out, I might’ve admired the way she handled herself.
As it was, I despised her with every cell in my body, and I still do all these years later.
She’s the worst kind of woman, one who takes what she wants with no care or concern for anyone else’s feelings. The pattern might’ve started with me, but it certainly didn’t end with me. It happened repeatedly as she stepped on one person after another to reach the pinnacle of the A list. And now she has the audacity to release a memoir that’ll probably detail the arduous journey she undertook to become a star.
Please.
Twenty minutes later, I’m downstairs, steeping my second cup of tea and still stewing over things I haven’t thought about in years, when I hear the garage door open.
I take a deep breath and hold it for a long moment before I release it slowly, as if that can prepare me for what’s about to happen. Nothing can prepare me to have this conversation with my husband.
He comes into the kitchen, and with one glance, I can tell he hasn’t slept much. He looks terrible, and my heart goes out to him the way it has from the very beginning.
For the longest time, we stand there staring at each other, neither of us seeming to breathe or blink. We’ve never once been in a situation like this, and neither of us knows how to handle real trouble between us. Part of me would like to throw my arms around him, tell him it doesn’t matter and get on with our plans for the day we’ve looked forward to for months.
But I can’t do that.
I just can’t, as much as I want to.
He breaks the long silence. “Stel…” The agony I hear in that single syllable is unbearable.
“Have you eaten?”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Sit.” I gesture to the table and go to the stove to make him some eggs.
He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around me and rests his head on my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry, honey. That I could’ve hurt you this way wrecks me.”
I place my hand over his and am immediately comforted.
“Especially on this of all days. Happy anniversary, my darling.”
“Happy anniversary to you, too. Thank you for the flowers.” That I wanted to send them back seems like a long time ago now that he’s wrapped around me. “Let me make you something to eat.”
“I can’t eat or breathe or function until I know we’re going to be okay.”
“We’re going to be okay, but it might take some time.”
“I’ve got nothing but time to give to you.”
“Will you also give me answers to my many, many questions?”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know and do anything it takes to make things right with you. Being away from you, for even one night…”
“I know.”
He turns me so I’m facing him and tilts my chin up to receive his kiss. “I love you more than my own life. I have since Merv’s Green Room. Please tell me you know that.”
“I do.”
After inhaling a deep breath, he releases it slowly. “Can you forgive me for keeping this from you?”
“I’m trying. I’ve been thinking a lot about what went on back then and how raw it still was when we met.”
“That’s the only time in all the years I’ve known you that I ever would’ve described you as fragile.”
“I was fragile back then. I felt like I was going to shatter at any second. That appearance on Merv’s show was so, so important to reviving the career that’d been decimated by…”
“By her. It’s okay. You can say it. I’m well aware of why you had to reinvent yourself.”
“I just can’t, for the life of me…” My eyes fill despite my intense desire to get through this without tears.
“What, my darling?”
“I can’t picture you with her. I don’t want to picture you with her.” I shudder at the thought of it.
“It was over almost as soon as it began with her.”
“But you were married to her. How did no one ever know that?”
“Bobby insisted on secrecy because of where we were in our careers when we spontaneously got married. Besides, neither of us wanted to deal with the shitstorm it would’ve been if that news got out. I insisted on privacy as part of the divorce, and she agreed because we didn’t want it known we were or had been married. Back then, being married—or divorced—wasn’t good for the career, as you certainly know.”
“Yes, I do.” Marriage made us less appealing to the public, or some such nonsense.
“In fact, I remembered this morning that I made her sign an NDA as part of the divorce proceedings, and Emmett said if we can find that document, we might be able to get an injunction to stop the publication of the book. If I’m mentioned in the book, that is. We still don’t know that. The details are on total lockdown, apparently.”
“She’d want everyone she’s ever tangled with to be sweating those details.” I glance up at him. “So, Emmett knows. Who else does?”
“Their whole team was on a call with me and the kids earlier, talking strategy.”
I cringe at the thought of my extra kids, as I think of them, knowing about this, but they’re also the savviest people I’ve ever met. “What’d they have to say?”
“Marlowe had an interesting idea.” He takes my hand and my cup of tea and settles us in our usual seats at the table.
For the first time since all hell broke loose yesterday, I feel calm inside, seeing us where we belong.
“What did our Marlowe suggest?”
“Making a big joke of it. How we laugh about me once being married to her, how we always have.”
“That’s a deliciously evil idea, and I love it.”
He offers a true, genuine smile. “Had a feeling you would.”
“It’ll drive her mad to think of us making fun of her for fifty-odd years.”
When he reaches for my hand, I curl mine around his. “After everything we’ve had, there’s no one and nothing that can come between us, and that’s the message we’ll put forward.”
“But we’re still going to try to stop it if it mentions you?”
“You’re damned right we are. I’m not letting her drag me or us through the mud without a fight.” He looks down at the table and then back at me, his eyes haunted once again. “I’m more afraid of the reason we split becoming public than I am of the marriage itself.”
Just that quickly, I go cold all over as the sense of dread fills me anew. “What’re you talking about?”