8
He had a heart for either of the Miss Musgroves, if they could catch it; a heart in short for any pleasing young woman who came in his way, excepting Anne Elliot. This was his only secret exception. —Persuasion
I want to pretend I don’t know what Freddy’s referring to but of course I do.
“You must have known Carlos and I dated.”
“I never thought it was serious.”
“It wasn’t.” He gives me a skeptical look. “At least not for me,” I clarify.
“When?” His voice is sharp and demanding. I want to shout back at him, why do you care? Except that would be disingenuous. I know why he cares. I care about every single woman he dated.
“It was the summer after my first year of college.”
“And you ended it?”
I give a short nod and look away. I do not dare look at him. I fear my eyes will reveal too much.
“Why?” he asks. The one word comes out soft and worn.
“Because...” I was still in love with you. I still am. I always will be. But those words sit heavy in my throat. I sneak a peek at him. His face softens. He’s not smiling, but he no longer looks so stern. “Carlos and I are better as friends.”
“He’s not your type.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I playfully nudge his arm. “And what would you know about my type?”
“I happen to be the world’s expert,” he says with a straight face.
I laugh outright, shocked that he can joke so openly about our past.
He chuckles, too. Our laughter echoes off the empty walls.
Daisy and Rosie step in.
“What’s so funny?” Rosie asks.
“Just discussing April’s love life.”
“That’s right. I heard you were dating someone new,” says Rosie.
“Yes, tell us how was coffee with Benwick?” asks Daisy. Wow! That was just this morning. How does she already know about that?
Before I can begin to answer, Rosie pipes up. “No, not Benwick. Johnny Love. I saw pictures of you two at lunch.”
“That guy’s a snack,” says Daisy. “And you two looked awfully cozy.”
“Something about the way he moves his mouth when he talks makes me think he’d be a great kisser,” says Rosie. “Definitely better than Benwick.”
My eyes shoot to Freddy to see if he finds Rosie’s comment as ridiculous as I do. But no, he doesn’t. His face is rigid. He picks up the bin of trays for September’s photo shoot and marches away.
“I’m not dating either of those guys.” I try to speak loud enough that Freddy, who is booking it out the door, can hear me.
“What do you mean you’re not dating them?” asks Rosie, “I saw the photo of you and Johnny. And Benwick was with Carlos when he texted you.”
“I mean, there’s a difference between going to lunch and dating.”
“So, you haven’t kissed either of them?” Rosie asks with a knowing smile.
“I’m not interested in either of them.”
“Not yet,” Rosie adds, giving me a wink.
“Not yet,” Daisy repeats her sister as they step out toward the pool.
“Check out this place.” Rosie flings her arms out wide. “Ooh la la!”
My dad pops up from the pool where he has been lounging on a floaty. “It’s not bad.”
“Not bad! What about phenomenal?” exclaims Daisy, shucking off her denim shorts. “It’s perfection.”
“And this... this... is the ultimate pool for skinny dipping.” Rosie winks at her sister.
“Unlike your pool!” I say with a laugh. When I was 1, a famous photo was taken of me sunbathing in a hot pink bikini by the Musgroves’ pool. It was actually quite a flattering photo, but the whole incident disturbed me.
The Musgroves’ home had been my refuge all my childhood, but especially with my mom’s illness and subsequent death. Their backyard and the pool house were my second home but better. At the Musgrove’s, I could escape my father’s constant petty critiques, be free of the pressure of being a teenage pop star, and flee all the bittersweet memories of a mother who died too young. At the Musgrove’s, I could play chicken in the pool with Rosie and Daisy under a clear sky while nurturing the small hope that Carlos, who was attending USC, might wander home with several hot college friends. So, to have a private moment by their pool splashed across supermarket tabloids upset me. It was the first time I felt the downside to my rising fame. For Rosie and Daisy, the photo brought home the crushing realization that their backyard wasn’t nearly as private as they had thought. They quickly had to give up their skinny dipping, a bitter disappointment.
“Why aren’t you wearing a swimsuit, April?” Rosie asks. “Did you leave your bikini in Illinois?” I do not even bother to correct her on the state.
My dad answers from his lounge in the pool. “April needs a tan and personal trainer before she dons a swimsuit again.” He lowers his sunglasses for emphasis. “It’s shocking who’s willing to wear a bikini these days.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by Dad’s comment. This is the sort of garbage he’s been feeding me my whole life. But still, I’m not prepared for it. My mouth hangs open for a minute.
“Daddy!” September scolds. “How dare you!”
“Get with the times, Mr. Elliot!” Chides Rosie. “Every body is a bikini body! April absolutely rocks a bikini!”
“I do,” I mutter to myself.
“Of course, you do,” says September. “Since you stopped starving yourself, you finally got decent boobs.”
This is also true, but it still stings some because one of the longest battles I have had with my dad was his insistence I get implants. September chose to; I did not. And I swear, not a week goes by that she doesn’t humblebrag about how annoying her big boobs are and how I actually made the right call. Radical acceptance, I remind myself. I accept and love my body as it is. Likewise, I accept and love my family as they are. I cannot change them. All I can do is love them. And set boundaries. I’m working on the boundaries part. I take another cleansing breath.
Rosie is still giving my dad a lecture on fat shaming. You got to love Rosie; sometimes her boldness drives me nuts, but right now, I wish she could loan me some of her confidence. To my dad’s credit, he is listening and nodding along. He’s telling her the story of some fad diet he did during the last season of Kellynch Farms .
“It was brutal. No carbs for months, and it was totally bogus. All that sacrifice and still no six-pack.” He pats his respectably tight and tan stomach. He looks good for 59. “Most abs you see on TV aren’t real.” I cannot believe he is admitting this. “I noticed even Freddy West doesn’t have that good of a six-pack.” Both Rosie and I make a scoffing sound. I mean, Dad is right in that Freddy doesn’t have those super-ridged washboard abs you see in bodybuilding competitions. But no one could watch him step out of the ocean, the sun catching on the beads of water streaming down his torso and find him lacking.
“Trust me. Freddy is doing just fine,” says Rosie.
“Can you believe this?” September whispers in my ear.
“Dad setting ridiculous expectations for body image? Yes, it’s 100% on brand.”
“Not that. He’s actually listening to Rosie.” We glance over, and Rosie’s telling him that anorexia is the deadliest mental health condition.” Dad nods along sagely. I want to be hopeful that he could change his mindset even a little. But I’m not.
“Only because she’s not his daughter or his source of income.”
“Dad doesn’t see you that way.”
I raise a questioning brow. The real reason my dad was furious about my decision to go to college was that he didn’t want me to stop earning money. He was young when he signed his contract for Kellynch Farms , so he didn’t start with the best terms. When his pay did improve, he spent the money nearly as fast as he earned it. It is truly remarkable how fast my father can burn through cash. My mother sold real estate to keep the family afloat. She struggled to cope with the unrelenting stress of maintaining Dad’s lifestyle. When Mom was diagnosed with cancer, Dad’s spending went through the roof.
So, with the encouragement of my mother’s friend Janene Russell, a talent manager, September and I auditioned for a Disney Channel musical. To my utter astonishment, I got a part with a small solo. September didn’t get a callback. I was incredibly motivated by the prospect of helping with the family finances. That performance led to a bigger role in another musical, and not long after that, I was approached with a record deal.
Growing up with my father, I learned young that not all famous people have talent—and that not all talented people end up famous. I absolutely did not earn the success I stumbled into. I worked hard, really hard, but mainly, I was in the right place at the right time and lucky that my mom was good friends with a well-connected manager. I am middle-of-the-road talent. When critics said anything nice about me, it was usually that my singing was authentic and full of emotion. Which makes complete sense. I was so busy trying to keep the peace at home, the only time I felt free to share my feelings was on stage.
My music took off because America became enthralled with the story of the 16-year-old girl going on tour to raise money to help her mom fight cancer. The country might have forgotten me, but when my mom died shortly after my first tour, a tabloid falsely reported that her cancer was a result of being an alcoholic. My mom did go to rehab for drinking five years before, but she was sober when she was diagnosed with colon cancer. Just thinking of the whole incident makes me rage. I didn’t need to have my dead mother’s reputation dragged through the mud with every mention of her failed attempts at rehab. I hated that article, but it’s safe to say it launched my career. So many celebrities chose to support me and my family.
Janene, who, even before my mother’s death, was compiling a bunch of bittersweet songs for my next album—a tribute to my mom, milked the situation for all it was worth. She asked bigger stars to collaborate with me, and they all agreed. That album sold platinum.
At first, I was just so happy to be making money and taking some of the financial strain off our family. Everything got a little easier at home for a while. But as I grew older, the cost of being a celebrity felt too steep. I began to question whether I really wanted to be a singer. This made my dad and Janene furious. One of the main things they did not like about Freddy was that he encouraged me to think about college.
“Okay, maybe Dad does count on you for money.” Admits September. “But I’m trying to help. This swimsuit came from a sponsor.” She gestures to her cute retro two-piece with a waistline just below her belly button. I must admit that her boob job fills out the top nicely. “And I’m getting more offers every day. I was hoping you could help me finish setting up the photo shoot.” She looks up at me, and maybe it’s the ponytail. But all I see is the hopeful little girl I always tried to shield from the chronic dysfunction of my parents. Come to think of it, that might be where I first learned how to act.
“Of course, I’ll help.” I glance down the beach and spy Freddy showing Daisy how to stand on a surfboard. He has one board flat on the sand as he demonstrates the trick of going from paddling to standing. He taught me all this once before. I recall his advice. “Don’t hesitate. Just stand up!” He was right, of course. Whenever I tried to get up on my board cautiously with a series of steps: flat on my tummy to crawling position, to kneeling, then standing, the waves always dumped me straight into the water. But when I was bold and stood up straight away, I popped right up. I may have wobbled some, but I was standing.
I need to get better at standing up. I think of Rosie’s fierce comeback to my dad’s comments. I can be bold and brave like that. I was when I surfed with Freddy. From October to July, we surfed together three times a week. I improved quickly. All that dancing for concerts was excellent core training. Freddy said I was a natural. Perhaps that’s what he is telling Daisy right now. It looks like his hands are on her hips. Is that necessary?
September follows my gaze. “Ha! I knew it. Carlos thinks Freddy prefers Rosie, but it’s Daisy he’s after.”
“Daisy has a boyfriend,” Carlos says with frustration, as if he has repeated the same thing a hundred times before.
“She seems to forget that when Freddy’s around.”
Freddy and Daisy paddle out in the water. Rosie, finally finishes talking to my dad, and hurries down to the beach.
“Carlos! Can I use your board?”
“No, Rosie. You are not good enough for that board. You need a soft top like the one Daisy is on. You can use it when she comes back.”
Rosie’s obviously put out. She runs out into the water and hollers at Freddy and Daisy. She’s too far for us to hear what she’s saying. But it’s obvious she is not successful. She comes back to shore and sits on the sand, watching Freddy and Daisy bobbing out at sea. I can feel her pouting, even from this distance.
“It’s obvious I’m right,” says a smug September. “He likes Daisy.”
“Um... no, Daisy just asked him first,” says Carlos. “What do you think, April? Who do you think Freddy likes best?”
“What makes you think he’s interested in either of them?” I ask.
“He said something the other day that made me think he had his eye on someone.”
“Really?” asks a curious September. “What was it?”
“I don’t remember word for word. But I was talking about house hunting with you. And I said, ‘You probably think I’m crazy wanting to settle down.’ And he said, ‘No, it sounds nice, really nice.’ He had this dreamy look that made me think he had someone specific in mind. So, I asked him.”
“And... ?” I ask with bated breath. For the briefest moment, I fear I am giving myself away. But September chimes in, “Carlos, tell us... we’re dying to know.”
He shrugs. “He said, no.” September and I groan in unison.
“But he said ‘no’ too fast,” says Carlos. “He was lying.”
Was he thinking of Rosie? Was he thinking of me? Yes, some small pathetic part of me hopes for that.
September hops and claps her hands. “It’s Daisy. It has to be Daisy. He just didn’t want to say anything because, like, she’s your sister. And, of course, Flossman.”
“Who the heck is Flossman?” I ask.
“A dentist,” September says with disdain.
“He’s not just a dentist. He’s Flossman.” Carlos strikes a Superman pose with his arm out front as if he’s flying. “Haven’t you seen his billboards? He wears tights and a cape.”
“According to Daisy, he has a bunch of celebrity clients. Wait till you meet him. He’s such a dentist.” Again, she says dentist with such derision, I think maybe it’s because dentists aren’t rock stars or music managers. September is not going to like my plans for the future.
“Speak of the dentist. That’s him.”
We follow Carlos’s eyes to Freddy’s house. The windows gleam golden in the lowering sun. A man stands by the pool, looking a little lost.
“Flossman!” hollers Carlos. The newcomer waves back. He looks normal enough, medium height, medium build, medium brown hair. He’s kind of cute in a boyish way, wearing linen shorts and a button-down shirt. The three of us head up to the pool to greet him.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he says to Carlos. “I had to schedule a last-minute appointment for one of my stars.”
He obviously wants us to ask who. I glance at September, and I can tell from her stubborn indifference that she will not be asking. This surprises me. Normally, September loves name-dropping. Aha! Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like this dentist; he does more name-dropping than she does.
“No worries, we all understand working late. Who was it?” Carlos puts an arm around September.
Flossman starts humming “The Mission Impossible” theme.
“Get out of town! Tom Cruise is one of your patients?” asks Carlos.
“I’m not saying he is. I’m not saying he’s not,” says Flossman.
“We still need to finish setting up and take a few more photos,” September says, a bit snippy.
“Sure, first let me introduce Flossman to April here,” Carlos says.
Flossman offers me his hand. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He glances over at my dad, who is now lounging by the side of the pool. “And is that your father?”
I nod. Flossman takes a few long strides toward my dad, who has lowered his sunglasses with mild suspicion.
“Dean Elliot! Or may I call you, Buck?”
Dad’s face relaxes when he realizes it’s a fan. His smile widens even more when he realizes this fan is under 40.
“And who are you?”
“A huge fan!”
“And a dentist,” says September.
“This is Daisy’s boyfriend,” adds Carlos.
“Is that so? I’ve known Daisy since she was a wee thing running buck naked in her backyard.”
“That really wasn’t so long ago,” says Carlos with a snicker.
“Mr. Elliot, would you be so good as to take a selfie with me,” asks Mr. Flossman, or is it just Flossman—I still don’t know.
“Why not?” answers my dad, looking as pleased as punch. While the two of them take at least two dozen photos, trying to settle on a picture my dad approves of, September and Carlos head back to the beach to finish setting up for their golden hour photo shoot.
I find myself lingering by the pool. I want to stay away from the shore and the sight of Freddy flirting with the Musgrove girls.
“Thank you! For the selfie,” says a gracious Flossman. “I cannot tell you how much I looked up to Buck Harrington as a kid.”
“Me too.” My dad becomes thoughtful. “He always knew what to say.”
I consider pointing out that’s because someone wrote his lines for him.
“And he said such wise things,” says Flossman. I look over to see if he’s kidding; I don’t think he is.
“Most people don’t know this.” My father leans closer as if sharing a secret. “But I came up with a lot of his best lines.”
“Is that so?” No, my dad is a lovable liar who’s not in touch with reality.
“I don’t like to take credit,” he says with a slow drawl. Oh yeah, he’s totally in Buck Harrington mode.
“Who’s that with Daisy?” Flossman asks, his attention suddenly drawn to Freddy carrying Daisy laughing and screaming into the surf fireman-style.
“Freddy West, he’s teaching her to surf,” says Carlos.
“That doesn’t look like surf lessons.” Flossman storms off down to the beach. “Daisy!”
I wish I could do the same. March on down and yell, “Freddy!” Pull him by the hand and claim him as my own.