Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sterling
My greatest fear was getting sick on camera.
On the ride home from visiting Gil, I placed a call to the weekend news director, Douglas Washington, who, though curious about what I planned to say, didn’t press me for details. He agreed to give me three minutes before the end of the ten o’clock news.
With that off my chest, I managed to fall asleep, not waking until Denis kissed my cheek. “We’re here.”
A bit groggy, I followed him out of the car and into the building on autopilot. Inside my apartment, I sat on the couch, staring into space. A few minutes later, the buzzer sounded, rousing me from my stupor.
“Who’s that?”
At the door, Denis waited. “I ordered some food so that when we came home it would be ready.”
I managed a smile. “You’re very sweet.”
“I know.” The bell sounded, and he took the package from the delivery person. “Sit and rest.”
He brought the bag over, and I sighed. “I’m serious.
I don’t think I’d have been able to handle the last few days without you.
” It was the truth and even scarier to think about it.
What would’ve happened if I didn’t have Denis with me?
Imagine finding out I’d inherited hundreds of millions of dollars while sitting here alone.
“Oh God,” I whispered, and first a chuckle escaped me, which led to a spate of laughter and then full-on wheezing.
I couldn’t catch my breath. Tears rolled down my face and Denis grabbed me tight.
Crying, I buried my face in his shoulder and shuddered, finally gathering my wits together. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” His large hand stroked my hair.
“Losing it. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was thinking of what would’ve happened if I’d found all this out and been alone, and the next I was hysterical.”
“You had a life-changing event. It’s natural to be overwhelmed. Here. Drink this.”
He handed me a small cup. “Wheatgrass? I thought you hated this stuff.” I drank it, and his eyes crinkled with humor.
“I do. That’s why I didn’t get any for me.”
“It’s good for you,” I insisted.
“You’re good for me. Now I think you should go shower, take a nap, and we’ll figure out what you’re going to say tonight.”
“Oh God,” I moaned. “How can I even prepare for that? I’m cringing already. I’m a news story on my own.”
“But Gil is right. If you do it first, you control the narrative.”
“I know you’re right, it’s just not me to make my personal life public. I guess I’ve become so used to hiding who I am, it’s going to be hard to switch gears.”
“You can do it. You can do anything.” He shooed me. “Now go do as I say.”
“Yes, sir.” I mock-saluted and walked halfway across the room. “Aren’t you coming with me? I need someone to wash my back.”
“I’m better with the front.”
**
The nap with Denis helped, but setting foot in the studio, the nerves fluttered through my veins. I sagged into the chair at my desk, while Denis, who’d never seen my office, wandered around, picking up photos taken with various dignitaries I’d interviewed over the years and several awards I’d won.
“I’m going to be sick,” I muttered.
“No, you’re not.” He grabbed my shoulders, forcing my gaze to his. “You’re strong and confident and been through much harder things than this. Remember when you first discovered who you were and confronted your mother? You were only sixteen. Dig deep and remember how you felt.”
I blinked. He was right. Compared to the moment that changed my life forever, this was merely a blip in the road.
“Thank you. You’re right. I don’t know why I’m being so silly.”
He kissed my nose. “Because you’re used to telling the story, not being the main character. Pretend you’re talking to me. Remember, no one deserves to know any of this. It’s your personal life. You are in control.”
“You’re pretty damn smart, you know?” Not that Denis needed an ego boost, but he deserved it.
“I know.”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Come in,” I called out.
Adrian stuck his head in the room. “Oh, Denis. Hi. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“What’re you doing here, Adrian?” I asked, not at all happy to see him. The last thing I wanted was to have to explain my story in greater detail to him, which I knew he’d expect. “Isn’t Grayson Strong the weekend anchor?”
“Yeah, but he’s stuck in Minneapolis. Freak snowstorm. They’re giving me the anchor desk for tonight.”
Great for Adrian. Not so much for me. I mustered a smile. “Good luck.”
“They told me you’re making an announcement at the end of the show. You’re not leaving, are you? There’s a rumor circulating that you’re interviewing at one of the cable news stations.”
“No, nothing like that. But I’m not prepared to talk about it ahead of time.”
His brows shot up. “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure,” he fumbled a bit. “I guess…I’ll see you later, then.”
“Yes.” I waited for him to leave.
Denis chuckled when the door shut. “That was masterful. Keep that energy, and you’ll be fine.”
I drew in a deep breath. “I hope so.”
At 10:27 p.m., I faced the camera.
“Thank you, Adrian. Good evening, everyone. I’m here tonight, not as your news anchor, but as someone who recently lost a parent. Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I need to make a special announcement. In the coming days, you’ll no doubt hear about the death of movie star Dahlia Dumont.”
I gazed past the cameraman, focusing on Denis, who stood behind the cameras. I could almost feel his strength reaching out across the studio, wrapping around me. He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up and a reassuring smile.
“Dahlia Dumont was my mother. We had no relationship to speak of, and I haven’t seen or spoken to her in over twenty years.
Unauthorized stories about her life, and maybe mine, will be printed as her estate becomes public.
I say unauthorized because I will not be giving any interviews or speaking about this again.
Whatever relationship my mother and I had or didn’t have belongs only to us.
Let me repeat: I will not be speaking about Dahlia Dumont to any news source. ”
So far I hadn’t fainted from nerves. A good thing. I picked up the glass of water and took a much-needed drink, then continued.
“You might also hear that I am the sole beneficiary of her estate. While that is true, I do not intend to leave my job as a news anchor to run her companies. My mother’s businesses will stay intact, as is.
My plan is to use her enormous wealth to benefit people through donations to medicine and science.
To help seniors, children, and teenagers, the queer community, and those struggling with mental-health issues.
I want to thank Channel 8 for allowing me this time to set the record straight. Thank you and good night.”
I waited for the light to go off and the voice in my earpiece to speak. “That’s a wrap, Sterling.” I took out the wire, set it on the desk, and stood. Adrian hadn’t stopped staring at me with astonishment since I’d begun speaking.
“Sterling, I—”
I put up a hand. “I meant it, Adrian. I’m not talking about it. Not with you, or anyone.” The entire weekend news team stood gaping at me as if I were a sideshow in the circus or a strange new exhibit at the zoo.
Doug Washington waited for me. “Sterling, I’m sorry. I know you have vacation this week, but take as much time as you need.”
“I appreciate it. I’m heading to California early tomorrow morning to take care of some business.”
A troubled expression settled on his face.
Washington had come from Channel 12, and I’d heard rumblings of him taking over for Rob DeVine, our news director, who had made no secret of his desire to retire.
Washington had also brought in Grayson Strong, who’d captured big ratings on the weekend.
“I do know you’ve made some inquiries into a national news spot. We’d hate to lose you.”
I put a hand to my brow. “I can’t think about that right now. Maybe when I return, we’ll have a sit-down.”
He grimaced. “Of course, I’m sorry. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. See you when you get home.”
I left him to find Denis, who’d been corralled by Adrian. “Ready to go?” I asked him, and gave Adrian a perfunctory nod.
“Yeah. Au revoir, Adrian. Say hello to Rip.” He hustled me away. “I do like the guy, but he’s a pushy son of a bitch.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Adrian has the instincts of a reporter. He knows there’s a deeper story.”
“You handled it perfectly. I’m sure your phone will be blowing up. There’s nothing the media loves more than a juicy story.” Prior to going on the air, I’d given my phone to Denis. He handed it to me, and I grimaced at the multiple texts and missed calls.
With my stomach in knots, I held Denis tighter, and always sensitive to my moods, he took control.
“Let’s go home. We have an early flight, and you need to rest.”
“Thank you for being here. And for everything. I’m sorry you have to deal with all this.” I waved a hand. “It’s not what you need in your life.”
“You’re all I need. Every game I take shots and prevent the puck from going into the net. It’s what I do best. That’s why my save percentage is top of the league.” In the elevator, he held on to me. “On the ice I protect the goal. Here, I protect you. My ultimate save.”
**
On Monday, after an uneventful flight, we stepped out into blinding sunshine and warmth. I hadn’t been to Beverly Hills since I left for New York over four years ago, yet it was all still so familiar. I recalled myself as a lonely teen, roaming the streets.
“Have I ever told you how much I love being warm?” Denis raised his face to the sky. “Growing up, I was fucking cold all the time, starting in late August and lasting until almost June.”
An insight into Denis I never knew. “And yet you picked hockey?”
“Mon cher, I did not pick hockey. Hockey chose me. And very well, I might add, don’t you think?” He winked, and I groaned.
“Ego, thy name is Denis.”
“Oui. But I think you like it.” He nuzzled my neck. “And I love how you lose that control for me.”