Sixteen Sicily
Sixteen
Sicily
2018
Sicily is sitting on the couch, picking at the split ends in her hair. It’s something she does when she’s stressed out. Her mother hates it; if she ever catches Sicily at it, she insists on a hair appointment and oil masks to repair it.
“You’re only making it worse,” she says.
But Sicily can’t help it. She’s worried about Noah. Ever since the baby shower, he’s said he doesn’t want to stay at her place anymore. Sicily cringes as she remembers the call from Hugo she got the following day, who was furious about the fight that happened there. He said Noah was traumatized—and apparently so was Jaime.
Sicily had to roll her eyes at that, but she can’t argue with Noah’s decision—the fight was awful. She cries a little every time he refuses to talk to her on the phone, but she can’t blame him. She’s been sending little postcards to Hugo and Jaime’s house with newsy notes, updating him on her day and asking about school and telling him how much she loves him. Maybe once the baby is born, he’ll soften toward her and agree to spend time with his new brother or sister. Then Sicily will get things back to normal.
A knock at the door gets Sicily off the couch and moving, somewhat slowly, due to her growing belly. She welcomes in Oscar, her business manager, who sets up shop at the dining room table for their eleven-o’clock meeting. Sicily likes Oscar. Unlike her relatives, he’s no-nonsense and practical, friendly but not overly attached.
But today he looks concerned. He adjusts his rectangular glasses as he spreads papers over the table, too old-school for an iPad or laptop. Sicily sets down coffee for him and tea for herself and sits across from him.
“What’s the good news, Oscar?” she says, like she always does.
He furrows his brow. “Well, Sicily, frankly—I wanted to bring up some concerns about expenditure.”
“Okay,” Sicily says. She was under the impression that they were spending less than usual while she was staying at home and waiting for the baby. But then, they weren’t making as much for the very same reason. “Like what?”
“Well.” He purses his lips, looking uncomfortable. “Like Squeak and his family, to be very honest.”
Sicily frowns. “How so?”
“Sicily, come on.” Oscar sighs. “Do his mother and sisters really need three brand-new luxury cars? Does he need his own dance studio, on our dime?”
“Okay—the cars, I see your point. We can talk about that. But the dance studio is an investment,” Sicily says. “Squeak wants to become financially independent, and he’s always had a dream of starting his own business. And you know what an amazing dancer he is.” She smiles, catching herself gushing again. “Teaching was my idea—it’s a no-brainer. With my backing, he’ll be generating revenue right away.”
Oscar scratches his head and makes a note. “Can he rent? Does he need somewhere custom built when he’s just starting out?”
“Oscar, I mean ...” Sicily takes a sip of tea. “I get the nickel-and-diming, and I know we have to be responsible with the money. But I want to be generous toward his family; I really care about them. And what’s the point of wealth if you can’t spread it around a little? That was the one good thing my parents taught me.”
Oscar folds his hands together and leans back in his chair. He hasn’t touched his coffee. “Sicily, I hate to be blunt about this, but ... you’re not as rich as you think you are.”
Sicily looks at him and sets her tea down. “Okay, I know we’re feeling a little bit of a squeeze right now, but—”
“The tour had to be cut because of the bad morning sickness. The single wasn’t a big hit. The Vegas residency is on hold indefinitely—where is this money supposed to come from?”
“Oscar, I know,” Sicily says with a little more force. She doesn’t need him to lay out all her shortcomings for her. “We’ll build it back once I can perform again. We have savings, we’ve planned for this.”
Oscar takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yes, but we need a lot of money to build back up to making a lot of money. And you’re going to need those savings for the lawsuit, if it happens.”
Sicily sits up very straight. “The lawsuit?”
Oscar puts his glasses back on and raises his hands in surrender. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Oscar, what lawsuit?”
“You need to call your lawyer. I can’t share anything more than that.”
“You work for me. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Call your lawyer.” He gathers his papers together, slipping them into his briefcase with a neat click and giving her a curt nod before heading toward the door.
As early as reasonably possible the next morning, Sicily drives downtown with Chad to meet Deborah at the Corcoran offices.
“What is going on?” Sicily demands to know as they settle down in the leather chairs before Deborah’s desk. “Why haven’t I heard anything about a lawsuit?”
Deborah raises both hands to calm her. “I only just got official communications myself, although I think this has been brewing for some time. But I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“I don’t want another court case of any kind!” Sicily’s heart is beginning to race. She was half hoping Deborah would say that Oscar doesn’t know what he’s talking about and there’s no reason to worry. She’s still feeling like she has PTSD from Hugo’s lawsuit and the conservatorship, not as far in the past as she’d like.
“I know this,” Deborah says. “And I think that’s what your father and uncle are counting on.”
“What? They’re suing me?” Sicily snaps. “What the hell for?”
Deborah opens a manila folder and examines the papers inside. “For damages and loss of earnings, it looks like—they say they were unfairly penalized when the conservator order was removed.”
Sicily puts her head in her hands.
“Would any judge in their right mind go for that?” Chad asks.
“They haven’t got the greatest case,” Deborah says. She gives a long look at Sicily. “But their timing is very intentional. They’ve got enough on you to drag this out for a while—I would bet they’re expecting you to settle. And for your sake, Sicily, with the baby coming, it’s probably a good idea.”
Sicily feels panic rising in her throat. This can’t be happening.
As Chad drives them back, Sicily calls her mother. “Did you know about this?” she asks.
“No, I mean—not really,” Carole says evasively. “I’m not surprised they’re pulling it. But they didn’t say much about it to me.”
“ ‘Much’? ”
“Nothing. Nothing, sweetie. You know them—they’re just trying to see if they can make a buck. Things haven’t been so great for them, financially.”
“Things aren’t that great for me, either, Mom! They’re asking for millions of dollars!”
“Maybe they’ll settle for a little less.” Sicily’s mom sighs on the other end of the line. “But, you know, we shouldn’t even be talking about this in your state. The stress isn’t good for the baby, sweetheart.”
“You’re telling me!” Sicily cries, then hangs up the phone and calls Emmylou.
“Hey, Sis,” Emmylou answers.
“Did you know about the lawsuit?” Sicily barks.
“What lawsuit?” Emmylou asks innocently.
“Oh, come on.”
“If it’s some kind of family lawsuit, I guess that wouldn’t surprise me. You know how they are.”
“And no one thought to tell me, Emmylou?”
“I’m still not even sure what you’re talking about!” Emmylou protests. “But if I was , I’d also say that people probably didn’t want to worry you when you’re literal weeks away from giving birth. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“It doesn’t really sound like it is!”
Chad puts up his hand; she’s yelling in the closed car. Sicily heaves a sigh of exasperation and hangs up on Emmylou.
“You need a burger?” Chad asks. “You sound like you need a burger.”
He takes her through the In-N-Out drive-through, and she wolfs down the food, unsure whether it’s stress eating, sudden hunger brought on by the pregnancy, or both. She keeps her sunglasses on, unwilling to risk anyone taking pictures of her in this state.
“It’s going to be okay, kid.” Chad takes a sip of his milkshake. He calls her kid even though they’re closer in age than not, but Sicily doesn’t mind.
“What are we supposed to do?” she says quietly. She knows she’s always been the meal ticket for her family. She just had no idea that the feast would go on for the rest of her life, no matter how much distance she tries to put between herself and them, no matter how big she gets or how far she tries to run.
Chad shakes his head. “I wish I knew. But I think it should be whatever is healthiest for you and your child.”
“You mean settle?” she asks. He shrugs.
“We don’t have enough money, Chad.” Sicily dips a fry in her little plastic cup of sauce. “They’ll sort of be cleaning us out if we settle.”
“More money will come. Your career isn’t over, I promise.”
Sicily slumps down in the passenger seat. “I wish it wasn’t so hard to believe that.”
Chad drives her home and waves from the window, giving what she thinks is meant to be an encouraging smile. But Sicily can tell he’s worried, too. She wouldn’t blame him if he started putting out feelers for new job opportunities.
The driveway is flooded with cars, and there’s bass thumping from inside the house. When Sicily walks through the door and drops her purse on the side table, she can hardly hear herself think.
“Squeak?” she yells, wandering through the living room. There are people milling about, though most look to be outside hanging around the pool. Squeak jogs through the back door in swim trunks with a towel around his neck, hair wet.
“Hey, babe.” He kisses her on the cheek. “How did your meeting go?”
“It went—” She stops, shakes her head. “I didn’t know we were having a party today.”
He shrugs. “Just a few friends. And they brought their friends, and ... you know. Social snowball.”
Normally his turns of phrase would make her laugh, but she is not in the mood today. These gatherings of Squeak’s always tend to go past midnight. “Okay, well ... I’m sorry I can’t join in. I’m just ...”
She sighs, pressing her hands to her forehead.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Squeak takes her in his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t run it by you first. Listen, you just go lie down. I’ll make you some tea, okay? That prenatal stuff?”
Sicily closes her eyes and nods. “Okay.”
She climbs the stairs, lugging the weight that her body has put on. In bed, she can’t get comfortable around her belly. Her back aches. Her head aches. And Squeak never comes with the tea.
She puts pillows over her ears, but the whole house is pounding.
And as everything overwhelms her at once, Sicily hits her fist into the mattress and begins to sob. Is there no one to look out for her? No one to look after her?
She reaches for her phone and texts Miranda. Hey, you make it out yet?
But she already knows the answer. Crashed and Burned is still filming, and Miranda probably can’t access her phone.
She dials Germaine and waits, clutching at a pillow as she listens to the ringtone, but there’s no answer. It’s the middle of the night in Europe.
Sicily is alone.