Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vivien
Betty’s Diner is packed. I had to park down the street. A crowd lingers outside, waiting to be seated.
Or they’re there for the show.
They part like the Red Sea when Audrey and I walk to the door.
It’s us, we’re the show.
Jerry winks at us, the movement exaggerated. “What a surprise to see you two here,” he says loudly and then holds the door open.
“Thanks, Jerry.”
Inside, Mother sticks out like a hard diamond surrounded by rough-cut gems. She’s seated in the back corner booth, posture perfect, coat draped beside her like she’s posing.
Maybe she’s sitting up so straight so her back won’t touch the red vinyl seat behind her and become tarnished with its averageness.
She looks up as we approach. “Vivien. Audrey.”
Audrey slides into the booth across from her. “Mother.”
I sit next to Audrey so we’re both facing her.
A waitress appears next to the table almost immediately, coffee pot in hand. She’s middle-aged, wearing a red and white checkered apron, her dark hair pulled back in a bun. Her nametag reads Margaret. “Morning. Can I get you ladies coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I turn my cup over.
Audrey does too, and she fills them then turns toward Mother. “And you, ma’am?”
“No coffee for me.”
“Anything else to drink?”
“Do you have Perrier?”
“Uh, we have tap water.”
“I’ll pass.”
The waitress leaves, and Mother waits a beat before folding her hands on the table. “So. I’m glad you agreed to meet. I’m not your enemy.”
“Then why do you act like it?”
“As I’ve explained, I want our family attorney to review your grandmother’s will.
That’s it. Once that’s done, you can sell the assets or hire someone to care for them, and come back to LA.
I got you an audition for the next Mack Ziner film.
And Audrey, your friends have been stopping by the house, asking for you. Don’t you want to come home?”
Aubrey opens one of the little creamers and dumps it in her cup. “No. I don’t. I’m happy here.”
A disbelieving laugh huffs out of her. “How can you be happy in this . . . place?” She winces in disgust. “The people here are ridiculous. I couldn’t even order room service this morning.
First the phone in the room wouldn’t work, and then the lady at the front desk was too deaf to hear me.
I tried to find a restaurant in town, but this is literally the only option other than the grocery store. ”
I lift my coffee cup to my lips to cover my smile. “Did you try the grocery store?”
“Well, yes, if you must know, I did. Their register was broken.”
“So you must be, like, starving.” Audrey stirs her coffee.
One slim shoulder lifts. “I’m used to not eating.”
Ah, yes, a lifetime of eating disorders has prepared her for any inconvenience this town can throw at her.
“Anyway,” Mother continues. “When can I expect you two to be returning home?”
I set my cup to the side and lean forward, my elbows on the table, because I know it will drive her crazy. “Mother. I am home. This is my home. I’m staying here, and Audrey is staying with me.”
My mother’s gaze sharpens. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’d be wasting your life here. Both of you.”
“I’m living my life,” I say.
“By working at an old, rundown theater and cavorting with a nobody attorney?”
“It’s my choice.”
“You’re choosing wrong.”
“So? Even if I am, it’s my mistake to make, not yours.” I wrap my fingers around my coffee mug, grounding myself.
“I’m trying to give you opportunities,” she says.
“You’re trying to control me.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Something you’re failing to realize here is that we don’t need your permission.”
Audrey nods. “We’re telling you how this is going to be.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But you aren’t responsible for our lives or happiness. We’re both adults. If you’re upset about my life choices, then that’s your problem. I’m happy here. I’m happy with Spencer. Whether you are happy or not, that’s up to you.”
The waitress returns with menus. “Would you ladies like to order?”
I stand up. “No. I think we’re done here.”
“This isn’t over,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “But this part is.”
I walk toward the door, Audrey following.
She calls after us. “I only want what’s best for both of you.”
We walk out. I don’t turn around.
“Oh my god,” Audrey whispers. “That was incredible.”
My hands are shaking, just a little. “We have to go see Spencer and prepare. I guarantee she’s going to contest the will. But I thought of a way we might be able to get some power back.”
I just need to send something to Spencer.
“So, your mom was your manager when you were a kid, which means you should have a Coogan account.” Spencer clicks something on his computer.
“I’ve heard of that.” My hands clench on the armrests.
I sent him the file of documents I had received years ago to review. Maybe there is something in there we can use as leverage. It would make sense for Mother to be abusing her power in some way where my money is involved.
“It requires that a certain percentage of your income be untouchable to anyone but you.”
I nod. “Mother was my manager, so she received a portion of my earnings when I was under eighteen, and she invested her money for herself. Mine was set up separately in a trust. But I think there’s more to it than that.
She knows the guy who owns the firm managing everything, and every time I try to get information from him, he avoids me or buries me in stacks of paperwork.
I’ve been wanting to hire my own accountant to go through it, but .
. .” I blow out a breath. “If my mom was doing something shady, I think part of me didn’t want to know.
I didn’t want anyone else to know.” I’m still protecting her. Still trying to make her happy.
He stands, walking over to kneel in front of me, his hands on my knees. “It’s okay. We’ll get to the bottom of it. And it’s great leverage to have for our meeting on Monday if something shady is happening.”
I cover his hands with mine.
“I will go over everything you sent me, then we can talk more. I need a closer look at how everything is structured. It’s possible your mom set things up in a way that gives her ongoing control over your income, and she doesn’t want you to know.”
I swallow. “I should have fought harder to find out what was happening. I’m an idiot.”
He leans up, kissing me briefly on the lips. “You’re not an idiot. No child wants to believe their parent is stealing from them.”
I blink back the heat filling my eyes. I shouldn’t care about all this. I know how my mother is. But it still hurts. “But I’m not a child anymore.”
He cups my face in his hands. “It doesn’t matter. Our parents are the people who are supposed to protect us. We rely on them as children for survival, and that doesn’t just disappear because you grow up. But now you have a chance to take control back.”
And soon. By the time Audrey and I got back to Spencer’s from the diner, it was already set. Mom’s attorney—some guy named William Price Huntington III, because of course that’s his name—had already reached out to Spencer and agreed to meet with them both here on Monday morning.
No reason to wait.
I’m not avoiding any of this. Not anymore.
Sitting with Spencer at his desk, with Mother and her attorney in the seats across from us, is a little bizarre. Like one of those dreams where you’re in your own home, but everything looks completely different.
Spencer is a steady and quiet presence on my right. He’s the only thing keeping me together.
I clench my hands in my lap. I want to jump out of my own skin.
Mother appears completely at ease, posture perfect, ankles crossed, hands resting lightly over her knee.
William Price Huntington III is middle-aged and balding, but he’s wearing a flashy suit. “Thank you for meeting with us,” he says.
Spencer nods. “Of course.”
“I represent Ms. Faye Summers in connection with the estate of Beverly Kemper. We have some concerns regarding the administration of the will.”
“What kind of concerns?” Spencer asks.
He glances over at Mother before continuing. “The conditions attached to Ms. Hart’s inheritance. They appear a bit unconventional. We’re questioning whether those conditions are enforceable, and whether your client is being subjected to obligations that may not be legally binding.”
Spencer’s face is like granite. “My client is aware of the terms of the will and has chosen to proceed under them.”
William nods. “Of course. Though given the nature of these requirements, we may need to explore whether they rise to the level of undue influence or are otherwise contrary to public policy.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Probably because it’s a bunch of bullshit, just an excuse for Mother to interfere.
Spencer taps a finger on the desk. That’s my sign.
“Before we get into all of that, I have a question.” I turn to her. “If you really want to go down this road, then I want a full accounting of my finances.”
She pauses, staring at me, letting the silence linger. It’s one of her many tactics for making me uncomfortable, but I’m not going to let it get to me. “That’s not what we’re here to discuss.”
My heart pounds in my ears. “I know. But if you want to talk about Beverly’s will, something that doesn’t concern you, then I want to discuss something that does concern you, and that’s how my money has been managed by an entity you hired, and how that needs to change.”
Her face is like stone. “Your finances are handled, Vivien. They’ve always been handled. Are you wanting for anything? I don’t think so.” Her gaze zeroes in on Spencer. “Have you advised her to take this position?”
“I’ve advised my client to seek clarity where she feels it’s necessary,” he says.
“Then perhaps what we truly need to address is the fact that you are in a personal relationship with my daughter, which calls this entire farce into question.”
My hands clench in my lap. “My personal life does not change my professional obligations.”