Chapter 2 #2
“We weren’t invited,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Invited? Seriously? You need a written invitation to stop by?”
“Your mother never wanted a relationship with us. She made that clear after Devon left.”
He’s either lying or making assumptions that aren’t true. My mom always made it sound like it was my dad’s side of the family that wanted nothing to do with us, not the other way around.
“After Devon left New York and moved back to California,” Brock says, “your mother told him she wanted nothing to do with the Halliways.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, getting angry. “I still saw my dad. And I would’ve seen him even more if he wasn’t spending all his time in rehab. My mom never tried to keep him away. She wanted me to have a relationship with him, but he fucked it up.”
“Okay, then.” Brock picks up his phone.
I snatch it from him. “Are you implying my mom tried to keep my dad from me?”
Brock reaches for his phone. “Give it to me. I need to check messages. I’m waiting to hear back from my agent.”
“You can have it when you tell me what you know.”
“This is something you need to discuss with your father. I’m not getting in the middle of it.”
“But you know something. Something you’re not telling me.”
“I already told you what I know.”
“That my mom cut you guys out of my life? You’re lying. I know her better than anyone and she’d never do that.”
“Give me the phone,” he says in a sinister tone that matches the sinister look on his face. It’s probably an actor thing, pretending to be scary when you’re not, but it still freaks me out.
“Rumor, give me the phone.” He holds out his hand. “Now!”
When I don’t, he grabs it from me and then takes a breath to calm himself as he checks his messages.
The waitress stops by the table. She’s just as gorgeous as the hostess.
“Sorry about the wait,” she says. “Can I get you some drinks?”
“Sparkling water with lime,” Brock says, glancing up from his phone. “And we need to place our lunch order. I have to leave for a meeting soon.”
“Certainly, Mr. Halliway,” she says, giving him a flirtatious smile.
What the hell? She’s like twenty-two. He’s gotta be at least forty-five, maybe older. It’s hard to tell with all the face work he’s had done. His skin is so tight it looks like he’s wearing a mask.
“Rumor, go ahead,” Brock says.
I quickly read over the menu. Everything on there is stuff I don’t eat. Bean sprouts. Tofu. Kale.
I look at the waitress. “What do you recommend?”
“The kale salad is my favorite.” She points to it on the menu. “It comes dressed in a lemon vinaigrette, but we can do it on the side, if you like.”
“Mixed in is fine. I’ll go with that.”
“Would you like the cheese?”
“It has cheese?” I check the menu again.
“It has light feta, but if you’re dairy free or vegan I can leave it off.”
“I’ll take the cheese.”
“What about the croutons? They’re not gluten free.”
“That’s okay.” I hand her the menu, confused by that whole interaction.
I’ve never been asked so many questions about what I’m ordering.
When it comes to food, I’m pretty simple.
Burgers and fries. Tacos. Quesadillas. A steak now and then.
Give me any of those, and I’m happy. Unfortunately, none of those things were on the menu.
I just ordered a kale salad. I don’t even know what the hell kale is, or anything else on the menu.
The waitress turns to Brock, her head tilted, giving him that flirty smile. “And for you?”
“Grilled salmon,” he says, not even looking at her, his eyes on his phone.
She picks up the menus and leaves.
“I think she was flirting with you,” I say, shoving my napkin-wrapped silverware aside and resting my arms on the table.
“They all do,” he says, swiping through his phone.
“All women flirt with you?” I say, fighting another eye roll. “Got quite an ego on you, Uncle Brock.”
His eyes lift from his phone. “I have power in this town. People know me, especially people looking to break into the business. The hostess. The waitress. I’ve seen both of them at auditions.
They’re flirting with me because they think it’ll get them a part in something, or at the very least a connection. ”
“That’s really shallow. And sexist.”
“This business is all about who you know. People — both men and women — are willing to do whatever it takes to make it.”
“Even if it means selling their soul?”
“If a soul truly had a value, believe me, they would sell it. This whole city is full of people trying to hit it big but very few will.”
“So how’d you get into acting?” I ask just as the waitress returns.
“Sparkling water,” she says, setting the glass in front of Brock. She turns to me. “Did you want one too? You never said.”
“I’ll just have a Coke.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Sorry. We don’t sell soda here. Would you like sparkling water? Fresh squeezed juice?”
“You don’t have soda? How is that possible?”
“She’ll have a sparkling water,” Brock says.
The waitress smiles at him before walking off.
“What the hell is up with this town?” I ask. “Does everyone here live on salads and water?”
“The camera adds ten pounds,” he says, checking his phone again.
“So nobody eats?”
“Your cousins do. They eat nonstop. The maid has to buy groceries every day just to keep up. You’ll see when you meet them. If you ever can’t find them, just go to the kitchen.”
“Growing boys, huh?”
“That, and they’re in sports. They spend a lot of time at the gym and at practice.”
“What sports?”
“Braden plays football and Trystan plays soccer.”
Trystan and Braden are the cousins I’ve never met.
Braden is seventeen, like me, and Trystan is sixteen.
They’re probably both like their dad. Obnoxious egomaniacs.
I’ll be going to their school but I’m sure they’ll ignore me or pretend they don’t know me, which is fine.
I can make my own friends. I don’t need them.
The waitress drops off my water, then leaves.
“So when does school start?” I ask.
“Next Tuesday, the day after Labor Day. I’ve ordered you enough uniforms for five days, but I can get more if you’d like.”
“I have to wear a uniform?”
“Of course,” he says, like I should’ve already known this. “All private schools require a uniform.”
“Private school?” I sit back, shaking my head. “I’m not going to private school. Private schools are for snobby, rich kids.”
He leans toward me. “You may not have realized this yet, but you’re one of those kids, or you soon will be. You can choose not to be snobby, but you’ll definitely have money. I’ve already set up an account for you.”
“A bank account?”
“It comes with a debit card which you can use as you please as long as you stay within the monthly budget.”
“What’s the monthly budget?” I ask, taking a sip of my water.
“Three thousand.”
I choke on my water, which makes me cough.
“Here.” He hands me his napkin. “I’ll get a new one.”
“Did you just say three thousand? A month?”
“To start. Once you’ve proven you can be responsible with the debit card, I’ll increase the amount closer to what the boys get.”
“What do they get?”
“Five thousand.”
“A piece?” I set my water down. “How the hell do they spend that much money?”
“Clothes. Going out with friends. Weekend trips. It adds up.”
“There’s no way I could spend that much. My mom used to give me fifty a week to clean the apartment and some weeks I didn’t even spend it.”
“I’m sure if you try, you could spend it,” he says with a smile. “As for school, Maria will get your supplies when she picks up supplies for the boys.”
“Who’s Maria?”
“The maid. She runs errands for us. She also prepares meals when the chef isn’t around. Anyway, until we get you a car, Maria will get you whatever you need.”
“I’m getting a car?”
“Of course,” he says as though it’s a given. “You can’t get around without a car.”
“I don’t have a driver’s license.”
“You don’t?”
“I’ve never needed one. People don’t drive in New York. We walk or take the subway.”
“Your mother had a license.”
“Yeah, but she never drove.” I pause. “How’d you know she had a license?”
“I just assumed. It’s unusual not to have one. I’ll have my assistant find some driving schools and set something up.”
“Um, could we hold off on that? I’m fine just catching a ride with someone.”
“Are you afraid to drive?”
“I’m not afraid,” I say. “I just don’t need to rush into taking driving lessons. I have enough to deal with between moving here and starting a new school. I don’t need to add anything else.”
“I think it’d be better not to wait but it’s up to you.”
“I’d rather wait. And I want to go to public school, not private.”
“That’s not an option.” He waves at a busboy walking by. “I need another napkin.”
The guy nods and continues walking.
“Why isn’t it an option?” I ask.
“Because celebrities send their children to private schools. We wouldn’t even consider public.”
Private school? Is he kidding? That’s a whole new level of hell I wasn’t expecting.