Chapter 23 Michelle - Beverly Hills 90210
My sneakers squeaked across the marble floor, each step feeding the dread building inside me.
This was the last place I wanted to be, but it was past the kids’ bedtime, and I needed to get them somewhere safe.
I hiked Emma higher on my hip, her cheek pressed against my shoulder, her thumb in her mouth, while Keith clutched the hem of my t-shirt, looking a little shell-shocked by the sudden turn of events.
We’d driven around for a good hour before our journey took us through Beverly Hills.
It was then that I came upon one of my father’s properties and knew what needed to be done. I’d deal with the fallout later.
The man behind the opulent counter gave me one of those smiles that wasn’t a smile at all. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
We must have looked like something left at the curb.
“Yes,” I said, forcing calm. “I need a room.”
He glanced from my untidy ponytail to the shadows under my eyes to the diaper bag weighing down my shoulder. His gaze landed on the applesauce stain on my t-shirt, and the smirk twitched. “We’re fully booked tonight.”
I adjusted my grip on Emma, not in the mood for games. Grabbing his name from the nameplate, I used it to intimidate. “I think you might be able to find one for me, Doug. My father owns this hotel.”
That got me a blink. Then another. “Your father…?”
“Bill Carver,” I said. “You know the name.”
His polite confusion didn’t waver. “I see. And you have a reservation under…?”
I laughed, a brittle sound that cracked at the edges. “Do I look like I planned ahead?”
Doug gave me the once-over again and determined I was lying based solely on my wardrobe choices and the desperation in my eyes. “Unfortunately, as I said, we’re fully booked, miss.”
“Ms. Carver,” I corrected, although technically I hadn’t been a Carver in name for years. But I was now, when it counted. He wasn’t budging. I sighed. “Can I use your phone?”
The man gestured to the door. “There’s a payphone outside by the restaurant.”
That was it. No apology. No offer to call upstairs. Just a direction like I was some stray who’d wandered too far up the hill.
“Right,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Thank you for your… professionalism.”
Keith tugged at my sleeve. “Mommy, I have to potty.”
“Oh, honey, can you hold it?”
Keith grabbed the front of his pants and pinched it off. Okay, well, he was technically doing what I asked. Returning my attention to the front desk jerk, I asked, “I assume your bathrooms are also fully booked. Would you prefer Bill Carver’s grandson to use the bushes outside?”
Doug’s expression didn’t change. Keith would be using the bushes.
I shook my head, plotting my revenge as the three of us refugees trudged out through the front doors. At the first bush we passed, I gave Keith the go-ahead to drop his pajama bottoms and go to town. You would’ve thought it was the best day of his life, the way he painted the leaves yellow.
Just next door in Beverly Hills did not take into consideration that every property was like four city blocks.
I’d have taken my car if I’d known what a trek it would be.
The payphone booth stood like a relic in this upscale neighborhood, like someone had gotten nostalgic and decided not to replace it with one of those sleeker chrome wall units.
With no other option, I herded all of us inside, warning the kids not to touch anything as I dug through my purse for change.
I’d just slipped a few quarters into the slot when I caught a horrifying sight—Emma, her lips smashed against the glass, suctioned to the germ-infested surface like a blowfish.
“Oh, my god, Emma. Gross.” I peeled her off and tucked her between my legs for safekeeping, only to spot Keith gleefully mashing every button on the keypad.
“Keith, stop that.” I grabbed his wrist and wedged him in beside his sister, quietly hoping we all made it out without contracting cholera. “No one moves, you hear me?”
Quickly, I dialed the numbers I’d memorized long ago. When my sister answered on the third ring, I didn’t even bother with hello. “Melanie,” I whispered, “it’s me. I need your help.”
There was a pause. “Where are you?”
“The Beverly Regent,” I said, voice cracking. “At a payphone. With the kids. I… I left Scott.”
By the time we arrived back at the lobby, the whole vibe had changed. There were now two men behind the counter, one wearing a shiny nametag that boasted his title as Guest Services Manager, and the other, Doug, wide-eyed with fear.
“Mrs. Carver,” the manager said. “So nice of you to join us. I spoke to your sister. Your suite is ready.”
“A suite? I was told you were fully booked.”
The manager shot the weasel a glare. “Yes, that was a regrettable mistake. I promise we will take excellent care of you and your two adorable children.”
I caught Doug’s eye, waiting for his response.
“My apologies, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t realize—”
I shifted Emma to the other hip, too tired to teach him a valuable lesson on stereotyping pissed-off moms. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m going to need some snacks for my kids. And some milk.”
“Of course.”
I wasn’t sure I could trust these two, so I clarified. “And the snacks can’t be like caviar. I’m talking fruit. Crackers. Normal people stuff.”
Doug failed to suppress his judgment. No doubt he hadn’t expected to run into Bill Carver’s scruffy Cinderella on this fine night. “Certainly, madam. If we can’t scrounge something up, I’ll have the valet make a run to 7-Eleven.”
His manager shot him a look that promised he wouldn’t come out of this unscathed, and rightly so. He’d been rude for no other reason than the fact that I didn’t fit the polished, upscale image he was used to. This was the part of privilege I didn’t miss.
The manager snapped his fingers, and a bellhop appeared instantly.
He loaded our meager belongings onto a cart and ushered us toward the elevator.
As the doors closed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored panel.
My hair had fallen loose from the ponytail, my mascara was streaked, and I looked…
done. It was embarrassing, humbling. After I’d left with the kids, I’d driven aimlessly, trying to figure out where to go.
I had no friends outside of Scott’s, no family I could call, no money, no place to stay.
But I still had my maiden name, something I hadn’t leveraged for six years.
Then again, I’d never needed to… until tonight.
The elevator hummed as it climbed. I let my head rest against the wall.
“Big day, huh?” the bellhop said, trying for small talk.
“Big and bad,” I agreed, not offering anything further. The elevator door opened, and we followed him out.
“Sorry to hear that,” he replied. “But maybe this will make you feel better.”
He unlocked the door, and it opened to a glorious two-bedroom suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, completely inappropriate white carpet, and an original art piece hanging under its own gallery light.
“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.
I almost said, A husband who isn’t breaking the law, but went with, “We’re good, thanks.” I checked his name on the tag. “I’m sorry, Warren, but I don’t have any cash on me.”
“Not to worry, madam,” he said. “Get some rest, and hold your babies close.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and I could finally breathe. The kids were safe, the door was locked, and there was a roof over our heads. I ushered Keith and Emma into the bathroom, determined to wash the germs away before allowing them to touch a thing in this place.
Thirty minutes later, they were clean and warm and snacking on the food room service had brought up. I held it together for the kids, needing to get them asleep so I could focus on what came next.
Emma was out the moment she was tucked in, but Keith needed assurances.
“Mommy, when are we going home?”
Yes, that was the question. “I’m not sure yet,” I said softly, kissing his temple. “But until then, let’s have an adventure.”
He smiled, small and hopeful. “Is this a castle?”
“No,” I said, glancing around the ornate room, “but it looks like one, doesn’t it?”
His little brow furrowed with worry.
“What’s wrong, Bug?”
“I want my daddy.”
His request tore me up inside. Keith and Scott were inseparable; best friends in every way. How could I deny him that? How could I explain that the man he adored had made choices that put us all at risk?
I smoothed his hair, concealing the fear. “You’ll see him soon,” I whispered, even though it felt like a lie.
He blinked up at me. “What if there’s a dragon? Who will protect us?”
“I will, baby,” I said, forcing a smile as my voice broke. “I will.”
I waited until Keith’s breathing evened out before slipping into the bathroom. The moment the door shut, the dam broke. The tears came silent and slow at first, then harder, until I was shaking, gripping the counter just to stay upright.
Anger rose through the grief, sharp and burning.
How could Scott do this to us? To lie and steal and pay off lowlifes like Marty?
I’d trusted him with everything—my love, my life, our children.
I’d known something was wrong for a while and had questioned him not only on the missing money but also on his sketchy, secretive behavior.
I should have pushed harder. Demanded answers.
And now that the truth was out, how could I ever trust him again?
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to make something of myself, to prove I could build a life on my own, without my family’s money or their approval.
And yet here I was, back under their roof, my children asleep in a bed that wasn’t ours, my hard-won independence hanging by a thread.
If I couldn’t rely on Scott, then I’d have to face whatever price came with letting the Carvers back into my life. And knowing them, it wouldn’t come cheap.