Mommy May I Read online

  “Okay, I can tell you want to change the subject, talk about more depressing things, but I won’t stop until I wear you down. I want you to be happy, and I think he makes you happy. You’re in love, sister, ‘cause you never stopped loving him. I’ll back off for a nano-second, though. I know this is an important eve, darling.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Hmmm. So that creepy detective is still telling you it was arson over at Shea House?”

  “That’s what he said the other night. He hasn’t called since, and I’m not too eager to be in touch. I’ve been talking to the arson team and the fire marshal, and they all agree that someone started the fire. The marshal told me that it’s possible it could be gang related. You’ve been down there. The area isn’t exactly prime real estate. Gang bangers don’t necessarily like the idea of someone coming in and helping the community get sober. It’s bad for business.”

  “Have you thought about moving the location?”

  “I have. But where it is, is where it’s needed. The women I’m trying to help have nothing, and no one’s helping them get an education, stay straight, and learn how to parent. I meet with the insurance people next week. I’m going to have to do some fast-talking. At this point we’re at least another year out from starting a new center. It’s possible I’ll have to re-apply for permits, and who knows if I’ll even get insurance. Everything is iffy right now.” Helena hung her head.

  “Hey, hey, it’ll all work out. You’ll see. Relax, okay? Now let’s find somewhere to sit.”

  People milled around the center, chatting with each other and vying for the best seats. She and Tim found two good ones up near the front. Helena’s nerves trembled, not only from their conversation, but because the difficult portion of the evening had arrived. She’d have to speak tonight. She was glad Tim was there to hold her hand.

  Even when she used to strut down the catwalk during her modeling days, she wouldn’t get this nervous. Her face flushed, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

  After the third speaker, she’d gathered enough courage to stand and tell her story. Helena shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She owed this program so much, but standing alone before the group never seemed to get any easier. Even though she knew many of these folks and a lot of them were Shea House supporters, all she could envision were strange faces in front of her—judging her.

  For her, retelling her story was like waves hitting the shoreline at full speed—not the normal rolling motion a calm sea makes, but a wild, stormy one, always crashing against sharp and painful rocks. There was no easy way out of these icy waters, so she simply took the plunge and began.

  “My name is Helena Shea, and I am an alcoholic. I started drinking heavily right before my dad died. But when alcohol wasn’t enough to ease the pain, I added Valium. Once Dad died, I really got out of hand. I was just so lost and lonely, and partying took my cares away, for a little while at least. Luckily for me, or so I thought at the time, the fashion world fit my lifestyle, making it easy to score whatever I needed: pick-me-up, bring-me-down, anything. So . . .” She took a deep breath and exhaled before beginning again. “Before I knew it, I was doing drugs and drinking more with each passing day. I’d wake up with a Screwdriver or Bloody Mary, and a line of coke. It escalated from there.” She vaguely remembered those mornings when she prayed that her choice of venom would ease some of the pain of losing her father. She’d adored him. He had loved her through so much, especially through the difficult decision to give up Frankie.

  Helena fidgeted with her tennis bracelet, twisting the diamonds around her wrist. “Regrets and past mistakes were catching up with me, and I started to experience growing consequences of my alcohol and drug use. I started my own agency, but because of my addictions, it wasn’t doing very well. You may have heard or read about it in the media. Take my word for it, The Scene and Entertainment Tonight don’t know nearly as much as they think they do about my life.”

  Low, sympathetic laughter erupted from the crowd packed inside the auditorium. They all knew that her life had been dissected and travestied as the paparazzi invaded any privacy she and her family had tried to maintain.

  “Then,” she laughed, “I got offered a major motion picture which was to star a big-time screen actor, who shall remain nameless. I thought my life would change! I’d no longer be considered a dumb model, but a high maintenance actress instead.” Laughter once again lightened the mood of the room. “Not to be, I’m afraid. We started shooting, but I kept messing up my lines. So, on a break, I figured I’d do a couple of lines to speed things up.” She rolled her eyes. Talking about it made it seem so distant, as if it had happened to a good friend, not to her. She couldn’t believe she’d done those things. Her life was so very different now.

  “Well, the director kept making not so subtle remarks about my aging body. You could say he pissed me off when he suggested a body double for the nude scene. So I cracked him in the nose. Before long, the police showed up and escorted me off the set. Permanently.

  “So of course, I did what every good alcoholic does in a crisis: I bought some more coke and other ‘necessities’ to party it up at home alone.

  “I bottomed out. Partying alone just doesn’t have the same appeal as hanging with a friend, or ten. But I had reached the point where nobody wanted to be around me.” Tears welled as she remembered that feeling of isolation and utter despair; imprisoned by booze, powders, and small, round pills. “My friend and assistant at the time, Brianne, found me rolled into the fetal position, pretty much out of my mind the next day. I’m surprised I wasn’t dead. I should have been. I was pretty delirious though. I don’t even remember her putting me in the car and driving me to Palm Springs. I lost a big chunk of time there somewhere. I just blacked out.”

  Heads in the crowd bobbed, understanding that loss of time and memory, like being in the Twilight Zone. The room was silent, except for the occasional sniffle from someone connecting with her story—and people were connecting with her story.

  “But I do remember arriving at Betty Ford and trying to convince everyone there that I was totally fine. Of course, that wasn’t the case. They got me sober and introduced me to the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. I thank God today for the program and those folks out in Palm Springs who didn’t give up on me when I’d given up on myself. Because of them, loving friends, and this fellowship, I’m pleased to announce that today is my one year anniversary of uninterrupted sobriety.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “My life, though still pretty hectic and by no means perfect, is a hundred times better—no, more like a thousand times better. I’ve gotten to know my daughter, begun putting my agency back on track, and am learning to deal with the media—all without drugs or alcohol. It’s good to be sober, taking life one day at a time.” The crowd applauded as a long sigh escaped her lips.

  Sitting down, looking at all the people in the auditorium—from men in business suits, to kids far from twenty-one, to the homeless—she realized that alcohol and drug dependency happened in all walks of life, all ages. No one was immune. As a drunk, she wasn’t any more special than the next person. She was simply Helena Shea, alcoholic and drug addict. Somehow, that was a comforting feeling to have.

  She leaned into Tim, who smelled like his signature clove cigarettes. “Well, how’d I do?”

  “Wonderful, wonderful! Very courageous.” He made a fist for emphasis. She laughed. The release of tension felt like a gift.

  Helena smiled at Tim. He’d helped her through so many rough times over the last year. He truly was a loving friend.

  Turning her attention to the next speaker, she heard him say, “Take it one step at a time.” The words affected her now more than ever as she thought about Rachel, Shea House, Frankie, and even Patrick.

  Helena returned home later than expected, hoping Frankie wouldn’t be upset. The meeting had gone on for quite awhile. As she walked through the door, Ella whined, alerting her that she needed to go out.
Helena could hear the television on in the other room and figured Frankie fell asleep watching it.

  She peeked into the family room and saw Frankie curled up with a blanket and pillow on the sofa. She knelt by the sofa to study the innocent face, wishing she’d seen her like this as a young child.

  Frankie stirred, as Helena kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. “I love you, sweet girl. So much.” The puppy nudged her elbow. “Okay,” she whispered.

  Helena took Ella for a quick run. It was nearly eleven-thirty. There was something in the air that bothered her. The ocean was writhing as if awaiting a storm, and there was something dead close by. The stench nearly made her gag, and she tried to hurry Ella.

  Her cell phone rang from inside her sweater pocket and startled her. Frankie must’ve awakened and was now looking for her. “Hi, baby,” she said as she flipped open the phone.

  “A bit too assuming, aren’t you?” That voice again, from the other night.

  “Look, jerk-off, I know Leeza Kiley put you up to this. I sure in hell hope she’s paying you well, ‘cause frankly, when I find out who you are, you’ll need the money for a good attorney.”

  “You through ranting, bitch?”

  Helena was about to hang up, when he said, “Your daughter is so beautiful when she sleeps and quite tasty, I’m certain. I love that she’s wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and panties.”

  Helena dropped the phone and Ella’s leash. She ran as fast as she could, fighting the sand that bogged her down. Ella barked loudly, following behind. Helena stumbled. She stood up, her ankle burned; she continued to run. She was screaming Frankie’s name before she reached the house. Terror tore through her body as she hunted for the key in her pocket. It was gone. She’d lost it in the sand. She pounded on the patio doors. No one came. She screamed Frankie’s name again. She frantically searched for a rock large enough to break the window. Finding one, she threw it against the sliding glass door. It cracked all the way down, but didn’t break. She picked the rock up again and threw it harder. This time the window came crashing down as shards of glass cut Helena’s arms. She climbed through the gaping hole. “Frankie! Frankie!”

  She wasn’t on the sofa. Helena scanned the room still illuminated by the television set. She felt sick.

  “Mom? What the heck? Why did you do that?” said Frankie, pointing to the door. She stood in the hall doorway rubbing her eyes.

  Helena rushed over and threw her arms around her, sobbing. “Oh, God. I thought, I thought…”

  “Thought what?” Frankie looked at her as if she were mad. “Oh man, you haven’t been drinking?”

  “God, no!” Helena tightened her grip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Where were you just now? Didn’t you hear me banging and yelling?”

  “I was trying to pee, Mom. You were making so much racket you couldn’t hear me yelling back at you from the bathroom, and then you broke the door. What were you doing?”

  Ella ran up and whined outside the broken glass. Frankie wiggled out of Helena’s arms to help her through.

  “No, don’t!”

  “Mom, she wants in. She’s afraid of the glass. She’ll cut herself.”

  Helena tried to regain her composure. She wiped the sand off her clothes and face. “I’ll do it. I don’t want you to get cut either.” Helena gently picked up Ella, her ankle killing her, and brought her over the glass and into the house.

  “What is wrong with you? And you’re limping? What happened?”

  “Here, help me move this.” Helena went over to an armoire she used as a bookcase, hastily removing the books while Frankie watched, horrified.

  “Mom?”

  “Hold on a minute, just help me please, and then I’ll explain.” It took the two of them a few minutes and quite a bit of effort to move the piece of furniture to cover the gaping hole where the patio doors once stood. When they finished, Helena got a sheet and pinned it up against the window. She then took an ice pack from the freezer and sank onto the sofa to ice her ankle. Frankie stared at her. She patted the seat next to her, inviting Frankie to sit. She didn’t want to alarm her daughter, but she also knew that Frankie was old enough to be made aware and cautious. She told her everything, beginning with the incident with the van and her thought that Leeza was behind it.

  Frankie brought her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “So, someone was watching, seeing what I was wearing tonight. Like, you think from outside the window?”

  Helena nodded. “I think so.” She grabbed a blanket draped over the sofa and covered Frankie’s bare legs.

  “Sick. It could still be her. Leeza, I mean. She might have some creepazoid keeping tabs on us. She’s psycho, Mom. It sounds exactly like something she would do.”

  “I know, honey. But do you think she’d go that far? That’s pretty damn brazen. It’s even crossed my mind that she’s the one behind the fire at Shea House. I don’t know anyone who hates me that much, unless its gangsters like the fire marshal has suggested. If not, then it could be Leeza.”

  “I think she’d do about anything to get even with you. You blew up her world when you and Dad made the decision to tell me the truth. The only pleasure she got out of it was that she beat you to it by telling the tabloids and divorcing my dad. She loved that.”

  “This might even be too low for Leeza. I’d like to call your dad. I’m a little scared. It might be best for us to head back up to Santa Barbara in the morning. You’d be safer there, I think, at least until we get this figured out, find out who’s behind this.”

  “Mom, you promised we’d go shopping for my birthday.”

  “I know, and we can. I’ll take you in Santa Barbara.”

  “But Rodeo Drive is so cool. Please.”

  “Frankie, someone was watching our house tonight. He might still be. We have Ella to warn us through tonight, and I’ll call my security service to have them keep an eye on the place. If I call the police, we’ll wind up on the front page of The Scene, and that’s the last thing we want, especially following the fire. Word is that Claire Travers is already snooping around, seeing what dirt she can dish.”

  “Mom, I’m sorry all this is happening.”

  “Me too, baby. We’ve got to keep our chin up though,” Helena said trying to sound reassuring. “And, whether or not Leeza is behind this stunt, at least up at your dad’s she can’t have her creep watching you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m a big girl. I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll have Tim come and stay for a while. I’m needed here with Rachel and Shea House.”

  “But you’re the one that nearly got killed by the crazy in the van the other night. Even if it is only Leeza acting like her usual witch self. I do think she’s psycho enough to hurt you.”

  Helena brushed tears from Frankie’s face. “No one’s going to hurt me.”

  “We just found each other, and I’m finally beginning to feel like I really do have a mother who’s there for me. I’ve never had that. Daddy was always great, but it’s not like having a mom. And Leeza was a real bitch, certainly not very motherly.” Frankie frowned.

  Helena pulled her close. “It’s okay.” She held her, rocking her like she would a baby, tightening the blanket around her. The only difference was, this baby had grown into a young woman filled with pain—a pain that Helena blamed herself for causing. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered. “I promise.” Helena sang softly to her child as Frankie drifted off to sleep.

  The thought of eyes still watching them never left Helena’s mind as she let Frankie’s head rest in her lap. Helena would stand vigil all night, refusing to allow Leeza’s hired hand—or anyone else, for that matter—get to her child.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Leeza never stayed the entire night at a man’s place. It didn’t matter if she dated him for a while or not. It was one of her rules. She needed her beauty sleep. Something she couldn’t get with a man snoring next to her. Besides, they often kept her awake.
They liked her too damn much.

  So, she left the Brad Pitt look-alike she’d hooked up with at the restaurant where she and Claire had eaten the other night. He’d turned out to be somewhat goofy. A couple of hours with the future Ms. March was all he wound up getting. Ms. March! She relished the sound of that and hoped it would grind into Patrick’s nerves and burn like acid.

  Thank God she’d divorced him. To hell with him! He couldn’t appreciate a real woman, anyway. He liked little girls, like his precious Helena and the kid. Now everyone in America would soon see that she was beautiful, too. That scandal brought misery to all those who’d deserved it, but it brought her nothing but joy. Still, she couldn’t help but feel for the kid. She had to admit that she did love her, in her own way.

  Leeza’s day had played out fantastically, taking all those photos for the March issue of Playboy. The scandal and being famous, or infamous, depending on how one looked at it, had also helped to land her the spread instead of some younger “twenty something” model. And the money was yummy icing on the cake. She laughed out loud, loving the idea of bringing more grief to Patrick and that bitch.

  She headed up the Santa Monica Freeway in her Burgundy Jaguar, a perk from the divorce settlement. Her hands gripped the smooth steering wheel; it still smelled of new leather.

  She was slightly buzzed from the champagne she had drunk only hours before. Too bad she had another photo shoot the next day, or she could’ve played a lot longer with that guy, goofy or not.

  Helena may have been a super-model in her youth, but Leeza knew that the perfect age for a sexually uninhibited woman was thirty-eight. The proof of that was evident on any given night with men lusting after her gorgeous body.

  Winding around the bend before her house, a few miles up from Helena’s shack, she snorted and tossed her flaming red tresses behind her shoulders. Minutes later, she pulled into her garage.