Mommy May I Read online

  Focused on the business at hand, Helena finished quicker than she’d expected. However, before she went home she decided to make one stop first—one she wasn’t eager to make, but felt was necessary.

  ****

  Helena pushed the buzzer six or seven times before she heard high heels clatter against marble.

  “Guess it’s the maid’s day off,” she muttered as the front door opened. Leeza Kiley stood there in all her steely, redheaded glory, an ironic smile flickering across her face.

  “Greetings, neighbor,” Leeza snorted. Once the divorce was final and she’d sold the house she’d shared with Patrick for so many years, she moved to this house, only a mile or so from Helena.

  Leeza shook her head and tsk tsked while giving Helena the once-over. “So what’s your story? If you have a bone to pick, why didn’t you do that, oh, say, a year ago, when the celebrity story of the century broke?”

  “Wasn’t worth my time.”

  Leeza swung open the door. “Okay, what’s worth your time now then?” she asked, raising her perfectly waxed, eyebrows into a curious arch.

  “My daughter.”

  “Ah, I see. You two must be getting pretty tight. That’s great, but I really don’t have time for chitchat, much less a reunion with the woman who stole everything from me. How am I cramping your style this time?”

  “It’s not about me, Leeza.”

  “It never is. You can steal a woman’s husband before you’re even eighteen like a jail bait Lolita, have his baby, toss her aside, go on to become queen of the world, make a million bucks, fall flat on your alcoholic ass, and then become Joan of Arc by coming clean about your past and starting some center for crack whores with kids. No, Helena, it is certainly never about you.”

  Helena considered walking away, knowing that the conversation was already out of hand. But this was about her child, the one she’d betrayed in so many ways. After all these years, she could finally protect her and owed her that much. “Wow, that was quick. You must have been practicing in front of the mirror! But I have to tell you, you’re paying way too much for those acting lessons. Might want to get a new coach. You haven’t changed a bit. Still playing the same aggrieved innocent.”

  “Insults will get you nowhere.”

  Helena closed her eyes, sighed, and collected herself before opening them again. “Fine, I didn’t come here to take a trip down your inaccurate perception of memory lane. I came here to talk about Frankie.”

  “I never meant to hurt her.” Leeza picked up a large cat that smelled like baby powder who had nonchalantly been rubbing itself against Leeza’s fake-baked legs.

  “Patrick and I can take the heat, but she’s only a kid.”

  “Look, I love Frances as much as you do. Don’t forget I raised her.” She cradled the cat like a baby, kissing it on the nose.

  “No, Mary Poppins did that.”

  “Well, who do you think she called Mommy?” Leeza tickled the purring cat under his chin.

  “Only to be scolded and told to call you by name, except when Patrick was around.”

  “She said that?”

  “Spare me the drama.” Helena’s face burned.

  “At least I didn’t abandon her.” Leeza’s grin made her look very much like the Batman’s rival, Joker.

  Helena stepped back as if punched in the stomach. If she didn’t control herself, she’d smack this woman hard, this manipulator who’d begged her sixteen years ago to give Frankie to her and Patrick, telling her it was the best thing for all of them. “I did not abandon my child. I gave her to you and Patrick believing that she would be loved and raised by a family that wanted her. But all you wanted was Patrick’s money. That was why he turned to someone else in the first place, to someone who could love him for who he really is.”

  The cat struggled free from Leeza’s arms. Helena ached to choke the life out of Leeza. “I want you to leave Frankie alone. It’s that simple. Don’t call her. Don’t write her. And don’t even consider pulling another one of your bullshit stunts.” Leeza looked stunned. “Yeah, I’m not the dumb-ass you think I am. I know you had someone try to run me down, then the crank-call. That was pleasant. Very clever of you.”

  “You’re a whack job, always were. I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if I want to call Frances up and have a chat, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  “I’m not playing here, lady. Stay the hell out of our lives, or you will regret it!” Helena stormed off and headed for the Suburban parked on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway.

  Leeza yelled, “Is that a threat?!” No answer. “You’re nuts! You’ve done too many drugs and fried the rest of your already half-baked brain. And you know what? That did sound like a threat to me. I’ll bet there’s a reporter or two who’d love to hear about this. Think I’ll give Claire Travers a call, Miss High and Mighty. Remember her?!” she screamed. “She wrote nice stories about you, didn’t she? Leave your family alone? You should’ve left my fucking husband alone, you whore!”

  Helena slammed the truck’s door and revved the engine. “Get over it, for God’s sakes. It was sixteen years ago, you bitter bitch,” she muttered.

  As she squealed out onto the highway, Helena knew that she’d made a grave mistake. Leeza was probably on the phone this very minute, once again seeking some type of twisted revenge.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Claire Travers loved a good story as much as the other sob sisters who wrote for the tabloids, but she had to admit that Leeza Kiley was becoming a bore. The woman shrieked at her for a good five minutes before Claire could get a word in.

  “Okay, calm down, Leeza.” Claire switched the phone to the other ear. “Let me get this straight, Helena Shea came to your place and said some nasty things to you?”

  “Nasty? Nasty? Yeah, you could say that! I wanted to kill the slut. Who does she thinks she is?”

  Claire put her hand over her free ear. The buzzing inside the newsroom made it hard to hear. “Leeza, do you mind if we meet up tonight? I’ve got a deadline.”

  “You’re not putting me on the back burner, are you, Claire?”

  “Of course not. How about seven at Kate Mandolin’s Restaurant?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Claire hung up and rubbed her temples. She cringed as the resulting breeze of her co-worker Fred’s sour stomach wafted her way. “Jesus Fred, did you eat Mexican again? Man, I got one word for you. Beano.”

  “Funny, Claire,” Fred replied from the other side of the cubicle.

  She leaned back in her chair, the springs creaking. God, what would it be like to have a real chair, in a real office, where people had real manners?

  Tossing her pencil onto her desk, Claire pondered her next move. If she printed every tidbit Leeza called her about, she’d have a two-thousand-page novel.

  But today’s tidbit was fairly interesting typical Hollywood diva stuff, with Helena Shea threatening Leeza. And then there was the fact that Helena was opening that new drug center for pregnant women and new moms. This could put a twist on things. But that really wasn’t cool. Here she was trying to do a good thing. Could it only be Leeza trying to stir things up? Highly likely.

  The story wasn’t even lukewarm now. New scandals popped up everyday. People were bored with the Shea/Kiley feud. Claire picked her pencil back up and ran her fingers along it. Someone was listening to Howard Stern on the radio blabber about boobs.

  “Oh honey, yours are great. You don’t need a boob job. Does she, Robin?”

  “I’m not looking,” Robin Quivers replied.

  “Sex sells,” Claire muttered. That reason alone justified her being entertained by Hollywood’s latest queen of flamboyance. Hell, if the scoop about Helena didn’t pan out, Leeza herself was good for an exposé. Rumor had it—and Claire was sure Leeza would confirm it—that the new divorcée had agreed to do a spread in Playboy. That would spin a few people out of control, and knowing Leeza, that’s exactly what she had in mind. She loved pus
hing people’s buttons, especially if those buttons belonged to her ex and his ex-lover. And all Claire had to do was get the scoop while it was juicy, write it down, make it flow, and it would be printed in thousands of papers around the country.

  Claire picked up last week’s copy of The Scene. She loved newspapers—the visual of the black ink against the white background. This paper was trash, but it paid the bills.

  Claire held the paper to her nose, breathing it in. It no longer had that fresh ink and paper aroma she adored. It was now as stale as yesterday’s news. Was the Helena Shea scandal just as stale? She knew that people loved a real-life soap opera. Maybe Claire could light a fire under her fading serial.

  CHAPTER NINE

  August 1970

  Before . . .

  The summer flew by for Richard, and his uncle surprised him towards the end of it by taking him into San Francisco for his thirteenth birthday, only an hour’s drive from their small town of Dobson.

  Uncle James took him to the marina where they shopped, ate fresh fish, and visited the Ghirardelli chocolate factory. Uncle James let Richard buy whatever he wanted.

  At home, Richard hid his chocolates under the bed for fear that Aunt Valerie would trash them. She wasn’t happy about their escapades and really let Uncle James have it.

  “That’s no place for the boy!” she’d yelled.

  For the first time, Uncle James had stood up to her. “It’s a special birthday for him,” he’d said in a low voice, “and he deserves to go. He’s helped me all summer at work. It’s not like he has any friends to invite over.”

  “That’s because he’s weird. I see the way he is. I know. And I don’t care what you say ‘bout him, no amount of prayer will save him. He’s evil, being born out of that whore. He’s got tainted blood.”

  “Don’t talk about Elizabeth like that.”

  She’d stormed out of the room. It struck Richard as odd, but made him ecstatic, that a simple retort with the mention of his mother’s name could send her away. Uncle James had tossed Richard his jacket and said it was time to go.

  Richard took the box of candy from under his bed now. He ate one a day. He was getting low on them, because a week had already passed by since their trip. He popped one with a caramel center into his mouth. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted with all its rich, gooey sweetness.

  Life wasn’t so bad in Dobson. He enjoyed working for his Uncle James, but he hated listening to his aunt rave on about how they were all sinners and had to repent. Richard wanted to tell her to shove it up her fat ass. Life would be a heck of a lot better if she’d take a hike.

  One evening after supper, Uncle James went to shower, which he never did at night. He was always too tired to do much of anything after work. Richard watched Aunt Valerie pour herself a glass of sherry. Her hands trembled, and she had trouble putting the stopper back into the decanter.

  She sat back down in her rocker across from Richard as he watched television. Old witch! She only allowed him to watch an hour a night. Tonight that suited him fine, because he was going to meet with Janie Keaton again. He had friends. Well, he had one friend anyway.

  “So, how was work?” Aunt Valerie asked.

  “Fine.” Richard tried not to look at her ugly, scowling face. Why was she interested in his day?

  “Must’ve got a new one in today, huh Ricky?”

  He cringed. Why did she have to call him that? “A new what?”

  “Don’t act stupid. A body. A dead woman. A corpse.” She took a long swig of the sherry, and a little dribbled down her chin.

  He turned to glare at her, filled with contempt at her tone and the mere fact she would even speak to him. “Yeah, so?”

  “Must be a young woman?”

  Richard looked back at the TV, desperately trying to tune her out.

  “Ricky, I asked you a question.”

  “What? Yeah, I guess she was pretty young. Maybe thirty something.”

  “How’d she die?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Ricky.” She shook a finger at him. “Don’t speak to me in that tone. You know what the good Lord says about respecting your elders. Now by the grace of God, for your sake, we’ve been designated to raise you. God knows, with that whore for your mother, you didn’t stand a chance. You really should be more grateful. I’ve got a right mind to get the rod, teach you a lesson or two.”

  Richard started to sweat. He was thankful she had the gout and wouldn’t get up to beat him. She hadn’t hit him in quite some time. He’d recently had a growth spurt and now sensed that she was a bit frightened of him. He liked that. In a low voice that sounded close to a growl he replied, “Please do not refer to my mother like that.” He stood up, feeling heat in his face, his jaw clenched.

  He considered shutting her up. There were many ways he could do that. He thought about it quite a bit. His favorite fantasy was simply to take a sharp kitchen knife and slice her open and let her bleed to death—she’d watch as her blood and guts oozed all over her stupid, perfectly cleaned house. Richard would enjoy doing that to Aunt Valerie, and there’d be no way to preserve her. They’d have to cremate her. Aunt Valerie brought this hatred on herself the way she treated him and spoke of his mother.

  “Oh, sorry.” Her sarcasm didn’t go undetected. “I know how much you loved your dear, departed mommy. Forgive me. You’re exactly like your uncle. I’m surprised you’re not showering, getting ready for a night out on the town.”

  Richard clenched his fists, blood rushed through him. Did she know that he was meeting Janie tonight? Was that why she was acting so strange? And why had she said that about his uncle? He never went out at night.

  “She must be a special one. I haven’t seen him like this since before you came. It’s been awhile. I thought maybe he’d gotten past it.”

  Richard’s mind raced. Her insinuations about his uncle fascinated him, but he refused to give her satisfaction by showing any interest. Besides, Uncle James was way too straight-laced to do anything nutty. He felt his face flush.

  He looked back at the clock, almost eight. His aunt would be in bed by nine, but with his uncle going out, it might present a problem. His stomach jumped around making him anxious.

  He and Janie had agreed to keep their meetings secret. They always waited until their families were asleep before sneaking out, not too difficult for either of them.

  “My parents are drunk by eight,” she’d said one summer day when he’d found her crying down by the river—alone and very upset. Her dad had beaten her mom that morning for not having his breakfast ready. Janie had run out of the house. Richard had sat next to her and they’d skipped stones across the river, marking the start of their summer friendship.

  “Excuse me Ricky, but I was speaking to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “The woman who was brought in today. How’d she die? It couldn’t have been a car wreck, or at least not one that ruined her face.” Spittle flew as she spoke, and Richard sank into the couch, wishing he could disappear.

  “Uncle James said something about drugs. I think she must've overdosed.”

  “Ah. Okay, well she must be something special all right!” Aunt Valerie slowly got up from her chair and waddled away, bumping against one wall and then the other as she headed down the hall to her room. “Turn off that TV!” she hollered back at him.

  Thankful she’d gone to bed, Richard’s only concern was meeting Janie without anyone finding out. Not even his uncle could know. It wasn’t that Uncle James would be angry; Janie insisted on it.

  Uncle James came into the family room dressed in a coat and tie, his dark hair slicked back. Richard had never seen him so dressed up. “Wow, where you going?”

  “Oh, there’s a funeral director’s convention up north.”

  He was glad, because now he wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking in and out.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “Nothing. I’m happy you’re getting out of here tha
t’s all. You deserve some time off.”

  “I’d love to take you, but with school starting so soon and as early as we rise around here, you need your rest.”

  “Hey, no problem. Probably just a bunch of stiffs anyway, huh?”

  “Funny guy, aren’t you? Yes, it’ll be a dead crowd.” They both laughed. “Where’s your aunt?”

  “I think she went to bed. She was sure acting strange, asking me all sorts of crazy stuff. I think she’s lost her marbles.” Richard tapped the side of his head.

  “What’d she say?” Uncle James frowned.

  “Well, she was asking about work and the woman who was brought in today.”

  “What did you tell her?” Uncle James shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Nothing much. I tried to ignore her, but she kept asking.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s probably been sipping her sherry again. She’s not much of a drinker—a little goes a long way with her.”

  “Right.” Richard looked his uncle up and down again, wondering why he was acting strange, too.

  A half-hour later, without a care regarding his aunt or uncle, Richard walked down the gravel road to meet Janie at their hideout, an old shack out in the woods. When he saw her flashlight up ahead, his adrenaline began to pump, making him feel jittery. “Janie?” he called out.

  “Hi,” she answered. Richard jogged over to meet her and, laughing together, they collapsed onto the blanket she’d brought. “Hey, look what I’ve got.” She reached into a bag and pulled out a six-pack of beer.

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “Shoot, my dad’s already passed out in his chair, and my mom’s listening to the Rolling Stones, pretending she’s some rock star.”

  “Sounds like your family’s pretty messed up, too. My uncle is cool, but my aunt is a real drag.”