“Yes, yes I do, Robert. But first, let’s go to commercial because I’m going to throw up.” Christy urgently whispered those last few words.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said. “What did you say?”
“I think I’m going to puke,” Christy wrote on a piece of paper.
“Aaaaaand cut,” the director yelled.
Another Day, Another Daughter
Michael was in L.A. again. An FCC investigation of his West Coast radio stations required his presence, followed by more meetings with his animation company. He’s so stressed out, Christy thought. I’m glad it’s him dealing with business problems and not me. Renata was at school. Christy was in the library sorting bills for the accountant, a job that she had taken over after leaving Baby G. She found it amusing to see a bill for $54.95 instead of something like $5,495,000, which she was used to seeing at Baby G. Secretly, she loved this low-level finance. There was a tentative knock at the door. “Christy, I think you’d better come to the foyer,” Cynthia said.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but you better come.”
Christy walked to the front door, which was wide open, and saw a teenage girl lying in the hallway. Her blond hair was as limp and lifeless as her whisper of a body. She wore a bloodstained Juicy sweat suit. She had two black eyes, and her lips were swollen. Bandages were peeking out from under her top. The girl half opened her eyes and then shut them.
“Are you okay?” Christy asked. “Who did this to you? Should I call nine-one-one? Who are you?”
“Ali Drummond. Where’s my dad?”
Christy was taken aback. She had seen pictures of the girl, but the photos looked nothing like this beaten-up child in front of her. Who had attacked her?
“Ali, your dad’s not here right now. I’m calling emergency. You need a doctor. What happened to you?”
“Nothing. I had surgery. My nose got fixed and they added cheekbones and made my jaw stronger. I got my boobs done, too. And collagen in my lips.”
“What? How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen? Does your mother know about this?”
“She arranged it.”
“My God,” Christy said. “You’re too young for that.”
“No, I’m not,” Ali mumbled. “All the girls are doing it. Can I have a glass of water?”
“Yes. Sure.” Christy helped the girl stand up and walked her into the apartment. Cynthia brought her Prada backpack inside. After making Ali comfortable on the couch and giving her a glass of water, Christy asked why she had come.
“It’s that awful guy my mom married,” she said. Then she began to weep. Christy sat next to her and held her hand until her tears slowed down. “I can’t stand him. He just wants her money. It’s so obvious. Plus he hates me. He never even talks to me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”
“Yes, he does. He and my mom are always going away without me. They say it’s because I have to go to school, but I know it’s because he doesn’t want me. Mom says I have to be more understanding. Enrique’s her future. I’m gonna grow up and move away.” The girl started crying again, and Christy hugged her, rubbing her back.
When Ali’s staccato breaths finally slowed, Christy gently wiped the girl’s runny nose with a Kleenex. It had to be sore.
“It’s my sixteenth birthday today. I asked my mom to stay with me as a special treat. But she wanted to go upstate to look at some racehorse with Enrique. She says I’m selfish. That I don’t appreciate that she got me all this plastic surgery. I hate them both. I want to live with my dad. He wants me, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does. He talks about you all the time,” Christy said. “Your mom left town when you were in this condition?”
“I have a private nurse. Do you have any codeine?”
“Sorry, we don’t keep drugs like that in the house.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “No pain meds in the house? That frightens me,” she said.
“I have Advil. You want that?”
“If that’s all you have,” the girl said.
“Tell you what, why don’t you go lie down for a while? Cynthia’ll make you comfortable in the extra bedroom we have by the kitchen.”
“Are you Christy?” she asked.
“Oh, sorry, we haven’t been formally introduced, have we? Yes, I’m Christy.”
“Funny, you don’t seem like a bitch,” Ali said.
Christy just smiled. Suzanna must be a real charmer, she thought.
Christy checked her watch. It had been almost two hours. This was as nerve-racking as waiting outside Brownie’s office.
“Oh, there she is,” the doorman said, pointing to the middle-aged Barbie type who was emerging from the backseat of a black sedan. She was carrying large shopping bags from Bergdorf’s, Bottega Veneta, and Versace. Call me a cynic, Christy thought, but last time I looked, they weren’t selling racehorses at Bergdorf’s. Christy stood between the front door and the elevator, intent on intercepting Michael’s ex before she got upstairs. “Excuse me. Suzanna?”
Suzanna looked askance at Christy. “And you are…”
“I’m Christy, Michael’s wife.”
“I’m sorry, I have nothing to say to you,” Suzanna said, trying to walk past her.
“Oh, but I have something to say to you. Ali showed up at our doorstep today,” Christy explained. “I wanted you to know that she was safe, so you wouldn’t worry.”
“Thank you, God!” Suzanna said, waving her arms and packages. “Don’t you worry about me. I won’t worry about Ali. I’m sure you’ll take good care of her.” Suzanna pressed the elevator button.
“Suzanna, she says she wants to live with Michael. Don’t you want to talk to her?”
“That’s okay. Write to me when she graduates from college, or, better yet, when she marries her first husband.” The elevator door opened, and Suzanna stepped inside.
Christy snatched the shopping bags out of Suzanna’s hands. “Don’t walk away from me,” she said sharply. “We’re talking about your child.”
Suzanna stepped out of the elevator. “She’s Michael’s child, too. I’ve taken care of her for sixteen years. She’s more than I can
