“Oh, hello,” came a woman’s voice, clearly caught off guard. Patrick tried to place it but he couldn’t. “I was looking for Patrick O’Hara.”
Patrick froze at the mention of his actual name.
Maisie paused, unsure what to say next. “There’s no one here by that name.”
Patrick was impressed; Maisie was a quick learner. The woman, however, was now thoroughly confused. “This is not Patrick O’Hara’s house? Because it’s the address we have in the Rolodex. I checked three times before knocking. It’s is very warm, by the way. Your door. I think I burned my knuckles.”
Maisie remained unfazed. “This is . . .” She poked her head behind the door. “Uncle Patrick, whose house did you say this was?”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “All right, well clearly we don’t need today’s lesson on the stage whisper, but we might sit through the basics of the actual whisper.” He stepped out from behind the door. “I’m Patrick O’Hara.”
“Oh my god! Yes, you are.” The woman, young, maybe thirty, did a little jig. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” Did she need the restroom? “I loved your show.”
“Great. All nine seasons are streaming on Snapchat.” He started to close the door. There were a few of these over the years, crazies. Fewer since he left LA. He had no idea what gave them the gall to walk up to a stranger’s house to ask for a picture or an autograph, but he had no patience for it.
“Wait, wait, wait.”
“No need. Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”
The woman wrapped her fingers around the door to prevent Patrick from closing it. He stared at them, annoyed. And also mildly impressed with her manicure.
“No, you misunderstand. I’m Cassie. OW. This door really is very hot. Cassie Everest.”
Patrick relented, opening the door wide enough for her to thrust her hand forward for him to shake. She was blond like a good Southern California girl, but curvier than you usually see in LA. Her clothes were serious, menswear almost, and she wore sunglasses pushed up on the top of her head like his sister, Clara.
“Cassie Everest? Like the mountain?”
“Could be worse, I suppose. I could be Cassie Kilimanjaro.” She laughed at her own joke, but in a way that made it clear she’d told the same joke a thousand times.
“What are you doing here, Cassie Kilimanjaro?” He was suddenly very aware that this nickname for a potential crazy person contained the words kill a man. He blocked the door from opening any wider with his foot.
She wiped the sweat from her brow. “I’m sorry, could I come in? It’s like a thousand degrees and I just drove two hours to get here.”
Patrick stared at her. There was no way he was letting this woman into his house. Certainly not with the kids. Was this some sort of mama bear instinct he’d developed? That was, without question, new.
“Who are you?”
She looked back at him, hurt. “I’m Cassie Everest. I work for Neal.”
Patrick recoiled. “Neal.” It took him a moment to place the name. “My agent, Neal?”
“The very one.”
Patrick was offended that his agent would send someone unannounced to his house, of all places, but at least this woman wasn’t a deranged fan (well, wasn’t just a deranged fan). He gave her one last look. She seemed harmless enough and his front door was indeed directly in the blazing sun, so he ushered her inside. “Kids!”
Grant appeared from his bedroom and lined up beside Maisie.
“This is Mary Matterhorn.”
“Cassie Everest.”
“Same thing. She and GUP need to have a few words. Why don’t you both nap in your room for a bit and then we’ll go for a swim.”
“We’re too old for naps!” Grant bellowed.
“No you’re not, I take at least four a day.” Patrick stifled a yawn; one sounded pretty good right about now.
“But I’m not tired!”
“Fix yourselves a drink, then. Not too much. Just a light triple.” Patrick turned to Cassie. “I’m kidding,” he said, but his face remained deadly serious.
“Jellyfish eat out of their butts.” Grant flashed one of his trademark grins at Cassie.
“You’re missing a tooth,” Cassie observed, unfazed. “I read somewhere that squirrels can’t burp.”
“Is that true, GUP?” Grant looked up at his uncle, his hands clasped, desperately wanting it to be so.
“I don’t know, I’m not much of a reader. Go play.”
The kids scampered off, and once they were safely out of sight, Patrick motioned for Cassie to follow him through the sunken living room to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a cold bottle of Smartwater and handed it to her. “I thought I fired Neal.”
Cassie thought for a second. “Ummm, nope.”
“I fired someone.” Patrick grabbed a second water for himself, twisted the cap, and took a long sip.
“Your publicist. Also your manager, I believe.”
“Right.”
Rosa was scooping cookie dough in heaping mounds onto a baking sheet. Patrick reached for one and she slapped his hand. “I make these for the children.”
“All right, all right.” Patrick retreated, surprised.
“I love your hair,” Cassie offered. Patrick smoothed his hair before realizing she was talking to Rosa, who had recently dyed her mane an intense shade of violet to hide the encroaching gray. “It’s very pretty.”
“Gracias.”
Patrick turned back to Cassie with a realization. “You’re the one who asked me to have new headshots taken! You know I actually had them done? But then I remembered I fired Neal so I never sent them your way.”
“Nope. Didn’t fire him. Not to our knowledge, anyhow.”
“Hmm. Well, I meant to.”
Cassie spoke to fill the awkward silence that was certain to follow. “I thought I knew everything about you, but I didn’t know you had kids.”
“I’m full of surprises.” Patrick gathered a few of the breakfast dishes and put them in the sink.
“What does ‘GUP’ mean? If you don’t mind me asking.” Cassie raised the bottle of water, offering a weak “Cheers” before taking a sip.
“It stands for Gay
