Angel Falls

Chapter Sixteen


Julian woke up with a deadly hangover. It was inevitable, of course. There was nothing to do in this Norman Rockwell town except sit in your room, watch one of three channels, and drink. Last night he’d spent at least two hours trying to get Val on the phone. At every busy signal, he’d taken a swig of Scotch.
Groggily, he turned onto his side and reached for the phone, punching in Val’s office number. Susan answered on the second ring: “Lightner and Associates.”
At last. Julian angled to a sit. “Is Val in?”
“Hi, Julian. Just a second.”
Val came on the line. “Juli, how goes it in the great white north?”
“Where the hell have you been? I tried calling you all last night.”
“Whoa, big guy. If I wanted to hear talk like that, I’d have gotten married.” He laughed at his own joke. “We screened On Mystic Lake last night—the new Annette Bening, Richard Gere tearjerker. Afterward we all … well, you know how those things go. I didn’t make it home until about four. So, what’s up?”
“I saw Kayla.”
“I sorta figured that. How is she?”
He tried to put into words how he’d felt yesterday, but as always, this kind of honesty was difficult. “It was weird, Val. There she was, unconscious. I didn’t know what to do. They said she’d responded to memories, and so I started talking about us.” He laughed. “You know me, I can’t remember yesterday, and there I was remembering the first time I kissed her. I felt … something.”
“Juli, I feel honorbound to point out the disturbingly necrophilic overtones here.”
“Very funny.”
“So, what’s the deal? You want to stay longer, is that it?”
Julian was vaguely disappointed. He wished they could talk, just this once, about something that mattered. “She really loved me, Val. I guess that’s what I remembered most. How it felt to be loved.”
“Every woman you meet adores you.”
“That’s not the same thing, is it?” he asked softly.
Val was quiet, and Julian wondered if his agent had really listened this time. “No, I guess it’s not. So, what are you going to do with all this rampant emotion?”
That wasn’t something Julian had thought about. He’d been so busy feeling, he hadn’t bothered to think much. “Well, nothing, I guess. She’s married.”
“She’s what?”
Julian jerked the phone away from his ear. Val’s tone of voice was so high that dogs were probably barking all over town. “You heard me. She’s married … to the doctor who called me.”
Through the lines came the unmistakable sound of a cigarette firing up, then a whoosh of smoke exhaled into the receiver. “Does he love her?”
“Yes. Her hospital room is a shrine to their life together, and the nurse told me yesterday that he sits by her side for hours—every day since the accident. Sometimes he even sleeps with her.”
“So, he’s the real deal, cape and all. A goddamn superhero who loves his wife enough to call you—her first husband—to help wake her up. Jesus, the press’d have a field day.” Val fell quiet for a minute, an uncharacteristic display of thoughtfulness. “You’d better be very careful here, Jules.”
Julian knew Val was right. Kayla was a part of his past. She had a new life now, one that didn’t include him, but when he’d touched her, he’d remembered their love, and the remembering had made him feel … lonely.
“Julian? You’re coming back now, right? I mean, tomorrow you’re scheduled for Leno—”
Julian hung up. Hollywood and his career felt far away suddenly, a sepia-toned photograph next to the Technicolor memories of his first love.
He closed his eyes. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he found himself trolling through the pain of his youth …
His mother, Margaret Jameson Atwood Coddington, had said from the beginning that he was cursed, and it had appeared to be true. Eight months after Julian’s birth, his father had died. Margaret had wasted no time reminding her son that she had never wanted a child. She’d taught him to call her ma’am and to be seen but not heard. As soon as he was old enough, she’d shipped him away to boarding school in Switzerland, where he stayed while she worked her way through husbands and plastic surgeons and dinner parties. She sent him checks, but never letters.
At sixteen, he’d packed up what he needed in a backpack and headed to America, following a string of pointless jobs to Lubbock, Texas.
He had just turned nineteen when he glimpsed his future. Of course, it came in the form of a woman. He could still remember her stunning beauty. She picked him out as if he were a handbag she couldn’t pass up. I’ll take him, she said. He’d found out later that she was a famous actress in town to shoot a movie. Before he knew it, he was in the movie and then in Hollywood. He became an overnight sensation. He changed his name and changed his life. Val took him on as a client and constructed an elaborate fictional background that included two dead parents. It was Val who’d named him Julian True.
Julian had waited years for someone to find out the truth about him, but no one had.
Kayla was the only one who’d insisted on knowing him, the man behind the wrapping paper of fame. He’d told her everything except his real name.
“Jesus, now I’m thinking about my mother. Enough.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, making his unsteady way down the hallway to the bathroom.
He showered in the world’s smallest white fiberglass shower stall (it could have doubled as a coffin), then dressed in faded Levi’s and a black T-shirt. He grabbed the coat he’d bought yesterday—at that lightning rod of fashion, Zeke’s Feed and Seed. Shrugging into it, he flipped up the collar and left his room, hurrying downstairs. He pounded on his driver’s door. “Come on, let’s go!”
Lizbet popped out of the kitchen and met him in the foyer. She looked like she’d been dipped in flour and was ready for the fryer. “Good-bye, Mr. True. Will we see you for lunch?”
“I don’t know. Bye, Lizbet.” He opened the front door—and saw a dozen teenage girls standing on the sidewalk beyond the white picket fence. The second he appeared, they screamed his name.
It seemed that gossip spread pretty damned fast in Pleasantville.
He grinned lazily. “Well, hello, ladies. It’s good to see y’all.”
They crammed together, a centipede in cheerleader outfits and bare legs. Giggling.
He bounded down the steps. “What have we here, the Last Bend welcomin’ committee? Such pretty gals, too. I’m honored.”
“Will you sign my autograph book, Mr. True?” asked one of the girls. Her saucer-round cheeks were bright red.
“It’d be my great honor.” He pulled a pen out of his pocket and started signing autographs. The girls talked all at once, giggling, pushing one another toward him.
“Tonight’s the winter prom, Mr. True … I don’t suppose you’d like to stop by?” one of the girls asked, dissolving into a fit of laughter before she finished the sentence.
He planted a hand against his heart. God, he loved this. “Why, I’ll bet a girl as pretty as you already has a date.”
“Yeah, Serena,” someone yelled, “you’ve already got a date. How about going with me, Mr. True?”
He was about to answer the silly question when he saw her, off in the back of the group, smiling but not giggling, not asking for his autograph.
His jaded heart skipped a beat. Maybe two.
She was beautiful—Hollywood beautiful—this tall, thin, black-haired girl with eyes as soft as melted bittersweet chocolate. Midnight-black hair fell like a waterfall of ink down her back. It had to be her …
He spelled his name wrong and handed the piece of paper back to a red-haired girl who was grinning up at him, showing a mouthful of multicolored braces.
He pushed easily through the crowd and sidled up to the dark-haired girl. His heart was beating hard. “And who are you, darlin’?”
“I’m Jacey.”
Juliana Celeste. J.C.
His daughter. He was too stunned to speak. For the first time, she was real; not a faded image of a baby in a crib, but a young girl who’d grown up without him.
He didn’t mean to close his eyes, but somehow they slid shut. In the darkness, he saw an image from long ago, him and Kayla in bed together, a squawking bundle of baby tucked gently between them.
Isn’t she perfect? Kayla had said …
He opened his eyes and gazed down at his daughter.
“Mr. True?” She blushed prettily. “W-What are you doing in Last Bend?”
“I’m … uh … here … for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, visitin’ sick folks at the hospital.”
“My mom is sick. She’s in a coma. Maybe … maybe you could visit her.”
“I’d be happy to. Why, I’ll do it right now.”
“I’m here, Mr. True!” The driver’s buoyant voice lifted above the giggling.
The girls instantly drew back, showing a respect he hadn’t seen in Hollywood in a long time. All except Jacey. She stood there, staring up at him through eyes that were suddenly sad.
He looked down at her, trying to memorize her face for a moment longer, then he went to the limo. He refused to look back, but when he was in the car, he finally turned, gazing at her through the smoked glass.
A new and alien emotion unfolded in Julian’s chest, made it difficult to breathe.
Shame.


Night fell like sudden blindness, obliterating the last pink rays of the setting sun. Liam turned away from the window and stared at his daughter.
Jacey stood in front of a full-length mirror, staring at her reflection. Her hair had been swept back from her face and coiled into a thick black mass, accented with four glittering pink crystal butterflies. The sleek, lavender gown fit her perfectly.
She looked so grown-up. He couldn’t help feeling a brush of sadness, as if he’d already lost his little girl.
Tears glazed her dark eyes, and he knew she was thinking of her mother.
“She would be so proud of you,” he said. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You know what I remember? Your first Halloween in Last Bend. You were five years old, and you dressed as the tooth fairy. Mike went all the way to Bellingham for the perfect pink satin. She sewed a thousand pink sequins on your gown.” He moved toward her; for a second, he saw her as she’d once been, a little princess in a glittering dime-store tiara. “Mike and I weren’t married then, but that was the night …” He swallowed hard. “You asked if you could call me Daddy.”
“I remember.”
“If your mom were here right now …”
She took his hand, squeezed it. “I know.”
He forced a smile. “Well, m’lady, it’s time.”
Holding hands, they went downstairs. A few minutes later, Rosa ushered Mark into the living room. He was wearing a navy blue tuxedo with a ruffled white shirt and a lavender bow tie. His jet-black hair was slicked back from his face.
“Oh, Jacey,” Mark said, moving toward her, “you look great.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Mark.”
Upstairs, Bret poked his head over the railing and started singing at the top of his lungs, “Here comes the bride, all fat and wide—”
“Bret!” Liam yelled, biting back a laugh. “Stop it.”
Bret dissolved into laughter and scampered down the stairs, skidding into place beside his sister. She elbowed him in the shoulder. “Thanks a lot, rugrat.”
Bret looked up at her. Rosa had scrubbed his little face to a mop-and-glow shine. “Really, you look pretty.”
“Thanks, kiddo.”
Mark handed Jacey a clear plastic box. Inside it lay a white orchid wrist corsage with tiny lavender ribbons. “This is for you. Norma at the nursery said it was the very best kind.” He stumbled around, trying to open it for a minute, then gave up and shoved the box at her.
Jacey removed the flower and slipped the elastic band on her wrist. “Thanks. Grandma—would you get Mark’s boutonniere out of the fridge?”
Rosa bobbed her head and scurried into the kitchen. She came back a moment later with a small white carnation, its tips dyed lavender. “Here you go.”
After that an awkward silence fell. Liam wanted to break it, but his throat felt swollen and tight. He kept turning to his wife to say Look at her, honey, but there was no one beside him. He hoped Jacey didn’t hear the serration in his voice when he croaked, “Okay, kiddos, photo op.”
Mark groaned.
Jacey shoved his shoulder. “Very funny.” She took Mark’s hand and led him to the piano. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“Think sex!” Bret said, darting behind the sofa. Giggles rose up from his hiding place.
Liam snapped enough pictures for a Town & Country layout. He knew he was prolonging the moment—as if Mikaela would magically walk through that door if only he could extend this scene a little longer.
“Enough, Dad,” Jacey said, laughing. “The band is probably on their second set.” She disentangled herself from Mark’s arm and went to Liam.
“I know,” she said softly, “she’ll want to see all the pictures. Every angle, every pose. That’s why I’m bringing my camera in my purse. I’ll take pictures of everything.”
He pulled her into his arms and held her close. Then he drew back and smiled down at her. “Now go and have a good time.”
Jacey kissed Rosa and Bret good-bye, then hurried out the door.
Liam stood at the kitchen window, watching her drive away. There she goes, Mike. In ordinary times, he would have turned to his wife now and taken her in his arms. She would have been crying. Liam would have gone to the piano, sat down and played something sad and sweet, something that gave her the room she needed to grieve for the little girl who was crossing the bridge to womanhood.
Only right now he was the one who felt like crying, who had glimpsed the emptier nest of the future and seen how much quieter this house would be when Jacey left.
And there was no one there to hold him.
With a sigh, he went into the living room and turned on the television.
Julian knew it was the wrong thing to do. Dangerous, even, but he couldn’t help himself. In truth he didn’t even try. Self-control had never been his strong suit. He couldn’t have said exactly why he wanted to go to the prom, but he’d never been one to get caught up in reasons. He wanted to go. That’s all that mattered. He had spent a long, depressingly quiet day at the hospital, sitting by Kayla’s bedside, and he needed some action.
In his overdecorated bedroom, he dressed carefully, as if he were headed to the Oscars, instead of some backwoods high-school dance. A black silk T-shirt and black pleated Armani pants. Instead of bothering his driver, he walked the three blocks to Angel Falls High School. When he got there, his cheeks were numb from the cold, his eyes were watering, and he desperately needed a smoke.
He walked through the empty hallways, stopping now and then to look at the trophies displayed in glass cases between rows of gray metal lockers.
At the auditorium, he paused, took a deep breath, and opened the double doors. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness, but gradually he saw that the gym had been turned into a cheesy tropical paradise. False palm trees clustered around a patch of gold shag carpeting; beside it, a dozen tuxedoed boys and ball-gowned girls formed a line for pictures. Against the far wall, a band played some hard-edged song that was almost familiar.
He knew the moment he’d been recognized. A hush fell across the room. Dancing stopped. The kids eased away from him, forming a whispering, pointing funnel toward the dance floor.
He looked around, smiling his big, overpracticed smile until he saw her. She was on the dance floor with her date. Even from this distance, Julian could see that they were staring at him.
He moved through the crowd in the way he’d learned long ago: head up, smile planted, making eye contact with no one.
The song ended and another began. The love theme from Titanic, the movie. That damned heart was still going on.
He stopped beside Juliana—J.C., he reminded himself—and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
The crowd gasped. Her date—a big, good-looking kid in a ridiculously cheap tux—looked confused.
Jacey turned to the boy. “Do you mind?”
“Uh … no.”
Julian swept her into his arms and began dancing. The crowd closed in on them, whispering and talking so loudly, it was hard to hear the music.
“Why me?” she whispered.
He smiled. “Why not? So, J.C. of the midnight hair, tell me about yourself. Do you get good grades? Have lots of friends? Practice safe sex?”
She laughed, a throaty, barroom sound that was exactly like Kayla’s. “You sound like my dad—not that he’d ask about my sex life.”
Something about the way she said it—dad—while she was smiling up at him … well, it pinched his heart.
It seemed odd, but he’d never thought about that word until today. Dad. Such a solid, dependable, grown-up word. Even now, with his daughter in his arms, Julian couldn’t really imagine being someone’s dad.
“Mr. True? Did you hear me?”
He laughed easily. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. So, what do kids in this town do for fun?”
She shrugged. “The usual stuff. Skiing, ice-skating, bowling, horseback riding. In the summer we hang out at Angel Lake. There’s a cool rope swing off a big madrona tree at Currigan Point.”
It sure as hell wasn’t “the usual” in Los Angeles, not for a celebrity’s kid, anyway. If J.C. had grown up with Julian, she’d have spent her life behind iron gates and sheltered by bodyguards. She wouldn’t have known what it was like to ride her bike to town for a drugstore soda.
For the first time, he understood what Kayla had asked of him all those years ago. She’d used words like rehab and safety, but that wasn’t right. What she’d wanted was a normal life for their daughter.
Just that. A normal life.
It was something Julian had never wanted. But now, as he held this daughter who was and wasn’t his, he wondered about the price he’d paid for his fame.
It struck him hard, left him breathless, the sudden realization of how deeply he’d failed his daughter. As if he’d just walked into a room as familiar as his own bedroom and suddenly found it empty.
He should have known it all along, of course, but he hadn’t thought about it until now.
He wasn’t J.C.’s father. She had a man at home who’d loved her, who knew if she’d worn braces or snored in her sleep, who’d been there to pick her up when she fell down.
Julian had planted the seed of her, but he hadn’t chosen to nurture it; he could never have helped her grow into the vibrant, beautiful flower he now held in his arms. How could he help another person grow when he needed so much sunlight for himself?
Even though he was smart enough to know the truth—that he wasn’t this girl’s father and never would be—he couldn’t help wishing, dreaming, that things could be different.
The song came to an end. Sadly he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Then he did what he did best: He walked away.
Liam was in the living room, nursing a watered-down Scotch, when he heard the car drive up.
Immediately he tensed. He’d been sitting here for hours, by the light of a single lamp, thinking about the decision he and Julian had made. The more he considered it, the more he saw how reckless and dangerous it was to withhold the truth from Jacey. This was a small town; gossip moved like bees from one backyard flower to the next, over picket fences and through telephone lines. The Make-a-Wish ruse would work for a while, but Liam didn’t really trust Julian to understand the stakes. Anyone who said, “You know how it is—we were in love and then we weren’t,” had a pretty hazy understanding of love and heartache.
The bottom line was this: Liam hated deceiving Jacey. He couldn’t quite believe that deceit was ever really in a person’s best interest. Now, every time he looked at her, he felt the heavy, ugly curtain of this lie between them.
The front door swung open suddenly, and she breezed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy pink and her espresso-dark eyes were shining.
He couldn’t tell her now, not on this night that should hold only magical memories.
“Hi, Dad,” she said dreamily, twirling around, her arms poised like a ballerina’s.
He grabbed the camera beside him and snapped a few shots—for Mike. “How was it?”
She swept over to the couch and dipped down like a hummingbird, planting a feather-light kiss on his cheek. “Totally awesome. Perfect. I took tons of pictures for Mom.” She stifled a yawn.
He gazed up at her, loving her so much, it was an ache in his heart. “She’ll want to see each one.”
Smiling, she spun around and floated toward the stairs. He followed along behind her, turning off lights as he went.
At her bedroom door, she stopped and grinned up at him. “Guess what happened.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “What?”
“Julian True showed up at the prom. He asked me to dance. Me. He called me Jacey of the midnight hair. I’ll remember this night forever.”
Liam’s hand froze against her cheek. “But—”
“Good night, Dad.”
Before he could answer, she kissed his cheek and went into her room, closing the door.
He stood there a long, long time. Then, slowly, he knocked on her door. When she answered, he tried to find a smile. “I … uh … just got an emergency call—don’t worry, it’s not about Mom—but I have to run to the hospital. I’ll be right back.”
She smiled dreamily; he could tell that she was barely listening. “Okay. Drive safely.”
He nodded and closed the door. Anger seeped through him, rising steadily. It fit uncomfortably on him, this dark and stinging emotion, like a cheap wool sweater that was a size too small. He raced down to the garage and jumped into his car.
He found Julian on the front steps of the bed-and-breakfast, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—the fool—and his whole body was shaking.
Liam skidded to a stop and jumped out of the car. “What in the hell were you thinking?”
Julian looked up. The cold was cruel to his face, leeched the color from his cheeks. “I had to see her.”
Liam lost his hold on anger. Without it, he felt drained. There was a wealth of sadness in Julian’s blue eyes, a look of pure defeat. Of course he’d had to see her.
“She’s beautiful, Liam. The spitting image of Kayla, and when I looked at her … I couldn’t see anything of me.”
Liam didn’t know what to say. He could tell that Julian had never really considered his daughter before, what it meant to have fathered a child. A young girl.
Julian took a last drag on his cigarette, then stabbed it out in a cushion of new snow. It hissed and sent up a thread of smoke. “I didn’t tell her. I can’t imagine I ever could.”
Liam took a step forward. “Why not?”
“How could I make a man like you understand?” He sighed; a cloud of breath puddled in front of his face. “I break everything I touch.” He tried to smile. “I think I’ve only just realized that. I don’t want to hurt J.C.”
Liam felt as if he’d finally glimpsed something real in Julian, and he couldn’t help pitying the younger man.
Julian got slowly to his feet. “Don’t tell her, Liam. Please, don’t …”
Later Liam would wonder what had gotten to him, the sad regret in Julian’s eyes or his own fear of wounding Jacey’s tender heart. Whatever it was, he found himself saying, “Okay, Julian.”