“I don’t remember what you’re talking about,” I said, watching Nicole jump for a huge bubble and miss.
“I do,” Paula said. “You barely paid attention, which was exactly what Ken wanted. You were looking at her bottom, and I gave you the letter. I told you to read it, but I knew you’d barely try, like always.”
Her voice was a soup of rage and hurt. I’d ripped the rug of her life right out from under her. She was already off balance from Nicole, and I’d been a shitty friend.
“What did it say?”
“I told you to read it and you pushed it at me and said, ‘Can you just tell me what it says?’ so I did, I read it to you and I told you to sign off on what Ken said was best and you did. You signed where I told you to and you went right off to get the stewardess to be disgusting in the bathroom.”
“What did it say?”
“I told you exactly what it said.”
“Tell me again.”
CHAPTER 60
CARA
Brad worked every day. He locked himself in the office/sewing room and worked on his script. I’d nannied for plenty of actors. I’d never seen one work that hard. The hours he put into preparation were far and away the most intense.
Susan came around a lot. She lived around the corner, and her mother babysat most days. The street was like an extended Sinclair campus.
I was sitting on the porch playing a matching card game with Nicole when a delivery truck pulled up.
“Hey,” the guy said, carrying a box under his arm.
“Hi.” I stood up.
“You must be the girl Brad’s been taking around.” He had dark skin and a crisp white smile. Six two. Rippling muscles. In Los Angeles he’d be an actor or a model.
“I think you’re talking about Nicole.”
“Her too.” He smiled at the girl and handed me the clipboard. “How are you, Nicole?”
“Good.” She looked up from the memory game long enough to say, “I like your head.”
He laughed and put his hand on his bald skull. “Thank you.”
I signed for the package, and we traded the box and the clipboard, saying our good-byes. I looked at the label as I walked into the house. It was for me. I didn’t expect that. The return address was West Side Nannies, but no name. Also strange.
“What did he bring us?” Brad’s dad asked when I got to the kitchen.
“It’s for me, apparently.”
He pulled out a knife, wielding it with three fingers. “Let’s see.”
He slashed the tape, popping the box open. I looked in.
Books.
Dealing with Dyslexia
The Dyslexic Adult
I found a white letter-size envelope and opened it.
Cara:
I’m sure Brad has told you about his problem.
Now that I’m no longer his assistant, it’s important that someone take over helping him memorize his lines. These books will help you learn how.
I hope you’re happy with him.
Good luck,
Paula Blount
His problem. I should have seen that coming a mile away.
The way he was so happy Nicole could read without trouble.
The way he never read anything in front of anyone.
The slow, rote memorization of the script.
Paula taking care of everything.
More papers inside. Marked scripts. Flashcards with phonetic spellings.
“Paula,” I said to myself, identifying the sender to his parents. “Brad’s dyslexic?”
They exchanged glances. “He didn’t tell you?” his mother asked, incredulous.
I didn’t have a moment to answer. Brad walked in wearing a T-shirt stretched over his perfect chest and jeans that made me want to get him naked. My brain spun off its axis for a second.
If I’d been thinking straight, I would have said something about the books right away. Told him it didn’t matter. Or hid them. But all I could do was stand there holding Phonetics for Dyslexics staring at him because he was beautiful and that was the book I had in my hand at the moment.
He saw me, the books all over the counter, his parents looking meek, and walked out.
CHAPTER 61
BRAD
Five minutes after Paula hung up, six minutes after she told me what was in the letter I signed, I was back at it. Trying to work, because that was all that kept me sane, but my concentration was shot. I’d just figured out how to tell Cara I was dyslexic only to find out that was a teeny tiny little fib in the face of the incident on the plane Paula had just reminded me about.
Shit, I was just walking to the kitchen for a Coke, trying to decide whether to hide it from Cara or just spit it out. Wondering if Paula could be bought off with money or compliments. I didn’t have the testicular fortitude for bribery or flattery, but I didn’t have any other options.
I never got that Coke.
When I got to the kitchen, my dad had this shrug on. My mother was kind of shaking her head, and the one who mattered? The one who hated lies? She was just staring at me, holding up a book. I didn’t know what to make of her expression.
Ken, my personal PR pith-maker? He had an expression for information that got out.
The toothpaste was out of the tube.
Was I supposed to apologize?
What did someone do right out of the gate?
Was I supposed to defend myself? Tell her I hadn’t gotten around to mentioning it?
I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, but I cared what she thought.
If you don’t care what people think, why didn’t you tell them you were dyslexic?
Flooded. I was flooded with my own contradictions and needs. Cara put the book down, and I knew whatever was going to happen was going to happen now. I was going to have to answer for my ambition. I was going to have to tell Cara everything my drive had done to her, to me, to us, to Nicole, and I wasn’t ready.
Nope.
Because Paula had just told me the one lie I’d forgotten I’d told. The big one. I hadn’t even had to hide it because I’d zipped it, locked it, and tossed it out the window, never to be recalled. Now what? Now that I loved Cara and I wanted to find a way to make her part of my life? Now that I’d figured out how to tell her the first big lie, a second presented itself just as she figured out what a liar I was.
This party boy needed a drink.
CHAPTER 62
CARA
Nicole licked her ice cream bowl and handed it to her grandmother.
“It’s clean now. You don’t need to put it in the dishwasher.”
She had chocolate streaks across her cheeks, on the bridge of her nose, and under her chin. She was as funny and cute as ever, but two hours after Brad left the room, I was uncharmed. I wiped her face as she tried to wiggle away.
“Ow! Hey! I don’t like that!”
“No five-year-old likes getting their face wiped.” I put the paper towel down, and Nicole gave me the stubborn-child-look-of-death.
“I. Do. Not. Like. It.”
“Well,” Grandma said, “why don’t you show Miss Cara how to do it.” She handed the paper towel back to Nicole.
“Come here,” she demanded, waving me to her level.
I resigned, leaning down. Nicole gently wiped my face, patting so lightly she wouldn’t have gotten a speck of ice cream off me if I’d decided to lick the bowl.