Finding Forever (24 page)

“Well, Georgie.” Taylor crossed her pajama-covered legs after settling onto the padded porch chair next to the Helper. “Before you start telling me how much of a mess I am in again, can you promise to get me some real clothes?”

“Yes,” George said. “We can arrange that.”

“My stylist always says, ‘Look good, feel good, do good.' A girl needs to look good, even in rehab. These baggy things don't exactly show off my assets.”

George reached inside a cardboard box that had been sitting beside his feet. “We don't have a stylist on staff, but we do have a PW.”

“A what?”

“Program Wardrobe. Now that we have your measurements . . .” The Helper pulled out a stack of clothes and handed it to Taylor. She inspected each item, of which there were three sets: Black yoga pants, black workout tights, black leggings, a forest-green Lycra top, and a matching green jog bra. A green square label with “∞2∞” was stitched on a tag in each piece of clothing.

“How did you get my measurements?” Taylor asked.

“Our staff handled that when you were admitted.”

She blocked her chest with her arms. “While I was unconscious?”

“They took care of you in a professional manner, I assure—”

“That is beyond wrong and creepy!” Taylor said as she read the tag on a bra. “Not that it's any of your business, but I'm a C. This size small will flatten me like a pancake!”

“Doctor Kensington would like you to put on your wardrobe.”

She placed her hands on her hips and glared.

“It's mandatory,” he said firmly.

“Fine. Turn around.”

George turned his back to Taylor, looking sheepishly at his clipboard as she quickly slid out of her pajamas and into the yoga pants, bra, and top.

“There are running shoes in the box,” George said, blindly pointing behind himself with his thumb.

She stretched out the band of the tight-fitting bra. “Okay, I'm decent.”

He turned around, unclipped a document at least twenty pages thick from his clipboard, and handed it to her. “This is the contract Peter mentioned.”

“First of all,” Taylor said, “Dr. Kensington told me you could explain the so-called ‘depth of my problems.' Before I sign anything, can we start there?”

“Okay.” George opened a manila folder. “You are facing serious charges.”

He slipped out an official-looking document and gave it to her. A large black metal paper clip held it together.

 

Taylor read the court document several times over as George sat beside her in silence. She struggled to catch her breath.

“I don't understand,” was all she could muster.

“I know it's a lot to take in.” George carefully placed his hand on the back of her shoulder and patted her. “But this is what the doctor was referring to. These are, obviously, very serious charges, and we are here to make this go away.”

“But they aren't even true.” Taylor dropped the papers onto the porch. “It's not true. Just not true.”

George took the pile of papers and shuffled them into order. Taylor kept shaking her head in disbelief.

“I understand the shock you are probably in,” he said. “But you are a very lucky young lady. You must have some friends in very high places. If you are convicted of these crimes, depending on how much the judge thinks celebrities are spoiled brats, you could face more than several years in prison. But you are lucky. Because the criminal complaint has not been signed yet.”

“Let me see,” Taylor said, pulling the paper from his hands, scanning to the end. “Why not?”

“Because someone wanted to give you a chance at redemption. And Kensington is the only place that can save you.” He placed the contract in her lap. It looked legit. “Just sign here. Think about it. Do you really have any other choice?”