Mommy, May I? (2 page)

“Remember, that’s your past, and right there lies your future,” Helena said gesturing to the baby who’d fallen back asleep.

“I know, but it’s still hard.”

“Yes it is. And, that’s why you’ve got me, the staff here, and the new friends that you’ve made.”

“You’re right.” Rachel smiled and tucked a piece of loose hair back into the braid Helena had plaited for her. “Speaking of new friends and the staff, how are things coming for Shea House? You know, Lindsay gave me thirty days notice to move, since I turned eighteen and I’ve been sober for six months,” Rachel said. Lindsay Covner ran the Sober Living House for teens.

“I actually spoke with her the other day about you and the move. I assured her that it’s not going to be a problem as far as Shea House being ready. The plumbers are supposed to finish up this week, and then, once we’ve passed the final inspection, you and your little guy can start moving in. We’ve been told by the city that it might be as early as next week, but I’m betting it’ll be more towards the end of the month. Anyway, no worries. It’ll be ready by the time you need to be out of here.”

“Good. I can’t wait. I love it here, you know. But I like the idea of a new place with more girls my age, and being able to focus on getting a job and such. I’m really excited, Helena. Girls like me don’t get much in the way of second chances.”

“You deserve it. Well look, I hate to go, but I’ve got a meeting to get to, and it appears that Mr. Jeremy here wants to rest. Maybe you should get some sleep, too.”

“I need to study for that diploma.”

“That’s true. But you also need to keep up your rest. Balance is key.”

“You’re our angel, Miss Helena. You are certainly our angel.”

“No, you two are mine,” Helena said, shutting the door to Rachel’s dorm room.

Smiling, Helena walked down the hall, confident that in a few weeks the adult residential center she’d funded and designed for addicted mothers would be ready. Many of the teens here would be fed into that center, to continue their recovery program and adapt to the responsibilities of parenthood. She finally felt like she’d done something right in her life, because it felt like the entire world knew nearly everything that she’d ever done wrong, thanks to her bad choices and a few unscrupulous people. This was her own second chance, and maybe her own child would be able to find it in her heart to forgive her if she did this right.

Despite the light sprinkle falling, Helena decided to walk to the community center where her AA meeting was held. It was less than a mile away, and she’d always liked the rain. It, too, reminded her of new beginnings and that things never stay the same.

On her way, she passed a newsstand. A familiar face on the front of
Weekly Entrepreneur
caught her eye. There he was—Patrick. Her stomach sank as it always did when she saw his face. At least his being on the front cover had nothing to do with her or anything that had happened between them. And, thank God, it was a business magazine, leading her to believe that they wouldn’t mention Frankie in the article. To ease her mind, she went ahead and bought it. Flipping through it quickly, she saw a small blurb about her daughter that read, “Frances Kiley appears to be doing well after moving from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara last year with her father. According to Mr. Kiley, she sees Helena Shea often, and the two are forming a relationship after the bitter scandal that rocked the family.”

“Even a damn business magazine has to get a blurb in there. Unbelievable.” Helena took a deep breath, wondering if it would ever really be over. Reporters, gossip, “friends” looking for tidbits of information had taught Helena a thing or two, and she’d become a woman who’d learned to be cautious of the world around her. But after glancing through the magazine, her mind began filling with kaleidoscopes of taunting memories. She didn’t even see the headlights approaching until the van slammed to a stop only inches away.

Stumbling backwards, Helena jumped back, nearly tripping over herself, the magazine flying out of her hands. Blood rushed through her ears—she wanted to scream, but fear and the stench of burning rubber clogged her throat. The headlights of the van switched off, but there was no other movement. What the hell was this guy doing? A few seconds passed, and she couldn’t get her legs to move. They were like cement and Jello all at the same time. And damn if her heart wasn’t going to come right out through her chest. There was an unreal quality about the situation. Wasn’t this guy going to get out and apologize? The only visible sign of life from inside the van was the glow of a cigarette. Somewhere in the distance a horn honked. Then a powerful fear began to crawl over Helena’s skin like a rash.

She fought to compose herself and bring her stomach back up from her gut, as the driver continued the bizarre standoff. Her heart raced faster. The driver revved the engine, blasted the horn, and flashed the high beams on her. She protected her eyes from the blinding light.

Not so long ago, she would’ve flipped the finger at him, but not now. Fear coursed through her, and running at this point seemed a good option. The only option.

Helena bounded across the street and through the front door of a Denny’s. Several patrons turned to look. She ducked into the restroom not wanting to be recognized. The strong odor of ammonia made her dizzy.

She splashed her face with cool water. Her cell phone rang. The number came up as unknown.
God, not now.
Still trembling, she answered.

“Ms. Shea?”

Goosebumps crawled across her flesh. The voice on the other end sounded muffled, mechanical, demonic. “Yes?”

“You really should be more careful when you cross the street.”

Helena slumped against the wall. “Who is this?”

“The important question is, who are you? I am the one you will never forget. I know how this began and how it will end. As they say, revenge is sweet, Ms. Shea.”

“Who the hell is this?”

“Your worst nightmare, come to life. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll wish you were never born.” His voice rose an octave. “You’re such a stupid bi . . .”

Helena flipped shut the phone. It took a lot to shake her, but this scum had achieved it. She steadied herself against the sink, feeling nauseous. She was startled by her reflection in the mirror. The green eyes that helped make her famous were wide-eyed with fright. She wiped sweat from her face, smearing her make-up.

A woman walked in, smelling of body odor and beer. Helena glanced up. The lady asked, “Aren’t you . . .” She snapped her fingers, then pointed at her, “ . . . that model?”

“No.”

“Sure you are. I’ve seen you on the cover of
The Scene
. You got a drinking problem and gave up your kid when you was what, seventeen? That ain’t right. You sure don’t look so pretty right now. Been on a bender? Why’d you dye your hair brown? You look better as a blonde, except them roots you had.”

Helena walked out. Instead of following old patterns and finding the nearest bar, she opted for the safety of her home. Shaken, she took a cab back to the Sober Living House where her Suburban was parked. Once behind the wheel, she broke all speed limits to get to her comforting sanctuary. Trying to urge more speed from the huge vehicle, she found it was no match for the Mercedes she’d recently traded in for the older, bigger car. She’d done so with the knowledge that she’d be transporting new moms and babies around before long.

Who had called her? Who’d tried to run her over? The paparazzi were crazy enough. Everyone knew that. Maybe there was nothing new about Britney or Angelina and Brad. Maybe they were back to dig up more dirt on her. Nothing like making her look crazy to sell a few magazines, which is exactly what would happen if she called the police. Word would get out, and before long every trashbloid around would have the story, and God knew that was the last thing she wanted.

Locking the doors of her Malibu beach cottage behind her, Helena breathed easier. Ella, her Siberian Husky, greeted her with several yaps.

“Well, Ms. Fitzgerald, did you miss me?” The overgrown puppy jumped up to lick her face, almost making her forget the evening’s frightening events. She was glad she’d bought the dog after announcing her sobriety to the world. Ella eased the loneliness at home that could come with a sober lifestyle. No more friendships with a bottle.

“Okay, give me a sec, and I’ll take you for a walk. Let me check the messages real quick.” Helena went into the kitchen and replayed the answering machine. There was a message from Tim. Maybe Frankie had called, but decided not to leave a message. Teenagers were like that.

“Call me when you get home from the meeting, lovey. I want to hear how it went. I’m so proud of you.” Tim sneezed before hanging up.

Tim was Helena’s friend and assistant. He had a cold, preventing him from attending the meeting. Should she tell him that she hadn’t made it either? She knew she had to; if she didn’t, someone else would. Besides, the backbone to the AA program was honesty.

While changing from her street clothes, the anonymous caller’s threat again echoed through her mind. Would a paparazzo go
that
far to get a story? Weren’t they tired of her yet? Whoever it was had really tried to scare the shit out of her. Was he caller and driver, one and the same? Why hadn’t she looked at the plates?

Comfortable and dry in a pair of sweats, she lay back against her pillow, softly scented with lavender, and dialed Tim’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“You sitting on top of that thing or what?” she asked.

“Funny. I haven’t been out of bed for three days now, and you hit me with a smart-ass remark. Hey, what time is it?”

“Around 8:45.”

“Aren’t you home a bit early? What’s the deal, Ms. Shea? Didn’t you go? Tell me you didn’t blow it off because you were over rocking babies again at the center. I can understand your need there, lovey, but you’ve also got to continue working your own program.”

Helena reached for her cigarettes on the nightstand and lit up before telling Tim about the evening. Then the story came out in one breath.

“Oh my God! Shouldn’t you call the police?”

“Come on, Tim, and have my face spread across all the rags for everyone to have another shot at me? I can see it now:
Drunk model swears she’s being stalked!
I can’t do it. I don’t need that kind of publicity now, or ever again. Shea House will be opening soon, and I’m sure there’ll be little quips here and there about my past, but I want to make this about the moms and their kids and showing them that there is a better life out there. I’ve already put my family and friends through enough, especially Frankie.”

“No, dear, Leeza put y’all through that. That little hussy didn’t need to show your dirty laundry to the world.”

“If she hadn’t, someone else would’ve.” Helena stubbed out the cigarette, reminding herself that she was trying to quit.

“Go to the cops.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“You’ve got the flu.”

“Are you afraid of my big bad germies?”

“Really, I’m okay. And, yes you know I’m a big germaphobe. I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly don’t need the flu. It’s probably just some weirdo with my picture posted in his room, or a wannabe paparazzo. You know those freaks. I’m going to put it out of my mind and not worry about it.”

“Good Lord, someone nearly runs you over and has your private cell phone number, and you’re not going to worry? Sounds a little worse than a lovesick puppy with a hard-on over your picture. You’re not being practical.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Always the tough cookie. Always gotta play it like everything is a-okay. What about the liquid factor? Not thinking of falling off the wagon, are you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a shot of tequila right now. But I won’t.”

“Jeez, maybe I really should be with you.”

“No! I’m tired and achy. I want to lay low.”

“Obstinate child, that’s what you are! Promise you’ll call if you reach that shaky point where the demons are telling you “just one” is all right. I wish you’d call the police, or at the very least, let me come by. I’ve taken enough Sudafed to clear out the nasal passages of everyone in this godforsaken city. I’ll come over for some decaf, and we can watch the late show. Come on,” he pleaded.

“I’ve got Ella. You stay in bed. I’ll call if there’s a problem.”

“Oh yeah, Ella, the guard dog who’d show the guy where the good stuff is as long as he’d give her a doggy bone. If you had to have a dog, I wish you’d gotten a Doberman.”

“Don’t go knocking my puppy. She comes from great show lines.”

“Helluva lot of wonderful that’ll do you with some stalker dude around.”

“I doubt anyone’s stalking me. This stuff happens all the time to people in my line of work.” Helena knew she was trying to convince herself as much as Tim.

“Then why did you call me? I mean, if you’re not bothered?”

“I’m bothered, but maybe the best thing to do is just to be careful and start carrying some Mace. Besides, I took that self-defense class. And I called to hear your voice, not because I’m scared.” She picked up a throw pillow next to her and fiddled with the tassels.