Nothing Left To Want (35 page)

John was staring at me like I was a monster, so I held out my arms to him and said contritely. “Honey, come here, lay down and take a nap with me. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I don’t feel good and, honestly, you have to admit, you have been following Aunt George around like some kind of groupie. She’s okay, but she’s not what you think. My family is a different breed of cats and it’s not a good idea to try and get too close. To them you’ll always be Carey’s latest inappropriate mistake and, you know what, I don’t give a shit. I love you and we’re happy, and that’s all that matters.”

He didn’t come over to me. Instead he moved towards the door. Reaching it, he turned and stared at me. “Well, now that’s all out in the open. I knew it, you do think I’m some kind of fucking peasant, and it’s interesting to me that not once during all these months of catering to your spoiled ass and doing everything you wanted, did you call me a groupie. But now that I’m here, being a part of something real and being taken seriously as a person by your aunt, you call me names.”

Seeing my tears start, he raised his hand and sighed. “Carey, calm down, you don’t need to cry. I know you don’t feel well. You probably shouldn’t have come here. Just, I don’t know, just rest, and calm down. I’ll try and forget what you said. I’m gonna go meet Georgia and Dennis now. They’re going to show me the new kitchen plans Georgia’s drawing up. I’ll check in on you later.”

The trip as far as John and I went didn’t improve, but the next day I met someone who took my mind off of him. Her name was Mera and she was the tiniest, most beautiful, two year old little girl in the whole world.

Since I wasn’t being included in Aunt Georgia and John’s daily who-the-hell-knows-what, I had started hanging out at the orphan houses and that’s where I met her. It was a mutual love at first sight kind of deal, and by Saturday I had hired a driver to take me into the local village to buy her tiny dresses and little wooden toys. I really didn’t feel good, but Mera wasn’t one of those rumbunctious little kids. She seemed more than happy to sit beside me on the porch, leaning her little head against my arm while she held up her new toys to show me, and I started to think we might belong together.

On Sunday I approached Aunt Georgia about adoption procedures. Stupidly I thought she would be thrilled for me and for Mera.

She wasn’t. “Oh no, no, Carey, I don’t think that would work at all. Pak Lyn isn’t a store for children, and besides, even if I could help you cut through this country's red tape, I wouldn’t.”

“
Why not, what’s wrong with me, what is it that Mera has now that you think I can’t give her more of?”

She shook her head at me in the same dismissive 'you’re too pathetic and small to understand', the way that she did with poor Dennis fifty times a day. “Children aren’t about money, Carolyn. As a mother myself, I think I’m a little better placed to understand what they need, besides … ”

“
Besides what?” I shrieked, starting to lose control.

“
Besides, I am in the process right now of adopting one of the children, a little boy, so you can see I can’t let you take out a child too. It might look as though I started Pak Lyn as a shop for my family members to pick out children. The press, well it just wouldn’t look good. I’m afraid my answer’s no.”

I stared at her, thinking of Mera’s little face and the way she felt in my arms. My heart broke while I stood there.

Aunt Georgia patted my arm awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Carey, it’s just not the right time. Besides, you aren’t even married. One day you may want to have your own children. Of course, with the diabetes, well never mind, who knows what the future holds, right? Speaking of which, I have some fabulous news that will cheer you up.” I looked at her blankly, still crying. She smiled hesitantly. “You’ll feel better when you hear this. I have decided to let John’s band play at a fundraising benefit I’m arranging for Pak Lyn in New York.”

I wiped my runny nose on my sweaty hand and laughed sourly through my tears. “You’re going to hire a band called Steel Whore to play in front of tout New York to raise money for orphans?”

She looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but determined to get it out, and hopefully escape from my swollen face and annoying questions as soon as possible. Yes, I am hiring the band. It’s a wonderful opportunity for them, and since John has become so involved in my mission here, it seems like the least I could do for him. As for the name,” she smiled thinly, “John has sweetly suggested changing it to something more appropriate, and his choice is a very touching one.”

“
Really Aunty G, what’s this touching new name?”

“
There you go again, Carolyn, descending to the lowest common denominator, sarcasm. The band is now called Georgia’s Tears. Isn’t that lovely?”

I flew back to California the next day, still crying for Mera. John drove me to the airport and kissed and hugged me, telling me he’d see me in New York in a couple weeks when I would fly out for the fundraiser.

Alone and sick, sad, and afraid in a vague way I didn’t understand, I arrived at L.A.X. late at night with no one to greet me but the hired limo driver. At home I walked slowly through the dark house, wondering if I should wake Mieko and retrieve Petal from her apartment.

Before I could decide my cell rang from deep inside my bag. Thinking it was John calling to say he missed me and he loved me and he was coming home after all, I dumped the contents of my purse onto the floor and scrambled after my phone in the dark. I was still on the floor when I answered the phone and heard not John but Dennis’s high pitched voice coming at me from three thousand miles away. “Carey, is that you? Listen I’m sorry to call so late, but I thought you’d want to know he’s fucking her.”

“
What, Dennis? What are you talking about? Who’s fucking who, and who is 'her'?”

“
John, Carey, that’s who I’m talking about. He’s fucking Georgia. It’s why she brought him back here. There never was a benefit.”

Chapter 37

John wasn’t Michael, the only man I ever loved, and Aunt Georgia wasn’t either one of my parents, so who knows why I decided to fight back for the first time in my life. A court-ordered shrink I went to last month after all the latest shit storm hit my life said I was probably suffering from combat fatigue. It’s amazing what fifteen years of college can teach someone. He should have saved my parents' money; I could have given that diagnosis myself. People can call it combat fatigue or whatever they want. Me, I would go old school and say I just started losing it. When my fifty-nine year old aunt poached my thirty year old unemployed last ditch attempt at love, I blew.

I had finally had enough of being poor little sick, sad, Carey, the girl who the people who were supposed to love instead did bad things to. For once I wanted to make bad things happen back, instead of going with my usual behavior which was crying in bed with Petal and wondering what was so wrong with me.

There’s an old saying, though; 'When you seek revenge, bring two shovels, one for their grave and one for yours'. That’s a creepily appropriate statement considering that soon now somebody somewhere is going to have to break some cold winter ground and put what’s left of me in it. I don’t know, other people seem to stand up for themselves and fight back all the time and it works out better for them, but I’m a Kelleher and the rules are different for us.

Or maybe just for me because, call me paranoid, but it feels like the people around me have pretty much made up the rules for me as they went along, and if someone is doing that to you, then you’re always going to end up being wrong.

After Dennis’ call, I was hurt, but I was even more humiliated, and when the next day he gave into my request to check Aunt Georgia’s email account and forward anything he thought I should see, I was acting on my hurt. When I saw the emails, hurt turned to rage and, in my rage, I wanted to teach Aunt Georgia what humiliation felt like.

After all, I couldn’t hurt her. You can’t hurt someone who doesn’t have a heart.

Before I thought about what I was doing, which is always a bad place to start from, I picked up the phone and dialed 1-800 directory assistance and asked for the number of The New York Post.

The thick-accented Jersey girl who answered laughed in my ear when I said I wanted to speak directly to Richard Cavins, her rag's infamous editor. “Oh sure, honey. I’ll putcha right through, nevah. Mr. Cavins don’t take calls from nobody. I’ll tell ya watcha can do, honey. You leave me your name and number and I’ll give him your message, and then he’ll call you back, nevah, okay?”

Who knows, if that ignorant bitch hadn’t fed my already out of control rage, or if only Cavins had taken more than sixty seconds before calling me back, I might have changed my mind. But he did call back like the sleazy opportunistic bottom feeder he was, and when he heard what I had to say, I could practically hear him coming in his pants from across the country.

“
Miss Kelleher, or can I call you Carey?”

“
No, Mr. Cavins, Miss Kelleher is fine.”

“
Great, that’s great, whatever you want. So do I understand you when you say that you are going to forward me private email messages between your aunt, the famously private Georgia Kelleher, and this guy, this John Bay, with whom she is having an affair, and who was your fiancé?”

“
Or so I thought and, Mr. Cavins, it’s John Ray, not Bay. Please get that right in the paper and please don’t forget to add the name of his band, 'Steel Whores', okay?”

He chuckled in my ear. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t make this stuff up,. It’s great. So, Carey ... I mean ... ”

“
No, never mind, call me Carey.”

“
Great, great, okay, so, Carey, you say you and this John Ray were engaged but that he is basically an unemployed wannabe musician who shovels horse shit to pay the bills and manages some loser band? I understand how your aunt met this character, it was through you, but how did you hook up with him? I gotta tell you, I’ve seen you around New York and I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but if all you’re looking for is a guy, well baby I’m your man.”

“
Yeah, you’ll be the first to know, Richard. I met John because he was working with my horses. He’s so pathetic that he was living in his freaking truck when I met him and … no, wait, don’t print that, it makes me sound like a loser. Just say he was working with horses, okay?”

“
Sure, whatever you say, but I gotta tell ya, if a girl like you can bring home a homeless guy, then it gives the rest of us ... ”

“
Jesus, would you shut up? So, besides what I’ve told you and the emails, is there anything else you need from me?”

“
Not unless you want to fly out and have dinner with me. No, just kidding. I don’t think I need anything else, but before we hang up, I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do, just to show you not all of us gentlemen of the fourth estate are the scum you seem to think we are. I’m going to give you a five second out.”

“
What are you talking about?” For the first time since we had started talking, I noticed that he had a really nice voice - warm.

“
I’m going to hate myself in the morning for this because you are giving me a great story here, but,” he sighed, “It’s just a story that will sell a couple hundred thousand issues and end up lining cat boxes in Queens. For you it might be something worse. Listen, you’re a gorgeous girl, I think you’re probably a sweet girl too, and this piece of crap guy that did this to you is an asshole and he’s an idiot. What your aunt did was pretty ugly too. So what I’m saying is that I hope you kick both of them to the curb and all, but this might not be the way you want to go to do it.”

I’d like to say I gave his really excellent advice the consideration it deserved. I didn’t. I was so angry that I was blinded to any long term effects. I was in pain and I wanted to cause pain. “Print the story, Richard. I’m not looking for advice but thanks anyway.”

“
Okay, your party, Carey. Call me anytime you want to scorch some earth. My readers will eat it up.”

* * *

It was a more lurid forty point typesetting than even I thought I wanted to see. Milan, knowing what was coming, had also tried and failed to stop me, and she was also the one who woke me up the next morning stomping into my bedroom with her copy of the Post.

She slammed it down on my bed. “Holy crap, Cares, this is going to like make your dad blow up. I just got this from Daddy an hour ago. He had a friend overnight it to him. Look at this!” She sat down beside me and cuddled Petal while I read.