Stars Collide (15 page)

Ugh.

“If I don’t hear from you by late tonight, though, you might force my hand. I’ve got to get a story out by tomorrow morning, one way or the other. Either we have your input or we don’t. That part’s up to you. Here’s my number.”

I didn’t copy it down, of course. Instead I ended the call as politely as I could, then counted to ten in an attempt to regain my composure. Grandma had done a lot of crazy things over the years, but to contact
The Scoop
? Why would she go that far? And why that particular tabloid, of all places? They were notorious for hurting people and for getting the story wrong.

I gathered my emotions, rolled them into a ball, and stuffed them into my pocket. Keeping this information hidden for long wasn’t an option, but I wasn’t about to spoil a perfectly wonderful evening by telling anyone what had just happened. I would call Scott first thing in the morning and spill the beans. Hopefully he would find it in his heart to forgive my grandmother . . . again.

16

Friends

There are times in everyone’s life where running away feels like the only logical solution. On the morning after I spoke to James Stevens at
The Scoop
, I had an overwhelming urge to pack my bags and catch a plane. Destination . . . unknown. Didn’t really matter where I went, anyway, as long as the paparazzi didn’t follow me.

My fascination with running did not date back to my childhood. I was never one of those kids who wanted to run away and join the circus. For one thing, clowns scared me. For another, there was enough tightrope walking in life already. And that whole thing about traveling with so many stinky, smelly animals held little appeal. I could barely tolerate Fat Cat. How could I share a train car with his distant cousin the lion? No, joining the circus wasn’t an option. Besides, my life had already become a circus, hadn’t it?

After reading the online version of
The Scoop
’s article on Scott’s family—which had apparently been posted at 5:52 a.m., according to the website—I revisited my rain forest option. An undecorated hut somewhere along the banks of the Amazon sounded pretty appealing right about now. I could buy some insect repellent. Maybe swipe the mosquito netting from around Grandma Lenora’s bed to take with me. I’d also swipe the rest of those letters from the steamer trunk and take them along for the ride. Once I reached my hut, I’d have plenty of time to read them carefully and ponder the reality that my grandmother was not who she had presented herself to be.

Or maybe she was and I’d just never dug beneath the surface to really, truly know her. Were any of us who we presented ourselves to be, or were we just out there on the set, hair and makeup done, speaking the lines we’d been given by those around us?

I thought about Scott’s parents, who were probably halfway to Alma by now. Hopefully the paparazzi would leave them alone. Surely those scoundrels at
The Scoop
wouldn’t send any of their people to Arkansas . . . right?

A crash of thunder startled me. I walked across the bedroom and stared out of the window, watching as the rain showered down. I’d never been a fan of thunder and lightning, so as I stood observing the downpour, I reluctantly gave up on my idea of living in the rain forest. If I couldn’t handle an occasional Southern California shower, how could I live in a rain forest?

My mind continued to whirl as the storm clouds grew overhead. As I showered for church, I replayed every minute of yesterday’s events. The trunk. The letters. Scott’s parents. That guy from
The Scoop
. Grandma’s erratic behavior. The yummy ceviche. Popeye the Sailor Man. These things all ran together as the hot water poured down on my head.

I somehow kept my cool through church, not letting Grandma know of my inner turmoil. Talk about a great acting job. Thank goodness no one seemed to be aware of the story. If so, they weren’t talking. Or maybe they were just taking it in stride. That’s what most of the regular folks in L.A. did when a gossip-type story hit the papers, after all.

After church, we swung through KFC to pick up some chicken. Grandma chose the original. I chose the extra crispy. I made small talk during lunch, praying all the while that Scott would discover the voice mail and text messages I’d left on his phone in the wee hours of the morning.

Since he hadn’t responded, I found myself in need of someone to talk to . . . preferably someone who could calm my nerves. After Grandma made her way up the stairs to take a nap, I decided to do just that. I picked up the phone and punched in Athena’s number. When she answered, the many voices in the background clued me in to the fact that she was with her family. I heard the clattering of silverware and realized the whole Pappas clan must be gathered around the dinner table. From what Athena had told me, meals were of utmost importance in their household.

“Athena, do you have a minute?” I asked.

“Kat, I’m so glad it’s you. Have you, um . . . have you seen the papers?”

“Yeah.” I groaned. “I really need to talk to someone.”

“No doubt. Well, come on out to our place,” she said. “My cousins are here today, so it’s going to be pretty chaotic, but we can sneak back to my room and have some girl time. You’ll be safe here.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

She disappeared for a few seconds then came back. “Sorry about that. Had two of my nieces sitting on my lap. Too hard to talk with toddlers chattering in your ear.”

I didn’t have any idea what that would feel like but found the idea intriguing.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” I said. “If that’s okay.”

“Sure. C’mon over.”

Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, I pulled my car into the driveway at Athena’s family home. Apparently folks in the valley had avoided the storm. The sun shone brightly overhead and I couldn’t find a drop of rain anywhere, or any sign that storm clouds had passed by.

Several children played on the beautifully manicured lawn with parents looking on. As I shifted the car into Park, I thought about what it would be like to live with so many siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles. Chaos, likely. Still, it might be fun. I’d never had the opportunity to find out. No, Grandma and I had pretty much settled into our quiet, comfortable routine.

Until lately.

Athena met me at the door of my car with a toddler on each hip. I laughed when I saw her. “Practicing for motherhood?”

She snorted. “I’d have to find a husband first, and so far that scene hasn’t been written.”

“It will be,” I said as I climbed out of the car. “But you won’t have the privilege of writing it yourself.”

“Well, I hope the Lord pencils in a great-looking guy with an amazing sense of humor,” she said. “Otherwise I might just stay single. I get enough family activity in this house as it is.”

Looking around at the crowd, I realized that being single in this environment was a far cry from being single at Worth Manor. Athena’s world was as far removed from mine as I could imagine, and yet we had so much in common, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

We paused long enough for me to meet everyone. This process took quite some time. At Athena’s house, you didn’t just stop to shake hands. You heard about Aunt Melina’s liver condition and cousin Leandro’s overnight stay in the county jail. You were given the details of the wrestling match her brother Niko had just won, and you always walked away with at least one recipe from Athena’s mother, Thera. When all of that was said and done, you were given something to eat. Then and only then could you sneak away for a few moments of privacy.

We eventually ended up in Athena’s bedroom, where she shooed a couple of youngsters off of the bed, then closed the door so we could talk.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

So I did. My stories ran together, none of them making much sense, even to my own ears. And I could tell from her wrinkled brow that Athena wasn’t getting much of this either. At the end, she stared at me, shaking her head.

“How do you do it, Kat?”

“Do what?”

“Your off-screen life is even more dramatic than your on-screen one . . . and that’s really saying something. I work hard to make your on-screen life pretty wacky.”

I groaned. “Don’t ask me. Just help me fix this. If you had written that phone call scene, how would you go about resolving it so the hero and heroine could live happily ever after?”

She paused, shaking her head. “I’m not sure. Give me a minute.” She rose from her bed and paced the room. “Maybe you could . . . no, that would never work.”

“What?”

“Well, have his parents read the article yet? For that matter, has Scott?”

“I don’t know.” A shiver ran down my spine. “I only know that it broke this morning and he’s not responding to my texts or voice mail. I’m thinking about leaving town.”

“Still building that hut in the Amazon?”

I sighed. “Rethinking that one after the storm this morning. Mosquitoes aren’t really my bag. Neither is thunder. Do you think it storms at the North Pole? Can you write a scene where I visit Santa and the elves?”

A look of concern passed over Athena’s face. “Kat, I don’t really write the upcoming scenes of your life. You . . . you do realize that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes. But sometimes I wish you could. That way I’d know what was coming. I’d know whether or not Scott would freak out and leave me because of this . . . this stupid Beverly Hillbillies story.”

“Why are you so afraid he’s going to leave? Don’t you think your fears are a little . . . irrational?”

I was unable to speak over the tightening sensation in my throat. “Isn’t that what guys do?” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper. I felt the sting of tears. Frustrated, I brushed them away. No point in getting teary-eyed over this. Not again.

“Ah.” She sat back on the bed, her eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re afraid because your dad left that Scott’s going to do the same thing. And you think that if you don’t line up and walk straight, it will give him reason to take off.”

“Maybe.” A sense of relief passed over me as I realized she understood where I was coming from.

“Scott isn’t your dad, Kat,” she said. “And just so you know, men don’t always leave. Sometimes they stay put and raise happy families. And for the record, I won’t have to write that script for Scott. He’s got sticking power.”

“You think?” I gazed over at her, still not sure. “Because once he hears what my grandmother has done, he’s liable to think I’m not worth the trouble.”

“Well, you are a piece of work, that’s for sure.” Athena laughed. “But you’re worth it, Kat. You’re so worth it. And Scott, of all people, knows that your grandmother isn’t well. He’s going to forgive her for this.”

“I doubt his father ever will.”

“He will, if he realizes this was all a mistake. You’ll have to be really careful from now on, though, Kat.”

“Careful?”

“About the paparazzi.” Her brow knotted. “I have a feeling they’re going to have a heyday with this one. And they’re not going to play by the rules. You know how tricky they are. They use their cell phones or hidden cameras to snag photos of you, then sell them to the gossip rags. So be careful, okay?”

“If I wasn’t paranoid before, I sure am now.”

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’m not trying to get you all worked up. Just want you to be safe. And I’m sure Rex wouldn’t be thrilled if pictures from inside the studio hit the internet or something. You know? He’s really a private sort of guy.”

“Humph.” I thought again of the letters he’d written my grandmother. She’d kept them buried for over fifty years. For whatever reason, she had kept their relationship private. I thought about the way they’d been signed: “Your Sweetheart.” Pretty vague, even back then.

I stayed at Athena’s well past dinnertime, reluctantly agreeing to have a meal with them before leaving. As always, her mother stuffed me full of all sorts of goodies, most of which I ate only at their home. In fact, half of it I couldn’t even pronounce.

When I got into my car to head home, I checked my cell phone, curious to see if Scott had responded. He had not. And I was surprised to see I’d somehow missed a call from my grandmother. I called back as quickly as I could.

She picked up on the third ring. “KK, I’ve been worried about you. Carolina said you would be back by five, and it’s nearly eight o’clock. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I spent the afternoon with Athena. We had a nice visit.”

“Oh, I love nice visits,” she said. “I’ve had so many over the years. Burt Reynolds came for a visit while you were gone, and he brought that pretty young actress Sally Field with him.”

I pushed back the groan that attempted to rise. “Well, I’m sure you had a lovely time.”

“We did. He tells me they’re making a movie together. Something with the word
Bandit
in it. I can’t remember right now what he said exactly. I’m still a little tired from my nap.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that
Smokey and the Bandit
had been released in the late ’70s. It would only confuse her more. Still, there was something I needed to talk with her about, and the sooner the better.

“Grandma, when I get home, can we have a talk?”

“Oh, I’d like that, KK. Should I make some tea?”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

“You can tell me everything that you and Athena decided about the wedding. I’m sure you came up with some lovely ideas.”

I spent the drive in prayer. Whatever I said needed to be carefully thought out, and there was really only one way to accomplish that. I had to ask the Lord for his words over this situation. In spite of her medication, my grandmother’s condition was undeniably shaky. And yet she seemed blissfully happy. Would sharing the truth injure her in any way? I decided that was a chance I was just going to have to take. I couldn’t risk any more conversations with the paparazzi.

When I arrived at the house, I found her dressed in a fabulous robe. She had apparently been waiting for me. The silver tea service glistened under the glow of the lamp above the small table in the great room.

“Hope you’re thirsty!” she said. Grandma poured tiny glasses of tea, adding lumps of sugar and an abundance of cream.

We settled onto the sofa next to each other, and I racked my brain to figure out a way to transition into the conversation I planned to have with her.

“I do love high tea,” she said after taking a little sip. “Makes one feel like royalty. Of course, being a royal does have its downside.” Her smile immediately faded. “So sad, what happened to Grace Kelly. Did you read about it in the paper, honey? I understand there’s been an accident. Every tabloid in town is carrying the story.”

I decided to dovetail into the necessary conversation using this as a segue. “The paparazzi can be vicious, can’t they?”

“I’ll say.” She took a sip of her tea. “They’ve had me for lunch a time or two, and I don’t mean at the Wilshire.” She giggled, and I drew in a deep breath, prepared to forge ahead.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Grandma,” I said. “About staying away from the paparazzi, not giving them any personal information.”