The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction) (4 page)

On July 18
^th
, the phone woke me up at 5:20 a.m. I grabbed my cell after the first ring. “Hello?” I whispered. I looked over at Jamie, who was sleeping in bed next to me. I didn’t want to wake him up; he’d been shooting until 1:00 a.m. and didn’t get home until an hour later. His role was that of an out-of-work actor, down on his luck. Thank goodness he’d booked this indie movie—because otherwise it would certainly be art imitating life. The movie was over budget and running way too long. He was on a twelve-hour turnaround and had to be back on set by early afternoon. I tiptoed out the room, softly closing the door, and went downstairs.

“Good morning, Miss Lily Lockwood, and welcome to The 60
^th
Annual Emmy Nomination Announcements,” Mom said in her cheeriest announcer voice.

“Wow, you are way too perky for this time of the morning,” I whispered.

“Are you kidding, Miss Sleepyhead? I’ve already worked out and read the
Times
.”

I was curious if Mom was calling me from the city apartment or the farmhouse in Southold. She dressed differently for both residences. At the farmhouse, her attire was comfy—always stylish, of course, but relaxed and a bit on the nautical side. In the city, she looked more put together, very “chic couture on the go,” even if she stayed in the whole day and wrote. Since this was Thursday in July, my bet was that she was at the farmhouse and would probably
spend the rest of the morning working on her sixth novel. In the afternoon, she would garden or sail.

“Where are you, Mom: city or farm?” I hopped onto the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. The house was chilly, so I wrapped my favorite green velvet throw around me.

“The farm,” she said. I heard cups rattling in the background.

“Let me guess: Ralph Lauren jeans and top?”

“You know me too well. One of these days, Lily Lockwood, I’m going to surprise you.”

““That will never happen, Mother darling. Sorry, you’re incredibly wonderful and loveable, but totally predictable.” I heard more clatter in the background. “What’s that noise?” I asked, stretching out on the leather couch.

“I’m having coffee,” Mom replied. “Why don’t you make yourself one, so we can have a cup together?”

“Nope, I’m going right back to sleep after the announcements.” I glanced at the wall of windows that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. When it wasn’t foggy, the view was breathtaking. You could see straight across the twenty miles of ocean to Catalina Island. The mornings that I didn’t have to be on set early, Jamie and I would always have our breakfast on the terrace, watching dolphins frolic and leap through the crests of the surf.

It was before sunrise and I could hear the rhythmic crash of the waves. Yet I saw nothing but pitch black. I clicked the remote until I got to the right channel.

“Are you kidding me, my sweet Lily of the Valley? You’re going to be way too excited after the announcements are read to go back to sleep. You, my darling daughter, are going to be nominated. This is your year, Cookie; I can feel it in my bones.” Mom was the best cheerleader any girl could have.

“As Grandma Rose used to say, from your mouth to God’s ears,” I replied. We both laughed.

“Shhh…Lily—it’s coming on—oh my God, I can’t breathe.”

“Relax,” I told her. “We go through this every year, and every year we’re disappointed.”

“Lily, stop! You can’t send negative energy out to the universe. Think positive. Repeat after me: I will get nominated this year,” she commanded.

“Mom … c’mon, it’s too late for that. I should’ve sent my intentions out six months ago.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. “Oh my God, you mean you didn’t?”

I loved shocking Mom; it was a hobby of mine. As a matter of fact, only a few years earlier it had been my main mission in life.

“Okay, I’m busted—yes I did!” I confessed.

She gave a dramatic sigh of relief and said, “That’s my girl!”

Kristin Chenoweth and Neil Patrick Harris came on- screen to make the announcements.

“Oh I love, love, love Kristen Chenoweth!” I gushed. “She was so great in
Wicked
and on
West Wing
! But what the hell is she wearing? It is way too blue and way too shiny for this early in the morning.”

“I think it’s cute,” Mom replied. “Oh and I
love
Neil Patrick Harris. Doesn’t he look great? Sweetie, do you remember watching
Doogie Howser, M.D
. together every week? He was so darling. You had a huge crush on him, remember?” She paused for a second. “Lily, he would be a good guy for you. He’s really serious and talented and cute, and extremely mature for his age.”

“First of all, Mom, I have a totally cute and talented boyfriend. Second, Neil Patrick Harris is not and never was a kid genius or a doctor. And third, Mom, he’s gay.”

“I don’t believe you.” She sounded genuinely surprised.

“Believe it.” I laughed.

From our televisions came the voice of Neil Patrick Harris, who announced, “Leading actress in a drama series…”

“Shhh, here’s your category!” she shouted.

Kristin Chenoweth read from the card she was holding. “Glenn Close,
Damages
. Sally Field,
Brothers & Sisters
. Holly Hunter,
Saving Grace
. Kyra Sedgwick,
The Closer
.”

“Holy Mother of God,” I said. “Who’s next, Meryl friggin’ Streep?”

“Lily Lockwood,
St. Joe’s
.”

We both screamed at the top of our lungs. I danced around the room like a crazy woman. I didn’t care if I woke up half of Malibu! I jumped up and down on the couch and tried holding the phone close to my ear so I could hear what my mother was saying. Mom was, of course, crying. I could expect nothing less from her.

“I’m so proud of you, honey.” She was bawling by this time. I stopped jumping. Reality doused me like an Arctic shower. I said, “Mom, those women are all icons. I’d have to be crazy to think I can win.”

Mom sighed. “Lily, what is the one thing I’ve told you since the moment of your first audition?”

“Don’t worry about anyone else; just worry about the girl in the mirror.”

“Lily, you were just nominated for an Emmy.”

We both screamed again and I jumped on the couch again.

Jamie walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs into the living room. He was in his boxers, his hair sticking straight up, and he was rubbing his eyes.

Even that early in the morning, he could easily be cast as a leading man. Six foot two, blonde hair, high cheekbones—a young Kevin Bacon or River Phoenix with a smidgen of Brad Pitt thrown in. He’s athletic without being too muscular, and he has a killer six.

He yawned. “What’s going on, babe?”

“I got nominated for an Emmy!” I shouted. Then I spoke into the phone. “Ma, Jamie’s up, I’ll call you later. I love you.” Jamie tried to grab the phone, but I held it away from him and clicked it shut.

“Wow, babe, that’s awesome, an Emmy nomination. Wow!” He pulled me into him, gave me a passionate kiss (totally unexpected), and put his hand inside my pajama bottoms (totally expected). He gave my butt a good squeeze.

“Hmm…very nice!” He took my hand and said, “C’mon, back to bed, babe, I’ve never done it with an Emmy nominee before.”

I followed him up the stairs, taking off my pajama top and bottoms on the way up and flinging them to him, Gypsy Rose Lee style.

The bottoms ended up around his neck. Very dramatic, I thought, and most definitely worthy of an Emmy nominee!

I was completely naked by the time we reached the top of the landing. He lifted me up, opened the door with his foot, carried me into the bedroom, and tossed me on the bed.

“My mother’s right again,” I said to him in between kisses. “She told me I’d be way too excited to go back to sleep!”

Sitting in the back seat of the town car, I wondered if my mother would be seated next to me at the Emmys. How could I go to the ceremony if she wasn’t there? How could I do
anything
without my mother?

The driver made a turn off the side road and into the hospital parking lot. I took a deep breath to steady myself for what lay ahead. Since it was the middle of the night, the lot was eerily serene. An ambulance slowly drove by, passing a sleeping guard.

My driver pulled up to the front of the entrance. As if on cue, three men and one woman, all in white coats, ran toward the car.

“Oh shit, this can’t be good,” the driver said, almost to himself.

I
t is finally 7:30 a.m. Three hours at a hospital is like three days anywhere else. If you can’t sleep, all you do is sit and wait. Everything happens in slow motion. It’s what I imagine water torture might be like. (Maybe you’ve guessed by now that patience has never been a virtue for me.)

I am alone, sitting at a large rectangular table in a stark conference room of the Intensive Care Unit, waiting for my mother’s doctor to appear.

I look around. The art on the wall consists of a few terrible prints of tractors. My mother is going to hate this room. When she gets better, I’ll make sure she avoids it.

I remember the time we were in a hotel in San Francisco. Mom was on a book-signing tour and because I wasn’t working, I went to keep her company and do what we do best together—power shop!

We got into the suite and it was lovely. We had a breathtaking view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Mom looked around the room and said, “Lily, you must always surround yourself with beautiful things. They don’t necessarily have to be expensive, but they must speak to you, move you, evoke emotions.”

Five minutes after we got into the room, she called the concierge and told him that the artwork in the room was playing havoc with her Zen feng shui.

When housekeeping arrived to take down the pictures, she was her charming self and asked if she could possibly choose other paintings to replace them. They walked her through room after empty room until she found the perfect ones.

After she had hung them on the empty walls, she turned to me, hands on her hips, and said, “Much better. Don’t you feel better already, Lily? Don’t you feel your Zen centered?” I laughed and told her she was crazy, and that one of these days someone was going to lock her away.

The buzzer on my cell phone goes off again, indicating someone has texted me. My phone has been beeping nonstop texts and messages since late last night. The cast and crew members started texting and emailing when I was on my way to the airport. I answered a few and then it just got too overwhelming. Franny must have gotten right on the phone with Bette Maloney, so I’m pretty sure the news about my mother must’ve hit the news and internet. I check the streaming news on my Blackberry and there it is:
Daisy Lockwood, well-known author and mother of
St. Joe’s
star Lily Lockwood, was in a near-fatal accident on Long Island Wednesday afternoon. There has been no statement yet from a University Hospital spokesperson or members of the family, but a reliable source tells us that Ms. Lockwood is in critical condition. Her daughter flew in late last night from Los Angeles to be with her
.

Man, Bette is good! The texts and the calls are coming in nonstop and I can’t force myself to answer any of them. I’m too tired and too sick to my stomach to go through the whole thing over and over again. I check to see if there are any calls or texts from Jamie. None. I guess when you’re shooting a Western in New Mexico, riding horses all day and your costar all night, you’re probably too busy to watch the news.

A nurse walks in with a pen and paper. I can’t believe my eyes—what a moron! She’s actually going to ask me for my
autograph!

“Miss Lockwood, you might want to take notes when you speak to the doctor. This way you can remember everything, so you can tell the other family members.” I thank her. Feeling like a major jerk, I take the pen and paper.

There are no relatives, not since Grams and Grandpa died. It’s just the two of us, Mom and me. My father and mother split up when I was five months old. Mom told me once that I was a colicky baby and cried nonstop for months. Maybe my father couldn’t stand the noise, or didn’t like kids. I’ve never really had the patience or that certain knack with babies; maybe I inherited that from dear old dad. When babies and children see my mother, they’ll crawl, they’ll walk. Shit, they’ll friggin’ knock each other over, roller-derby style, just to get to her. She’s that much of a kid magnet.