The Seeds Of A Daisy: The Lily Lockwood Series: Book One (Women's Fiction) (5 page)

Once I asked my mother what had happened, why my father had left, and why we never see him. An expression of deep sadness came over her face. “Honey, I’m sure your father does love you, but he’s not mature or responsible enough to have a family.” I never asked again.

There have been moments when I’ve be on a set somewhere shooting a movie, and I’ve thought, “I wonder if my father will ever see this film, and if he does, will he even
know
that the actress on screen is his own flesh and blood?” When I was a teenager, I would imagine that one day my father and I would meet unexpectedly and there would be an emotional reunion of such dramatic proportions, that all we could do was fall into each other’s arms and weep uncontrollably.

Over time, my father became unreal, an urban legend of sorts, like alligators in New York City sewers—a being that might exist, but is never seen. Our friends were our extended family. And Mom and I were the tight nucleus in our close-knit group.

A young female doctor walks into the conference room holding charts and files. She looks frazzled and embarrassed. She clutches her files to her chest as if she thinks someone is going to yank them out of her hands. Her frizzy hair looks as if it hasn’t been combed in days. She has a soft voice and a thick accent—maybe Italian, it’s hard to tell. I have to strain to understand her.

“Miss Lockwood, I’m Dr. Grippi. Dr. Niptau had an emergency and he’ll be up in about thirty minutes. Since University is a teaching hospital, he will introduce you to your whole team. I’m the intern for the team; you’ll see me here for the next twenty four hours or so.” She clears her throat, turns red and looks down. “Also, after you speak to Dr. Niptau, Roy Martinez, the hospital’s Public Affairs Director, would like to see you about making a statement to the press.”

“A statement…what kind? What are you talking about?”

“Well, it seems, Miss Lockwood, that there have been reporters here since around 5 a.m. They’re trying to question everyone about your mother’s condition.” She clears her throat again. “And we….. well, I guess Mr. Martinez will speak to you about it.” She walks briskly out of the conference room.

I need to call Franny so she can deal with this Martinez guy. I pick up my cell and realize it isn’t even 6 a.m. in LA. I put the phone back on the table, feeling like a prisoner. I close my eyes. Waves of nausea suddenly and violently hit me, and I run into the nearby ladies’ room. I throw up for the third time since my arrival, five hours earlier. I feel shaky and dizzy as I head back to my “jail cell.” A nurse stops me just as I’m walking into the conference room. She is middle-aged, tall, and looks like a real no-nonsense type.

“My name’s Gilda. I took over for Tina, so I’ll be your mother’s day nurse.”

“Hi Gilda,” I say softly. (I hope my breath isn’t offensive.)

“I just want to inform you that in the I.C.U. there is one nurse for every two patients, so—” She stops suddenly. “Are you okay, dear? You look a bit pale.”

“Gilda, I’m not feeling so good. Actually, I’ve been puking for hours—I guess it’s nerves.”

She puts a protective arm around my shoulder and walks me back into the conference room. “Sit down; I’ll bring you a glass of water. Have you eaten anything lately?”

“No, I couldn’t eat on the plane and I’ve eaten nothing here at the hospital.”

“Not good. Sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

I cross my arms on the table and put my head down, kindergarten style. The room eventually stops spinning. Gilda walks back in holding a glass of water, a pack of crackers, and a small cup of Jell-O.

“Here, try to eat something. You really have to keep your strength up and take care of yourself now. If you need anything, I’ll be outside your mother’s room.” She starts to walk out, stops, turns around, and smiles. “Your mother’s novels are my favorite. And her children’s books are my niece’s favorite. One day, my sister had to hide
Woman in the Moon
because she had already read it to her daughter ten times that day. She figured if my niece couldn’t see it, she’d ask for something else.” She smiles. “It didn’t work.”

“Thanks, Gilda. My Mom will appreciate that. I’ll make sure to tell her when she wakes up.”

A strange look comes over her face before she turns and leaves the room. I open the crackers and take a few tentative bites. The food does make me feel a bit better. I sip the water and open the Jell-O.

On set, we all joke about Jell-O. They always have a shitload of it on hand as props for the patients on the show. It reminds me of the first time I met Jamie. It was the first day he worked on
St. Joe’s
.

He had one scene, and I found out later it was his only real acting job—the first one that paid, anyway. I was running lines for my scene, which was up next. The scene was set in a hospital room and centered around a patient who was a professional baseball player with some sort of heart problem. I played his attending nurse. I hadn’t yet met the episode guest star who had been cast to play the athlete.

I was standing in the corner of the empty sound stage, off to the side, in the shadows. The cast and crew were outside shooting and would return shortly for my scene.

The hospital room was already set for the shoot. Once a set is ready, no one is allowed to enter it or touch anything. There was a rope across the entrance to the room with sign hanging from it: HOT SET—KEEP OUT!

I saw this really cute guy walk on set, look around, and duck under the rope to get into the room. He was wearing a hospital gown and jeans. I watched him from my corner; he obviously didn’t see me.

He jumped on the hospital bed. He had a Jell-O and a spoon in his hand. He opened the lid and started eating.

“You know, there’s a craft service table in the back, and they have plenty of food,” I said from my corner.

I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone jump out of a bed that fast. I laughed so hard, I couldn’t catch my breath. His face was beet red and he walked quickly from the room and toward the corner where I was standing. “I was just getting into my part and feeling the hospital room,” he explained.

I stopped laughing, caught my breath, and extended my hand.

“I’m Lily Lockwood; I play Stacy, your nurse, in the next scene. Do you need to feel me too, in order to get into your part?”

He recovered quickly and flashed me what I would come to recognize as his “Jamie being oh-so-very-charming” smile.

“Nope, I don’t think that’ll be necessary—but I’ll let you know after we start.” He smiled.

“I’m Jamie Fleming,” he continued.

He actually did surprisingly well that day, and the director and producers took notice of him. They wrote him in as a recurring love interest for me. He was one side of my love triangle—someone my character used in order to get her then-very-married lover very jealous. Jamie was on the show for six episodes and we spent a lot of time together on and eventually off the set. The rest is history. That was three years ago. Every year on our anniversary, we exchange cups of Jell-O for dessert.

For the hundredth time that morning, I look at the large clock on the far wall. The doctor should have been here already. I hate being kept waiting. I think of my mother again, so wounded and lying helpless and unconscious in
the tiny room up the hall. The passing of time means nothing to her. This is a nightmare.

My cell phone vibrates, and I look at the number. It’s Mom’s best friend, Donna. I was told earlier that they didn’t allow cell phones on the floor.

“Hello,” I whisper.

“Doll, I just got your message. I worked late last night and just got up,” Donna says.

“Where are you, Auntie D.?” The sound of her voice is enough to start my tears again.

“Oh Lily, honey—shhh—please take a deep breath. I’m in Portugal, with the band, on tour.” Donna’s a fantastic singer, moderately successful in the USA, but for some reason, a bona fide superstar in Portugal.

She continues, “Franny left me a message. My assistant’s trying to get me on the next flight to New York. Tell me what’s happening.”

I can’t stop crying. “That’s the thing, Auntie D. I don’t know. I’m waiting here for her doctor. When I first came here, they told me her car hit something and flipped over and she suffered some—what the hell did they call it? Brain injury trauma or something like that. She’s unconscious. She has all these tubes going everywhere and she’s on a breathing thing.”

Donna gasped. “A
ventilator
? She’s on a ventilator??”

“Yeah.” I stop crying. “Is that bad?”

“I’m not there, I really don’t know,” she says. “Have you called Tommy?”

Tommy’s been Mom’s editor for years. He and his partner are two of her dearest friends. I adore them both, but in times like these, they tend to get overly dramatic. I don’t think I can take anyone else’s drama right now.

“No, I can’t speak to anyone, I’m way too upset. I just took your call.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call him. I’ll text you with my flight info when I get it.” Her voice cracks “I can’t believe this; I just spoke to your mother yesterday morning around nine, my time. When did you speak to her last?” she asks.

“I don’t remember,” I lie.

“She told me she was going to head back to the city because she was supposed to have a meeting with Tommy this morning,” Donna continues. “They were going to go over some rewrites or something.”

“Auntie D., when you call Tommy, tell him I’ll call him and Fernando later, when I have a better idea of what’s happening.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I love you. Hang in there, I’ll be in New York soon.” She hangs up and for the first time since I arrived at the hospital, I feel a wave of relief.

I remember the last time I
did
speak to my mother. Was it really only two days ago?

It was Monday morning after Jamie left for the airport. I called her to talk about the fight he and I had had the night before. We’d been invited to a party at producer Harvey Leder’s house in the prestigious Los Angeles community of Bel Air. The occasion was a pre-production meet-and-greet for the actors, their significant others, and the director of Jamie’s new movie. Principal shooting was to begin a few days later in New Mexico, and they wanted everyone to get to know each other.

I was really proud of Jamie; he had the lead role in a remake of an old Hollywood Western. Before going to the party, he and I sat out on our terrace talking, drinking wine, and watching the sun, a massive blazing red egg yolk that hung over the Pacific, slowly disappear into the horizon. What had begun as a light-blue sky was now transformed into a gorgeous palette of pinks, purples, blues, and yellows.

I looked over at Jamie and felt as though my heart was going to burst with joy. I was blessed to be in my gorgeous Malibu beach house, next to my adorable boyfriend, taking in all this beauty.

He caught me looking at him and smiled “I love you, babe,” then took my face in his hands and kissed me.

Love and gratitude welled up in me and I got teary-eyed.

“What’s wrong?” he said, surprised.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’m going to miss you,” I said, playing off the emotion I was feeling.

“No worries, babe. It’s a short shoot. I’ll be home in no time.”

He kissed me again, this time more passionately, leaning me up against the railing and unbuttoning my blouse. While he kissed my neck, his hands caressed my breasts. I unzipped my jeans and kicked them off. Within seconds, Jamie was undressed. He lifted me up almost to the top of the railing, and pushed inside of me. I gasped as my bare flesh touched the cold metal. I tightly wrapped my legs around him. With each thrust of his body, his kisses got deeper and more passionate. I grabbed the back of his hair until, in an
intense surge, we came together. He held me for a few seconds, both of us too depleted to move.

When he finally lifted me off the railing, we looked at each other and laughed. One thing we never lacked was passion.

Within seconds, Jamie grabbed his pants, put them back on, and said, “That was great, babe, but we can’t keep the great Harvey Leder waiting.” He slapped my butt and said, “Come on, little missy, get a move on.”

I was slightly stunned by the speed with which he had shifted gears. I could have used a little post-sex affection. When I realized it wasn’t going to happen, I agreed, gave him a peck on the cheek, and went inside to shower and change. It wasn’t worth complaining. Jamie was in a good mood, and I didn’t want to risk pissing him off.

Within the hour, we were driving in his black 2008 Jaguar XK, an overpriced and awesome convertible that—unbeknown to my mother—I had bought for him on his last birthday. He usually drove way too fast but, wonder of wonders, this time he kept below the speed limit.

He was smiling and in great spirits. I knew I had made the right decision not to tell him that, although the sex was hot, I didn’t appreciate his slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am moves. He turned up the radio and we sang at the top of our lungs.

There was hardly any traffic on Sunset going east, so we made great time. He took a left onto Bellagio and went through Bel Air’s faux-gated entrance.

Almost all the homes in Bel Air are private, hidden behind huge hedges and wrought-iron gates from curiosity-seekers on the winding roads of the community. The hedges appear to have been manicured to within an inch of their lives. It was a beautiful night, and the car hugged the curves as we made our way up to Stradella Road.

We turned onto the gravely street and Jamie pulled up to the video intercom. He pushed the button and waved to the camera. Like magic, the gates opened miraculously.

The private road that led up to the estate was artistically lined with dozens of palm trees. As we drove closer to the estate, the air became thick with the intoxicating aroma of purple and red bougainvillea. Jamie pulled into the circular driveway, gave the car keys to the valet, and we rang the bell.

Harvey’s wife, Mitzy, a stick-thin woman in her sixties, opened the door for us. She was the type of woman Mom would shake her head about. Her face was pulled too tight from an excessive number of facelifts. Her lips appeared to be ten times larger than they were the last time we’d seen her. Likewise with her boobs, which looked brand-spankin’ new and also ten times larger than the last time we saw her.