Not his actual daughter. Ah, the plot thickens. I shift in the sand, and then turn my body so I’m facing him instead of the ocean. He doesn’t look at me, lost in his own thoughts.
“Well, you just made it to my most interesting people list.” I lean toward him, wondering how much he will tell me. I’m sure Sam and Rach must know everything, but I somehow want to hear it from him. Rosie was right—it’s his story, he needs to tell it.
Tom smiles and then finishes his beer. We are quiet for some time, but it’s not awkward. We’ve breached something, and I don’t know if either of us is completely ready for it. We’ve just met, after all. The fact that he’s best friends with my sister and brother in law, has given us both, it seems, a good sense of familiarity. The idea that, if someone you love speaks highly of someone else, then they automatically get a free pass.
“It’s a long story, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get into it.” He says finally, and looks at me. I nod, understanding, though I admit that I’m a little disappointed.
“Okay, that’s fair.” I sip my beer, and lean back into the sand. It’s cool, and then warm under my legs, and as I move around a bit, it molds to the shape of my body. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up, so I can put my head down, without getting sand in my hair.
“The short version…” He glances at me out of the side of his eye, and then lies back next to me, putting his arms up and over his head. I watch his legs stretch out, his shirt rising up, pulling from his waistband as he stretches up. He seems about twice as long as me, stretched out, and I can’t help but curl up, turning on my side to face him. I put my hands under my cheek, watching his silhouette.
“Short version.” I urge him on.
“I was married to Becca. Gemma is her daughter. Becca left, I stayed.” He says this staring up at the night sky, and I get the strange feeling that he hasn’t had this conversation with many people. I raise up onto my elbow, supporting the side of my head with my hand. I picture him married to Becca. I picture them together, and something in my stomach lurches slightly. Like a kick right under my belly button.
“She left her daughter? And you stayed…” I whisper softly. I’m not a mother. The thought of it scares me to death, but I still cannot imagine ever leaving my child. Especially when I’m perfectly capable of staying and raising her. Tom turns his head, and his eyes are dark in the moonlight.
“Here I am. Did you know Becca?” He asks.
“I did. Not well, but we went to high school together.” I swallow, my throat feeling dry. I try to remember that girl I knew. “She was always very outgoing and confident. Beautiful.” I press my lips together. Becca was the definition of free spirited. A gorgeous girl, who always had boys after her. But she was never one to be tied down to anyone. More than one or two fights had to be broken up because of her flippant trysts with different boys in the neighborhood.
“Just the other day I got the word that I’m Gemma’s legal guardian now. It’s something I’ve been fighting for, with my lawyer, for four years. It was finally finalized.” He sighs, then chuckles softly. “Funny how one of the worst decisions of my life could eventually lead to the best damn thing in my life.” He speaks softly, almost to himself. He words are lined with gratitude, and I can almost tell that even he is still in shock that it’s finally happened.
His words are surprising to me, though I’m not sure why. I blink, and watch his mouth widen and turn into a bright, nearly gut wrenching smile. He’s brilliantly happy.
“That’s wonderful. Really.” I say, wanting so much to know the whole story. But I can tell he’s not the sort. If he wants to share, it will come. If not, then I should be happy with this.
“I haven’t told that to many people. Just Rosie and Sam and Rach. So, it feels good. To say it out loud. There was a time, for a good while, where I thought I’d lose her. I couldn’t and didn’t want to talk about it, because I was afraid if I said it out loud, then all the bad things would come true. It’s been so many years. It would have broken my heart.” He sits up then, and I can tell, with the quick movement, that he’s finished sharing. His body language changes, as he leans against his knees. I sit up as well, brushing sand from my back and shoulders.
“Gemma is very lucky.” I manage.
“Ah, well, I’m the lucky one.” He laughs softly. I have to admit, it’s been awhile since I’ve had a conversation like this. Most of my conversations back in LA are about music, or some promotional event I have to go to, or awards ceremony. Clothes, hair, makeup. People tell me they love my music, or they want to party with me. I feel as if I’ve been dropped out of the sky onto terra firma, and I’m not used to this. Real conversation. The man sitting next to me is telling me about his life, about something real and life changing, and I don’t even know how to respond.
I wonder if I’ve spent so much time away, so much time in my bubble, that I’ve turned into something hard, and plastic as well. Something to match the world I live in.
“Do you want to get coffee sometime? Or drinks?” I ask suddenly. Tom freezes, I can practically see his entire body tense, and I know I’ve perhaps said the wrong thing. I hold my breath. I didn’t know I was going to ask him out, but it sort of just slipped out. I can’t remember the last time I asked anyone out, but there’s something about him that’s making me wish I knew him better. Somehow, I wonder if this is going to be one of those moments I look back on and physically cringe. I have a bad feeling.
Tom turns his head, just slightly, so he can see me.
“I’m in a strange place right now, Billie, and I’ve a feeling you are too. Thank you for the offer. But I shouldn’t.” He says, and sounds genuine. If you’re going to be rejected by a man, it might as well be by a gorgeous British one.
“I understand.” I nod, quickly. Ouch. Cringe. It’s been awhile since I’ve been shot down, and I have to say, it’s still not fun. I’m sure he’s telling the truth. I’m sure he is in a strange place. But part of me wonders if it has anything to do with the video. Of course it has to do with the video. I don’t blame him. He has a daughter to think about, and his own career. Who would want to be associated with a washed up pop star with a terrible sex tape? I bite my lip, suddenly feeling a bit nauseated.
I begin to stand. I cross my arms over my chest, shivering slightly as I do since the night air has cooled down significantly. Tom follows and stands in front of me. He looks strange, wearing a dress shirt and black trousers, on the beach. He brushes sand off the back of his pants, and then we start walking, neither of us speaking.
Well. I’ve mucked that up. So much for fresh starts. Puke on him. Check. Ask him out and be rejected. Check. I should just ask him to marry me, and then maybe I’d really be set!
We walk in silence the rest of the way to Rachel’s house. Though it’s not as comfortable as it was earlier, it’s not terribly awkward, which is surprising. He’s preoccupied, and somehow I can tell this by the set of his jaw. He’s strangely easy to read, as he gives most things away in his body language.
“Thanks for walking me home. And for the company.” I turn to him as we reach the steps to the deck. I’ve made sure I have a key with me this time, so I don’t have to sleep outside. I tuck my hands into my pockets, finding it, small and heavy in my pocket.
“Thank you, as well.” He shifts his weight.
“I’m sorry about…asking you out. That was dumb of me. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I blurt out. “I admit that I’ve…not felt like myself lately.” I finish. He smiles, rocking back on his heels as he does.
“Don’t apologize, Billie. I…” He tucks his hands into his pockets, tipping his head down so he can see me. I take a step up, making us slightly more level in heights.
“I’ll see you around, then.” I cut him off, feeling embarrassment wash over me. I’m striking out left and right these days. I turn and run up the wooden stairs, doing whatever I can to get inside as fast as possible.
He doesn’t call after me, or rush up the stairs to cut me off at the door. This isn’t the movies. We’re not in love or in lust even. I don’t even know that he likes me as a person. I let myself into the house, without a backwards glance. When I’m safe inside, the door shut tight, I give in and peak outside through the side window. I can see his tall silhouette, walking away back down to the beach.
I sigh, and press against the sliding glass door. I feel suddenly very heavy.
I feel lost.
I lean back against the door, letting the back of my head hit with a dull thud. The house around me is quiet. If I am going to be honest, I feel more alone than I have ever felt.
It’s simple, really.
I built a life around a persona. I built a life and surrounded myself with all the wrong people. None of them care about Billie Darling. They only want Baby. I remember a conversation I had two weeks ago with a guy who, while hitting on me rather aggressively, also slipped into the conversation that he had two of his “baby mama’s” on his ass for child support. A few weeks before that, I let Shorty set me up on a date with a guy who told me he would only wear clothes from a certain designer, and that he fired his last three assistants because they kept forgetting to call him ‘Master’, a name which he just thought was hilarious.
And now I’m here. The contrast is so astounding, that I feel disoriented.
What does it feel like to know someone that loves so deeply, so genuinely, that they will adopt a child that isn’t even their own? Who’s devoted their life to something and someone they didn’t even know a few short years ago?
I yearn to know what that feels like. To surround myself with people who feel genuinely, and are more concerned with bubble baths and cat cookies than record sales and fashion week.
Sadly, it seems he doesn’t really want anything to do with me. And to be honest, I don’t really blame him. From the outside looking in, I don’t really have much to offer.