Home Again

“Are you going to settle down and get married?”

Angel heard the derision in the question, and he knew he deserved it. Celebrities in trouble made this same speech all the time. People magazine had the wedding headlines—and the subsequent divorce headlines—to prove it. The media and the public had learned to disbelieve a celebrity who swore to change his or her life.

He had no way to convince them or himself. All he could do was try, and when he failed, to try again.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Angel looked at the reporter, who sat in the back row. The man looked rumpled and tired. There was no emotion in his face—just a bored look, as if to say, Spit it out, DeMarco, I don’t have all day.

“Okay, boys and girls, here’s your quote for the day. Angel DeMarco quits.”

There was a general snickering from the crowd. They’d heard it all before and they didn’t believe it. No one ever really walked away from fame.

“Hey, Angel,” someone yelled from the back of the room. “Is all this a front for AIDS? That prostitute in Florida—”

Angel burst out laughing at the absurdity of the question. All of a sudden he felt young and carefree, almost buoyant. I just walked away from it, he thought. He hadn’t meant to do that, to say that, but it had come out somehow, and now that he’d done it, he felt freer than he’d been in years. These people would continue watching him for a few days or weeks, but one day he’d wake up and they’d be gone; they wouldn’t care anymore. He could live the way he wanted and not worry that every little rock in his wake would be turned over and examined under a microscope. He could be an average Joe—the idea was mesmerizing this time.

“I definitely don’t have AIDS,” he said. ’The only infectious disease I ever had was fame.” He felt himself starting to smile, a slow, natural grin that seemed to come up from the core of his new heart. “And now that’s gone.”

He waved briefly, and found himself hoping that he never had to face them again. “Good-bye.”

Angel’s smiling face appeared on the television screen. The bland walls of the cafeteria framed him, made him look incredibly vibrant and full of life. Even in the flawed color of the small portable TV, his eyes were an incredible, mesmerizing shade of green.

Madelaine grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels—he was on every one, saying the same words over and over again. Okay, boys and girls, here’s your quote for the day. Angel DeMarco quits … quits … quits…

Even now, hours after the press conference, that statement surprised her. He’d never once indicated that he had any intention of quitting show business.

What would he do now?

She felt a flutter of fear. She didn’t like to admit it, but she’d come to lean on Angel in the past few weeks. Since his surgery, he’d become the man she’d always expected him to be. She knew he thought it was because of Francis’s heart, and maybe that was partially true, but not completely. In some ways, she thought she knew him better than he knew himself. It was because she looked past the quick temper and volatile nature. She believed in him—she always had, even when she hadn’t wanted to. He’d always had a core of goodness in him, of compassion. All he had to do was believe in it and reach for it.

His face came on the screen again—CNN. Her heart gave a quick little jerk at the sight of him, so damned handsome. And yet, even as good as he looked onscreen, he was more handsome in real life. Television didn’t show any of the lines that creased the corners of his eyes when he grinned, didn’t pick up the razor-thin scar that bisected his left eyebrow. The camera captured all of the perfection, but none of his soul.

That belonged to her and Lina.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She set down the remote and padded into the kitchen, picking up the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.” Lina’s enthusiastic voice came through the lines.

Madelaine couldn’t help smiling. Lina sounded so happy lately—Angel and Zachary had given her that. Though she felt a little sting of jealousy, Madelaine was so pleased that Lina had begun to find her way that she didn’t care who had brought the change about.

“I’m over at Vicki Owen’s house. We’re all playing Trivial Pursuit, then Zach asked me to go to the movies. Is that okay?”

Madelaine wanted to ask to speak to Vicki, but she knew Lina would be hurt by the obvious lack of trust. They were building a tenuous new relationship, and she wanted to do it right this time. “You’ll be home by eleven?”

“Jeez, Mom. I’m not a baby.”

Madelaine laughed at the familiar complaint. “You’ll always be my baby.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Mom, did you see Dad’s press conference?”

“Yes. I taped it for you.”

There was a pause, then very quietly Lina said, “He didn’t mention me.”

Madelaine heard the disappointment in her daughter’s voice, and she wondered what to do. She knew that Lina idolized her newfound father, and that it was a dangerous way to feel about anyone. If Lina didn’t grow up and see Angel as a man—flaws and all—she could be hurt. Every day Lina would see nicks in the armor of her perfect father, and each little dent would hurt, would feel like he’d let her down.

What would Lina do when she realized that her father wasn’t Angel DeMarco the bad-boy actor, but plain old Angel—a man who was all too human?