Hollywood's Secret Baby

The moment the gears click into place, he voices the name of my one and only compatriot back in high school. The first boy I ever slept with. The name of Lizzie’s father, missing since the day after she was conceived.

“It’s me. Cory Gray.”

Chapter 2

Back in our high school days, Cory was a scrawny thing with crooked teeth and a whiny voice that carried over past puberty. The angelic creature lording over Tina right now is everything that childhood Cory wasn’t.

Gone are the stick-thin arms. In fact, from the looks of it, he’s a regular member at a gym somewhere. Probably knows all the trainers by name. Has his own dietary eating chart. Favorite protein shake. His shoulders—and every other muscle in his body for that matter—appear to be intimately familiar with weights I couldn’t lift if my life depended on it.

His teeth are perfect. Not too white like wannabe actors, but straight while still appearing natural. He’s finally tamed his hair. And steered away from wearing clothes three sizes too large. The way his suit fits him makes me think that on top of having his personal trainer on speed dial, he’s also got a tailor with all of his measurements memorized.

“My name ring any bells?” Cory asks Tina when she doesn’t respond. “Or have the gears in your head gunked from all the years of swallowing when you should have spit?”

There’s not an eye that doesn’t widen to full capacity at this remark. Everything’s flooding back now, and I’m remembering that Cory was always the mouthy one of our duo. Back then it meant I had to drag him away before he got his ass kicked, but he doesn’t need my protection now. Besides, I’m thoroughly enjoying the sight of Tina finally getting her comeuppance.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Tina stands, slapping both her hands on the table.

“Seems I underestimated the extent of the damage. All that spunk’s clogged your ears too.” Then he’s throwing his head back laughing, looking around at the few nervous giggles he earned from those sitting farthest from foul Tina. That’s when our eyes meet. “Hot Stuff?”

How long has it been since I heard one of his many nicknames for me? He used to come up with a different one every week. They all played off my name: Augusta Summers. He always loved to riff off my name making him hot and sweaty. That was just his weird sense of humor.

“No one calls me ‘hot stuff’ but my husband,” Tina shrieks, misunderstanding Cory’s muffled exclamation when he noticed me. “Get up and do something.”

Tina’s pulling at the lumpy man beside her. Matt, the once perfectly chiseled pitcher on the high school baseball team, is now about two or three times wider. With a groan he rises, his eyes barely glancing off Cory before looking to his dear wife.

“Why don’t we all just calm down,” he says. “This is supposed to be a fun night, right?”

“I’ll calm down when you teach this asshole a lesson,” Tina hisses at him.

Poor Matt cringes. Clearly he’s been beaten down from his former glory. I’d bet living with Tina would have that effect on anyone. He breathes in, making a labored sound. Matt not only looks unhealthy, but he sounds it too. I almost feel sorry for the guy, but that’s hard considering he was always there beside Tina wh

en she was torturing me all those years ago.

“Look,” Cory says, holding his hands up as if in defense. “Clearly we’ve all had a bit too much to drink. But how about one more round on me? As a way of washing the bitter taste out of our mouths?”

Tina’s mouth opens, but her protests die on her tongue. The rest of the group is cheering, calling out suggestions for what Cory should order.

“Tequila it is!” he says. Instead of waiting for the bartender to pour out about thirty shots, Cory persuades a waitress to hand the bottle to him. He goes around the tables, pouring out a shot for everyone, saving me for last. As he fills my shot glass, his eyes locked on mine, I can feel the world around us dissolving.

“I was hoping you would show up, Hot Stuff.”

My lips might as well be glued together. Cory’s somehow even more good looking close up. It’s all I can do not to reach a hand out and grab his bicep.

Before his grand entrance, I was sure that coming here had been a colossal mistake. Now it’s looking like it might be another turning point in my life. A reward for raising our daughter by myself.

My brain takes a dive at this point, right into a swimming pool devoid of even a molecule of water. Cory might be back, but the moment he finds out he has a kid, who knows how he’s going to react. Our one and only time in bed feels like a different lifetime ago. I know nothing about Cory anymore.

He might be married for all I know.

As my mind reels, Cory raises his glass. The rest of our old classmates mimic him. “To old friends,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine. “And to new. May our heads be filled with wisdom,” he says, before looking Tina in the eyes and finishing with the crude rhyme: “Not full of man goo.”

There’s an uproarious laughter backed by shrill protests from Tina as her husband holds her around the waist, keeping her from leaping over the table. Glasses clink against one another, and even though few remember Cory, guys are clapping him on the shoulder while the women—even those sitting next to their husbands—are watching him as though they were love-struck teenagers in front of a crush.

Cory doesn’t sidle up to the others though. He may delve into small conversations, but he never breaks away from my side. Although we don’t talk, he stays beside me, as though we had come here together. And while that’s not true, we certainly leave together an hour later.

“How about we blow this place?” he whispers into my ear. It’s a cheesy line that makes me feel like I’m in some 90s movie. But it works. Because it’s coming from him.

Cory grabs my hand and leads me away from the group. We don’t say goodbye, because what’s the point? No one there even knew who we were. Cory was the only one who ever recognized me.