Hollywood's Secret Baby

He falls silent after this, because he’s caught me up to the present. Cory’s blacklisted and on some very nasty people’s shit-list. Not only that, but he’s going all out on this last ditch effort with a movie that apparently has no financing.

“How are you paying for the movie?”

“Sarah and I are putting in equal shares. She offered to finance it all herself, but I insisted we go in half and half. Of course, she’s got a lot more money than I do, so it’s not going to leave her homeless. I can’t say the same for myself.”

I’m shaking my head, because we’re in Disneyland right now. The place where dreams are made. Nothing terrible is supposed to happen when you come here. You're meant to leave only with pleasant memories. But I know, looking back, it will be this conversation I remember most. My life will be split between before this drink and after.

“So either you make your money back on this movie, or you go broke and have no choice but to leave Hollywood with your tail between your legs.”

Cory smirks at this. “Now you see why Sarah said we needed drinks for this.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?”

“This,” I say, signaling between us. “I’m no actor. I teach dry history lessons with an animated dinosaur on public television. You're expecting too much of me. What if I ruin it all?” I snap my fingers at a sudden realization. “Sarah should have the lead.”

“No.”

“Did you at least ask if she wanted it?”

“No, because I know Sarah. This isn’t her kind of role.”

“Why not?”

“After what she went through, she refuses to do nude scenes. Who can blame her? But this movie will require them.”

“Nude scenes?”

That roiling sensation twisting my stomach is back. Pretending to be an actor is one thing; doing it naked in front of all the production crew is a whole other level of I-can’t-do-this. This is not the romantic story I was expecting when Cory whisked me off to California in a First Class cabin.

Chapter 17

The rest of the day is spent pretending that everything isn’t falling apart in front of Lizzie. Some of my smiles are even genuine, but most of them are just a thin veneer over the frantic thoughts rushing through my mind. The only time when I experience even the briefest relief are the fleeting minutes on rollercoasters or log plumes.

And while I’m worrying over how I can possibly live up to what Cory and Sarah need me to be, I’m blown away at how well Cory is taking up the role of a father—even if it is without Lizzie realizing who he really is to her.

While I keep finding myself staring into the void of space, completely lost in thoughts when I should be enjoying one of the prime joyful memories Lizzie will retain from her childhood, Cory’s picking up my slack and more. Maybe it’s just his charisma, or maybe there’s some sort of visceral connection between father and daughter, but Lizzie takes to him like she’s never done for anyone else.

Lizzie is not like most children. She never has been. I blame myself for this, because when she was in her most important years growing up, I was working two jobs to keep up with the bills, which meant Lizzie had to get independent fast.

As a result, she acts like an adult in a lot of ways. Which, while useful (like the way that she took to sleeping in Cory’s guest room without any complaint), it’s also disconcerting to see as a parent. Lizzie needs to be a kid. And while she’s often more responsible than any of the adults I know, it’s refreshing to see her screaming and laughing and running wild with Cory. Not that it should surprise me; he never quite grew out of being a kid himself.

This thought spirals me right back into thoughts of where I find myself. But at this time it’s with a hint of light that banishes at least some of the shadows hanging over me since our talk over drinks.

The life I suddenly find myself drowning in is more suited for daytime soaps, but whereas those are populated by sour-faced characters who never display even a secondary knowledge of humor, I’ve got Cory to get me through this. And only he would face the end of his hard-won career at the hands of the son of the man who ordered his father killed, and somehow see his high school sweetheart as the way out of it. Only Cory would honor a stupid promise we made each other all those years back.

Only Cory would be the perfect father to Lizzie.

“You have to tell her,” I say after dinner. We’re in a large, two-bedroom suite at Anaheim Hotel within the park itself. Sarah floated off after dessert, claiming that she had an interview in the morning.

Lizzie is on her second popsicle, regaling Cory and me with the highlights of her day. Most of them we were already there for, but this fact does nothing to diminish her enthusiastic retelling.

“You got so wet on that one ride,” she says, laughing at Cory. His clothes are still visibly damp, but I haven’t heard a single complaint.

“That’s only because you used me as a human shield,” he says with a wild smile and a swipe at her popsicle.

Lizzie yanks it out of his reach just in time. But then she holds it out and says, “Okay, but just one tiny bite.”