Hollywood's Secret Baby

“Sorry,” Cory says, looking from my untouched plate to me. “I just had to see if this place was still here. You know, for nostalgia’s sake. And the moment I saw that glowing red sign, I had a craving for pizza. I guess it was just me, though.”

“It’s not that.”

How could I possibly be hungry with what’s weighing on me? I’m not sure how open I can be with this version of Cory. Some aspects of him are the same. But he’s been covered in a new paint of sexy, and it’s hard opening up like we used to. The Cory before me could have changed in a million different ways in the time we’ve been apart.

It’s for this reason that I haven’t actually decided yet if I’m even going to tell him about Lizzie. I’ve gotten into the whole ‘single mother’ groove. I’m handling things. I mean, I’m frantic at times, and I’ve certainly screamed at Lizzie when I shouldn’t have, but that’s every parent. At least that’s what I tell myself. The point is that Cory hasn’t been a parent for a single day of Lizzie’s life, and springing this news on him could go one of three ways.

First, he runs. I

’m betting most heavily on this option.

Second, he stays. But only for a short time until he misses his obviously better life wherever he’s been this whole time. Leaving Lizzie heartbroken and me to clean up the pieces.

No thank you.

The last option is that he stays for good. We become a happy family. They even make a Lifetime movie out of us. We’re just that sappy.

Or I could avoid all of these possibilities and simply enjoy this little reunion with a childhood friend. Then go back home to my regularly scheduled life.

“The truth is that I haven’t had a slice of pizza in two years. No fast food at all, in fact.” Cory says. “That was about when I got on a vegan kick.” He points down to the sausage on his supreme pizza. “Guess you can see that didn’t stick. But the whole health thing did. I mean, it’s not like I had time to hit the gym or eat anything besides fast food for a few years there. Man, I was really burning the candle at both ends. But now I can relax.” He shakes his head as though to settle thoughts running wild. “Listen to me. Can’t stop talking about myself. What I really want to know is what you’ve been up to. Because let me say, you look amazing.”

I don't want the spotlight shone on me. I need him to keep talking so I can figure out who he is now. Because despite my best efforts, I’ve never been able to find out a single thing about him. Searches on the web, on lonely nights when I’d had the better part of a bottle of wine, always led to nothing. There were no news stories about him. No social media in his name. Nothing. So when he begins mentioning little snippets of his life—like becoming a vegan and working himself to near death—I perk up, hoping for a peek into the mysterious life he’s led since we last met. Now he’s turning the attention onto me, as though I have any exciting stories to tell of the past decade.

And if you include a secret love child, it has been most interesting indeed. But I’m not about to bring up Lizzie just yet.

“Thanks,” I say to his remark about my looking good. “You’re saying it only took you two years to look like that? God, I’ve been going to the gym three times a week for five years and I only started to see results these past six months it seems.”

“That’s modesty if I’ve ever heard it. But then again, you were a looker back in high school too.”

“Now I know you’re bullshitting me.”

“It’s true,” he says, his perfect set of teeth flashing between bites of greasy pizza. “Why else do you think I stuck around you so long? Your personality?” He laughs, and I realize there’s something else that hasn’t changed. Every other aspect of him might be polished to a high shine, but the laugh that got him mocked back in our school days hasn’t changed a bit. It’s still too high-pitched and something like you might expect to hear from an antelope when a lion makes its kill.

“So where do you work nowadays?” he asks. “Back in school, I remember you would go on and on about a million different things you were going to do to change the world. One week it was becoming a marine biologist. The next it was being an actress. So you working with whales or starring in any independent movies I’ve never heard of?”

All at once, I feel my insides shrivel up. Earlier, I’d been hoping to show everyone at the reunion how much better I had done than any of the rest of them. How I’d finally grown out of my ugly little shell and blossomed. How I had it all. That’s what it would look like from anyone who didn’t know me. But Cory isn’t everyone.

“No, no,” I say, trying not to meet his eyes. In a low voice like I’m discussing a drug deal, I hiss out, “I work in public TV.”

His eyes narrow and his lips poke out. I’ve seen this look before. Cory’s hoping to come up with a reply that’s somehow funny and smart at the same time. He misses the mark on both. “You’re not painting happy little clouds or dressing in a giant yellow bird costume are you?”

“Honestly those would both have been better alternatives. No, I teach history. It’s this show that’s cut up into little snippets to appeal to the short attention spans of today’s youth.” I don’t know why I spouted off that marketing jargon, but it seems to justify the fact that I teach to a camera in an empty studio for a television audience who wants nothing more than for my segments to end so that they can get back to their cartoons.

So I turn the question back on him. From the looks of Cory, he’s definitely got some stories to tell. But no matter how I think back, I can’t remember him aspiring to any one job. Outside of owning a comic book store and playing video games all day. So I have no idea what to expect when I ask, “What do you do these days?”

Cory takes a massive bite of pizza, balling up it up in his left cheek to answer. “I make movies in Hollywood.”

I actually choke on the soda I’m sipping at when he says this. I cover my mouth and nose so he can’t see how it’s spurting out of every hole in my face, but I must not do that great of a job, because he’s laughing and handing me bunches of napkins at the same time.

“Haven’t seen someone do that in years,” he says and leans over so he can pat me on the back. “You going to survive there, Augusta?”

It’s the first time he’s called me by my real name, not Hot Stuff. And when his laughter dies away—and my embarrassment loses a bit of the same sting I’m feeling in my sinuses right now—I look up and into his eyes. It’s only for a moment, and I might even be imagining it, but the shields he’s kept up all night fall away. His sarcasm and happy-go-lucky exterior drop, and his true self is looking back at me. And for just a fleeting moment I allow myself to imagine what a happy family we could be.

Cory, Lizzie and me.

Then it’s gone, and so is his hand that was placing a reassuring pressure on my wrist. Coughing to clear my throat, I try to take the attention off of me by turning it back on him. “Have I seen any of your movies?”

“Maybe. There was one that came out a few months ago. The Short Way Back?”