Under the Lights

“I’m having dinner with her tomorrow.” I exhale sharply and take a long drink from my wineglass, even though my mom’s preferred pinot noir tastes like ass. “Can we get to the point of this dinner?”

“Joshua—”

“He’s right, Yvette,” Harold says flatly. “I have work to do. If there’s something you need, just say it.”

She sucks in a sharp, insulted breath and forces a single tear into her eye. It’s her signature move, and you’d think she’d know by now that it doesn’t move either me or my father for a second. We know all her soap actress shit backward and forward. “So much for the support of family. I’m really counting on you both in this difficult time.”

“Your parents are already dead, Yvette, so whatever it is, just spit it out.”

I nearly choke on my wine when I laugh. I forgot just how much of a dick my father can be.

“My show’s been canceled,” she says icily. “You happy now, asshole?”

Huh. For a second, I think I might actually feel… bad for my mother. Granted, she’s a pretty lousy actress, and the show’s terrible, but it’s her entire fucking life. She was on that show when she met my dad. Her pregnancy with me is actually documented in some sort of terrible borderline-incest storyline. When I was little, I used to think it was cool to watch those episodes and point myself out in her belly. At least until she’d shut off the TV because she hated the way seeing herself pregnant reminded her of having cankles.

Harold must feel the same twinge of sympathy I do, because he actually musters up an “I’m sorry to hear that, Yvette.”

“Me too,” I mumble.

Just like that, the sugary smile jumps back onto her face. “I’m so glad to hear that the two of you are in my corner, just like I knew you would be. I think you’re going to love the idea I have for my next move, now that I’ll have some free time.”

Some free time? I snort. As if my mother does anything other than the show and get trashed on wine coolers at her favorite spa.

She ignores me and plows onward. “And really, wouldn’t it be nice to have some more time together as a family? I think this is really something that will bring us all together.”

And just like that, I know exactly what she’s going to say. “I am not doing a fucking reality show, Marsha.”

“Oh, Yvette…” Harold sighs. “Come on.”

“What happened to your support?” she demands. “I need you both on board with this. It’s important for me to maintain an onscreen presence.”

“Why can’t you just jump to another soap?” I ask.

“Because that sneaky bitch Laura is screwing Tom and he told her the show was tanking weeks before anyone else found out. She already snatched up the role on Myrtle’s Beach I would’ve been perfect for.”

“What about that other one?” asks Harold. “The one with the redhead.”

“I’ve had creative differences with one of the producers.” Which probably means she’s fucked him. Fantastic. “Anyway, I’ve been on Time Goes By for twenty years, and I think it’s time to do something different, get my name and face out there to a new audience. We could all use that, couldn’t we?”

“I’m not exactly hurting for clients,” Harold says wryly.

“I’m doing fine, too, thanks for asking.”

She glares daggers at me, then turns to my father. “You’re absolutely correct, Harold. I didn’t mean to suggest you needed any assistance. But I’d love to have you on every now and again.”

Funny how she didn’t offer me the same option. And I blame the fact that I seem to have drunk the entire bottle of wine in front of me for why it took me so long to realize why. “You need me, don’t you? I’m a condition of you getting this show.”

She clutches the stem of her wineglass until her bony knuckles turn white. “The studio did mention that they would be interested in featuring my son alongside me, yes.”

I shake my head. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Harold sighs, but when I glance over at him, he’s typing furiously on the ancient BlackBerry he insists on using. He’s clearly checked out of this conversation; it’s just me and Marsha now.

“Is this really so much to ask?” she all but spits.

“A reality show? Yes, it’s a lot to ask.”

Her jaw clenches, and then it relaxes and she takes a sip of wine. “Well, then, given that obviously we’ll have to be tightening some purse strings around here, I must say, I look forward to having you back here, Joshua.”

I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, now that we’re losing my income we’ll obviously have to give up some things. And the beach house really is one of our most expensive assets. Considering neither your father nor I ever use it…”

“I’ll buy the damn thing from you, if that’s what you want.”

But of course it isn’t. She smiles evilly. “Well, as it happens, I’ve been approached about the house a number of times. I’d have to consider all offers.”

She knows I can’t outbid anyone. Hell, I probably can’t even pay market value. Modeling and doing appearances pays, but it doesn’t pay Malibu-beach-house money. “You’re seriously blackmailing me with my fucking house to get me to do your stupid show?”