What I Did For Love Part 30

"Let's swim."

He loved career talks, especially when they involved upcoming meetings with producers and directors. He could go on forever about the att.i.tude she should project and what she should say. She looked at him curiously, trying to figure out why he was being so weird.

"The water's perfect," he said.

"O-kay." She slipped in.

He immediately began swimming toward the deep end. As he turned back toward her, she kicked off.

It went on that way for a while, the two of them swimming back and forth in opposite directions, neither one speaking. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she finally put her feet down. "Dad, I know how much this Greenberg meeting means to you, but-"

He stopped swimming. "We don't always have to talk about business. Why don't we just...relax a little?"

She regarded him quizzically. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing's wrong." But he wasn't meeting her eyes, and he seemed uncomfortable. Maybe she'd watched too many movies, because she started wondering if he might have some kind of terminal disease, or maybe he'd decided to marry one of the women he dated, none of whom Georgie could warm up to, although she was grateful her father dated age-appropriately instead of going out with the twenty-somethings he could still attract.

"Dad, are you-"

An enormous splash of water hit her full in the face. She put up her hands, but not before he drew back his arm and sent another splash flying directly at her. Water shot up her nose and stung her eyes. She sputtered and choked. "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?"

His arm dropped to his side. His face flushed with what, if she didn't know him better, would have been embarra.s.sment. "I was just...having a little fun."

She coughed and finally caught her breath. "Well, stop it!"

He took a step back. "I'm sorry. I thought..."

"Are you sick? What's wrong?"

He lunged for the ladder. "I'm not sick. We'll talk later."

He grabbed his towel and hurried off toward the house. She gazed after him, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Chapter 20.

After Georgie had dressed and showered, she went into her office. Aaron sat at the computer, working away to the invisible beat coming through his headphones. He started to remove them, but she gestured for him to leave them on. Her father's things were gone. Good. That meant she could take the coward's way out and text him this evening to tell him she'd refused the meeting instead of delivering the news face-to-face. Georgie had dressed and showered, she went into her office. Aaron sat at the computer, working away to the invisible beat coming through his headphones. He started to remove them, but she gestured for him to leave them on. Her father's things were gone. Good. That meant she could take the coward's way out and text him this evening to tell him she'd refused the meeting instead of delivering the news face-to-face.

She glanced at the guest list for their wedding party, which was less than three weeks away, and saw that nearly everyone had accepted-no surprise. A stack of invitations to benefits, fas.h.i.+on shows, and the debut of her hairdresser's new product line waited for her, but she didn't want to do any of it. She only wanted to look at the film she'd shot of Chaz.

Aaron had helped her set up her new editing equipment in the far corner of the room. She loaded the footage and quickly became absorbed in what she saw. As much as Chaz's story fascinated her, she was also intrigued by Soledad, the housecleaner. And there were so many others she wanted to talk to. Waitresses and shop-girls. Meter maids and nursing-home aides. She wanted to record the stories of everyday women doing everyday work in the glamour capital of the world.

When she finally looked up from the monitor, she discovered Aaron had left for the day. Laura should have canceled her meeting by now, but just in case she hadn't, Georgie would wait until tomorrow morning to call Rich Greenberg with her apologies.

She went downstairs and was unpleasantly surprised to find her father coming out of the screening room. "Catching up on an old Almodovar film," he said.

"I thought you'd left."

"My cleaning service discovered a mold problem in the town house. I'm having it treated, but I need to move out for a few days while that's going on. I hope you don't mind if I stay here a little longer."

She did mind, especially now that she had to deliver the news about the canceled meeting to his face. "That's fine."

Bram emerged from the kitchen. "Stay as long as you want, Dad," he drawled. "You know you're always welcome here."

"Like the plague," her father shot back.

"Not as long as you follow the rules."

"Which means?"

Bram was clearly enjoying himself, but then the world was his oyster, so why not? "First, leave Georgie alone. She's my headache now, not yours."

"Hey!" Georgie planted her hand on her hip.

"Second...Actually, that's it. Ease up on your daughter. But I'd also like to hear your thoughts on Tree House. Tree House."

Her father glowered. "Don't you ever get tired of being sarcastic, Shepard?"

Georgie stared at Bram. "I don't think he's being sarcastic, Dad. He really wants your opinion. And, believe me, I'm as surprised as you."

Her fake husband looked down his nose at her. "Just because Paul's a controlling pain in the a.s.s who drives you crazy doesn't mean he's not smart. He gave a h.e.l.l of a reading last night, and I'd like to hear what he has to say about the script."

Her father, who was never at a loss for words, didn't seem to know how to respond. Finally, he slipped a hand in his pocket and said, "All right."

Their dinner conversation got off to an awkward start, but no one came to blows, and before long, they were brainstorming ways to solve a credibility problem in Helene and Danny's first scene. Later, Paul argued that Ken's character should be more nuanced, insisting that adding more layers to the abusive father's personality would make him additionally menacing. Georgie agreed with her father, and Bram listened attentively.

Gradually, she realized that the original script hadn't been as flawless as Bram had led her to believe, and that Bram was the person who'd polished it, sometimes making only minor tweaks, but also adding new scenes while still remaining faithful to the original book. Knowing Bram could write so well added another crack in the foundation of her old convictions about him.

Bram downed the last of his coffee. "You've given me some good ideas. I need to make a few notes."

It was long past time for her to get down to the gruesome business of being honest with her father, and she reluctantly waved Bram off.

As a predictably uncomfortable silence fell between them, another fragment of memory slipped through her. She'd only been four when her mother died, so she didn't have a lot of memories, but she remembered a shabby apartment that seemed perpetually filled with laughter, suns.h.i.+ne, and what her mother called freebie plants. She'd lop off part of a sweet potato or the top of a pineapple and stick it in a pot of dirt, or suspend an avocado pit with toothpicks over a gla.s.s of water. Her father hardly ever talked about her mother, but when he did, he described her as a well-meaning but disorganized scatterbrain. But they'd looked happy in their photos.

She curled her fingers around the napkin in her lap. "Dad, it's about tomorrow..."

"I know you're not entirely enthusiastic, but don't let Greenberg see that. Describe how you'll put your own spin on the character. Get him to offer you that part. It's going to take your career to the next level, I promise."

"But I don't want the part."

She could see his frustration, and she braced herself for a pointed lecture on her stubbornness, lack of vision, naivete, and ingrat.i.tude. But then he did the oddest thing. He said, "Why don't we play some cards?"

"Cards?"

"Why not?"

"Because you hate cards. Dad, what is wrong wrong with you?" with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me. Just because I'd like to play cards with my daughter doesn't mean anything's wrong. We can do more than talk about business, you know."

She wasn't buying it, not for a minute. Laura had spilled the beans about the canceled meeting, and instead of confronting Georgie directly about it, her father had decided to change his strategy. The fact that he believed he could manipulate her with these clumsy attempts at being a "pal" devastated her. He was dangling what she most wanted in front of her to make her do his bidding. This was his newest tactic to keep her from slipping away.

Her pain morphed into anger. It was time she let him know she was no longer letting him control her life in the futile hope that he'd throw a few crumbs of genuine affection her way. This past month had changed her. She'd made mistakes, but they'd been her mistakes, and she intended to keep it that way. "You're not going to talk me into rescheduling the meeting," she said flatly. "I canceled it."

Her heart started to pound. Did she have the guts to hold her ground, or was she going to give in to him once again?

"What are you talking about?"

A lump formed in her throat. She spoke quickly, working around it. "Even if Greenberg offered me the part with my name over the t.i.tle, I wouldn't take it. I'm only doing projects that excite me, and if you're not okay with that, I'm sorry." She swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't keep going on like this, with you and Laura making decisions behind my back."

"Georgie, this is crazy."

"I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. I know you only want what's best for my career, but what's best for my career isn't always best for me." Oh, G.o.d, she couldn't cry. She needed to be as businesslike with him as he was with her. She dug deeper into her growing reservoir of resolve. "I need you to step aside now, Dad. I'm taking over."

"Step aside?"

She gave a jerky nod.

"I see." His handsome features didn't show even a hint of emotion. "Yes, well...I see."

She waited for the coldness, the condescension, the scathing arguments. Without her career holding them together, they had nothing, and if she didn't back down, they'd have no relations.h.i.+p at all. It was so ironic. Half an hour earlier, she'd been enjoying her father's company for the first time in longer than she could remember, and now she was about to lose him forever. Still, she wouldn't retreat. She'd emanc.i.p.ated herself from Lance. Now it was time to free herself from her father. "Please, Dad...Try to understand."

He didn't even blink. "I'm sorry, too, Georgie. I'm sorry that it's come to this."

And that was all. He walked away. Without another word. Out to the guesthouse to get his things. Out of her life.

She resisted a nearly overwhelming urge to go after him. Instead, she dragged herself upstairs. Bram must have been too lazy to go to his office because he was sitting on the couch in hers, an ankle resting on his knee, one of Aaron's legal pads propped on his thigh. She stopped in the doorway. "I think I...fired my father."

He looked up. "You're not sure?"

"I-" She sagged against the doorjamb. "What have I done?"

"Grown up?"

"He'll never talk to me again. And it's not like I have any other family."

Poor, pitiful Georgie York.

She straightened. She was sick of this. "I'm firing Laura, too. I'm doing it right now."

"Wow. A Georgie York bloodbath."

"You think I'm wrong?"

He uncrossed his leg and set down the legal pad. "I think you don't need anyone else telling you how to run your career when you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself."

She appreciated that. At the same time, she wished he'd either argue with her or agree.

He watched her reach for the phone. She felt like throwing up. She'd never fired anyone in her life. Her father had always taken care of it.

Laura picked up on the first ring. "Hi, Georgie. I was getting ready to call you. I'm not happy about it, but I canceled the meeting. I think you should call Rich yourself tomorrow and-"

"Yes, I'll do that." She sank into Aaron's desk chair. "Laura, I have something to tell you."

"Are you all right? You sound funny."

"I'm all right, but..." She studied the neat stack of papers without really seeing them. "Laura, I know we've been together for a long time, and I appreciate all your hard work, everything you've done for me, but..." She rubbed her forehead. "I need to let you go."

"Let me go?"

"I-I have to make some changes." She hadn't heard Bram come up behind her, but his hand settled between her shoulder blades. "I know how difficult my father can be, and I'm not blaming you-truly I'm not-but I have to...make a fresh start. With representation I hire myself."

"I see."

"I-I need to make sure that my opinion is the only one that counts."

"Ironic." Laura gave a dry laugh. "Yes. Yes, I understand. Let me know as soon as you've hired a new agent. I'll...try to make the transition as smooth as I can. Good luck, Georgie."

Laura hung up. No begging. No hard sell. Georgie felt sick. She dropped her forehead to the desk. "That was so unfair. Dad established the rules, and I went along. Now she's paying the price."

Bram took the phone from her and set it back on the cradle. "Laura knew it wasn't working. It was her job to do something about it."

"Still..." She pressed her face into the crook of her elbow.

"Stop it." He curled his fingers around her shoulders and drew her into a sitting position. "Don't second-guess yourself."

"Easy for you to say. You get off on being ruthless." She pushed herself out of the chair.

"I like Laura a lot," he said, "and she could probably have been a decent agent for you. But not as long as she served two masters."

"My father will never speak to me again."

"You aren't that lucky." He planted his hip on the edge of her desk. "So what brought about Georgie York's nuclear winter?"

"Dad wanted to play cards. And he splashed me in the pool." She kicked the wastebasket, which accomplished nothing except hurting her big toe and sending trash flying across the carpet. "d.a.m.n it." She dropped to her knees to clean up the mess. "Help me with this before Chaz sees."

He nudged a wad of paper toward her with the toe of his shoe. "Out of curiosity...Has your life always been a train wreck, or did I just happen to stumble on the scene during a particularly eventful time?"

She pitched a banana peel in the trash. "You could help, you know."

"And I will. I'm going to help you drown your troubles in some mind-blowing s.e.x."

Considering the fragile state of her marriage, mind-blowing s.e.x was probably a good idea. "I get to dominate. I'm sick of submission."