“I don’t remember us ordering the calamari appetizer,” I said aloud to myself.

“Well, we must have. B-Loved told me Trent always gets awful sick when he has shellfish,” Philippa responded as if I had addressed her.

“Is calamari shellfish?”

“Technically, calamari are mollusks, which are a type of shellfish,” declared Annie. “You seem rather concerned with Trent’s stomach troubles. Are you crushing on that Prima Donna?”

The three of us were in the back of a town car headed uptown to The Carlyle Hotel after our evening in the Korean karaoke club, Miss Kim’s. We were the only remaining members of the party who didn’t live in the city or its environs. Courtesy of the producers of Mom’s play, we had suites in The Carlyle and car service 24 hours a day…for the run of the play, that is.

“You told me you didn’t even like his music,” Philippa reminded me with a giggle.

“I don’t…but I’m just worried about him as…as a colleague, you might say,” I replied, trying to sound disinterested.

“We’re just teasing you. I’ll admit he has a certain undeniable charm.” Annie smiled at a private thought.

“Mr. Driver, what’s the nearest drug store to the hotel?” I had leaned forward to be easier to be heard.

“Hmm…at this time of night? There’s a Duane Reade on Lexington. It’s only two blocks from your hotel.”

“You called him Mister Driver?” laughed Philippa.

“Thank you, Mister Driver. Can you drop me off there? I’ll walk back to the hotel. It’s just two blocks.” Turning to Philippa, I acidly drawled, “It’s always nice to be polite when addressing people you’ve just met.”

“Thank you for correcting my etiquette, Miss Brooks,” replied Philippa with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Two city blocks, Cherry. Two long city blocks. At this time of night. We can park nearby and wait for you,” Annie offered.

“Oh, please, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be alright—”

“Whatever it is you’re picking up, we’re all girls here. No need to be embarrassed. Time of the month?” Philippa actually patted my hand. I’m not sure I want to be in her “circle of trust.” The little b---.

“Don’t mind Philippa. She doesn’t get out much. We’ll park and wait for you, Cherry.”

The issue was decided when our driver parked the car in front of the aforesaid Duane Reade. I told them I would be quick about it and ran into the store. Less than five minutes later, I jumped back into the car, holding a small paper bag in my left hand.

“What do we have here, Miss Brooks?” asked Philippa.

“It’s not for me. It’s a bottle of Pepto-Bismol for Trent’s upset stomach. He’s probably still puking his guts out—”

“Please, not so vivid with the imagery, Miss Brooks!” Philippa fanned herself with both hands.

“Boy, you’ve got it bad for the guy,” Annie whistled. “Are you going to nurse him back to health?”

“I feel sorry for him. He took us all out for a good time and he ended up sick as a dog. Believe me, that can be awful. Mom once fed Alice some beefsteak and we had to take her to the vet—”

“There’s no Urgent Care where you live? You had to take her to a veterinarian?”

“Alice is my bichon.”

“That makes more sense,” Philippa nodded.

“We’re home, girls,” Annie announced as she used the app on her phone to sign for the car service. She reached into her purse and gave the driver a ten-dollar bill. When we all stood on the curb in front of the hotel, I asked, “Why did you give him the cash tip? Wasn’t a tip already included when you signed off in the app?”

“Well, Miss Etiquette, we might get the same driver many more times in the next six months. He’ll be especially diligent when he sees us jump into this car. He’ll remember the tip almost as well as he’ll remember your red hair and freckles.” Annie let us go through the revolving doors first.

I was going to ask the front desk what Trent’s room number was but Annie redirected me toward the elevators and casually informed me, “He’s in 32B.” That was two floors below Mom and me and two floors above Annie and Philippa.

“How do you know his room number?” I asked as our elevator ascended with dispatch.

Annie shot Philippa a sly smirk before turning back to me. “He…uhh…invited me to his suite after the first day of rehearsals.” Philippa giggled.

“Really,” I snickered. “So what happened?”

As Annie and Philippa got off on the 30th floor, Annie turned back to me. “Let’s say he suddenly lost interest.” They both laughed as the elevator doors closed.

I had to stop myself from skipping all the way down the hallway to Trent’s suite. On the one hand, I wanted to give him merciful relief from his indigestion as soon as possible. On the other, he was very nice to me tonight. Me, an unknown straight outta The Valley, wet behind the ears, a nobody. Do you think he kinda likes me? Wait till I tell those obnoxious snobs back at school in Chatsworth! Trent even complimented my singing. Said I was a real contralto.

My thoughts carried me away so much that I almost walked right into Trent’s door. Straightening myself out and brushing my hair away from my face, I switched the paper bag containing the Pepto-Bismol and knocked on the door with my tiny right hand. There was some shuffling of feet behind the door and I heard Trent’s voice.

“Darling, did you order room service? I’ll get the door.”

So impatient, I was about to knock on the door again when it seemed to fly open, whereupon I looked up to see Trent standing before me, barely wearing a bathrobe that was loosely tied around his waist, his curly black hair dripping wet, holding a towel in his left hand.

“Cherry?!!”

He was the image of young male beauty. Wet young male beauty! Breathless, I spit out a torrent of words, dispensing with the pleasantries.

“I thought you might need something to settle your stomach because of your allergy to shellfish. But, you know, I never knew calamari was a type of shellfish. They don’t have shells, do they? And why don’t they just call them squid because that’s what they really are. But anyway I had the driver…Mr. Driver…stop at the Duane Reade on Lexington to pick up this bottle of Pepto-Bismol for you.”

I waved the paper bag in front of Trent’s startled face.

“You’re probably still puking your guts out, right? I can see you’ve taken a shower. A hot shower can warm your stomach and relieve some of the pain of the indigestion. But this will definitely help you quicker. I bought the liquid instead of the tablets because—”

“What’s taking so long, baby? Don’t have any money on you? Let me get my purse—. Cherry!!!!”

It was Mom! She also looked like she had just strolled out of the shower, rubbing a towel through her wet hair (she told me never to dry my hair with a towel because the friction would frizz up your hair cuticles and cause split ends) and reaching for her tan Hermes Kelly bag balanced on the arm of the Chesterfield divan.

My mouth was agape at this spectacle. And Mom was frozen in mid-step, her eyes wide in horror. We stood several feet apart, unwilling to move, unable to speak.

“Now, Cherry,” Trent started, his voice in a higher register. “It’s not exactly what you think. Well, it is…what I mean is…what it was… See, it…Cherry, are you listening?”

“Mom, how could you? You’re the worst mother in the world!” I dropped the paper bag and ran to the elevators. Unwilling to wait for the elevator to arrive, in a blind rage, I stumbled around the hallway until I found the door to the stairs and ran up the steps, somehow managing to climb them two at a time with my legs constricted by my short jeans skirt.

I fumbled with my key card until I finally got into our suite. To my surprise, Alice was ambling around the room, apparently quite comfortable in her new surroundings. My mother must have fed her and let her out of the crate. Well, at least she remembered to do that before surrendering herself to her carnal desires. I flopped onto the sofa and Alice crawled into my lap, seeking affection.

The tears that hadn’t fallen due to my rage now began to cascade down my cheeks. I gulped air and whimpered. Alice licked my face to comfort me. Or was she just thirsty? Like B.B. King sings: no one loves me and even my own mother might be jivin’ me.

I pulled my phone out of my jeans skirt pocket and punched in Alastair’s number.

“Cherry? Is something wrong?” the soothing voice asked me.

“Alastair…Dad! I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of night—”

“I was just settling down to a warm cup of cocoa, putting on my night cap, and getting ready for beddy-bye, Cherry. What’s up?”

I laughed through my honking sobs. “I want to go home. I don’t belong in New York. I don’t belong with Mom…”

“Blow your nose, Cherry, and calm down. What happened?”

“It’s too embarrassing to talk about. Let’s just leave it at my being here puts a crimp in Mom’s social life.”

There was a brief moment of silence. Finally, Alastair cleared his throat and spoke. “I know, Cherry. But your mother is not trying to deliberately hurt you. She’s impulsive. Carefree, some would say. She’s tried to be maternal but…I guess it’s not happening. Look, I’m going back to L.A. after the 4th. After Gran’s barbecue, we’ll go back together. If I can’t get you on my flight I’ll just book two seats on another flight. How about that, kiddo?”

That started a new rush of convulsive sobs. Fighting through the hiccups caused by my crying, I held the phone to my cheek and tried to explain my dilemma.

“I can’t leave. Not yet. I have to find out who my biological father is once and for all. I know who it is. I just need…what’s the word?”

“Closure,” Alastair answered. “Cherry, you have enough on your plate without going through an emotional wringer like this. Let me handle it. You come back to California with me. I’ll look after you until school starts again in September. I don’t think your Mom can say no to that.”

“Stop sniveling! Sorry, Dad, I was telling myself. I can do this. I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me! I’m going to see this through!”

“Good girl! You know if you need me for anything, I’m a phone call or text away. And there’s a room in my house with your name on it…always.”

“Thank you, Dad. I love you.”

“You know I love my beautiful little girl. Now, go wash your pretty face, brush your teeth, and pour yourself a glass of warm milk before going to bed—”

“I’m not a little girl, Dad! I’m 17. On the cusp of womanhood!” I laughed at the irony.

“Good night, you scamp.” He disconnected.

Right on cue, Mom walked into the suite.

“Your hair’s still wet,” I said, facing away from her and gently dropping Alice to the floor.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Cherry. So no questions tonight. Just wash up and go to bed.” She placed her Kelly bag on the other end of the sofa and stood with her hands on her hips, a tired expression on her face.

“I think we need to talk, Mom. I’m disappointed in you.”

Mom crossed her arms. “How so?”

“He’s too young for you. It’s scandalous. Did he hit you up from day one? Were you that easy?”

“I will not have you speak to me in that tone, Cherry. I’m your mother and you’re my child, not the other way around. I’m the adult here.”

“You answered me without answering.” I crossed my arms to mimic her.

“Look, I don’t owe you an explanation but I’ll tell you this. I was sitting here after feeding Alice and watching that show on GlobalNet…the show with that Australian actress…what’s her name?—”

“Get on with it, Mom. I don’t watch much TV. I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s right. You didn’t even care to watch your own mother’s TV series. The one I got nominated for an Emmy for—”

“Compound prepositions, Mom. Didn’t they teach grammar in Rhode Island?” I sneered.

“You’re infuriating, Cherry! As I was trying to say…I get a knock on the door and it’s Trent. He’s holding his stomach, almost hunched over in pain. He tells me he’s got a bad case of indigestion after accidentally eating some calamari which he’s allergic to. And he asks me if I have any antacid pills. He looked really pale and was obviously in great pain so I told him to go back to his room and I’d go out and buy some Kaopectate for him. When I got back, he took two caplets with a glass of water and I put him to bed—”

“I know that, Mom! You don’t have to be graphic!”

“I meant I told him to lie down and try to fall asleep. Well, the Kaopectate worked rather quickly and one thing led to another and—”

“He seduced you. I get it. You’re a fifty-year-old woman, Mom! Does the word ‘no’ ever escape your lips?”

“I’m 47, not 50, Cherry. I’m not having you lecture me on my social life. End of discussion. Go to bed!”

“That’s what she said,” I snarked in reply. I picked Alice up and placed her in her crate, bade her good night and walked toward the bathroom.

Thursday morning at 11AM. I tried to rouse Mom but she begged off. When I told her we’d be late for rehearsal, she told me to go ahead with Maia when she dropped by. She would catch up later when she could.

“Is your mother okay?” asked Maia in the elevator going down to the lobby.

“Oh, she’s fine. I think she might have over-exerted herself last night,” I replied with cheeky insouciance.

“No, you’re kidding me. Those rumors about her and Trent are true?”

“They even concocted this fake excuse of Trent getting sick on some calamari at the karaoke club. It was just an excuse for them to hook up unbeknownst to everyone. Including her own daughter.”

“Get used to it, Cherry. Backstage romances are par for the course in show biz. I’ve been on the wrong end of those a few times, like I told you.”

“She’s my mother not some celebrity in the tabloids.”

---

The moment I stepped out of the service elevator at the rehearsal studio, I intended to make a beeline to Trent to upbraid him for his sordid behavior. But he was nowhere to be seen. Nor was anyone else from his entourage. No B-Loved, no Gooch or Lucky, no Painter Sisters. No one.

“You look forlorn, sweetie,” Maris Lafferty touched my hand.

“Where’s Trent and his entire crew? I needed to speak to him about something.”

“A personal matter?” I nodded. “Well, if you’ll take some advice from an old campaigner who’s well-travelled in affairs of the heart…”

“Of course, Ms. Lafferty.” We sat down at the table. The others were still milling around, cups of coffee in hand, making small talk. Danny was on his phone, having an animated conversation with whomever was on the other end.

“First, you should know that Trent and his people aren’t here because they’re going on a short concert tour of the West Coast. They won’t be back until the 5th. Trent’s a busy boy, managing two careers simultaneously. Touring rock star and prospective stage thespian. It’s amazing he has the energy to do all this and also his ‘extracurricular’ activities.” Maris eyed me intently as if to determine if I caught her drift.

“Don’t get lost in his dark good looks,” she continued. “You’re much too young and innocent to deal with his level of game.”

“And there are some who are too old and jaded to get involved with him,” I noted.

“Are you warning me off” Maris laughed. “I’ve had my share of pretty boys like him. Of course, that was in my younger ingenue days. They’re not worth your time and you’ll end up regretting the whole sordid affair.” She searched my face again. “Word to the wise, dear.”

Our customary late lunch arrived punctually at 1:30PM. Mom had wandered in an hour after rehearsal started and repeatedly fumbled her lines, to the point that Danny had to read her the riot act. She begged everyone’s forgiveness but had no excuse for her strange funk. Of course, I had some idea why she appeared to be at sea throughout the reading. When Philippa asked me what was going on, I shrugged my shoulders.

I had not said a word to Mom from the moment she walked in and I passed right by her when everyone else was moving toward the elevator. I caught David’s eye and he stopped in front of me.

“Not going to lunch with your mother, sunshine?” he asked with a charming smile.

“Well…” I found my voice leaving contralto range and edging into mezzo-soprano. “I’d like to take you out to lunch…” I swallowed. “David.”

“How nice of you, Cherry.” He mimicked scrolling through his phone. “I don’t seem to have a lunch date today. Yes, I’d be honored to accept your invitation. Where shall we dine?”

“I’m not familiar with any of the restaurants around here. I’m from The Valley—”

“Yes, I tell you what. Let me choose the establishment. What’s your pleasure? Sushi, Mexican, Italian, Caribbean, Halal, good old American…”

“I’ve never had Halal. Is that good?”

“Not only is it good, but it’s also kosher, my dear! Come, let us hurry. We only have 45 minutes today for lunch. Danny’s got his knickers in a twist.”

“Because of Mom?”

“That and some problems with the availability of a theater for our dress rehearsals. Danny wants the Neil Simon but the Netherlanders want to put us in The Winter Garden. Trivialities.”

“I want to talk to you…about Mom,” as we walked out into the street in front of the 42nd Street Studios.

“I don’t know how I can be any help. After all, your mother and I have barely seen each other in—”

“17 years. Since I was born,” I interjected.

“That’s about right. Come to think of it. That’s a long time and two, soon to be three marriages ago for both of us.”

“Where are we headed?” I asked, confused that we didn’t appear to be walking toward a street with any restaurants.

“The best Halal in the city is right over there.” He pointed toward Sixth Avenue. “See that line of food carts parked on Sixth Avenue? The third one from the right is Mohamed’s Famous Halal. I recommend the Lamb Over Rice or the Falafel Gyro is you’re a vegetarian.”

“There’s a line half a block long, David. It’ll take us half an hour just to get to order.”

“Oh ye of little faith. I know someone, bonnie lass. Stay here. I’ll saunter over to the back of the cart and my friend Youssef will get us our lunch. Lamb or Gyro for you?”

“I’ll try the lamb.” He tried to look as if he was just casually crossing the street behind the cart as I stayed behind to the side. The line was so long I decided I had to take a picture of it with my phone.

We took our plates and found a table in the Plaza in Times Square. David reached into the pockets of his leather jacket and pulled out two cans of iced tea, handing me one. We settled in and I saw his raised eyebrows as he anticipated my opening conversational gambit.

I threw him a curveball. “So, David, how come you don’t have a very noticeable Scottish burr when you speak?”

“I was born and raised in Edinburgh, the capitol city of Scotland, known for its cosmopolitan culture. My father was a solicitor, my mother a primary school teacher. In other parts of Scotland, especially Glasgow, they call our accents, British English. The good thing about that is most people in the UK can understand what the hell we’re saying most of the time. I went to university in London and I’ve spent the last 20 years basically living in either LA or New York. Long answer but a concise one.”

“But Sean Connery is from Edinburgh too.”

“Nothing against it but Sean’s father was a lorry driver and factory worker, his mum a cleaning lady. And he lays it on thick for the movie audiences anyway. But, time is short, what do you want to ask me about?”

“It’s about Mom…and you.”