Firefly Lane (43 page)

"Well." She stood up, stretching. "I think I'll hit the sack." To Fat Bob, she said, "That's it for the night. Go get a good night's sleep. We'll start again at eight."

Fat Bob nodded, packed up his gear, and headed to his room down the hall.

"Can I sleep with Aunt Tully?" Marah said, letting her book fall to the floor.

"It's okay with me," Johnny said, "if Tully doesn't mind."

"Are you kidding? A slumber party with my favorite goddaughter is a perfect end to the day."

After Johnny went to his own room, Tully played mommy to Marah—telling her to brush her teeth and wash her face and get into her jammies.

"I'm too old for jammies," Marah informed her smartly, but when she climbed into bed, she snuggled up to Tully like the little girl she'd been only a few short years ago.

"This was so awesome, Aunt Tully," she said sleepily. "I'm going to be a TV star, too, when I grow up."

"I don't doubt it."

"If my mom lets me, which she probably won't."

"What do you mean?"

"My mom won't let me do anything."

"You do know that your mom is my best friend, right?"

"Yeah," she answered grudgingly.

"Why do you think that is?"

Marah twisted around and looked at her. "Why?"

"Because your mom rocks."

Marah made a face. "My mom? She never does anything cool."

Tully shook her head. "Marah, your mother loves you no matter what and she's proud of you. Believe me, princess, that's the coolest thing in the world."

The next morning Tully got up early and went to the bedroom door across the hall. There, she paused, gathering her nerve, and knocked. When no one answered, she quietly opened it.

Her mother was still asleep.

Smiling, she left the suite and closed the door quietly behind her. At Johnny's door, she paused and knocked.

He answered quickly, dressed in one of the hotel's robes, his hair dripping wet. "I thought we were starting at eight."

"We are. I'm just going to get Cloud some clothes to take to rehab and some breakfast for all of us. Marah's still asleep."

Johnny frowned. "You're moving awfully fast, Tully. The stores aren't open yet."

"I've always been fast. You know that, Johnny. And everything is open for Tallulah Hart. It's one of the perks of my life. You have a key to my room?"

"Yeah. I'll go over there now. You be careful."

Ignoring his concern, she went to the Public Market and stocked up on croissants, beignets, and cinnamon rolls. Cloud needed to pack on a few pounds. Then she went to La Dolce, where she bought her mother jeans, tops, shoes, underwear and bras, as well as the thickest jacket she could find. She was back at the hotel by nine.

"I'm home," she called out, kicking the door shut behind her. "And wait till you see what I've got." She draped the garment bags over the sofa and set the bags on the floor.

At the small table in the sitting room, she began setting out the rolls and beignets.

Fat Bob was in the corner, shooting her entrance.

She gave him her best smile. "My mother needs to put on a few pounds. This should do it. I got practically every coffee Starbucks sells. I don't know what she likes."

Johnny sat on the sofa, looking tired.

"It's like a morgue in here." Tully went to her mother's door and knocked. "Cloud?"

There was no answer.

She knocked again. "Cloud? Are you in the shower? I'm coming in."

She opened the door.

The first thing she noticed was the smell of cigarettes and the open window. The bed was empty.

"Cloud?" She went to the bathroom, which was still damp and cloudy with steam. Thick Egyptian cotton towels lay in a heap on the floor. The washrag and hand towel were stained with dirt and lying in the sink.

Tully backed slowly out of the steamy bathroom and faced Johnny and the camera. "She left?"

"A half an hour ago," he said. "I tried to stop her."

Tully was stunned by how betrayed she felt, like that ten-year-old girl again, abandoned on the Seattle street. Worthless and unwanted.

Johnny came over to her, took her in his arms, and held her. She wanted to ask him
why,
ask what was wrong with her that no one ever stayed, but the question caught in her throat. She clung to him for too long, taking the comfort he offered. He stroked her head, whispered,
Shhh,
in her ear as if she were a child.

In time, though, she remembered where she was and pulled back, forcing a smile for the camera. "Well, there it is. The end of the documentary. I'm done, Bob." Sidestepping Johnny, she went back into her room, where she heard Marah singing in the shower. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her mother wouldn't break her again. She'd been a fool to even think there could be a different ending than this one.

Then she noticed the empty nightstand beside her. "The bitch stole my jewelry."

She closed her eyes and sat on the end of the bed. Pulling a cell phone out of her pocket, she hit Kate's number and listened to the ringing. When her friend answered, Tully didn't even bother with hello. "There's something wrong with me, Katie," she said quietly, her voice trembling.

"She ditched you?"

"Like a thief in the night."

"Tallulah Rose Hart, you listen to me right now. You are going to hang up the phone and get down to the ferry right now. I'll take care of you. Got it? And bring my family with you."

"You don't have to yell. I'm coming. We all are. But you better have alcohol ready for me when I get there. And I'm not mixing it with that gross juice your kids drink."

Kate laughed. "It's the morning, Tully. I'll make you breakfast."

"Thanks, Kate," Tully said quietly. "I owe you one."

When she looked up she saw Fat Bob. He was filming all of this from the doorway, with Johnny standing beside him.

But it wasn't the red light on the camera or the knowledge of her public humiliation or the all-seeing lens that broke her.

It was Johnny and the sad, knowing way he looked at her that finally made her cry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The documentary aired two weeks later, and even Kate, who was used to Tully's amazing successes, was caught off guard by the public's reaction. It caused a media frenzy. For years Tully had been seen on camera as the cool, witty professional, following stories and reporting on them with her journalist's detachment.

Now the public learned how she'd been disappointed and abandoned. They saw beyond the journalist to the woman within, and they couldn't stop talking about her. The phrase heard most often was,
just like me
.

Before the documentary, the public respected Tully Hart. Afterward, they adored her. She graced the cover of
People
and
Us
in the same week. The documentary—and segments from it—were played and replayed on entertainment news shows. America, it seemed, couldn't get enough of Tully Hart.

But while everyone was watching Tully and the sad encounter with her estranged mother, Kate saw something else entirely on that tape, and she watched it just as obsessively.

She couldn't help noticing the way Johnny looked at Tully at the end, when Cloud's disappearance was revealed, the way he'd gone to her and taken her in his arms.

And then there was the quiet talk Tully and Johnny had had out at Sunshine Farms. They'd edited out whatever words had been exchanged and gone to an establishing shot of the commune, but Kate couldn't help wondering what they'd said to each other.

She studied their body language like a primatologist, but in the end she had only what she'd had in the beginning: two old friends working together on an emotional documentary and a wife who'd worried for a long time about them.

That should have been the end of it. If nothing else had happened, Kate would have boxed up her old jealousies and put them away again, just as she'd done dozens of times over the years.

But something
had
happened.

Syndiworld, the second largest syndication company in the world, had seen the documentary and offered Tully her own one-hour show, of which she would be a majority interest owner.

The idea had rocked Tully's world, offered her a way to be herself on camera, to show the world who she really was and how she really felt. No more three
A.M
. start times, either. The minute she heard the idea, she said it was exactly what she needed, but even so, she'd put down two conditions: first, they had to shoot in Seattle; second, John Ryan had to be her producer. Neither of these had she bothered to clear with her friends.

Kate and Johnny had been on the back porch, talking over drinks after a long day, when the first phone call had come in.

Johnny had laughed at Tully's offer, told her to find a producer who specialized in prima donnas.

Then Tully mentioned a salary in the millions.

Now, two days later, Kate sure as hell wasn't laughing. She and Johnny were in the living room, trying to keep their voices down because the kids were in bed. Tully was back in New York, no doubt sitting by the phone, waiting to see if once again she'd get her way.

"I don't know why you're fighting me on this, Katie," Johnny said, pacing in front of the window. "It will change our lives."

"What's wrong with our life now?"

"Do you understand how much money they're offering us? We could pay off this house and send the kids to Harvard for medical degrees. And I could do a few shows that
mattered
. Tully said I could spotlight places in the world that are in trouble. Do you know what that would mean to me?"

"Is that how you want your career to be from now on—starting everything with,
Tully said
?"

"Are you asking if I can work for her? The answer is hell, yes. I've worked for a lot worse people than Tully Hart."

"Maybe I'm asking if you should be working for her," Kate said softly.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. "You've got to be kidding me. Is that what this is about? One night a million years ago?"

"She's an incredibly beautiful woman. I just think . . ." She couldn't finish, couldn't put her old fears and insecurities into words.

The look he gave her was so hot she felt herself melting, disappearing. "I don't deserve that."

She watched him storm up the stairs, heard the bedroom door slam shut.

She sat there a long time, staring down at her wedding ring. Why was it that some memories could never be erased? Slowly, she turned off all the lights, locked all the doors, and went upstairs.

At their closed door she paused, taking a deep breath. She knew what she had to do now, what she had to say. She'd hurt his feelings and insulted him. They both knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Her insecurities and jealousy couldn't stand in the way of that.

She had to go to him, say she was sorry, and tell him she was foolish to be afraid, that she believed in his love like she believed in sunshine and rain. It was true, too. She did.

Because of all that, she should be proud of Johnny and happy for this chance and what it meant to him. That was what marriage was, a team sport, and this was her time to be cheerleader. But even knowing all that, she couldn't quite be happy.

Instead, she was afraid.

Yes, they'd be rich. Maybe even powerful.

But at what cost?

Tully finished off her contract, had an emotional, celebrity-studded last broadcast, and said goodbye to New York. She found a new penthouse in the Emerald City and spent the next month in closed-door meetings, coming up with the plans for her new show, which she was calling
The Girlfriend Hour with Tully Hart
in honor of the Mularkeys' holiday tradition. She and Johnny had spent long hours working together like the old days, hiring staff and designing the set and devising show concepts.

By August of 2003, much of the advance work was done and she realized that yet again she'd been so busy with work that she'd forgotten to have a life. Even with Kate just across the bay, Tully had hardly seen her. So she picked up the phone and invited her best friend and goddaughter to spend the day with her.

"Sorry," Kate said. "I can't come into the city."

"Come on," Tully pleaded. "I know I haven't called enough this summer, but Johnny and I have been working twelve-hour days."

"Tell me something I don't know. You see him more than we do."

"I've missed you."

There was a pause, then: "I've missed you, too, but today is no good for me. The boys have some friends coming over."

"How about if I take Marah off your hands? Yeah," Tully said, warming to the idea. "I could take her to Gene Juarez for a manicure and a makeup lesson. Maybe a facial. It'd be great. A girl's day out."

"She is too young for a spa, Tully." Kate laughed, but it sounded a little strained. "And you can forget the makeover. She is not allowed to wear makeup until ninth grade."

"No one is too young for a spa, Kate, and you're crazy to forbid makeup. Remember when your mom tried that? We just put it on at the bus stop. Don't you want her to learn the right way to apply it?"

"Not yet."

"Come on," Tully cajoled. "Put her on the eleven-fifteen boat. I'll meet her at McDonald's. You said you two are always fighting anyway."

"Well . . . I guess that would be okay. But no R-rated movies, no matter how much she begs."

"Okay."

"Maybe that'll put her in a good mood. Tomorrow we're going school shopping, which is only slightly less painful than a root canal without anesthesia."

"Maybe I'll take her to Nordstrom, get her something special."

"Forty dollars."

"What?"

"That's how much you can spend. Not one dollar more, and Tully, if you buy her anything that shows off her belly—"

"I know. I know. Britney Spears is the Antichrist. Got it."

"Good. I'll go tell Marah."

Exactly one hour and twelve minutes later, Tully directed her driver to pull up beside the McDonald's on Alaskan Way. She could tell by the honking that it was an illegal place to park, but what did she care?