Room 702 (32 page)

 
Nancy jots a few notes and then, putting her pen down, asks, “Oscar, I want to really think about this question I’m about to ask you.”

 
“Go ahead, Doc.”

 
“What is your biggest fear?”
 
When he doesn’t answer, Nancy says gently, “It’s okay to have more than one.”

 
“I’m afraid of everything.”

 
“Name your fears, Oscar.”

 
He sighs deeply and says, “I worry that I’ll get injured and won’t be able to play.”

 
“What else?”

 
“That I’ll do something stupid and Dani will leave me.”

 
“And chatting up another woman does not qualify as something stupid?”

 
“I know.”

 
“Do you?
 
I know you aren’t comfortable with the discussions you and Dani have been having around children, but sabotaging your relationship before you even have a chance to start?
 
I thought you were better than that.”

 
“Maybe I’m not.”

 
“I don’t believe you.
 
I also don’t believe you’ve been honest with yourself.
 
Oscar, what is your greatest fear?”

 
He looks out the window and in a shaky breath answers, “Being alone.”

 
“And why do you think that is?”

 
“You really want me to say it?”

 
“I do.
 
I know it will be painful, but if we’re going to get anywhere I need you to admit this.”

 
“Fine.
 
I think I fear being alone, because it’s how I feel most of the time.
 
It’s how I felt growing up.”

 
“Who made you feel this way?”

 
“My parents.”
 
Oscar releases another deep shuddering sigh.
 
Although he would’ve never expected it and wouldn’t admit the action outside of the room, his bottom lip begins to tremble and the corners of his eyes tear up.
 
He can’t remember the last time he cried, so the act feels strange and foreign.

 
Nancy quietly passes a tissue across and says, “It’s okay, Oscar.
 
It’s okay and you’re not alone.
 
There are many people who love and care for you.”

 
Wiping tears away, his voice cracks and he says, “It doesn’t feel that way.
 
It feels like everyone else has someone, has support.
 
Why can’t I have that?”

 
“You will.”

 
“Why don’t I?”

 
“It takes time.”

“Why couldn’t they show me they cared?
 
Why do they still not seem to give a shit about anything I do?”

 
“I can’t answer for them and I can’t change them.
 
All I can do is help you accept your feelings and move on.” Nancy pauses and asks, “Can you help me do that?”

 
Oscar blows his nose loudly and says, “Yes.”

 
“Although it might be difficult to do, I need you to stop putting so much effort towards thinking about your parents.
 
They’ve made choices and do not appear to be very interested in changing their attitude any time soon.
 
At the moment, the subject is one of frustration and anger.
 
I’d rather you focus on things you can change.
 
Do you understand what I’m saying, Oscar?”

 
“I do.”

“Your interaction with your team, your wife — these are things you can change.”

 
Giving one last sniffle, he says, “I know.”

 
“But Oscar, I’m proud of you.”

 
“Why?”

“It’s not easy admitting a fear.
 
It’s not easy to admit that your parents made you feel alone.”

 
He doesn’t answer.

 
“Oscar, it’s not your fault you were born into that household.”

 
He remains quiet.

 
“Oscar, you’re not alone.”

Oscar picks at the dampened tissue.

 
“Oscar, repeat after me, ‘I am not alone.’”

 
“I don’t know if I can.”

 
“You can.”

 
He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth but is unable to speak.
 
Nancy smiles and nods encouragingly at him.
 
He opens his mouth again and says, “I am not alone.”

“I’m sorry.”
 
The words seem small and insignificant in the space.
 
Erik Kester is dressed in a somber black suit and sits on the couch.
 
He doesn’t move for a very long time.
 
He looks at nothing in particular.
 
In his interior suit pocket, his phone vibrates – the humming making the only sound in the room.
 
 
He breathes in, releases the air slowly and realizes Frankie will never have the chance to do so again.
 
To outsiders, the industry legend is stoic, but fair, and has a reputation for cutting through the bullshit of the entertainment industry to get work done.
 
Having never married, Erik Kester has instead dedicated himself to his job and the studio he helped shape.
 
There have been all kinds of rumors regarding his matrimonial status, but he never indulged any of them.
 
All in all, there are very few regrets he has in life.

Not finding Frances is one of the biggest.

And now, she’s gone.

He didn’t cry at the funeral.
 
He thinks back over the week.
 
The studio head didn’t find out until he was on his way to a dinner with the president of television and scrolling through his Blackberry, checking the local news.
 
A private plane went down near Simi Valley.
 
There were no survivors.
 
Three crew and one woman, the wife of a respected businessman from Palm Springs.
 
When he saw Frankie’s picture, he couldn’t believe the news.
 
They had only talked the day before.
 
The rest of the week had been a blur.
 
He’d asked his junior assistant to let him know when and where the funeral was and wrestled with whether or not he wanted to attend.
 
As he was only a small part of her life, he had no business going.
 
However, in the end, he needed the closure the event would provide.
 
Driving himself, he arrived late and slipped in the back of the packed church.

In addition to the daughter he had never met, Frances had two step-children, a boy and a girl.
 
While various loved ones from her life spoke throughout the service, he took time to remember their time together.
 
The relationship had been brief.
 
They’d met when she had arrived for a casting call for a network soap opera.
 
He’d been nothing more than a lowly production assistant at the time, new to the industry and the city.
 
Having been in the middle of copying scripts and been on hand for coffee runs, he recalled the exact moment when she walked into the casting department and immediately took his breath away.

Erik had somehow stumbled into asking her to coffee and even though they hadn’t had two dimes to rub together, had managed to make the summer an incredibly fun one.
 
They’d learned about love.
 
They’d found unique places in the city and made them their own.
 
She’d struggled through auditions and he’d somehow managed to get a full time job in the story department.

As he’d done when she initially disappeared from his life, he tried to remember if there were any signs of her being upset.
 
If she’d missed her period or had started pulling away, he couldn’t remember any change in her personality or actions towards him.
 
While the preacher continued, Erik remembered the exact day she had left him.
 
They had been talking about moving in together, possibly even getting engaged.
 
He had thought about the ring he would buy her.
 
He hadn’t met her mother yet, but they hoped to travel to her hometown for Thanksgiving.
 
He went to call on her one day, as they usually met for coffee after her night shift at Canter’s and before he started work at the studio.

She wasn’t there.

He asked one of their mutual friends, an older woman named Shirley, if she had seen Frances.
 
Besotted by the young lovers, the career waitress was happy to assist.
 
Apparently Frances hadn’t shown up for work that night.
 
Worried, Erik had driven to her little bungalow in West Hollywood, only to find Frances had mysteriously moved out.
 
For months, he had stalked the places they had visited, but she had disappeared.
 
In the nascent romance, he hadn’t been able to learn much about her background, but knew she came from a broken home and one that wouldn’t even particularly care to know a daughter had gone missing.

Fearing the worst, Erik began scanning obituaries and reading police reports.
 

Then one day, he woke up and realized she wasn’t coming back.
 
He fell into a deep depression and began to drink heavily.
 
Somehow, he managed to hold onto his job and upon coming out of his black period, threw himself into work, vowing never to be distracted by love again.
 
That had been years ago.
 
He had never once suspected their romance had produced a child.
 
Close friends of Erik’s had forever wondered who was the woman who had so completely broken his heart that it could never fully be put back together.

Then, out of nowhere, she’d called him.

“Why didn’t I come to see her?”

His guilt and desperation had been what brought him to the hotel today.
 
After the service had ended, and he’d had a solitary meal at Canter’s, Erik called the Winchester and, under the pretext of being a member of her family, checked himself into the suite where she must’ve been when she called him a week ago.

There is nothing he can do now, except try and find their daughter.

He continues to sit in a space, occupied by someone no longer there, thinking of the past, of a woman he can never know.
 

Nathan Rourke digs hungrily into the pastry.
 
It’s his fifth since he checked in.
 
The scone, just like the
pain au chocolat
, and the cheese-filled croissant practically melt in his mouth.

He calls the front desk and asks, “This may sound like a random question, but can you please let me know the name of your pastry chef?”

“Of course, Mr. Rourke.
 
The Winchester uses a local bakery to source their breads and pastries.
 
The owner of Laura’s Sweet Stuff is only available to us for some private events.
 
We’ve tried hiring her away a few times to be permanent staff, but she seems happy with her shop.
 
Can I ask if there is a problem with her products?”

“None whatsoever.
 
In fact, would it be possible for you to give me the number of her store?”

“Certainly.
 
You can call her at 310-555-0429.
 
And Mr. Rourke?”

“Yes?”

“Have her make you a red velvet cupcake – they are heaven on earth.”

Nathan hangs up the phone and concentrates on demolishing the rest of the scone.
 
Complete with clotted cream and jam, he cannot think of the last time he actually enjoyed a tea service.

As a travel writer, Nathan spends entirely too much of his life living out of a suitcase.
 
In a landscape of anonymous hotel rooms, something has finally inspired him to take note.
 
While the suite is nice enough, and he appreciates the effort the hotel has put forward so far, it is the welcome basket full of baked goods that has truly caught his attention.
 
After eating his way through the lighter than air madeleines, he ordered a tea service and is now close to bursting of carbohydrates and sugar.
 

Dialing the number on his cell phone, he is pleased to her a woman’s husky voice, intriguing him further, answer the line, “Laura’s Sweet Stuff.”

“Can I please speak to the owner of this establishment?” he asks, hoping the person the other end of the phone is the proprietor.

“Speaking.”

“This is Laura?”

“It most certainly is – how can I help you?”

Unsure exactly how to begin, Nathan manages to mumble, “I just had to call and personally tell you how wonderful your cooking was.”

“Thank you – I’m glad you’ve enjoyed whatever it was I made,” she laughs and asks,
 
“Can I ask where it was you are calling from?
 
Call it market research, but I always like knowing what is a hit with the crowds.”

“I’m staying at the Winchester.
 
I think I’ve had almost one of everything,” he admits.

 
“You’re not a diabetic, are you?”

“Why?”

“Because you would be going into shock right about now.
 
I am not shy about using healthy amounts of butter, sugar, and full cream.”

 
Nathan isn’t sure if it’s possible to get aroused by talking about food, but his mind starts to wander in a very specific direction.
 
Before he can think through what he’s asking, he questions, “What time does your store close?”