Less Than Nothing Page 25

  I leave the spotlight to cheers and more applause, and then I’m back in the real world backstage, just another contestant, Yam in my hand. Sabrina is arguing with Paul near his podium, and when they spot me, she moves closer.

  “Congratulations again, Sage,” she says.

  “Thanks.”

  “Listen, I hate to bring this up right now, but Paul’s going ballistic. He just got his ass chewed out over some form you were supposed to give him last week? Ring any bells?”

  I feign surprise. “Crap. That’s right. With everything else that was going on, I completely spaced. I’m sorry. I’ll get it tomorrow.” The court is supposed to rule in the morning, which is why I’ve been dragging my feet.

  Paul nears, and his face isn’t comforting. “I heard that. It might surprise you, young lady, but there’s a lot at stake here, and I’m tired of your bullshit. I’m not losing my job over this. Do you understand me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We hired a detective in California. He spoke with your mom in the hospital. She hasn’t heard from you in over five months. That ring any bells?”

  The problem with lying is that when you’re caught, there’s nowhere to hide. I can’t invent something that will get me out of this. So I stare at him and say nothing.

  “She knew nothing about signing a waiver. So whoever’s signature that is, it isn’t hers.”

  “I…I’m sorry, Paul. It’s just…she wouldn’t sign it. But don’t worry.” I tell them both about the court tomorrow. Paul shakes his head in disgust, and Sabrina sighs and closes her eyes. When she opens them, her stare is hard.

  “Sage, if you don’t get that signed tomorrow, they’ll boot you off the show. The attorneys will force the issue. You’ve put us all in jeopardy by not telling the truth. If I’d known, it’s possible we could have filed a brief with the court in your favor. But now…”

  “My attorney says he’s sure we’ll get it,” I say, stretching the truth, ashamed of my dishonesty. My voice cracks at the end, and I sound as bogus as a Chicago politician.

  Sabrina lowers her voice when she sees others nearing us. “Sage, if you don’t get that waiver tomorrow, I won’t be able to help you. You’ll be off the show, no more chances. Do you understand? This isn’t a game.”

  I nod. “I know it isn’t. And I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

  Paul shakes his head and stalks off. His parting words slice me like a knife. “Your word’s not worth shit.”

  Sabrina looks away, and I feel lower than dirt. It all seemed so harmless when I forged her signature. Now the reality of people losing jobs because of my recklessness, and being thrown off the show when I’m almost at the finish line, comes crashing in. Here I am judging Derek for blowing it, and I’m guilty of the same thing. I’ll lose everything if the court doesn’t grant my plea, and have nobody to blame but myself.

  What was I thinking? That I could become a national celebrity and the problem would just go away? How naive can you get? I should have bitten the bullet and begged my mom, or told the truth and let the show help me. It’s not like they haven’t been supportive. Sabrina’s right. I’ve been treating the situation like it wasn’t serious, and judging by Paul’s attitude, I’m about to get the mother of all reality checks.

  I see Derek by the stage door and want to run to him, throw my arms around him, tell him I’ve been an idiot – that my pride’s dictated my moves, not my heart. But he’s talking to a reporter, and instead of trusting my instinct, I turn to Sabrina. “I can’t apologize enough. I didn’t do it to get anyone in trouble. I just wanted a chance to be on the show, and my mom…she’s an alcoholic, in and out of the hospital, and she’ll do whatever her boyfriend says. He’s the reason I ran away. He hates me,” I explain, but her expression’s still hard. Nobody trusts a word I say, and I don’t blame them.

  I brought it on myself.

  Sabrina frowns. “That’s a shame, but it’s out of my hands. If this isn’t handled by close of business tomorrow, I – we, have no choice. I’m sorry too.”

  She walks away, leaving me to stew in my own juices. I have to stick around to do the final winner’s hurrah on stage – I’m one of the final six who will compete in the finals, as are Derek, Jeremy, Alan, Misty, and Samantha. I stand in the spotlight with a fake smile, wanting the earth to swallow me whole.

  When we tromp offstage, Jeremy takes my hand and whispers in my ear, “You look like you saw a ghost. What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  The media’s waiting for all of us, and Sabrina expertly directs the proceedings. The six finalists are news, and she’s putting the full-court press on getting everyone visibility so the final show’s a ratings blockbuster. I answer the questions by rote, having gone through so many interviews I’m on automatic pilot. I can’t wait for this to be over tonight so I can go home, crawl into bed, and shut the world out.

  I see Derek by the door again, and this time I move toward him, not sure what I’m going to say but sure that I need to say something. But Sabrina steps between us and introduces me to a woman from Rolling Stone magazine who wants just a minute of my time. I glance over at where Derek was just a few seconds earlier, but it’s too late.

  He’s gone.

  Chapter 38

  Morning brings off-the-charts anxiety as I make my way to the courthouse to appear with Norman before the judge. He’s assured me it’s a formality, but I’m still nervous. Jeremy has a morning show, so I’m going it alone, and every step seems like I’m slogging through mud.

  Norman looks like some sort of cave insect dragged into the light in his rumpled gray suit and cheap tie, and my confidence level plummets when I see him. If he’s trying to wow the court with his acumen, looking like a used car salesman’s probably not going to do it.

  I follow him into the courtroom, which is half full of people waiting their turn for other matters, and settle in for the duration.

  An hour later my world’s come crashing in. The judge refuses my application with a terse rejection. I sit shell-shocked as Norman says he’ll pull some strings and get it reheard, but I stagger away, dizzy and disoriented. It won’t matter if he can get it heard in a week. I’ll be living at Lucifer’s by then. Or worse.

  I don’t know what to do or who to turn to. My phone vibrates, and I answer it without looking at the screen. It’s my dad.

  “Wanted to see if you have time for lunch,” he says.

  “I…It’s really not a good time.” My voice breaks up as I try to swallow back the bile that’s rising in my throat.

  “What’s wrong, Sage? You sound…funny.”

  “I can’t talk right now.” My eyes scan the front of the court building, and my phone vibrates. I’ve got another call. “Hang on,” I say and punch the other line to life.

  “Sage, this is Martin Lorensby.” He doesn’t sound happy. “Paul just informed me that we’ve got a serious problem.” His exasperation comes through clearly. “I’ve bent over backward to help you, Sage, and this is how you repay me? I give you another chance, and you’ve been lying to us the entire time?”

  I’d say something to make it better, but I’m out of words. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it in the big leagues. Do you know what fraud is? Forgery? That’s where you forge a signature, falsely representing yourself as having approval to appear on television. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”

  I can hear the anger radiating through the phone. I opt for silence.

  “You have that document in my hands before I leave today, or your ass is off the show, do you read me? It’s over. And I’ll see to it that you can’t get a gig playing birthday parties. You’re screwing with the wrong guy.”

  He hangs up, and I’m shaking. The phone vibrates again. I fiddle with the buttons and figure out how to get the other line back.

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Are you sure you can’t
get together before I leave town? My bus leaves tomorrow.”

  I sigh. It’s already been five days? “Why not? It’s not like I have a career anymore.”

  He doesn’t understand, and I don’t expect him to. I remember Jeremy’s warning that he’s probably angling to get money out of me, or ingratiate himself so when I win he’ll get a slice of the take. If Jeremy’s right, it’s a bad day for everyone today.

  I agree to hook up in half an hour at a deli near the Village, and walk there in a daze, the heat oppressive as a front moves in, the humidity thick as fog. When I arrive, my father takes one look at me and hugs me. “Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  I want to stay strong, but my tears betray me, and I’m bawling into his shirt like a baby. He strokes my hair and doesn’t say anything. I wear myself out, and now I’m too embarrassed to go into the deli.

  “Look at your shirt. I’m sorry. I ruin everything.”

  “You going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”

  I tell him about the form, my botched forgery attempt, and that I’m getting the boot. He frowns and looks at me quizzically. “What’s the big deal?”

  I stare at him like he’s nuts. “Did you not hear me? I’m getting thrown off the show. It’s over. Derek will win and go on to be a star, and I’ll go back to the park, where I belong. I can’t believe I thought I could do this.” I start crying again, and he pushes me away by the shoulders and stares hard at me.

  “Sage, I’m your father.”

  “I know, Dad. I know.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. Think for a second, would you? You’ve got a form to sign, right?”

  I nod, sniffling. “I told you. Mom’s got to sign it. And Ralph…”

  He shakes his head. “A parent needs to sign it. I’m your parent.”

  I stare at him like he’s speaking Swahili, and then facepalm. “I’m a complete idiot, aren’t I?”

  “No, just so close to the problem you can’t see the obvious solution.” He looks around. “How about we skip lunch and find a notary? Let me read this thing and make sure I’m not missing something, but if you’re telling me the whole story, your problem just got solved.”

  We make our way to a bank and wait for the notary to get through with a customer. By the time she’s done, my dad’s read the form and is smiling. “Piece of cake.”

  The notarization takes under five minutes and costs less than a sandwich. My entire shot at a new life for the price of a hoagie. I hug my father hard, and then an idea occurs to me.

  “Do you absolutely have to be on the bus tomorrow?”

  He looks embarrassed. “Sage, it’s not like I’ve got a magic money tree…”

  “Then it’s the cost of the hotel that’s the problem? When do you absolutely have to be back at work?”

  “Monday the week after next.”

  “So you’ve got plenty of time. You can stay and watch me compete in the finals.” I smile. “I’ll cover your hotel for the week.” He starts to protest, and I cut him off. “I want to do this, Dad. I’ve got money. Don’t sweat it.”

  He considers it. I can see in his eyes he’d like nothing better than see me play live. But he’s a proud man, even after all he’s been through, and it’s killing him to have his daughter pay his way. If he’s hoping to live off my gravy train, he’s the best actor on earth, because right now he looks miserable.

  His eyes narrow and he grins. “Only if you promise we’ll see each other every day.”

  We grab slices of pizza from a joint on the corner instead of going into the deli, and head to Martin’s offices. He makes us wait forever. Eventually he sends his assistant to get us. When I walk into his office with my dad, he’s confused for an instant and then glares at me. “What’s this? Another trick?”

  I shake my head. “Martin, this is my father. He’s in town for the show. He signed your form and got it notarized. Sorry for all the confusion.”

  My dad puts the form on Martin’s desk with a flourish. Martin picks it up and studies it long and hard before nodding. “Why is everything right down to the wire with you?”

  I shrug. “All’s well…”

  “Fine. Get out of here. Between this and your antics with Derek, you’ve taken five years off my life.” He looks at my father. “Try to keep her out of trouble for one more week. Please.”

  My dad tilts his head and eyes me. “Good luck, huh?”

  We spend the rest of the day together, and I take him sightseeing – something I know he’d never do on his own. He’s been sitting in his stinky little hotel room all week, only venturing out when he needs to eat. The sun’s dropped into the Hudson River by the time we’re done, and I invite him to dinner at Jeremy’s favorite Italian place. He agrees, and we have an amazing pasta dinner. We linger over coffee, and I hug him again when we’re out on the street.

  He glances at the street sign. “I know where I am. I can walk it from here.”

  “Be careful. It gets ugly the further south you go.”

  He nods. “You haven’t seen my hotel. Even the cockroaches look unhappy to be there.”

  The air’s balmy but not cloyingly so, and I walk back to Jeremy’s, sticking to a well-lit cross street. I’m happy that my dad can stay longer, and relieved not only to still be in the finals, but also that my pop isn’t a lowlife trying to chisel something out of me. He says he just wants to be back in my life, and I believe him. Is he perfect? There’s no such thing. But he’s my dad, and that makes up for a lot.

  I turn the corner and approach the building’s front stairs when I sense motion behind me. Most people will keep walking, hoping that whatever threat’s behind them magically disappears, but I know better from living on the street. I whirl around and freeze in surprise.

  It’s Derek.

  I choke back the sudden swell of panic I feel and force myself to look him in the eye. “What are you doing here?”

  He stares at his boots and shifts side to side. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” I say, the anger returning like a familiar friend.

  “I figured you’d say that. But I need to explain some things. Stuff I’ve never told you about.”

  I sigh. “Derek, what you did–”

  “I know. It was wrong. You think I don’t kick myself a thousand times a day for drinking too much and getting into a fight?” He returns his gaze to mine, and he looks defeated. His normally gorgeous emerald eyes are bloodshot, and his shoulders are sagging. The anger recedes as I feel the familiar pull. My little hamster brain may be furious with him, but my body has other ideas.

  “Fine. Talk.” I look around. We’re alone on the street.

  “Here?”

  “Sure.” I sit down on the stoop, feeling like a local. He sits next to me, but not too close.

  He clears his throat and closes his eyes, and then opens them and fixes me with a frank stare.

  “I didn’t want to get involved with you until after the finals. Because it would have been risky. That’s what I told myself, and what I told you. But that’s not the whole truth.”

  I’m not following. “What do you mean, it’s not the whole truth?”

  “There’s another reason. One I don’t think I completely understood until after we broke up.” He hesitates. “I told you my mom OD’d, and that before she died our living situation was pretty grim. I learned to fight, to defend myself.”

  I nod. I’ve heard all this and wonder if he’s just hoping I’ll warm to him as we talk. If so, he’s got another think coming. “Right…”

  “What I didn’t tell you was that when I was ten, one of her boyfriends…did things. To me.”

  “Things,” I repeat.

  He nods. “It went on for three months. I was too young to know better, and part of me…part of me wanted attention. Even that kind.”

  My eyes widen. “He molested you?”

  Derek nods.

  We sit quietly, and then he continues. “He left, just l
ike all the guys she shacked up with. But I hated my mom – I think she knew. Or suspected. But she was so hooked on heroin that whoever was scoring could do no wrong.” He hesitates. “And I hated her because he left.”

  “Wait, you–”

  “I was a kid with a mom who only loved the needle. Anyone who was nice to me, treated me well, I mistook for caring. For love. So yeah, I thought it was something…different than what it was. Once I was older I understood, but…”

  “Oh, Derek.” I can’t think of anything else to say. My heart’s breaking for him. He looks like he’s about to cry, and I realize how difficult this must be for him. To trust me enough to tell me his darkest secret. I can practically smell the shame on him.

  “I never want to get close to anyone. It’s a defense, I think. And when I met you and we started hanging out…when it started to get serious, I think I invented reasons to stop it. Because I was scared. Because the ten-year-old boy inside me is afraid to be close to anyone…”

  “Cause eventually they’ll go away,” I finish for him.

  He nods and breaks down with a single sob. He’s grimacing, fighting the pain, but it’s no good. He buries his head in his hands.

  I want to hold him, comfort him, but I don’t trust myself. So I sit, letting him cry until his pain’s spent. He sniffs several times and wipes his eyes, then gives me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen as he stands.

  “I wanted to explain, because I think I was sabotaging us because of that. Up until now, it’s never mattered. The girls I knew were just passing through, like me. It was never anything more than that. But with us…the little kid inside me got scared. So I came up with a logical-sounding reason to keep you at arm’s length. It put me in the position of power.” He looks down at me and shakes his head. “What I figured out is that it isn’t power if you’re doing things out of fear. It’s weakness. It’s letting your demons run you. That’s what I’ve been doing. And it’s been making me sick inside.”