her alone?”
The reporter pulls out her phone, hits a couple of buttons, and scrolls down before showing us the screen. “I suppose you’ll find this out soon enough.”
There’s a picture of Tara and Romaine in happier times. Tara is in a white bikini and Romaine is carrying her on the beach. They both look radiant, like gods from a Marvel movie.
Rachel Perry says, “We just interviewed Romaine and learned the title of his upcoming album.” We wait expectantly while she dramatically announces, “Tomaine.”
“What’s wrong with that man?” Gwen demands before saying, “Here’s something you can quote me on, Romaine Choate needs to get a life and move on already. Tara is not interested.”
Rachel hurries to type her words into her phone before saying, “If you think the press has been interested in Tara up until this point, you haven’t seen anything yet. Once that album comes out, every reporter from every magazine and television show in the world is going to be looking for your daughter. The only thing she can do to avoid that is to talk to someone now. I want to be that person.”
Chapter Nineteen
Gwen
Glaring while keeping Rachel Perry in sharp focus, Gwen demands, “How do I know you’ll write an article that won’t hurt Tara?”
“You don’t. But at least I’ve said that I’m going to write an unbiased article. I don’t think most reporters would bother with that.”
Gwen releases a sigh that sounds like she’s been holding her breath for an hour. “I’ll talk to Tara and see what she wants to do. Then I’ll call you.”
“I’ll stay in the area until I hear from you,” Rachel replies.
“I don’t know why you’d do that. Tara isn’t in Oregon.” Even though Gwen has gotten used to lying to the press, it doesn’t mean she’s any good at it.
“If you say so.”
“I think it would be best to set something up in LA, if Tara’s interested.”
Rachel smiles. “You just let me know when you hear from your daughter. But keep in mind she won’t be able to maintain anonymity for long. If it’s not me, it will be someone else. A lot of someone elses.”
Gwen closes her eyes and takes a slow breath before asking, “Don’t you ever get tired of ruining people’s lives?”
“Mrs. Heinz, I’ve never reported anything negative about your daughter. Believe it or not, I have standards that I’m not willing to bend for the almighty dollar. But Tara is famous and as such, the public wants to know about her. It’s the nature of my job to feed their interest.”
“She wouldn’t be famous anymore if people like you would leave her alone.”
The reporter counters, “She was with Romaine Choate for three years. She had to have known a relationship like that would keep her in the public eye; the man is a rock legend.”
“She broke up with him six months ago.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t appear that he’s done with her. He named his new album after her.”
Gwen has no words to describe how angry she is. Deciding she’s done talking to Rachel, she turns to James and suggests, “Why don’t we chat with a few of your mom’s vendors and see if they’d be willing to sell on consignment?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer; she simply turns and walks away.
Tara
If I were on vacation and staying in a luxurious suite like this, I might be hard-pressed to leave it. Time to read, nap, and watch television, all the while enjoying room service is my kind of getaway. The problem is I’m not here by choice.
After finding James’s note, I go to the fridge to retrieve my lunch. Yum, icy cold french fries! My favorite—not. After putting the plate in the microwave and nuking it for a couple of minutes, they’re actually edible. The problem is, I don’t feel like eating. If that isn’t a testament to my emotional upheaval, I don’t know what it is.
It takes me four episodes of Schitt’s Creek to realize the Rose Family isn’t the most reprehensible waste of oxygen on the planet. They have redeeming qualities and I suspect the show is really about their journey of self-discovery. I can relate to that.
I try calling my mom, but she doesn’t answer her phone, so I watch the entire first season before anyone comes back.
James knocks before opening the door with the keycard. “You decent?” he asks.
“Just me and my harem,” I reply. “Naked.” My voice positively drips in sarcasm. I can’t help it; I’m not feeling