Fix It Up - Mary Calmes Page 0,68
predicted, the news hit about Nick’s father, and his PR team, or more precisely, Mr. Cox’s team, went to work.
Nick flew to New York to speak to Anderson Cooper about his abusive childhood and his road to recovery.
He spoke to a reporter from BBC One, Katherine Vine, who came and visited him at my mother’s house and enjoyed sitting on the patio as much as he did. Her story covered the scandal with his father’s horse farm.
Dr. Davida Saxon, my mother’s therapist, and now Nick’s, was thrilled with all the talking he did about what happened to him. Facing it all, she told him, was the hard part; the rest, understanding the mental and emotional fallout, was the part that would take work. He had no problem doing that, and they made plans to Skype once he returned home, and he’d fly out at least once a month to check in, in person.
He made statements on Twitter, thanked everyone for being in his corner, and received a flood of support from peers and fans alike. The outpouring of concern and acceptance moved the record executives to give him a yearlong extension on his record contract. No one wanted to be accused of making demands on Nick Madison, not with what he was going through. It all made for great press for him. Mr. Cox was thrilled with both me and Torus, and Jared called to give me that news the following Tuesday.
“I talked to Mr. Cox today,” Jared explained, “and we agreed that as soon as you get Nick back to Santa Barbara, hire him another assistant, since you reported that you were planning to release Mr. Donovan, you’re clear to leave. We’ve more than satisfied our contract, and with the extension on the record deal there’s nothing more to do.”
“That’s the official word?”
“It is.”
“And so, what, is Nick off the hook for the conservatorship?”
“He is, and Mr. Cox told me that he has a conference call scheduled with Nick in the next couple of days to let him know.”
“That’s great,” I said, happy for Nick, so pleased at the changes he’d made.
“You’re to be commended. You did an excellent job.”
“Only because everything I thought about Nick was completely wrong.”
I had thought I was dealing with a spoiled, out-of-control, drugged-out, alcoholic, bad-boy rock star, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Nick Madison had been dealing with extraordinary circumstances, and many people would have reacted the same way.
“You need to give yourself just a bit of credit here, Loc.”
But I wasn’t so sure.
The following afternoon, Nick was sitting in what had become, in the past two weeks, his place. He was out on the patio, strumming the guitar, writing in his notebook, and my mother was taking a nap, she’d informed me, before she started making dinner. I had continued to work in the flower garden on the side of the house, which needed at least three more guys, along with me, to get it into shape. It was a mess, and I’d been pruning and weeding, mulching and creating some sort of walkway through it, since morning.
It was hot, as usual, and I realized when I started to sway a little that even with all the hydrating I’d done, I needed a break. Taking off my hiking boots and socks, hanging the straw cowboy hat my mother had insisted I wear on the fence, I then peeled off my T-shirt, leaving on only my jeans, and walked right into the creek. It was heaven. My skin was so hot I was amazed that the water didn’t turn to steam.
After a good twenty minutes, I got out, walked back up the slight incline, certain I’d be dry by the time I got back to where I left my hat, boots and shirt, and was surprised to look toward the patio and find Nick staring at me. Since he wasn’t working and I needed to talk to him, I headed his way.
As I took the stairs up to the patio, I noticed that he was still staring. “Are you all right?” I asked, worried that something had happened that I wasn’t aware of.
Nothing.
“Nicky?” I said, striding forward, stopping in front of him and squatting down beside his chair. “Is everything okay?”
His eyes were so round, and his lips parted; he was freaking me out.
“Please, tell me,” I prodded, taking hold of the arm of his chair and searching his face, trying to figure out if he was distraught or