The greenroom is fully stocked with booze and food. I make myself a sandwich, eat it quickly and follow it up with a beer and two shots. I’m going to need more if I have to get through performing with Layla. I also need to tell Josie before the pictures hit mainstream. I need to be a better husband in that regard.
Pulling out my phone, I press her name and listen to the ringing on the other end. After four rings, her phone goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again. In between each call I’m taking a shot, numbing myself for having to sing with Layla. It’s not that I don’t like her; it’s the song choices. Each one is sexy and has me saying words I only want to say to my wife. After the third time with no answer, I leave a message.
“I’m about to go on stage. Trixie has asked for some duets with…” I can’t bring myself to say her name. “Remember wh… I love you, Jojo.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say the words “remember what you see isn’t real” because it sounds like I’m trying to cover something up and I’m not. I’m a performer – it’s my job. Josie knows this and accepts it.
Tonight – Liam Page is back.
I haven’t told anyone about this pregnancy. It’s out of fear that I keep the news to myself. How could I, or my body, not have known that I’m pregnant? Yes, I’m one of the lucky ones who didn’t suffer from morning sickness but, as a mother, I should’ve known I have a child growing inside of me. The thought of not knowing and, therefore, not having cared properly for this baby sickens me. I’m afraid to go to the appointment. I’m afraid to hear the words that my pregnancy isn’t viable. I don’t want to see the look on Liam’s face when the doctor says those words.
I close my eyes and mentally chide myself for thinking the worst. Everything could actually be fine and I could be overreacting. Tomorrow holds the answers, and I have to hang on to every positive thought I can until I’m told otherwise.
Liam will be overjoyed when I tell him that I’m pregnant. We’ve been trying for so long, while not as long as some, to me it feels like years. Knowing how he is with Eden, I’m confident Liam will excel with a newborn. I have so many thoughts of him rocking our baby to sleep or singing him, or her, a lullaby that he writes especially for them... although I may have to censor his lyrics.
The airline attendant walks by, asking if I need anything. It’s late, but drinking orange juice seems like the right thing to do. Flying First Class has its perks: More legroom and hip room, more choice on the menu and constant service. Not to mention the fact that the bathroom is closer.
After my appointment this afternoon, I went to Nick’s office. He knows I’ve been under stress and knows that I’m missing Liam. I had to take him up on his offer to look after Noah so that I can see Liam, even if it ends up only being for a few hours. I joked that Nick has all the benefits of a divorced dad, but without the financial obligation. Only he proved me wrong in that respect because he and Aubrey do their fair share of providing for Noah, even without being asked. Nick and I breaking up was probably the best thing to happen to either of us.
When you have time to kill, like when waiting for your flight, you tend to let your mind wander or, in my case, you take advantage of the stores in the terminal. This is what I did, and I’ve made a mistake with my purchase. The tell-all book about Liam sits in my lap. Something told me I needed to finish it and having left mine at home, I bought another copy. I haven’t opened it yet, though. It sits in my lap, weighing me down and taunting me.
The flight attendant returns with my juice, nodding toward the book and asks, “Are you reading that?”
How do I answer? Yes, I’ve read some, but not sure if I want to read anymore? Do I tell her Liam’s my husband and I’m trying to fill in the missing ten years from his life because we don’t talk about the time he was away?
“I’ve read some,” I tell her.
She crouches down next to me. “I read it. I had to. I have the biggest crush on Liam Page, but I have to tell you, I find most of this book as complete garbage.”
I like her. I want to tell her who I am, but she won’t believe me. Living in Beaumont has kept me sheltered from the media, and they don’t dare take our pictures in town. I think I’ve been in the press maybe three or four times and, at best, they’re grainy images.
“I’m finding it a little hard to read myself.”
“I’m waiting for his press release about Layla Richards’ daughter. I’m sure now that the book is out, he won’t be able to deny her anymore.”
I gasp and cover my mouth. She shakes her head. “It’s such a shame, too. I mean, he has a son as well, and now a daughter. He’s such a Hollywood cliché.”
I feel my skin becoming clammy as I listen to her words. “Excuse me,” I say, as I stand. “I need to use the restroom.” I drop the book in my seat and sidestep her. The stupid smile that’s plastered all over her face makes me want to kick something. Right now I’d like to kick Liam.
Once I’m inside the tiny stall, I slide the latch and the light comes on overhead. I wish I could shut it off because I don’t want to see myself in the mirror. The ugliness of Liam’s career is starting to eat away at me. Every time I turn around someone has a bomb to drop or a secret to expose, and those bombs and secrets are turning out be deadly.
I don’t know how long I’m in the restroom, but a knock tells me my time is up. The flight attendant is standing there with a cup of Ginger Ale in her hand. I want to hate her, but she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not her fault that my former boyfriend turned husband did some crap that’s coming back to bite him in the ass.
If Liam and Layla ha
ve a child, I can’t be mad... we weren’t together. He moved on, and so did I. He didn’t know about Noah. If he had, he would’ve come back. He would’ve been there for Noah, even if he couldn’t be there for me.
Opening the book, I scan the table of contents for Layla’s name and flip to her chapter. She has a whole freaking chapter when all I have is mentions of a woman who blackmailed him into marriage. I can only bring myself to skim the sentences until I find “daughter”.
In my reporting, I uncovered that Liam Page entered into a romantic relationship with Layla Richards shortly after arriving (we’re talking days, people) in Los Angeles. The pair met at the famed Metro club after being introduced by his best friend and drummer, Harrison James.
I was unable to track down Layla Richards, but did speak to her former husband who had this to say about Liam Page: “I hated that fucker. He knew Layla and I were married and he still chased after her. Their drug induced affair produced a child that I wanted nothing to do with.”
At the time of print, Layla Richards’ daughter is eleven years old.
I close the book and lean my head back, shutting my eyes. I don’t know how much more I can take. Even if he tells me everything, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay. This girl is either the same age or close to the same age as Noah. Liam left me in October and days later he was with someone else. If that doesn’t tell me how he felt about me, I don’t know what will.
The cabin lights come on in preparation for our arrival at LAX and the flight attendant comes by to pick up any trash. I’m tempted to put the book in there, but I’ll need it for later. I need him to read the same words that I have and deny each and every one of them. He needs to tell me in his own words that this book is full of lies – that he’s not the person Calista Jones is making him out to be.