This daughter of a former A++-list actress has been having a rough time. And it appears that instead of lying low, she’s going wild.
We hear that at the age of 14, this Wild Child has been MIA from her prestigious high school and is often seen out at one of New York’s various high-profile clubs—at which she’s rarely, ahem, sober. We’re not just talking alcohol, either. There seems to be some powder under your nose there . . .
Apparently, her mother has been trying to get a handle on the situation, but things hit the fan when Wild Child was caught with two fellow students . . . in bed!
SIX MONTHS AFTER HARRY DIED, I knew I had no choice but to get Connor out of town. I had tried everything else. I was attentive and nurturing. I tried to get her into therapy. I talked with her about her father. She, unlike the rest of the world, knew he had been in a car accident. And she understood why something like that needed to be delicately handled. But I knew it only compounded her stress. I tried to get her to open up to me. But nothing was helping me get her to make better choices.
She was fourteen years old and had lost her father with the same swiftness and heartbreak with which I had lost my mother so many years before. I had to take care of my child. I had to do something.
My instinct was to move her away from the spotlight, away from people willing to sell her drugs, willing to take advantage of her pain. I needed to bring her someplace where I could watch her, where I could protect her.
She needed to process and heal. And she could not do that with the life I had made for us.
“Aldiz,” Celia said.
We were talking on the phone. I had not seen her in months. But we talked every night. Celia helped ground me, helped me to keep moving forward. Most nights, as I lay in bed speaking to Celia on the phone, I could speak of nothing but my daughter’s pain. And when I could speak of something different, it was my own pain. I was just starting to come out of it, to see a light at the end of the tunnel, when Celia suggested Aldiz.
“Where is that?” I asked.
“It’s on the southern coast of Spain. It’s a small city. I’ve talked to Robert. He has a call in to some friends he knows in Málaga, which isn’t too far. He’s going to ask about any English-language schools. It’s mostly a fishing village. I don’t get the impression anyone will care about us.”
“It’s quiet?” I asked.
“I think so,” she said. “I think Connor would have to really go out of her way to find trouble.”
“That seems to be her MO,” I said.
“You’ll be there for her. I’ll be around. Robert will be there. We will make sure she’s OK. We will make sure she’s supported, that she has people to talk to. That she makes the right types of friends.”
I knew that moving to Spain would mean losing Luisa. She had already moved with us from L.A. to New York. She wouldn’t want to uproot her life again to move to Spain. But I also knew she had been taking care of our family for decades and was tired. I got the impression that our leaving the United States would be just the excuse she needed to move on. I would make sure she was taken care of. And anyway, I was ready to take a more hands-on approach to maintaining my home.
I wanted to be the kind of person who made dinner, who scrubbed a toilet, who was available to my daughter at all times.
“Are any of your movies big in Spain?” I asked.
“Nothing recently,” Celia said. “Yours?”
“Just Boute-en-Train,” I said. “So no.”
“Do you really think you’ll be able to handle this?”
“No,” I said, even before I knew what Celia was specifically talking about. “Which part do you mean?”
“Insignificance.”
I laughed. “Oh, God,” I said. “Yes. That’s about the only part I am ready for.”
* * *
WHEN THE PLANS were finalized, when I knew what school Connor would go to, what houses we were going to buy, how we were going to live, I walked into Connor’s room and sat down on her bed.
She was wearing a Duran Duran T-shirt and faded jeans. Her blond hair was teased at the crown. She was still grounded from when I had caught her having a threesome, so she had no choice but to sit there with a sour face and listen as I spoke.
I told her I was retiring from acting. I told her we were moving to Spain. I told her I thought she and I would be happier living with good people, away from all the fame and the cameras.
And then I very gently, very tentatively, told her that I was in love with Celia. I told her I was going to marry Robert, and I explained why, succinctly and clearly. I did not treat her like a child. I spoke to her as an adult. I finally gave her the truth. My truth.
I did not tell her about Harry, about how long I had been with Celia or anything that she didn’t need to know. Those things would come in time.