Beg For Me: Chapter 30

As the evening is ruined and nobody wants to chance it that Nick won’t come back, Val and Ev take their kids home.

My mother removes all the steak knives from the kitchen, then goes around the house systematically locking doors and checking windows, drawing curtains closed and pulling down blinds. She hides a knife within easy reach of all the “likely entry points.”

When I ask her what she’s doing, she says, “Anybody who tries to get in this house without being invited is gonna leave leaking.”

My life has turned into a John Wick movie.

Shaken by the encounter with Nick and the arrival of this new and even more bizarre gangster version of my dementia-faking mother, I sit at the kitchen table with Harlow and try to make sense of what’s happening with my ex.

Anger. Threats. Instability and jealousy.

That’s not the man I’ve known for half my life.

“Sweetie, I need you to tell me if you’ve observed anything strange with your father recently.”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but his behavior since he found out about Carter has been erratic, to say the least.”

When she sits silently, staring at her hands, I start to panic.

“Has he been aggressive with you?”

“No.”

“You can tell me. Please be honest, honey. This is important.”

She glances up, shaking her head. “I mean, if you’re asking if he’s hit me or whatever, no, he hasn’t.”

I search her face for any trace of evidence that she might be holding something back but find none. It makes me breathe a little easier.

“Has he yelled at you? Been verbally abusive? Called you names?”

She shakes her head. “But…”

“But what? Tell me.”

“I overheard him call Britt a useless idiot. With the F word before it. She was crying. They were fighting in their room, trying not to be too loud, but I could hear them over the TV.”

“When was this?”

“In Mexico.”

“Do you know what caused the fight?”

“No. I went to bed. In the morning, they both acted like nothing happened.”

“Okay. I’m sorry I have to ask you this, but did you see anything that might make you think your father had hurt her physically? Bruises or anything like that?”

She looks pained, hunching her shoulders and chewing her lip.

I reach across the table and take her hand. “I know you love him,” I say gently. “And I know you don’t want to be disloyal. I understand this is hard, honey, but it’s really important. Just tell me the facts, and let me worry about what to do with them.”

“I…I don’t think he’s hurting her like that. I haven’t seen any bruises. But she looks really scared all the time. Like, really scared.”

“Has she confided in you?”

She shakes her head again, this time more vehemently. “She’s always nice to me, but she knows I don’t like her.”

I won’t ask why not. I already know the answer. My daughter’s young, but she’s not stupid. She knows why her parents’ marriage fell apart.

My heart aches for the toll this has taken on her. There’s also the guilt of not being able to keep her father happy so she could have a stable home.

But we’d all have paid too much of a price for pretending we were happy. Though it’s painful, it’s always better to let go of a dying dream than to bleed yourself dry trying to keep it alive.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. “But can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

She wrinkles her nose, looks over her shoulder to confirm we’re alone, then leans closer and whispers, “Why would grandma pretend not to recognize you?”

“Because some people’s sense of joy depends a lot on other people getting their feelings hurt.”

She considers that for a while. “Isn’t that called sadism?”

“It’s called Carmelina Bianco. There isn’t a word in any language for all the strange things she is.”

“So she’s going to be living with us now?”

“Just until we can find her somewhere else to go.”

“I think she wants to stay here.”

“We don’t always get what we want in life. Especially when we’re shitty to the people who are in a position to help us.”

She nods, digesting the conversation in silence, then glances up at me. Hesitant, she says, “I mean…it might be okay if she stayed for a little while.”

“Why? So she can teach you how to cheat at cards and threaten people with sharp objects?”

“It’s just that I never really had grandparents. Or cousins or anything like that. We’re like, a super small family. It was always just me, you, and Dad, and now that Dad’s gone…”

She looks at the table again, then shrugs. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

With a deep sense of dismay, I realize that my daughter is lonely.

Her parents are divorced, she has no siblings, and her one living grandparent is as merciless as an alarm clock that wakes you at five in the morning on a weekend. And has also been plotting to kill you while you were asleep.

“Look, if it means that much to you, we’ll visit her in her new place, okay?”

At least that way I don’t have to worry about her setting up an illegal gambling circuit in the garage or teaching Harlow the finer points of manipulation while I’m at work.

Harlow nods, then yawns.

“Okay, time for bed.” I stand and pull her into a hug. Resting my cheek on the top of her head, I murmur, “I love you, sweetie. I love you, and I’m proud of you. I’m so glad I’m your mom.”

She snuggles closer to me like she used to do when she was a little girl, tightening her arms around my waist and tucking her head against my chest. That lasts all of about ten seconds until she remembers she’s a teenager now and is much too cool for that.

Shrugging me off, she flips her hair over her shoulder. “M’kay. Goodnight.”

My heart aching, I watch her walk off toward the living room. As she’s trudging up the stairs, the pantry door creaks open. My mother sticks her head out and looks around.

Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “Seriously? Were you eavesdropping?”

“Of course I was eavesdropping. Do you think I was standing in here with cotton stuffed in my ears?”

She steps out of the pantry and crosses to the liquor cabinet. Peering inside, she says over her shoulder, “You’ll be out of gin and Bailey’s soon. Better make a trip to the market. By the way, I’m not a sadist.”

She turns and looks at me. Her smile is big and insincere.

Feeling a thousand years old, I stand from the table and tell her I’m going to bed.

When she says, “Aren’t you going to carry me upstairs?” and cackles, I don’t even bother responding.

After a long, sleepless night, at eight o’clock the next morning, I call Nick’s cell phone. It’s time to set some clear boundaries and let him know what will happen if he crosses them.

If he thinks he can continue to act like a madman, he’s dead wrong.

He picks up after one ring but doesn’t say anything.

“Nick? Hello? It’s Sophia. Are you there?”

“Oh, um, hi Sophia. It’s um…Brittany.”

Her voice is hushed and tentative. Aside from the fact that she’s answering his phone, I can tell by her tone that something is wrong.

“Hi Brittany. Are you okay?”

In her pause, I can hear her swallow. I imagine a dozen horrible scenarios, each worse than the last, and try to keep my voice steady as panic starts a drumbeat in my veins.

“Please tell me what’s wrong. Do you need help? I’ll come and get you if you do, just tell me where you are.”

Silence.

“Are you at Nick’s house?”

“No, I’m okay, I’m not…everything’s fine.”

Abruptly, my rising panic is replaced with anger.

Why do women feel the need to play the “everything’s fine” game? Why do we cover up for shitty situations and shitty men? At some point, this nonsense has to stop.

We have to teach our daughters that shame isn’t the correct response when anyone wants to hurt them, silence them, or try to make them feel like they’re the problem.

The correct response is rage.

Silencing ourselves and our truth and playing a good-girl role is bullshit. It’s soul killing. We should have no room in our lives for people who try their best to make us feel small.

What we should have is some good, old-fashioned fucking anger and ream them out like they deserve.

“For God’s sake. Listen, I’m not stupid. I’m not your enemy either. I know Nick has been acting erratically lately. Erratic and hostile. I’ve seen it myself. So has Harlow. If you’re thinking it’s your fault, you’re dead wrong. Don’t buy into that crap. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

Sounding on the verge of tears, she whispers, “Why are you nice to me?”

I feel pity for her. This poor girl. She thought she was getting a knight in shining armor but what she got instead was a raging narcissist with a God complex.

“I’m a masochist, I guess. If you ever met my mother, you’d understand. Let’s cut to the chase, Brittany. Are you hurt?”

She sniffles. “No.”

I don’t know if I believe that or not, so I push. “Is he abusing you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“So what is it? I know something sketchy is happening. I’ve known that man a very long time, and the way he’s acting recently has me concerned for my daughter. And for you.”

I hear her moving around on the other end, maybe into another room. A door closes, then she comes back on sounding stronger.

“He’s got some legal troubles. Big ones.”

That surprises me. His life is and always has been extremely controlled. Every I dotted, every T crossed, coloring strictly within the lines. I don’t think he’s ever even had a parking ticket.

“What kind of trouble do you mean?”

Her voice is thin, uncertain, as if she doesn’t even want to speak the words aloud. “There are people…I guess a few people are making accusations about him. More than a few. They’re going to sue.”

It’s like pulling teeth. We could be here forever. But I remain patient and keep gently pushing. “Who are these people?”

There’s a pause, then she whispers, “Some of the artists.”

I blink. That surprises me. Nick has always had a flawless reputation in the industry. Admired, respected, a mentor and champion for the artists he represents. Or at least, that’s what everyone believes.

“His musicians? What are they saying?”

“Stuff like contract fraud, coercion, blackmail. One of them claims Nick forced him to sign away his masters under threat of career sabotage. Another one says he embezzled royalties and manipulated streaming numbers. All kinds of awful things.”

The room feels smaller, as if the walls are closing in. Holding my breath, I ask the question clawing at my throat. “Sexual misconduct too?”

“No,” she says quickly. “Nothing like that.”

Relief flickers through me, but it’s short-lived because I have no idea if that’s the truth or not. God only knows what he’s been up to. “Oh, Brittany. I’m so sorry. I feel so sorry for you, honey.”

“It can’t be true, though, right?” she cries, sounding desperate. “He wouldn’t do the things they’re saying! I know him!”

I say quietly, “Yes, you do know him. You know that he broke his marriage vows and cheated on his wife. You know that he had an affair with a girl young enough to be his daughter. You know he’s dishonest and disloyal and he puts his own needs first. Open your eyes.”

When she remains silent, I sigh. “Where is he now?”

“Passed out on the sofa. He finished a whole bottle of whiskey last night.”

This just keeps getting worse and worse. “Can you go stay with your mother for a while? Do you have a friend who can take you in?”

Her calm breaks. Whatever reserve was holding her back before crumbles. She’s almost hysterical now, crying, “I can’t just walk away from him! I don’t have any money! I don’t have a job! I’m pregnant with this baby that’s not even—”

She cuts herself off with the same little gulp of air that I’ve heard Harlow make probably a hundred times when she’s about to spill some truth that will get her into trouble but catches herself just in time.

All the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.

I say slowly, “The baby isn’t even what, Brittany? Finish that thought.”

She doesn’t finish the thought, but she doesn’t have to, because I already know.

Her baby isn’t Nick’s.

Wow, karma really is a bitch. I’d laugh if it wasn’t all so depressing.

I walk over to my bedroom window, gaze out into the beautiful summer morning, and consider how I should proceed. “Does he know?”

She says stiffly, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Closing my eyes, I sigh. “Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone, including Nick. But let me give you a word of advice. If he’s about to go down, don’t let him drag you down with him. Do the smart thing for you and your baby and leave.”

She cries, “But who will take care of me?”

I stop feeling sorry for her and start feeling irritated.

The whole world is me, me, me to the point of insanity.

“You’re going to have to take care of yourself because you have responsibilities now. Your priority is that baby. Put your big girl panties on, and get your shit together. No more tears. No more excuses. Look at the situation head-on, and deal with it. If you need my help, I’ll help you. Otherwise, I know you’re clever enough to figure it out on your own. And to save yourself any more drama, delete this call from his phone. I have to go now. If you need me, you know how to find me.”

I disconnect the call and stand with my arms hanging by my sides and my eyes closed, letting every emotion I’m feeling just do their thing as I breathe.

When I’m steady, I make another call and leave a message for my attorney.

If Nick’s really in as much trouble as it sounds like he is, I need to do everything I can to protect my daughter.