On The Way Down (The Retake Duet Book 1) Read online

  A knock on my bedroom door turned my smile upside down. I hardly had time to sit up before Jewel threw the door open and marched into my room. “Alan is coming over at ten to take me to Park City for the weekend. Get up and help me clean the house.”

  My entire life had taught me that the best way to get information from my mother was not to ask questions. So although I had a few, I kept my lips zipped and focused on what she was demanding. The townhome was pretty tidy since we hadn’t really been home—and awake while we were there—to make a mess, but Jewel was the chameleon type. If her boyfriend du jour was a slob, so was she. It was always that way. Sport enthusiast, cokehead, alcoholic, churchgoer, gearhead or sleezeball, whoever Jewel was dating, she mirrored their interests. As soon as she told me to clean the house, I’d known Alan would be someone whose home was neat as a pin.

  Since arguing with her about the state of cleanliness in the house would merely have delayed the inevitable—mainly me scrubbing like a day maid while she barked orders—I got up, changed into a pair of cutoff sweatpants and an old tee from Goldie’s club, and went into the kitchen. My eyes widened a little when I saw the array of cleaning supplies spread out on the linoleum counter. It was clear that when Jewel had left the house immediately after we got home the night before she’d gone shopping.

  “Start in the bathroom. Go deep and be fast,” she ordered.

  I nodded and made a noise of understanding as I reached out and took a banana from the fruit display on the counter—another thing I knew she’d bought that morning. She smacked at my hand, but I ignored her. “Don’t take anything else,” she barked. “It was perfect and now I have to rearrange the whole fucking thing.”

  I shrugged as I peeled the banana. “It looks fine to me,” I said dryly.

  “No thanks to you,” she muttered.

  After I finished eating the banana and downing a glass of milk I grabbed some supplies and made my way into the bathroom. For the next two hours I worked with her to scrub every inch of the townhouse. It still looked like a run-down dump to me when we finished, but it smelled lemony fresh and was as clean as it could possibly get.

  “It’ll be fine,” Jewel muttered to herself. “He knows these accommodations aren’t my permanent place. I took what I was assigned.”

  Nodding to herself, she turned and pointed to me. “I’m going to get ready—you need to do the same. No jeans, no sweatpants. You need to look like a respectable young lady. I’ll be in to do your makeup.”

  My eyes just about bugged out at that. Jewel never, ever did my makeup. Not for dance recitals, school formals, or even the prom I’d gone to with a friend the year before. In addition to the hands-off approach she took about how I wore my makeup, she’d once spanked me so hard I couldn’t sit for a solid two days simply because I’d dared to touch a lipstick in her makeup kit. I’d been five, and that was the last time I’d really looked at her stuff. Everything I knew about makeup and beauty came from Goldie, which was probably a good thing considering that unless she was on stage she had a lighter hand than Jewel did for daily makeup.

  Since keeping the peace was easier than making waves I kept my mouth shut and went to get ready. The outfit I chose was a simple black A-line that had a pretty lace overlay. I paired the dress with a pair of cute black boots that stopped just above my knee. I was just finishing putting my shoulder-length chestnut-colored hair into a half up half down style when Jewel came back into my room with her travel kit.

  She’d started dressing in a less flashy way when she was working on the now defunct TV drama, which was something I’d assumed was job related, but the outfit she was wearing when she walked into my room clued me in that Alan was somehow responsible for the change. I almost felt foolish for not having connected the two things before, but I gave myself a bit of a pass since nothing had been as obvious as the ankle-length pale yellow floral print dress she had on. She looked like a suburban mom, something that almost felt sacrilegious. Jewel was so far from the average suburban parent it wasn’t funny. I didn’t have a chance to dwell on the differences since she gestured with her finger for me to turn in a circle. I held in a frustrated sound while I did as instructed.

  “The dress is fine but the boots have to go. Put on a pair of flats.”

  I liked my boots but it was no skin off my nose to change them out before Alan arrived at the house for the ridiculous dog and pony show she was gearing up for. Once I nodded my agreement Jewel got to work on my face. I’d expected it to take a while but instead she was done in less than five minutes. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something snarky when I surveyed myself in the mirror. I looked the same as I did every other day—some brown eyeliner, a pale peach lip gloss, a hint of blush, and some mascara. There was absolutely no truly discernable difference from how I normally looked, which meant her applying it had been just another way of asserting her control.

  Before she left, she pinned me with a look and set out the rules. “No matter what Alan says, you agree with him. If you make me look bad there will be consequences. Am I understood?”

  I’d been about to ask her for the car, but I could see that she was too keyed up for me to do that successfully. I channeled calm as I nodded and prayed she’d leave my room. My teeth ground together with such force I was surprised they didn’t crumble. Once she was gone I took off my boots and put on a pair of black flats with a rosette accent. They were too cutesy in my opinion but Jewel had given them to me for Christmas—as opposed to the white and black Adidas that I’d asked for— and I’d known better than to toss them.

  I heard the doorbell chime as I was putting my boots back in the closet. A few minutes later, Jewel called out for me in a saccharine-sounding voice and I hurried out of my room and down the stairs to meet Alan.

  Jewel beamed as I got closer to where they were standing in the living room. I did my best to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach brought on by her expression of faux parental pride. Instead, I focused on Alan. Since he was one of the producers of the movie Jewel was working on I’d known he had a career that didn’t involve selling blow or robbing liquor stores, but still, I was surprised by how straight-laced he was. He looked to be in his mid forties and he was wearing jeans, shiny brown loafers, a bright white tee, and a dark blue blazer. Something about him seemed almost familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what that was. He smiled broadly as he held his hand out to me. When he did I noticed a gold Rolex on his wrist. Alan was class from head to toe and to be honest I was surprised my mother had been able to catch his eye for more than a few seconds. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also shallower than a teaspoon.

  “It’s great to finally meet you, Shaelyn. Your mother has painted such a vibrant picture that I feel I already know you. I’m glad that getting this job meant your mom was able to get you away from the trouble you were getting into back in LA. She’s been so worried about the crowd you were hanging out with.”

  Being raised by a master liar worked to my benefit right then. I’d been schooled in how to go along with her lies since I could talk, so I held it together even though I wanted to laugh my ass off. I hadn’t been getting into any trouble and my friends weren’t the kind who got in trouble.

  “Um, thank you. She’s spoken very highly of you,” I answered.

  I didn’t explain that her high praise of him always included mention of his wealth and status—both things I had no interest in. That was why I mostly tuned her out when she talked about him.

  He smiled as if I’d just given him a gift as he let go of my hand. Wow, I thought, she really has him snowed.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to meet you before now,” he said. “The first week of any new project is always chaotic, but things will calm down a bit now. I’m sure it’s been an adjustment for you as well, having to be on set by four thirty. Your mother tells me you’re actually enjoying getting up early.”

  I detested getting up early, something Jewel knew all too well.
Given a choice I’d roll out of bed around ten in the morning. Instead of pointing that out I nodded and smiled as if what she’d told him somehow resembled the truth.

  “She’s taught me that the early bird gets the worm,” I answered.

  Alan threw back his head and laughed. “I’m glad you’re just as sweet as your mother said you would be. I’ll admit it now— after what you told me about her troubles I worried there’d be some teenage attitude on display. You’re doing an incredible job with her, Jewel.”

  Jewel didn’t display a lick of discomfort as she accepted his praise and thanked him for it. She even went so far as to rub her hand against my arm in a gesture of affection. One of the most amazing—and frustrating—things about her was that she believed what she told herself. Goldie had once admitted to me that she suspected if Jewel ever had to take a lie detector test she’d pass with flying colors—even if every answer was a flat-out falsehood.

  “I hate to meet you and run but we’ve got a big drive ahead of us. Your mother tells me that you need to spend your weekends focusing on your studies in order to catch up. I know high school can seem like a pain but I promise, it’s worth it.”

  I smiled, nodded, and assured him that I was going to study. I could tell that Jewel was relieved that things had gone as well as they had, so I decided to press my luck before she took off.

  “Mom, can I use the car while you’re gone? At some point when I’m taking a study break I’d like to try the coffee at that little shop we saw next to the market when we were shopping last weekend.”

  She wanted to say no, I could tell, but she wasn’t dumb. I’d done her a solid by behaving myself with Alan. She owed me. Plus, if she said no, there was a better than good chance I’d start throwing out attitude.

  “Of course, sweetheart. Just be sure to drive safely. You know how I worry. I’ll be back on Sunday around dinnertime.”

  I almost cracked. She hadn’t worried about me a day in her life and of the two of us she was the shittier driver and she damn well knew it. Her collection of speeding tickets was proof of that. Instead of being snarky, I nodded and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be careful.”

  With that settled Alan picked up the overnight bag, said goodbye to me, and they left. After the door closed behind them I let loose the eye roll I’d been holding back. My mother had made such a big deal about scrubbing the house but Alan had only gotten as far as the living room area. Normally that would’ve annoyed me but I was so excited about getting out of what felt a little like a home prison that I ran upstairs to get dressed. Again. I changed from my dress and flats into a pair of black jeans, a soft black top, and my lace-up black-and-white-checkered Vans. Once I was dressed I hurried downstairs, grabbed the keys, and headed out. Moab might not be an entertainment mecca but I planned to explore a good portion of it before Sunday night. I didn’t expect much but I was positive getting out of the house would do me a world of good.

  Chapter Six

  May 1998

  The coffee shop in town was appropriately named The Coffee Café. The narrow-looking brick building had a huge front window, the top quarter of it covered with a fabric awning done in a pale blue and white seersucker print. The lower portion of the window had a few sun-bleached flyers that were far from current. The one that caught my eye was about the 1997 Fourth of July parade—something that had taken place a full nine months before.

  The smooth, rich scent of coffee hit me the instant I cracked the door open to go inside. If they’d had a morning rush it had long since cleared out. Other than one lone guy in a Dallas Cowboys ball cap reading a hardcover book at a table in the corner, the place was empty. I was excited about having a nice quiet place to relax, so there was some extra pep in my step as I headed to the counter to look at the menu. I bit back a grin as I took in the black chalkboard with the handwritten menu. I immediately felt at home since I was a coffee purist who hated the over-the-top places that were springing up all over Los Angeles. I liked two kinds of coffee—plain and, on special occasions, traditional Irish coffee.

  The Coffee Café kept it simple. The options were dark roast, French roast, or decaf. It didn’t indicate what kind of roast the decaf was and I didn’t care since I saw decaf as a punishment and not an option. At the counter I ordered a plain toasted bagel with butter and a tall dark roast coffee with a little bit of cream and two big spoonfuls of sugar. The grandmotherly woman who took my order was friendly but not interested in small talk, which was fine with me. After I paid and got my order I headed to one of the tables that sat in front of the window so that I could people watch as I ate.

  I smiled as I lifted the tall Styrofoam cup and took a sip. The café was small but the woman behind the counter made a hell of a pot of coffee. Goldie would’ve said it was strong enough to put hair on a person’s chest—which, coming from my grandmother, was high praise. One of the few things all three of the Monroe women agreed on was that good coffee was dark and strong.

  As I ate my perfectly buttered bagel and drank my coffee, I watched the goings-on out on what the town likely thought of as the busy street. Far from busy, it was sweet. Even I, with my crappy don’t-want-to-be-here attitude, could see that. While I ate, I noted a group of parents coming out of a dance studio across the way, their little girls clad in pink tights and black leotards. I felt my lips spread out into a smile as I thought back to the first time Goldie had dressed me up in tights and a leotard. Although I hadn’t started going to a traditional dance studio until I was seven, from the age of four I’d learned a combination of ballet, jazz, and tap at the strip club alongside Maya Reed, the daughter of one of my grandmother’s fellow dancers. Naturally, this all happened during the early in the day hours when it was closed. Goldie and the other dancers would spend hours teaching us different routines, and a few times a year the whole staff would assemble and watch Maya and me perform in a “recital.” My mother left a lot to be desired and my upbringing was far from traditional, but Goldie had done everything she could to make sure I was happy.

  Once I finished my bagel I opened the spiral notebook I’d brought with me and started a letter to my grandmother. Jewel was a pain in the butt about long-distance calls and Goldie was typically at work while I was awake, so we typically wrote each other one letter a week. I was busy telling her about meeting Alan when I realized someone had set a book and a coffee down on my table and was pulling out the chair across from me. Looking up, I frowned as I realized it was the guy who’d been sitting at the other table. I knew it was the same guy because of the Cowboys cap he had pulled down low.

  “Um, can I help you?” I asked as the guy took a seat.

  My eyes widened when the man lifted the brim of his cap so I could see his face. “Hi, Shaelyn.”

  I gulped loudly as I gaped at Garrett Riordan. Holy crap, he remembered my name. I tried to pretend my stomach wasn’t full of fluttery excitement as that realization hit me.

  “Hi, Garrett,” I answered shyly, rattled that he just appeared out of nowhere. “What’re you doing here?”

  He lifted up the large Styrofoam cup he’d put on the table. “Coffee.”

  “Me too,” I chuckled.

  “I’m a little surprised to see you here,” he said as he set his coffee back down. “I figured you’d take the first hit of freedom and go wild.”

  My nose wrinkled as I cocked my head to the side. “First hit of freedom?” I parroted.

  “No school and Nolan mentioned his LA friends were coming in to party this weekend. Without having to be on set at way-too-fucking-early o’clock, I assumed you’d be all over that.”

  I shook my head at the mention of Nolan’s party. He’d mentioned it to me the day before but as a rule I steered clear of that kind of stuff. Nolan was nice and I liked having someone my age to chat with, but I had no desire to drink with him and his LA friends. The second he told me that his dad was getting a keg and a few bottles of booze there was no way in hell I was going.

  “I don’t do pa
rties.”

  Garrett rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. His tone was suspicious and his brown eyes were filled with what looked like concern, as if he expected me to confess a trauma of some sort.

  “Did something happen to you at a party?”

  “Nothing happened to me. I just don’t like crowds.”

  That wasn’t true. There was a real explanation, just not one I wanted to share with someone I didn’t know—especially not one my mother had ordered me not to speak to about her. Garrett searched my face before he nodded, accepting my lie without question. The truth was that I liked crowds and I liked being alone. It depended on my mood. I enjoyed small groups, one-on-one conversations, and the ability to hear myself think. I also enjoyed going to concerts, which by nature were crowed, and two years before when Jewel had done a six-day location shoot for the soap opera in New York City, I’d loved getting lost in the over-full streets. With so much to see and do no one had so much as blinked at the sight of a fifteen-year-old girl wandering the streets of New York late at night.

  “So you’re a book-reading, Prince-listening, coffee-drinking girl who prefers butter over cream cheese and doesn’t like crowds.”

  The smile on his face and the way he looked at me felt like… something. Whatever it was made my heart hammer against my chest and my pulse race along at high speed.

  I licked my lips nervously as I tried to maintain my composure. My voice sounded a little breathless when I spoke. “I’m all of those things. What about you—are you a butter or cream cheese person?”