Epic (Fierce) Page 7

  I met his anger with some of my own. “First of all,” I began, “I’m not taking anything away. From Maya, from you, from anyone. Secondly, I’m not the only thing she feels good about. She loves you, Diego. Her face lights up whenever she talks about you.”

  He snorted in derision. “Yeah, right.”

  “Maybe if you were around more, you’d see that,” I suggested as gently as possible, but it still rubbed him the wrong way.

  “I’ve been here every day for the last sixteen years. Where were you?”

  I wanted to defend myself, to tell him that I had my own struggles to get through. But he wasn’t ready to hear that. “I’m here now,” I said instead. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  His eyes hardened as he stared down at me. “I’ve always been alone,” he informed me coldly. “It’s better that way,” he added before he spun on his heel and headed back to the bar.

  I wanted to chase him down, to plead my case, but I knew it was useless. We were two different people, and our struggles were not one in the same. I had been wounded and lost. He was wounded and angry.

  I would have offered him a ride back to the house, but it was clear he wouldn’t take it. Just as I had my lingering doubt they wanted something out of me, he was convinced that I wanted something out of them. Time was the only thing that could engender any kind of trust between us now. I turned back toward the parking lot, but before I could get to my car, a middle-aged man with a bald spot and a bad paunch jumped in front of me to snap my photo with his smart phone.

  “Cruising for new blood, Jordi?” he wanted to know. I knew immediately he was with PING. He was rude, ambushed me out of nowhere and delighted in what damage he could do to me. He could belong to no other organization.

  I pushed past him and trotted to my car, fully aware he was videotaping me from his phone as I did so. I knew I looked ridiculous without a speck of makeup, my hair still stringy from the dried sweat as I cleaned Maya’s house. But nothing was more ridiculous than a shot of me running from behind. I knew every jiggle in my jeans would be front page news by the morning.

  And of course it was.

  PLUS SIZE DIVA MOONLIGHTS AS GROUPIE AT VEGAS DIVE!

  Apparently Jordi Hemphill got bored with the high life in Hollywood. The scandalous diva was spotted at a run-down club in Las Vegas, scoping out all the new, young talent. Could it be she’s outgrown superstars Jace Riga and Giovanni Carnevale in more ways than one? Hold onto your husbands, ladies! The man-eater is on the prowl! – Miles O’Rourke

  My phone blew up with text alert after text alert. The only call I answered was from Jace.

  “What happened?” he wanted to know.

  “I went to see Diego’s band perform. It was a crap venue. How was I supposed to know they’d have one of their leeches scoping out the joint?”

  “It’s PING,” he replied dryly. “These are bottom feeders on a good day. You know you have to be vigilant. Especially right now. You heard about Shelby, right?”

  “Yeah. I saw Coy’s interview.”

  “He’s going to milk this controversy for all it is worth, now that he’s running for office. That means you’re the secular adulteress while she’s the martyred victim. Don’t give them any more ammunition than they already have, Jordi.”

  “You’re right,” I conceded. I got careless and I knew it. This was my penance.

  His voice softened. “When are you coming home?”

  “Hold on,” I told him as I opened my laptop. “Let me see if I’ve heard back from Mr. Vass yet.” I opened my email inbox, only to find Griffin’s unopened email sitting right there at the time. “Nothing yet,” I confirmed.

  “You can’t stay there forever,” he advised. “It could take months for Vass to find anything. Like last time.”

  “We had no information when he began his investigation,” I reminded. “It shouldn’t be as hard to corroborate her story.”

  “And what happens when, and if, he does, babe?”

  I rubbed my eyes with one hand. “I don’t know, Jace. You’re asking me questions I can’t possibly answer right now.”

  He paused. I knew he was weighing his comment carefully. More than anything, I knew he didn’t want me to be painted into yet another corner like I was with Marianne or Eddie. He had told me as much. But he also knew more than anyone how lost I had been. Shane had shattered my entire identity by taking away the family I always knew, even when that family had been non-supportive and disconnected at best. It made sense now why I never felt as though I belonged after my father died.

  This journey to find Maya wasn’t only to find my birth mother. It was a journey to find myself. I needed to know where I belonged. I simply couldn’t move forward until I did. He couldn’t possibly understand that given that his family was, aside from his father, intact. He was tethered to another person, not just drifting in the wind.

  “You know I support you in whatever you need to do, right?” he asked gently.

  “I know.”

  “I just don’t want to see you screwed over anymore. You’ve paid your dues, Jordi. You don’t have to punish yourself, no matter how obligated you feel to these new people. I know their situation is dire, and I know – with that great big heart of yours that I love so much – that you want to do whatever you can to help. Just don’t forget to put the oxygen mask on yourself first.”

  “Says the guy who lost his leg trying to protect everyone else,” I reminded.

  He chuckled. “Touche.” After a pause, he added, “The stakes are higher now. They involve you.”

  My heart melted. “I love you, Jace.”

  “I love you, too. Come home soon, babe.”

  I was still smiling as we ended the call. How did I ever get so lucky to find a man like Jace Riga? He deserved the best of me. I just needed to figure out who that was first.

  I also knew I couldn’t just wait for Mr. Vass to investigate the matter any further. I was playing Beat the Clock now that PING knew I was in Las Vegas. Their snoops made Kent Vass look like an amateur. Within the week, I had no doubt they’d know why I was at that club, and link me right back to Diego. I had to get ahead of it before it blew up beyond my control.

  I spent the better part of the morning researching the Palermo family tree. Thanks to Internet sources, especially ancestry records, I was able to locate several Palermo families in the New Jersey area. I found nothing on my dad to narrow down the vicinity. I noted several names before heading back over to see Maya. I decided to bring her lunch as well, since I knew that most of her afternoons were spent alone. To brighten her day, I also got her a small blooming plant with bright coral flowers.

  She was still in bed by the time I arrived, and looked tired with an ashen complexion. “Are you not feeling well?” I asked, though it was clear she wasn’t.

  She waved a hand. “Some nights are better than others,” she dismissed, before she succumbed to another coughing fit. I helped her over to the recliner and retrieved her inhaler. Her hands shook so badly as she took a deep, labored breath that I had to hold it steady for her. I was no doctor, but I was completely positive this woman wasn’t faking her illness.

  I sat on the sofa next to her, disheartened to find food containers and beer cans scattered across the coffee table I had cleaned the day before. Most of it littered the other end of the table, near Sonny’s recliner. Wordlessly I began to gather the trash so that I would have a pretty place to put her flowers.

  “You are too good to me, Jordana,” she managed painfully. “Your dad would be so proud of the woman you have become.”

  I smiled at her. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

  She picked at her food as I picked up around the house. I knew she didn’t feel like eating, but I insisted. It didn’t take long before I sent her back to bed entirely. I instead resorted to the photo albums to dig a little deeper around my family tree.

  The photos of my dad brought tears to my eyes as I revisited the pages. He looked so happy, eve
n when they were virtually vagabonds working their way from town to town to make the thousand mile trek from Jersey to Iowa. I peeled away the plastic cover to gently pull the photos from the adhesive pages. On the back, Maya had carefully documented their journey.

  “The adventure begins! Jersey, 1987.”

  “Joey and I camping in PA, summer 1988.”

  “Joey and I, motel livin’. Ohio: 1988.”

  “Joey and me, working on a farm in IN, spring 1989.”

  “Joey and I make it to Aunt Verna’s farm. December of 1989.”

  From what I could piece together, Maya was born sometime around March in 1971, which meant she was only 21 when I was born. It made everything seem sadder somehow. She wasn’t much older than me when her life was thrust into its current downward spiral.

  They were so young. Just babies. Yet they had traveled half the country, working their way from place to place, from the time they were teenagers. I knew what they were running towards, but suddenly I was very curious what they were running from.

  There were precious few photos of the group home where they met, so pinning down a name or location was futile. I sighed as I closed the album. I pulled out another album, but it contained later photos of Diego. There were shoeboxes tucked behind the albums, so I pulled that forward, hoping to find more photos. Instead, it was full of letters. They were addressed to Maya from my dad.

  I sucked in a breath as I opened the one on top. My first grade class photo slipped from the pages as I opened the letter.

  “September, 1998.

  Dearest Maya,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to send you the newest photo of Jordi so you can see how she’s doing. She’s such an amazing little girl and the light of my life. She is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.

  But every time I see her face, I see you. I feel like the worst person alive that I’ve taken her away from you. I know that was the deal from the beginning, but I can’t imagine even one day without her now. I’m going to figure out a way for you to see her again. It’s only right. Especially after all you’ve lost.

  Don’t give up on me, Maya. Talk to you soon.

  Joey.”

  Tears welled in my eyes as I realized this letter was written just before the fateful camping trip where Shane shot my dad. It made me wonder once again how different my life would have been had he not died. It scattered us all to the wind, and each of us took root in a sad and painful existence he could no longer touch with his love and his goodness.

  And we had all suffered greatly as a result.

  Other letters included more photos, going all the way back to spring of 1993. I could hear his voice in every carefully written word. He made sure she knew when I took my first step, said my first word. He told her all about my first day of school and the one play I did in Sunday school, where I finally discovered people responded so positively to my voice.

  “She’s got a gift, Maya. She’s going to be the best of all of us one day.”

  Pain wrapped around my throat like a noose and I carefully put all the letters back in their secret hiding place. No doubt she had protected them all these years, her only tie to the man she had so truly loved… and the daughter she gave away.

  The next shoebox I opened was full of bills, mostly medical. Most were past due or delinquent, dated at least four years before. She had mentioned being on social security, so one could assume she was on state medical aid by now. Still, it gave me a bunch of diagnosis codes so I could easily confirm her health issues.

  There were also old paycheck stubs and household bills from around the same time frame. I dug a little deeper, figuring that these were the documents she must have used to prove her financial need for state services. At the bottom of the box I hit the jackpot. I found both Diego’s birth certificate as well as Maya’s. I took pictures with my phone before putting all the papers back where they were.

  Within a few hours of returning to the hotel suite, I had unlocked a remaining piece of the puzzle, narrowing down these faceless ancestors who somehow belonged to me. My grandmother’s name had not been Gloria Palermo, but Gloria Benavides. She was born in Newark, NJ in 1954. She listed the father as Tomas Palermo, whose birthplace was listed as Brooklyn, New York in 1951.

  I couldn’t locate any marriage certificates that indicated Gloria and Tomas had officially tied the knot, but from Maya had already confided I assumed that no such union was legally formalized.

  I sent all the information to Mr. Vass, hoping that would expedite the process.

  Meanwhile, I plugged in the diagnosis codes I found in Maya’s medical bills. It included chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD, and emphysema, both of which were irreversible. The diagnosis that hit the hardest, however, was “morbid obesity.”

  I guess at least now I knew where it came from.

  I was still digesting this upsetting little nugget when my cell phone rang. It was an L.A. number I didn’t recognize. My brow knit as I answered. “This is Jordi.”

  “Don’t answer your emails, love?” a man asked with an amused Australian accent. It was Griffin.

  “Sorry, I’ve had… a family emergency,” I said.

  “In Vegas?” he prodded.

  I sighed. PING struck again. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It never is,” he agreed.

  “So what can I do for you, Griffin?”

  “If you read my email, you’d know,” he chided. I could hear his smirk over the phone. “I just wanted to let you know that I, too, was out of town for the rest of the week. Called to New York. I wanted to reschedule our studio time.”

  I was confused. Why did he feel the need to personally call and give me this information when usually he went through all his flunkies first? “Thanks,” I offered. “I should be back in Los Angeles by next week.”

  “Then it’s a date,” he agreed. “Monday work for you?”

  “Afternoon would be best.”

  He laughed. “Of course. See you then, Jordi.”

  As I hung up I realized that was the first time he had ever called me by my first name.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  June 4, 2012

  By Monday, however, I was still stuck in Vegas. Sonny’s days off unfortunately coincided when I tried to talk to Maya about my father that week, and she was sickly and unresponsive through the weekend. Fortunately, finding out Gloria’s real name verified much of what Maya had already told me. Mr. Vass confirmed almost everything within a day, particularly about her mother, Gloria. There had been an incident with a hot scalding bath, which resulted in Maya’s placement in one of many foster homes. Unfortunately the older she grew the harder she was to place. She was in the group home by the time she was twelve.

  Gloria had died of a drug overdose in Manhattan by 1972, and no one had ever come forward to claim Maya. Not her father and not her grandparents. This left her a ward of the state. She was reported as a runaway by 1987, and no records surfaced for her again until she started working on a riverboat.

  After that, her story checked out. Her time working for Ronald Diego’s father Salvatore, her custody battle with Ronald… it turned out that her sob story, as tragic as it was, was completely substantiated.

  This put me in a delicate position. I knew I had to help her, but I still had misgivings about Sonny. If she was staying with him because he helped her make ends meet, then that was an easy fix. I could take care of the bills she couldn’t and render his assistance unnecessary. But Sonny was more than just a roommate. They slept in the same bed. They lived together like husband and wife, though I was certain all romance between them had been waylaid by her health complications. Despite that, I knew that there was an emotional dependence there that my money could not buy. This was a woman whose one true love was my father. He was the one who had never hurt her, used or neglected her, but inevitably chose another.

  The older and more sickly she got, the more limited
her options were. She had become accustomed to accepting way less than she deserved because of this. She was complacent to her lot in life because she didn’t see any way to make it any better. That meant no matter what I did or didn’t do, she had developed certain habits of accommodation that I wouldn’t be able to break, especially living away from her in Los Angeles.

  If I didn’t expect a massive fight from Diego, who had ties in Vegas thanks to his band, I would have recommended a total relocation out of Nevada entirely.

  I figured I’d start small. I’d get her an apartment away from that barren wasteland where she lived. I’d also hire someone to check in on her daily, prepare her meals and help her with dressing and showering. The housecoat I had purchased for her had already been stained and soiled because she refused to take it off. I ended up buying her six more just so she would change; a different color for every day.

  This delayed my visit by yet another week.

  Jace had wanted to come back out to Vegas, but he was booked to appear on the premiere of Fierce, Season 2. As the winner of Season 1, his appearance singing his #1 song proved that the new singing reality show was a force to be reckoned with. He could hardly skip it, no matter how much I may have wanted to have him by my side as I watched the season debut of a show that plucked us both out of obscurity and made us super stars.

  Instead, I watched it with Maya… and by extension, Sonny. He was far more interested in what kind of apartments I had narrowed the list down to, saying he’d prefer a place closer to where he worked on the Strip. It was all I could do not to remind him I wasn’t getting him a new place, but my mother. In his head, however, that was a package deal.

  Apparently, so was I. He did his level best to charm me, but it was all wasted. I found his interest creepy and unwelcome, much like Shane before him. Dr. Challis might have wanted to explore this connection in our next session, which ironically I missed thanks to my business in Vegas. Not so ironically, I was relieved to have an excuse to skip the session. I didn’t wish to be questioned or put on the spot about these new feelings. I had fifteen other things that were much higher priority.