August 2017
Trousdale Park Gated Community, Beverly Hills
(North of Sunset, off Benedict Canyon)
“Big news coming from the Royce fam! Don’t miss out! Heart-heart-heart.” Bent tweeted the words as she spoke them, then tossed her phone down next to the chessboard. “Oh my god, I think I just threw up a little in the back of my throat.”
“Big news?” Bach looked up. “There is?”
Bent sighed. “There better be. Porsche and Whitey should just announce it already. The engagement.”
“Why? What do you care?”
“The sooner they announce, the less time the network has to cancel us.” All signs were pointing to the engagement story line having saved the day, but they still hadn’t gotten the official green light from the network.
“Wait a sec. Rewind. Since when do you want us to not get canceled?” Bach stared at his sister in disbelief.
“I dunno.” Bentley shrugged. “Since now, I guess. Things change.”
Bach eyed her suspiciously—but his phone chimed, and he looked down to check it. “Uh-oh. Hold that thought. Jeff wants to talk to us.” He took a breath. “All of us.”
“Talk? His jaw must be getting better.” They smiled at each other, despite everything.50
“Guess so. Either way, looks like they’ve made up their mind,” Bach said. He held out his hand and pulled his sister to her feet.
“Either way, looks like we better run,” Bentley said, grabbing her bag.
“Why?”
“Beat Porsche to the car before she can get behind the wheel.”
He nodded. “I like your thinking.”
“You know me. Three steps ahead,” Bent said as they took off running.
Jeff Grunburg looked up from the hot-lunch line at Tallulah’s summer school, where he was talking on the phone wearing plastic gloves. Felicity, Tallulah’s nanny, was scooping kale salad for the students, while Dirk, who Bentley had come to think of as Jeff’s nanny, was handing out orange wedges. A sign directly overhead read PARENT VOLUNTEERS ONLY—PLEASE DO NOT SEND FAMILY EMPLOYEES TO HOT-LUNCH LINE.
Tallulah sat between Felicity and Dirk, looking bored as she stirred the massive trough of FRanch51 dressing in front of her.
“He’s on the phone,” she said as they walked up. “But you can have some kale salad if you want.”
Jeff motioned to the Royces before covering the phone. “Give me one sec.”
“Of course,” Mercedes said. “So obnoxious,” she whispered.
“You realize there’s probably no one on the other end of that call,” Bach said in a low voice.
Bentley laughed nervously, watching as Porsche and Whitey huddled together, whispering like they were here on a playdate. They weren’t focused on anyone but each other, as if whatever decision Jeff Grunburg held for all of them wouldn’t forever change their lives as much as anyone else’s.
Which it would.
Lippies and Shenzhen and Fake Weddings and all.
But Porsche seemed strangely calm about the whole thing—while Bentley was holding her breath. She tried not to think about it as she waited with Mercedes.
Bach had taken a seat crammed in next to Tallulah with his cards, and was already teaching her how to play Texas Hold’em.
Jeff finished his phone conversation as if the Royces weren’t there.
“You can go tell DiosGlobale to screw themselves. We’re not giving them new numbers. They may be our parent company, but they’re not our parents. Grandpa CEO can go…You know what Grandpa CEO can do. You tell him that for me. Better yet, do it to him.”
He clicked off, looking annoyed. Then he glanced up at Bentley, almost surprised, as if he were only just now remembering that they were there.
“Congrats, kid. You got it. You’ve been renewed.”
“Really?” Bentley broke into a smile, in spite of the fact that the person she was smiling at was Jeff Grunburg.
“Of course we’ve been renewed,” Mercedes snapped. “The new season is brilliant. I just don’t know why we had to be dragged down to Brentwood to be given this information.” The 405 freeway divided the west and east sides of the city; during certain times of day it would have been faster to cross the Mississippi River on a sapling raft. The most passive-aggressive thing someone could do was demand that you attempt that passage unnecessarily. As Jeff knew.
Message received, Bent thought. You may be renewed, but I’m still the boss.
Jeff smiled generously, ignoring Mercedes. “Between the wedding story line and the Bentley Royce train wreck, how could we say no?” He nodded at Bent. “Wreck yourself before you check yourself. I like the new Bentley.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes, but Bent could tell how relieved she was. Porsche and Whitey smiled at each other, confident and calm, as if they’d never had any doubts. Neither Bach nor Tallulah looked up from their card game.
But Jeff kept going. Seeing Bach there with his daughter seemed to have reminded him of something else. “Just one more thing—Bach and the gambling.”
All three Royce women stared.
“I know we were staying off it, but now I think we should let it roll. Play up Bach’s addiction. Get a little edge in there. It’s a big problem among American teens—”
“No,” Mercedes said. “No deal.”
“Forget it,” Bent said fiercely. “Bach is off-limits.”
“Why?” Bach said, finally giving up on his game. “If Bentley can throw herself to the feeding frenzy the way she has lately, why should it be any different for me? I mean, Porsche’s marrying a guy. Mercedes offed a—”
“Don’t!” Jeff and Mercedes said, in almost perfect unison.
Bach shrugged. “Seriously. What have I done for the show?”
“Bach,” Bentley started.
He began to pick up cards from the table. “And don’t say I’m the good one. Don’t say I’m the cute gay brother. That’s so condescending.”
Nobody said anything—except Jeff.
“I agree. Bach’s right. I’m not going to let you keep him sidelined because of your own homophobia.” Jeff grinned smugly and let a hand fall on Bach’s shoulder. “I’m an LG…B…TZ…B…”52
“You already hit B,” Bach said, amused. “But I appreciate you throwing the bonus Z in there. For all the Zesbians.”
Jeff looked relieved. “I’m an ally, son. You know that.”
“Oh, I know. I know exactly what you are,” Bach said. He looked at his family. “Great. Then it’s all settled.”
“It’s not,” Bentley said. There was no way she was going to let Bach become a casualty of the situation. Not if she could help it.
Jeff looked at Mercedes. “We can talk about it after we pick up this season’s Emmys.”
A load of hungry first graders walked up to the table. Jeff motioned to Tallulah, Felicity, and the Dirk. “Okay. Let’s do this!” They went to work scooping salad.
Whitey broke from Porsche and casually approached Jeff. “Hey,” he said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “now that we’re going to be working together, I want to make sure we’re all good. No hard feelings, eh, Pops?”
“No hard feelings.” Jeff nodded, extending his hand to Whitey. They shook hands. Everyone saw, and all were pleased. Even Mercedes managed to lift both corners of her Restylane-filled lips.
What they didn’t see was the moment after, when Jeff pulled Whitey in close enough for a whisper. “If you touch me again, I will end you.”
Nobody saw it happen, and nobody heard it said.
Nobody except Bentley.
Then Jeff let Whitey go and looked out at the swarm of children, grinning. “All right, get out your cash. Throw in a Hamilton, and I’ll let you cut to the front of the line. No, not the Hamilton on Broadway line.”
Laughter and groans—but Bent didn’t hear it.
She only heard her heart pounding in her ears as she followed her family to the car, wondering when he’d come for them, and whether or not she’d see him coming.