It was a long drive back to Los Angeles. Dasher set the cruise control to 85 miles per hour as soon as she was across the Bay Bridge and on her way to Highway 5 and a straight shot down the coast. She cranked the sound system, avoiding the sadder songs of McLachlan, Cassidy, and Raitt. Not caring if she got a ticket, she raced down the road.
The whole idea of being around Kate Hoffman had been foolish. She should never have joined the Elysium Society, never volunteered to be on the same committee. She was like a damned moth to Kate’s flame. Maybe she was only starstruck.
“Yeah, Dasher, starstruck with her beauty. Like you haven’t had about a dozen women as beautiful throw themselves at you. Well, not that beautiful, but it’s still a lie.”
If Dasher had learned one thing, it was that she couldn’t have what she wanted, craved. Dasher was a caregiver. That’s how she’d survived her childhood and that’s how she made her living. But that street ran only one way. Her worth was as a caregiver,not the other way around.
She vowed to never again acknowledge her true feelings for Kate, especially to herself. It was a dead end and only kept her from finding someone to have a real relationship with. She absolutely wouldn’t pursue this any longer. If Kate insisted that they remember the kiss but indulge in no others, then so be it. She’d just have to figure out how to do that and move on.
Close to midnight someone rang her and the hands-free system picked up the call in the car. “Hey, honey, have you talked with your mother in the last few days?”
“No, Dad. I told you I’d be out of town until tomorrow. As it is I’m back a bit early. Lupe needed to take care of her granddaughter while her daughter was on a business trip, and you agreed you’d handle Mom. Two days, Dad. Did you even bother to call her?”
Her mother was an emotional train wreck, and her dad didn’t want to deal with her. So he let Dasher handle all of their baggage and had since she was a child. She only occasionally asked him to help, and this is what he did. She half expected it.
“Now, Dash, don’t use that tone with me. She’s a grown woman, she can look after herself for a few days.” Ah, the best defense is a good offense. One of his favorites.
“She’s not well, Dad, and you know it. I was out of town for two lousy days. Did you call or not?”
Sounding every inch a petulant and quite spoiled teenager, her father said, “Of course I did, just a few minutes ago. I don’t think she picks up when I call. She’s just being stubborn.”
Goosing the accelerator, Dash shot toward Beverly Hills instead of her own home in Malibu. Her father, Jerry, had purchased a condominium in a fine old refurbished building and plunked his wife there. She could have everything delivered and watch big-screen television and drink and pop pills as much as she wished.
As soon as Dasher escaped to college in the East, her dad had moved his wife out of their Beverly Hills digs. He paid her bills and gave her a stipend and washed his hands of her, expecting Dasher, their only child, to take care of the rest. After two near misses that involved breaking down her door and paramedics, and Dasher ferrying between coasts, Dasher had transferred to UCLA and lived at home. Dasher now had her mother’s power of attorney for medical and legal affairs.
Mimi Pate was a desperately unhappy woman who had arrived in Los Angeles as a sixteen-year-old runaway and married the first man who proposed. Since she had refused to ever speak about her parents, her father in particular, Dasher assumed that Mimi had been abused.
It was probably just dumb luck on Mimi’s part that she didn’t pick another abuser as a mate. It was lucky for Dasher, too, because as irritating as her father could be, he loved Dasher and provided for them.
Young Jerry Pate became a much-in-demand stuntman and traveled all over the world on location for films. He told Dasher that at first he tried to take Mimi with him, but she was terrified of flying. When Dasher was born, Mimi wouldn’t be parted from her, and he went his own way.
Now, as the top second-unit director in Hollywood and owner of the best stunt-performance school, Jerry was wealthy. He wasn’t unkind, just checked out. He immersed himself in work and threw money at a problem that had started long before he met beautiful, dark, and sensitive Mimi.
Her painful shyness had eventually made her a virtual shut-in. She had no friends and relied solely on Dasher to provide comfort. The burden had become increasingly difficult to bear.
Each time she couldn’t reach her mother and was working, she called the caregiver who visited Mimi and shopped, cooked, and cleaned for her. Guadalupe Correa, a middle-aged woman from Ecuador, was now on a full-time salary. Dash had also provided her with a cell phone and helped her purchase a car.
Lupe turned out to be a compassionate woman who always helped if she could. Dasher tried to be generous at holidays and any time she could come up with a reason to give Lupe more money, because Lupe wouldn’t accept what she called “tips” and, so far, wouldn’t take a raise either.
Between caring for her mother and representing her growing number of clients, Dasher didn’t have room for much else. Dating was a joke, more like one-night stands. Lately, she didn’t have much energy for even those.
She managed to find a place to park on the street, no small feat in that neighborhood at four in the morning. It was quiet, with only a few nocturnal critters making their nightly rounds, foraging. She let herself in the main door and walked up two flights to her mother’s flat, avoiding the creaky elevator.
Her mom kept odd hours. She often watched old movies all night because she had a hard time sleeping. Dash planned to make sure she was okay and then go home. After the past thirty-six hours, what were a few more without sleep?
As she let herself into the unit, she heard the ever-present noise of the television. It was on constantly and quite possibly kept the monsters away. Dasher’s heart rate elevated and she was holding her breath. She always dreaded what she would find when she came over.
There, on the couch, sprawled Mimi Pate. She was passed out and had vomited on herself. Dasher quickly checked her pulse and found a steady if weak one. Next, she made sure her airway was clear. With a speed born of practice she called the paramedics and tried to clean her mother up before they arrived.
Waking at the interruption, her mother groaned, “Just let me die. Why can’t you leave me alone? I just want to die.” It was always the same.
“Mother, the ambulance will be here soon. Just hang on for a little while longer.” When Dasher was a kid, she’d watched the movie They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? All she could remember was that in the end the guy had killed the woman because she was so very damaged by a dead-end life.She’d stared at the television, her mother passed out on the floor, long after it ended.
She remembered wondering if she would have the courage to grant her mother’s wish to die. But try as she might, she couldn’t. Nor could she follow her father’s lead and leave.
She managed to stuff her mother into a clean top, like dressing a rag doll, and heard the siren of the approaching emergency personnel. A fire truck always accompanied them, for some odd reason. The neighbors had long ago stopped coming out to see what was happening. She suspected most just slept through the commotion by now.
In the beginning one or two had bitched about the episodic disruption. Then first her father, and now she, would supply them with tickets to movie premieres and they stopped complaining.
Even the reporters who haunted the police and emergency scanners rarely showed up these days. People stopped thinking it was news.
She made a mental note to give a generous donation to the paramedic and fire department funds when this calmed down. Holding her mother, who was crying, in her arms, she waited.
*
The next morning Kate was leaving her physical therapy date across the street from the hospital, only slightly hungover. She could barely drag herself to the stupidly early appointment. Luckily, the incident with the boar hadn’t reinjured her knee, but her therapist had scolded her and warned her yet again not to overdo it. Yeah, like she’d had a choice.
Ambling to her car she muttered, “Yes, ma’am, I’ll try not to let a wild pig chase me from now on.”
She halted when she thought she spied Dasher, still wearing the same clothes she had on the day before, sitting outside the hospital on a bench. She was staring into space and looked exhausted. Kate stood still while buses and cars zoomed past, attempting to make sense of what she saw.
Ignoring her revving heart rate, she watched as Dasher slumped forward, elbows on her knees, and put her face in her hands. She seemed so vulnerable, so hopeless. Kate forgot about her complaints, and her feet moved without actually asking permission.
After she crossed the street, she quietly joined Dasher on the bench. “Are you okay?” Scooting closer, she gave Dasher some time to decide if she would engage. She was prepared to be told to go away, but fervently hoped it wouldn’t happen.
Dasher stilled, then sat up and gazed at Kate. “What are you doing here?”
Kate tried for nonchalance. “I had physical therapy across the street. I saw you and thought…I thought maybe you could use a cup of overpriced coffee. Can I buy you one? There’s a Peet’s down the street, and you know how hard they are to find in LA.”
Dasher hesitated, then smiled slightly, fatigue lining her face. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“Come on, then. The morning rush should be over.” She donned her large sunglasses, her attempt at disguise when alone, and they walked together to the coffee store two blocks down. “My treat. You want a triple shot?”
Dasher grinned sadly. “That bad, eh? I guess it’s a good idea. Might get me to my car and home without falling asleep.”
“And a scone. Two scones. I feel like cheating after the torture that PT put me through.”
“Careful. Don’t let Joe catch you eating carbs.”
“He could do with a few less himself.” Kate was relieved to have Dasher at least attempt humor.
“The difference is you work out and he owns stock in Krispy Kreme.”
Dasher sat outside and Kate stood in the short line, anxious to get back to her. The young man who waited on her stared but had the good sense to not ask if she was really Kate Hoffman. She gathered up her goodies, and as she used her shoulder to push open the door she noticed him pull out his cell phone.
“Hey, why don’t we walk back to the hospital? They have a garden in the center of the complex that’s private. I think the coffee dude is Twittering, and you know it won’t take long for others to show up.”
“Sure. I have to get back anyway.”
They walked until Kate couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “Dash, why are you at the hospital? Can I help?”
Every time she was around this woman she started doing things she’d rarely done before. Offering to go out of her way for a friend was something with which she had little experience.
Dasher seemed to consider the offer, then tiredly shook her head. “It’s my mother. She tends to drink too much and take too many pills. Then I get to find her and call the paramedics and here we are. It’s happened before.”
Kate could only nod. She’d heard that Dasher’s mother had some problems. Joe was always happy to comment on how screwed up Dasher probably was because of it.
“Have you slept yet?” From the look of her, Kate doubted it.
“I dozed in one of those comfortable waiting-room chairs in the emergency room. No, not really.”
“Is she well enough to leave? Do you want me to drive you home?”
Gazing at Kate as if trying to decide something, Dasher finally said, “Mom is agoraphobic. I asked her internist to run some tests on her because she’s lost a lot of weight recently and Lupe told me she’s been having some, as she would say, lady troubles. More than usual, that is. This is the only time doctors can get a crack at her. They’re keeping her for forty-eight hours.”
At that moment a tiny, sturdy square of a woman hustled up to Dasher, who stood to accept a fierce hug. The woman was speaking Spanish rapidly and Dash seemed to get most of it. She patted Dasher’s arm and disappeared through the hospital doors with barely a glance in Kate’s direction.
To Kate’s unasked question, Dash said, “That’s Lupe, who takes care of Mom most of the time. She’s a godsend. She’s my relief for the day shift.”
“Isn’t your mother safe in the hospital?”
Dash shook her head. “My mother is terrified of strangers. She’ll be okay with Lupe or me in the room.”
“What about your father?” Kate knew who he was. Jerry Pate was quite sought-after in her circles. If you wanted a stunt done right and the first time—and often these action sequences took months and cost millions to choreograph and film—you hired Jerry Pate.
Snorting, Dasher said, “Not likely. He’s got all sorts of reasons why, but other than paying her bills, he might as well be her ex. I guess my dad doesn’t ask for a divorce because then other women can’t pressure him to get married and he gets to maintain control of his money. Nice.”
She rubbed her face and sighed deeply. “Well, I’ve got to get going. I have two appointments today and I can’t look like this, for my clients’ sake. Then I can try for some sleep before I come back here to the hospital.”
“If you need anything, please call me. I mean that.” Kate had no idea why she meant it, but she did.
After a moment, Dasher simply replied, “Thank you.” Kate knew she wouldn’t call.
Driving home, Kate pondered her reaction to Dasher’s terrible situation. She was outraged that Jerry Pate had handed over the care of his wife to their child.
Why was she feeling so protective of Dasher? Sitting with her in the garden, she had to force herself not to pull Dasher into her arms to comfort her, give her a safe place to let down. She wondered how often Dasher actually did that—allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of someone else. She knew how often she’d felt that safe. Never.
Even around Laurel, she thought she had to keep up the charade her family had created and she had always done her best to live up to. The Gifted One. The conversation she’d had with Laurel the night before, when she was half drunk, was the closest she’d ever come to spilling the truth. Kate was tired. She longed for shelter from the storm that was the essence of fame and celebrity.