The birth video is uneventful, except for the way my mother acts. I know immediately by her reaction and lack of caring what led to my being sent to boarding school. We watch the next few videos, and it becomes clearer and clearer to me that Evelyn was nothing more than a gold digger, tagging along for whatever Bobby wanted just so she could get hers in the end.
After watching those videos, if she’d been alive when Bobby died, I would’ve begun to question whether or not she killed him.
We jump to 1993 and the year I was sent to boarding school. The video comes on and Bobby is in his office in the old house; I can tell by the decor in the room. Though I never spent much time in that room, the browns, tans and blacks give it away.
Walking around the desk is Bobby, and it takes a minute before I see me walking over to his desk. It’s disturbing because I don’t remember any of this. You would think that at five or six I would have.
“Daddy.”
“Hi, Cameron.” His voice is warm as I climb onto his lap; a warm, glowing smile spreads across his lips. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to go—” My voice is cut off by the sound of a slamming door, and Bobby and I both look toward the source of the noise.
“What is it, Evelyn?”
“Cameron, get out of here,” she says very rudely toward me. I watch as the younger me looks to Bobby with a terrified look on her face, but Bobby nods reassuringly and I climb down. I watch as I retreat toward the camera and give my mother a wide berth before I hear the door click closed on the video.
“You fucking whore,” Evelyn spats and throws something. It flies with such speed that I can’t make it out before it shatters against the wall just over Bobby’s head. “All you had to do was fucking keep your dick in your pants, and you couldn’t even do that, could you, you...you bastard.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Evelyn?”
“Who gives a flying fuck. I want a divorce, I’m taking the kids and leaving.”
“Like fucking hell you are.” Bobby is raging pissed; I can see it in his face. He stands and comes around his desk. “If you think for one damn minute I will let any judge award you custody of those kids, you have another thing coming.” Bobby stalks toward my mother as he says this. She meets him and slaps him across the face.
I commend him for not striking her back, but suddenly the video is cut off.
The next video is of Bobby, back in his office, this time sitting on a chair or stool directly in front of the camera. I can tell he’s been crying. His eyes are all red and puffy. My heart clamps tight at the sight in front of me.
“Cameron, I’m sorry. I am so very sorry. I did what I had to do to keep you safe and out of her hands. It is my hope and my wish that you will one day understand, but it was all I could do to keep her away from you. You deserve so much better.” By the end of his speech the tears are visibly streaking down his cheeks and mine.
Beau and Mick leave a little while after that. I can’t quite bring myself to watch many of the other videos, but something about the one dated 2000-2006 is nagging at me. When I put the disc in and the folders pop up, there are two that capture my attention. One titled “Coming Home” and the other is called “Amazing Discovery 2004.”
I go to the one titled “Coming Home,” and inside the folder is only one video. I select it.
Back in Bobby’s office, he’s sitting on his stool, looking a little older and more like I remember him when I came back after my sophomore year.
“Cameron is finally home, where she belongs. But she hates me. No, she despises me. Which I guess is something I should’ve expected all those years ago and no less than I deserve. I just wish I knew how to show her how much I’ve missed her.”
The video continues on for a few minutes: he is talking about my being home and trying to work through how he can try and fix the mess he’s created, and it pulls harder at my heartstrings.
“I’d have given you a chance, if I’d known,” I breathe and pour the last of the bottle of Crown into my wine glass.
I move on to the next folder, “Amazing Discovery.” I cock my head at the screen. Tristan and I had talked about the day Bobby discovered I could sing, and Bobby’s subsequent reaction, which would’ve happened in 2004. I open the folder, and again, only one video.
This time Bobby is sitting behind his desk. Someone — who, I can’t quite tell — is sitting opposite him.
“I’ve discovered someone amazing,” Bobby says. “Singer, amazingly talented, a great stage presence.” I watch as Bobby takes a drink from his snifter; brandy was always his drink of choice.
“So what’s the problem?”
I sit up on the couch with interest. I recognize the voice immediately, but the hair threw me off. It’s Vinnie.
Bobby doesn’t answer him right away. Taking another drink, he stands and walks toward the cabinet to his right, and though he is off-screen just a little, I can tell by the clinking of crystal that he’s filling his glass. When he is done, he walks toward the camera slightly and then starts to pace the room.
“I can’t sign her.”
“Bobby, since when do you not sign an amazing talent? You’re by far the best in the business, you know talent better than the talent knows talent.” I watch as Vinnie turns in his chair toward my father, and I can see it now; why Vinnie shaves his head. His hairline is receding horribly and he looks years older, and it’s been eight years since this video was shot.
“There are two rules for signing new talent in this company. You know them as well as I do.”
“No signing someone that you’re screwing, or family. So you’re screwing—” I watch as Bobby visually cringes at Vinnie’s words.
“Dammit, Vin, it’s Cami.” I feel both shock as he uses my nickname and the shock that stretches across Vinnie’s face.
“Make an exception,” Vinnie finally manages to say.
“I could, if I hadn’t reacted so poorly when I found out.” Vinnie looks at Bobby, and he continues. “I hadn’t expected what I was going to see. I’d never heard her sing before and I blew a gasket. The first thing that flew through my mind was no way in hell was I going to let my daughter be caught up in this mess, then the other was the fact that I can’t sign her, and that someone else was going to profit from my daughter. So I threw a fit.”
“Jesus—”
The video cuts off.
Tears streak down my cheeks. After all the years I’ve wanted that answer, and now that I have it, there is nothing I can do about it. I put my head in my hands as the tears start to roll and the sobs come harder and faster than they have in years.