kitchen is empty, and I fill a sippy
cup with juice and pour some Goldfish crackers into a Ziploc snack bag. I hear what
sounds like my father’s voice in the salon. He pauses occasionally and I don’t hear
anyone respond, so I guess he must be on the phone.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Suddenly Troy is in the kitchen doorway, video camera on his
shoulder. When he reaches us, he gives Dustin a high five with his free hand. Dustin’s
face breaks into a smile. Even down in Miami, when I hated Troy and he disapproved
of me, he and Dustin had a mutual admiration thing going. Still, he’s shooting for
the network, and his assignment does not include making us look good.
“Nothing. Where is everybody?”
“The guys took a break from bowl games to go out on the beach. Your mom and the others
are out on the pool deck, waiting for sunset.”
“Beeeeech,” Dustin says, reaching toward Troy. It’s a money shot, I know, and there’s
nothing I can do about it.
“I can take him out on the beach to hang with the guys,” Troy says.
Our sunset is a network camera–free event. I’m the only one allowed to shoot them.
Usually there are no males, except Dustin, allowed. I only hesitate for a minute.
Chase and my brother will help keep an eye out, and I know Troy will shield Dustin
as much as possible from the paparazzi if only to protect the network’s interests.
“Okay. But don’t let him eat sand. Or drink the salt water. Or . . .”
“I’ve got it under control.” Dustin reaches for him again, and I let Troy tuck him
into the crook of his free arm. Which has the added advantage of making it almost
impossible for him to get a good shot of my son. “We’ll be up after the sun goes down.
I’ve got to get footage of you opening the envelope with the next
Do Over
location.”
Of course he does. I say nothing, but it’s yet another unwelcome reminder that I have
almost zero control over the show I created.
When they’re gone I putter for a little bit, trying to push back the image of Tonja
Kay in this kitchen or presiding over cocktails in the Casbah Lounge. Or worse, ripping
them both out in order to wedge a pool in their place. I breathe deeply for a while,
trying to steady and slow my thoughts, but it doesn’t work any better while I’m vertical
than it did while I was trying to nap. There’s no point in getting worked up about
Daniel owning Bella Flora. We’d be leaving her behind, no matter who bought her. And
there’s always the chance that Dustin will get to spend some time here with his father.
I drink a Coke and pick at some leftovers until I feel ready to go outside and come
up with ‘one good thing.’ I hang my video camera over my shoulder. As I leave the
kitchen I realize my father’s still on the phone. His voice is pitched low, but I
catch a few words and phrases.
“I know,” he says. “But I’ll be back soon, and we can celebrate then.” He chuckles,
which is so not a Steve Singer sound that I stop dead in my tracks. When I look through
the French doors, he’s got this kind of goofy smile on his face and I realize that
it’s affection I hear in his voice.
“I’ve missed you. But I’ll be back in Atlanta soon,” he practically coos. It’s then
that I know for sure that he’s talking to a woman. And that woman is most definitely
not my mother.
Seven
I’m still standing in the hall outside the salon when he gets off the phone. I tell
myself not to say anything. That this is not my business. That I should just erase
what I heard from my memory banks and go outside to toast the sunset. But I’m a cameraperson,
not an actor. And this is my father, not some stranger. The next thing I know I’m
in the salon and moving toward my dad. Who’s got a perfect view of my mom and the
others gathered near the pool with drinks in their hands. So that she couldn’t possibly
overhear him or catch him unaware. The
cup with juice and pour some Goldfish crackers into a Ziploc snack bag. I hear what
sounds like my father’s voice in the salon. He pauses occasionally and I don’t hear
anyone respond, so I guess he must be on the phone.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Suddenly Troy is in the kitchen doorway, video camera on his
shoulder. When he reaches us, he gives Dustin a high five with his free hand. Dustin’s
face breaks into a smile. Even down in Miami, when I hated Troy and he disapproved
of me, he and Dustin had a mutual admiration thing going. Still, he’s shooting for
the network, and his assignment does not include making us look good.
“Nothing. Where is everybody?”
“The guys took a break from bowl games to go out on the beach. Your mom and the others
are out on the pool deck, waiting for sunset.”
“Beeeeech,” Dustin says, reaching toward Troy. It’s a money shot, I know, and there’s
nothing I can do about it.
“I can take him out on the beach to hang with the guys,” Troy says.
Our sunset is a network camera–free event. I’m the only one allowed to shoot them.
Usually there are no males, except Dustin, allowed. I only hesitate for a minute.
Chase and my brother will help keep an eye out, and I know Troy will shield Dustin
as much as possible from the paparazzi if only to protect the network’s interests.
“Okay. But don’t let him eat sand. Or drink the salt water. Or . . .”
“I’ve got it under control.” Dustin reaches for him again, and I let Troy tuck him
into the crook of his free arm. Which has the added advantage of making it almost
impossible for him to get a good shot of my son. “We’ll be up after the sun goes down.
I’ve got to get footage of you opening the envelope with the next
Do Over
location.”
Of course he does. I say nothing, but it’s yet another unwelcome reminder that I have
almost zero control over the show I created.
When they’re gone I putter for a little bit, trying to push back the image of Tonja
Kay in this kitchen or presiding over cocktails in the Casbah Lounge. Or worse, ripping
them both out in order to wedge a pool in their place. I breathe deeply for a while,
trying to steady and slow my thoughts, but it doesn’t work any better while I’m vertical
than it did while I was trying to nap. There’s no point in getting worked up about
Daniel owning Bella Flora. We’d be leaving her behind, no matter who bought her. And
there’s always the chance that Dustin will get to spend some time here with his father.
I drink a Coke and pick at some leftovers until I feel ready to go outside and come
up with ‘one good thing.’ I hang my video camera over my shoulder. As I leave the
kitchen I realize my father’s still on the phone. His voice is pitched low, but I
catch a few words and phrases.
“I know,” he says. “But I’ll be back soon, and we can celebrate then.” He chuckles,
which is so not a Steve Singer sound that I stop dead in my tracks. When I look through
the French doors, he’s got this kind of goofy smile on his face and I realize that
it’s affection I hear in his voice.
“I’ve missed you. But I’ll be back in Atlanta soon,” he practically coos. It’s then
that I know for sure that he’s talking to a woman. And that woman is most definitely
not my mother.
Seven
I’m still standing in the hall outside the salon when he gets off the phone. I tell
myself not to say anything. That this is not my business. That I should just erase
what I heard from my memory banks and go outside to toast the sunset. But I’m a cameraperson,
not an actor. And this is my father, not some stranger. The next thing I know I’m
in the salon and moving toward my dad. Who’s got a perfect view of my mom and the
others gathered near the pool with drinks in their hands. So that she couldn’t possibly
overhear him or catch him unaware. The
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