Adam studies my profile as if looking for clues. “Was your mother famous?”
“She was an actress. Heather Hunter.”
“Oh,” he says, a little perplexed. “Did she star in that showMelrose Place?”
Sweet summer child.“No, dear, that was Heather Locklear.”
“What was she in? Anything I’d know?”
“Her most notable role was as the man-eating vixen Victoria Childs in a daytime drama calledSunset Cove. It began in the seventies and my mother signed on in the eighties when she was very young. She devoted thirty years to that show until it was canceled in 2009. After that she fell into a deep depression and never really recovered.”
“God, that’s so tragic,” Adam says, and it comforts me to see such sorrow on a beautiful face. “But what about your father?”
“There has been a lot of speculation as to who he might have been, but my mother would never tell.”
“Not even you?” he asks with some alarm.
“If you knew my mother, you wouldn’t be so surprised. She was full of secrets.” I have since hired a private investigator to collect DNA samples from anyone with a reputation for womanizing and an IMBD profile. The results of that investigation were enlightening, to say the least.
“Your life is like a movie,” Adam says, sounding starstruck.
“A made-for-TV movie.”
“Have you ever done any acting?”
“When I was seven, I played the role of Victoria’s son for a spell, but I got bored pretty quickly, and I wasn’t very well-behaved on set. Besides that, it was hindering her ability to be the woman everyone hated, so they killed off my character in a freak boating accident. I drowned in Lake Tahoe.” I give him an exaggerated sad face at my own early demise.
“That’s terrible,” Adam says, and I smile at his genuine horror.
“That’s showbiz. That season ofSunset Covehad some of the show’s highest ratings. My mother won a Daytime Emmy for her portrayal of a bereaved parent.” I never said she couldn’t act.
“That’s a silver lining, I guess. Have you ever thought about getting back into it?”
“Not really. I found it to be terribly tedious, and some of the writing is just…” I shake my head at a few of my mother’s more saccharine scripts over the years. “Icannotdo melodrama.”
“I love it,” Adam says with a sudden fervor in his eyes. “I did some acting in high school, and it was so much fun to be able to go onstage and be somebody else for a little while.”
I get the sense Adam doesn’t like who he is already. What a shame.
“I’d love to see you perform,” I tell him, and he smiles, turning bashful again.
“I’m still learning.”
“There are a lot of great acting coaches in L.A. Some who are reasonably priced. If you’re interested, I can set you up with one.”
“That would be so incredibly awesome, Cassius. Thank you.”
His gratitude is intoxicating. To be the man who delivers Beautiful Adam his dreams on a silver platter is so very tempting, but it’s early still. No need to rush into things.
I pull up to the entrance of my property and wait for the gate to open. My mid-century, Spanish-style home is modest by Hollywood standards. The real value is in the sprawling yard with manicured gardens and a spacious patio with an in-ground pool, complete with its own pool house. The ten-foot wall and thick shrubbery surrounding the property offers me both privacy and security. It’s extravagant but not ostentatious.
“This is yours?” Adam asks as he takes it all in, awestruck by its splendor.
“It also belonged to my mother. I inherited the property from her too. Let me get your door for you.” I quickly climb out and circle around the car.
“Do you usually do that for other men?” he asks.
“Only the ones I’m trying to impress.”
