More already? Yup. If you like this story, I guess you're benefitting from the fact that I've been overcome with a desire to avoid my summer reading. I've actually almost finished the next part...Anyway, tell me what you're thinking.
Grace woke to a quiet house the next morning and took a moment to lie in bed, contemplating the days which had so quickly passed. It had been two days since she had been Lance Baldwin's daughter, albeit one named "Cooper," but Lance had always been dad. When she was little, Grace had actually thought that all children called their fathers "Lance." It had been Mom, reminiscing about a fling of her youth, who had drawn Grace's attention to the fact that she did not wholly belong. The "James Cooper" of Mom's descriptions had been handsome, wealthy, beautifully mannered, and gentlemanly up until she had gotten pregnant. He had refused to marry her, and that was why Grace was never to give up her youth and innocence to a man who hadn't given her a ring, Mom had explained. Grace's girlfriends had assured her that these were terribly old-fashioned notions, not to be believed—of course she should sleep with Ryan; he was smart; he was kind; and most importantly, he was hot. Grace, however, knew from personal experience that accidents happen. Yet there was an unsettling feeling in the pit of her soul that Mom wouldn't have changed her, the reminder of the man who had been comfortable using a girl from the wrong side of the tracks until she threatened his precious destiny, into Lance's daughter even if she had had the choice. She remembered being twelve, hearing Mom's voice in her head, bitterly lamenting, "But of course, rich people, sweetheart; they have their whole lives planned out for them. Your father was going to marry that well-bred, well-mannered, well-educated brat of a blonde he'd dated since high school. There was never a chance for me." But even so, there had been enough of a taste of wistfulness in the bitter voice of a woman who, at only thirty, was too young to have a daughter who already dwarfed her, to convince Grace that Mom was glad to have a daughter who was a Cooper.
And now Grace knew who the Coopers were, knew why James Cooper's daughter was important to Mom in a way Lance Baldwin's children could never be. Mom loved Lance; God did Grace know that, but she also knew that Mom had always wanted to be better. She had dreamed of being an interior decorator at one time, dreamed of—but all of Mom's fantasies seemed to end in marrying a rich man and living happily ever after. Grace had always had contempt for her mother's fairytale dreams; that is, until she met Dad and Kirsten. Suddenly, she understood how Mom could believe in fairytales. After all, what were Dad and Kirsten if not a prince and princess living a happily-ever-after right before her eyes? What got to Grace most of all was how, while Mom had always spoken dreamily, not quite realistically, about a fantasy ending, Kirsten seemed to take hers wholly for granted, as if she had never been given reason to suspect anything but that she would marry her handsome prince and live happily and beautifully for the rest of her days. It felt vaguely disloyal to Mom to like Kirsten so much; Mom had always spoken bitterly of the "blonde princess" whom Dad had abandoned her to marry. But Kirsten seemed genuinely nice, and Grace still hadn't forgotten the helplessness in her stepmother's voice the day that Mr. Cohen had brought her to the Cooper mansion as Kirsten claimed that Mom had just disappeared. Grace felt a hot surge of anger towards Mom, towards Dad, towards Kirsten. Maybe she should see a therapist about all her unexpressed rage, she mused sardonically; her new family certainly had enough money to resurrect Freud himself to treat her.
Sighing, she got out of bed and walked over to the closet. She still hadn't hung up any of her own clothes, but on one of the hangers was the pink sundress which Summer had bought. The rayon was slim-fitting and sleek over Grace's slight frame, and the chiffon short-sleeved jacket meant that she felt a bit more comfortable than she normally did in such revealing clothes. She had never minded short skirts, but tight tops had always made her shy, wishing she had her mother's, or even Helen's chest. The coltishness had evidently come from the Cooper side of her family, and like all girls, Grace lusted after what she didn't have, barely giving a thought to the lucky looks she did have. Anyway, she figured that anything Summer would buy was formal enough for lunch with Kirsten.
Lunch with Kirsten. It was a scary thought. To be sure, Grace liked Kirsten, but she seemed a bit standoffish, not nearly as openly warm and loving as Dad. It was also clear that despite how Kirsten teased Jim about wanting to be "king of the castle," she herself was queen and had always been queen.
She finally finished dressing and quickly rushed down the stairs. Dad was in the kitchen today, brewing coffee as he stood around in casual jeans and polo top.
"Hey, kiddo," he said cheerfully. "Up early again, I see. I guess it's true proof you're the only kid in this house who isn't Kirsten's." He poured her a cup of coffee and sat down, gesturing for her to sit next to him. Then he leaned over conspiratorially.
"She looks perfect, but she does have a few faults." Grace giggled self-consciously.
"Really? What are they?"
"Um...she doesn't like getting up early, instead of bouncing out of bed at five A.M., ready to start a new day," he said, checking off "one" on his left hand. "She can't cook...she always falls asleep before the movie is over...oh, and she's allegedly gained three pounds since we got married," he finished, stressing the word "allegedly" with amusement. He counted his fingers. "Hmm. I could've sworn Kirsten had a whole handful of imperfections..." Dad was laughing lightly until he noticed Grace's slightly crestfallen look. Instantly, his face shifted.
"That's nothing against your mom," he said quickly. "I mean, I didn't know her very well, but she was just great," he continued, his voice taking on a reminiscent quality. "Gorgeous as hell, and with such a strong, fiery spirit. God, Julie was such an anti-Kirsten," he said with a laugh. "She was exactly what I needed—nothing against Kirsten, of course," he reminded her. "But, God, after six and a half on-and-off years of Kirsten, she was an adventure! She just oozed sensuality, and mystery, and excitement...she was the sort of girl who was always up for a challenge, never afraid that it would ruin her hair or nails or figure, you know?"
"So Mom was the cheap hooker you fooled around with before you married the lady of your dreams," said Grace bitingly without thinking. Instantly, Dad's face fell.
"No...no, Grace, she wasn't. I cared a lot about your mother; she was a wonderful woman, but life is complicated, you know? I wasn't ready to marry her...I'd barely known her a few months when she told me she was pregnant. I wanted to take things slowly, you know, re-evaluate our situation, see what we could make work...but Julie wanted a ring and nothing less. And then Kirsten stopped, you know, sowing her wild oats; she left Berkeley and started working for her father's company, and we...and your mom disappeared...and..." He trailed off hopelessly, took a deep sip of his coffee, and looked Grace in the face.
"It wasn't that I didn't, or couldn't, love your mother. But I wasn't ready to marry her. I was ready to marry Kirsten; I'd been ready to marry Kirsten for five years. I knew her; she knew me; we were each other's social, an-and physical, and—we were a match, and I'd always loved her."
"More than you loved Mom?"
"Well...yes," he admitted rather reluctantly. "Maybe I could have loved Julie as much as I love Kirsten, but I wasn't ready to marry her yet. I didn't know her favorite song...her favorite flower...I didn't know her. And she didn't want me for anything other than a husband...Kirsten...Kirsten was everything I'd ever wanted, and ever since we were kids, everyone had told me I'd be crazy to let her go. And you know, I would have been. I know it hurts, kiddo, but I don't think your mom and me would've worked out. Kirsten is...my life, my everything. I love her. It wouldn't have been fair to Julie. It wouldn't have been fair to me."
"What about me?" whispered Grace. What Dad was saying made sense, but...but...Dad sighed.
"I'm sorry, Grace. It's not fair to you. But I'm going to try to make it up to you, all right? I want you to be happy." He reached out and gently stroked her hair. "You look like your mother," he said softly. "You look like a blend of Julie and my mom, and that's a good thing. They're two beautiful women...and you're beautiful, too."
Kirsten appeared in the doorway, shattering the moment. She looked lovely in a brilliant blue tailored pantsuit and ruffled cream silk blouse.
"Up early again, huh, Grace," she said. Her voice was cheerful but tired. "And yet you seem to enjoy it..." She shook her head. "There are just some mysteries of this world..."
"I like the mornings," said Grace softly. "They're quiet and peaceful and...I don't know...I think the early morning is the most wonderful time of day."
"You share that with your father," smiled Kirsten as she leaned over to kiss Jimmy on the cheek. "He's always liked mornings. I've tried to turn him off them, but it's just not working."
"It's the one thing about me she'll never fix," laughed Jimmy good-naturedly, kissing his wife's hand while she poured coffee.
"Oh, stop it," Kirsten scolded gently. "So, Grace, do you still have the keys to the Mercedes?"
"Yeah," said Grace neutrally. It just...hurt...to see this man, her father, with the woman he said he loved more than Mom. What did that make her, the daughter of a relationship that never should have been?
"All right. Um...I wrote out directions to the Newport Group," she said, taking a sheet of off-white paper from her purse and handing it to Grace. Even the woman's notepaper was expensive, high-quality cotton-fiber paper with the initials "KAC" embossed on it. "So I'll see around twelve?"
"Yeah," agreed Grace. Kirsten studied her stepdaughter's appearance.
"That's a beautiful dress on you," she said thoughtfully.
"Summer bought it," explained Grace, embarrassed.
"Well, it suits you," declared Kirsten. "We'll have to go to the store where you bought it to look for more school clothes for you." After gazing at Grace a bit longer, though, she pronounced, "Though I suppose anything would look good on you. You're very pretty."
"Thanks..."
"Okay, so I'll see you later today. Uh—my cell phone and office number are on that page; call me on your cell if you get lost."
"I don't have a cell phone," Grace hesitated.
"Oh—that's right," said Kirsten, fishing in her purse again. "Here." She extracted a silver flip phone from her bag and handed it to Grace. "I didn't know what color you'd like, so..."
"It's great, thanks..." said Grace again, awkwardly. Kirsten was either extremely stupid or had never been taught the value of a dollar. Grace was betting on the latter.
"No problem, sweetie. I've got to go—late, as usual—I'll see you. Bye, Grace. Bye, honey," she added, kissing Jimmy softly on the lips.
"See you tonight," he said, by way of good-bye. Kirsten disappeared in a cloud of blue.
"She's something, isn't she," said Jimmy fondly. Grace nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said abruptly. Jimmy looked at her, confused. "For lashing out on you before," she clarified. "I probably wouldn't have married Mom either."
"Hey...it's in the past," he said softly. "All that matters is that you're my daughter, and I have you now, and you're happy. Kirsten can take care of the details." He hugged her quickly before saying good-bye.
Grace was even more nervous driving the expensive sports car on a road with actual other cars, but she was determined to meet Kirsten. Finally, nerves on edge, she pulled into the parking lot of the gorgeous building that housed the Newport Group. Hesitantly, she parked the car, got out, and locked the doors. The building was so huge; it couldn't have been more intimidating if she had been Belle at the Beast's castle for the first time.
"Hi," she said shyly to the receptionist, a dark-haired woman of about thirty, with long, French-manicured nails. "I'm here to see Kirsten Cooper?"
"Grace," said Kirsten warmly, stepping into the reception area and lightly hugging her stepdaughter. "Thanks, Diana; I'll see you after lunch. Want anything?"
"No, thanks, Mrs. Cooper," said the receptionist—Diana, Grace supposed—with a smile.
"One day I will get you to accept food," teased Kirsten. "Just you wait."
"It's not professional, Mrs. Cooper," Diana laughed.
"By the way, this is Grace," said Kirsten, gesturing to her. "She's my stepdaughter."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Cooper."
"Nice to meet you," said Grace, a little bit quickly.
"Anyway, Grace, shall we?"
"Let's go," she agreed. "But...Kirsten?"
"Hmm?"
"Can you drive instead of me?"
"Sure. Why, is there something wrong with the car?"
"No...it just makes me nervous. I've never driven a car that cost that much money. I've never even driven a foreign car." Kirsten laughed lightly.
"I don't think I've ever driven an American car," she declared. "No...wait...that's a lie. Back when I was at Berkeley, I drove my date's Chevy exactly once." She shuddered. "It was awful; the brakes were all screechy and the transmission kept stalling. Never again."
Berkeley again. Grace couldn't picture Kirsten at Berkeley; she saw her more as an Ivy Leaguer; Yale or perhaps Princeton or Vanderbilt.
"You went to UC Berkeley?" Kirsten smiled.
"I did, graduated Class of '84 with a B.A. in the history of art," she said proudly. "My dad wouldn't speak to me for months after I decided to go to state university."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he even went to a private college, and mind you his parents had no money when he was ready for school. I don't know how they managed. Dad would have liked me to go to Stanford, I guess, if I insisted on staying in-state, but what he really wanted was Harvard. The best and most famous school, the first school of the New England elite for his little girl," she finished drolly. "My mother was a Lodge."
"Ohh," said Grace, as they reached Kirsten's blue Audi. "But you didn't want to go to Harvard?"
"Nope," said Kirsten cheerfully. "I wanted a change of scenery. Yes, I do know that Harvard's on the East Coast," she said at Grace's confused look. "But...I mean, Cambridge is a rich people town. Ivy League schools mostly are, you know: rich people go there to meet other rich people and make lovely, rich connections. I wanted something new, so for once in my life I broke the mould and picked Berkeley. I've never regretted it." She climbed into the driver's seat, and Grace opened the other door and got in.
"Your father, on the other hand, never got any grief from his family about going state," Kirsten continued as she started the car. "They were just as blue-blooded as my parents, but they'd lived in California a long time. It kind of mellowed them out. Plus, their money had never been threatened." As Kirsten finished pulling out and took her car out of reverse, she glanced at Grace meaningfully. "Money is only not important if you've always had it," she warned. "I'm not trying to be mean or anything," she hastened, "but the people around here who haven't always had money put a higher premium on going to a good school, getting a good job, making the right friends, the right marriage. I'm not saying they're bad people, but be careful." Grace acknowledged her with a nod and quickly tried to take the subject away from money.
"Did my dad go to Berkeley, too?" she asked curiously. Kirsten shook her head, her hair a golden cloud around her face.
"UC Riverside," she explained. "Economics major, graduated the same year I did. That's where he met your mom senior year; I think she worked at a coffee shop or maybe a bar."
"Oh." Grace didn't really know what to say. She didn't want to think about Mom and Dad like that, back then. She didn't want to rehash the anger of morning, no...
"So you liked going to state university?" Kirsten nodded.
"I loved it. I met all sorts of people I never would have met if I'd gone to Harvard. Sandy Cohen, for one."
"You knew Mr. Cohen in college?"
"Yeah, he was a friend of my roommate's boyfriend junior year. He used to hang out with us a lot—that was when Jimmy and I were broken up," she clarified, "so we'd do double-date sorts of things to keep Lesley and—God, I don't even remember his name...Ray, maybe? Anyway, we sort of kept them company. We never really dated, though...he took me to a movie once, but that was it."
"What was he studying?" asked Grace curiously. Kirsten shrugged her shoulders as she pulled into a parking space.
"By that point he was on his J.D.," she said vaguely. At Grace's confused look, she apologized. "Juris doctor," Kirsten explained. "It's a law degree. I should've just said that; I tend to make things more complicated than they need to be. One of my many faults," she said with a smile. Grace mentally ticked off a fifth finger. "I think he told me what his undergrad was, but I don't remember. Theatre, maybe, or music? He was always singing corny old show tunes." Grace smiled.
"I can't imagine that; he looked so professional," she said shyly. Kirsten laughed as she led her into the restaurant.
"He doesn't look as professional in leather pants with a microphone in his hand, I can tell you that," she said. "My freshman year, he did Grease with the drama club. That was before I knew him, of course, but I went, and the image sort of stuck with me. I can't believe I didn't know him on sight when he brought you," Kirsten added, shaking her head. "I guess it's because I never expect to see people from Berkeley in Newport. They're two separate lives, really; I think I'm the only Newport girl to have gone there." A hostess quickly led them to a table, and they settled down with the menu.
"Why did you and Dad break up?" asked Grace after a few moments of silence.
"Hmm..." said Kirsten pensively. "Well, the first time was right after sophomore year," she started. "We'd been going together for more than four years, since before my sixteenth birthday, and I guess we were starting to think, enough is enough, or at least I was," she corrected. "Your father was pretty miserable for most of junior year, and I didn't date anyone seriously, so we got back together that summer, when we were twenty-one." She began to fiddle with a roll from the breadbasket. "And then we broke up again two and a half years later, at Christmas. We moved in together after college, and I guess we weren't really ready for it," she sighed. "Your dad went back to Riverside to stay with one of his friends from school who was staying on for graduate work, and he met your mom again, and...well..." Kirsten shifted uncomfortably, and both she and Grace were relieved at the arrival of the waiter.
"Gin and tonic," said Kirsten quickly. "Wait...better not...I'll have a screwdriver instead. Grace?"
"Water's fine." The waiter left with a smile, and Grace looked at Kirsten carefully. She'd heard vodka called a "lunch drink," because it didn't have much of a scent, but she'd never known anyone who drank hard liquor at lunch. Mostly the kids at home would try to sneak in a beer or something, but never spirits.
"I have a taste for alcohol, especially when I'm nervous," said Kirsten, a little bit stiffly but not unkindly as she correctly read Grace's look. "There's another fault. Don't worry, though; we have time. I'll be okay to drive."
"I can always do it," Grace offered awkwardly. "And...I mean, I don't mean to judge or anything. It's just that...at home, everyone who drinks hard liquor turns out messed up, so I've always stayed away from it." Kirsten nodded.
"A good habit to get into," she agreed. "I, on the other hand, grew up in Newport Beach, where all the fashionable teenage girls practically live on Absolut. It's like water around here."
"What's Absolut?" asked Grace.
"Swedish vodka," explained Kirsten. "Like I said, all the girls around here drink too much. Victoria certainly likes her Jack Daniels," she added.
"And you're okay with that?" Grace's tone was incredulous.
"No, I'm not," said Kirsten seriously, "but I'd rather she drank from the liquor cabinet, where I can monitor her, than from some stash in her closet, the way that I did when I was a girl."
"But she's thirteen! How is she going to get alcohol on her own?"
"You'd be surprised. In this community...people drink. You build up your tolerance to alcohol from when you're a kid. That's another thing you should be careful about, Grace, when you start going to the parties around here. The punch is always spiked, and I mean seriously spiked. If you don't drink, you don't have much tolerance, so I'd stick to water if I were you—and I mean, take a glass and fill it from the tap," she warned. The waiter returned with their drinks. Kirsten took a deep gulp of her screwdriver, then looked at her stepdaughter thoughtfully.
"You want to try?" Grace shrugged and took the glass Kirsten offered. She took a quick sip, letting the innocent juice that reminded her of breakfast wash over her tongue, the foreign substance weighing heavily in her mouth. She swallowed hastily, and her throat burned.
"I think I'll stick to water," she said, and Kirsten nodded.
"Definitely better for you," she agreed. She took another sip of her drink. "This is actually pretty tame, though, by Newport standards."
"I don't want to know what you drink when you want to get drunk," said Grace in response, shaking her head. The cool water calmed her throat, but now, in retrospect, she thought that maybe she wouldn't mind the stuff her stepmother drank if she were to get used to it.