Даниэла Стил - Finding Ashley [calibre]

“When will it run?” Heather asked, standing up.

“I’m not sure. Probably in the next month.” Hattie felt like a supreme liar, and she had stared at Heather Jones throughout the interview. Her birth year was right, and even the month, but Hattie was almost sure that she was no relation to Melissa. She had probably been born at Saint Blaise’s, but to someone else, and never knew she’d been adopted, and never would, with no records now to prove it, and her adopted mother long gone.

Her boyfriend strolled into the room then, put an arm around Heather, pulled her close, and kissed her, as a maid appeared to escort Hattie out. Heather waved with a sensual smile as Hattie made her exit. The maid called a taxi for her and it came within minutes as Hattie waited on the street outside Heather’s house. She felt as though she had gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel, but she didn’t think she’d found Ashley. Nothing about her felt right.

She went back to her hotel and fell asleep again. She awoke to the phone ringing in her room. It was the other young woman she had called earlier, the social worker, who said she had just gotten the message when she got home from work. Hattie was half asleep, still jetlagged, and decided to try the interview ploy again, since it had worked so well the first time. This woman’s name was Michaela Foster, not Ashley. She was the daughter of the famous actress Marla Moore, whom even Hattie knew by name. She told her she was calling for an interview about her humanitarian work with inner-city children.

“I think there’s some mistake,” Michaela Foster said politely. “I don’t do interviews, I’m a social worker. You were probably looking for my mother, Marla Moore. She’s working on a film right now. If you call her PR people at ICM, they’ll set it up when she gets back if she’s interested. She’s on location in Quebec.” She was about to hang up when Hattie stopped her.

“No, we really wanted you. What you do is very interesting. I’m writing an article about the children of famous women and the careers they choose. Were you ever drawn to acting?” Hattie tried to keep her talking, and snag her interest.

“Never. I know what hard work it is. And I’ve never wanted to be in the limelight. My mother and I are very different, and I’m adopted,” she said in a cheerful, matter-of-fact tone, clearly comfortable with who she was, and well aware of her origins.

“I’d really like to meet you,” Hattie persisted, feeling like a stalker.

“If you’re interested in the work we do, you should really speak to my boss or my team, not just to me.” Michaela hesitated for a moment and then sounded startled and a little confused, but she went on. “Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow afternoon. It’s important to make the public aware of the needs of inner-city kids. There are people living well below the national poverty level right here in L.A.” She sounded intelligent and dedicated to her work. There was something about how direct she was that reminded Hattie of Melissa, but she told herself it was wishful thinking.

“Thank you,” Hattie said, feeling breathless, and like a liar again. The young woman on the phone sounded lovely, like a real person. She knew she was adopted, which would make things easier for Hattie, if she decided to tell her about Melissa. She wanted to make a clean breast of it soon, and not string this woman along with a false interview, as she had Heather, who had lapped it up, and wasn’t nearly as bright. Heather’s ego was in evidence at all times.

Hattie lay awake all night, thinking about what she would say, and how to do it. By morning, she was exhausted, and by that afternoon, she was a nervous wreck. She went to the address Michaela Foster had given her. Her office was in a bright modern building in a renovated area that had been a slum only a few years before, but was being gentrified. Hattie gave her name to a young receptionist, and a few minutes later Michaela came out to greet her. She had a warm, gentle smile, and Hattie was shocked for a minute. Michaela looked strikingly like Hattie and Melissa’s mother, although in a much friendlier, more upbeat, younger version. She exuded charm and humility and was clearly very intelligent, with natural beauty. Hattie sat staring at her, and didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve asked my team to be available, if you’d like to chat with them,” she said easily, making Hattie feel welcome, and guilty for her lies to get to her. And the promise to Mother Elizabeth she was about to break. Hattie wanted to seize the opportunity she had while she was there.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hattie said in a low voice. “Mrs. Foster, Michaela, I have a story to tell you. It may sound crazy, but it isn’t. If you’re who I hope you are, I’ve been looking for you, and my sister has been searching for you for years. We thought your name was Ashley,” Hattie said, feeling foolish, and Michaela Foster looked surprised.

“That’s my middle name. My mother wanted to name me Ashley, but my father preferred Michaela, so they compromised, and Ashley is my middle name. Where have you been looking for me, and why?” She looked puzzled.

“Mainly in Ireland. I came from there two days ago.”

“I was born in Ireland,” she said, looking intrigued. “My parents adopted me there, and brought me home. I think foreign adoptions were easier then. It’s more complicated today.”

Hattie jumped in without waiting any longer. “My sister, Melissa, gave birth to a baby girl there, she was unwed and just sixteen. My parents sent her to Ireland to spend the pregnancy in a convent, and give the baby up, which she did. She always regretted it. Sixteen years later, she married and had a son. He died of a brain tumor at ten, six years ago. They divorced, and she’s alone now. Her husband knew about the baby she had at sixteen. She reached out to the convent to find out where the baby was, who had adopted her, and where she grew up, in the hope of meeting her one day. The nuns told her that all the records had been burned and destroyed, and there was no way to trace any of the babies, birth mothers, or adopting parents.”

Michaela was staring at Hattie too, as though she’d seen a ghost. “I called them too. Saint Blaise’s. My mother was always very open with me about the fact that I was adopted. I always knew, she never hid it from me. She and my father were older parents. She was forty, and he was sixty-two when I was born. He died when I was three. He was a famous producer and I never knew him. I don’t remember him at all. My mother is a wonderful person, an honest, incredibly talented woman. She was always very candid about the fact that she realized that the adoption had been a mistake. She thought she’d be more maternal, but she wasn’t. And she felt she was too old for motherhood by the time they got me. And then my father died suddenly. She has a huge career and she’s busy. Even now, at seventy-three, she makes about two movies a year, more if she can. The adoption was my father’s idea, and she blames herself for not being around more when I was young. She says she’s not maternal, but she’s better at it than she gives herself credit for. I love her very much and she loves me. She’s been a wonderful mother.

“I’ve wanted to know more about my birth mother from the time I was in my teens. My mother encouraged me to find out. She knew that my birth mother was American, and from a good family in New York. But that was all she knew. When I was eighteen, I called Saint Blaise’s, and they told me about all the records being destroyed. There was nothing I could do after that, so I gave up, and figured I’d never know who she was or anything about her.”

“My sister decided the same thing. She admitted to me recently that giving you up was the worst thing she ever did, and in some ways it ruined her life. Her parents forced her to do it, and she never forgave them for it. I think she called the convent a couple of times, and got the same answer. It was a dead end. I want to help her, so I went there myself a few days ago. It’s an abysmal place. The worst part of it is that they destroyed the records intentionally, and thought they were doing the right thing, to protect everyone’s privacy, and themselves.