Lynne Marshall - Hot Docs On Call - Tinseltown Cinderella

Joe protested, shaking his head. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t I? After working my whole life to be independent, I fell for the exact same kind of guy as my dad. A man so insecure about his masculinity that he kept me isolated, insisting it was because he loved me so much. Then he turned violent whenever I stood up to him, and especially when I told him we were going to have a baby. What a fool I was. I didn’t learn a thing from my parents’ lousy marriage.” If she hadn’t already finished eating she wouldn’t have been able to take another bite, with her stomach suddenly churning and contorting with emotion.

“He must have had a lot going for him to get you interested at first, though. I’m sure he hid his insecurities really well.” His hand came back to hers. “Don’t call yourself stupid. You have a big heart. You just didn’t see the changes coming.”

“You give me a lot of credit.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m still mad at myself for winding up in this position.”

“As crazy as it sounds, I’m kind of glad you did.” He squeezed back then let go completely, keeping things safe and distant. “You’re better off here.”

With you? She wanted to add, I am better off here but where do we go from here? “What are we, Joe?”

He screwed up his face in mock confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Are we friends? You can’t call me a tenant because I’m not paying you rent.” She tried to make an ironic expression, but fell far short because the next pressing question was already demanding she ask it. “Am I one huge charity case that you, in your kindness, the way your parents taught you, just can’t bring yourself to send away?”

“God, no. Carey, come on.” He wadded up his napkin and tossed it on the table. “You’re overthinking things, making problems where there aren’t any. We’re friends.” He shrugged.

“We can’t call ourselves friends if you won’t open up to me.” She stood and started clearing the table. “Friends share things.”

Joe shot up and helped to pick up dishes, as usual, and they headed to the kitchen and washed the plates in silence. A muscle in his jaw bunched over and over. Not only had she not gotten Joe to open up, she’d made sure he’d keep his distance and would probably never let her close. Major fail.

But what should she expect, being pregnant with another man’s baby?

* * *

Early on Monday morning the phone rang. Sunday evening had been strained but tolerable between them, and Joe had withdrawn more from Carey by working during the day and later by working out while listening to that aggressive jazz saxophone music while he did so. It made her want to put on headphones. Carey didn’t know if she could take much more of him distancing himself from her, but under the circumstances she felt trapped for now. Which felt far too familiar, considering her past.

Joe had the day off and answered, then quickly handed the phone to Carey.

“This is Mrs. Adams from social services. The police department told us about your current situation, and Helena from The Hollywood Hills Clinic Social Services also contacted us. Sorry it took so long, but there is quite a backlog. Anyway, we have found a temporary apartment in Hollywood where you can stay for now.”

“Well, that’s wonderful. When can I have a look?”

“You can move in this weekend, if you’d like. Or today if you need to. We have a voucher worth a month’s rent and this unit has just become available. Would you like me to bring the voucher by?”

“Yes. Of course. Thanks so much.”

Carey hung up having made arrangements with Mrs. Adams, glancing up to see Joe watching her skeptically. She owed him an explanation and told him exactly what Mrs. Adams had just said.

“So, if all works out, I’ll be out of your hair, maybe as soon as tonight.”

“Where is this place? Will you be safe?” There went that jaw muscle again.

“I don’t know anything, but would social services send me somewhere unsafe?”

“They’re just trying to put a roof over your head.” His fingers planted on and dug into his hips, his body tensed. He wore an expression of great concern, making his normally handsome face look ominous. “Safety might not be their number-one goal. I’m going with you.”

Every once in a while, thanks to her recent experience with Ross, Joe seemed too overbearing. Yeah, she’d messed up lately, but she was a big girl, a mother-to-be! And she would be in charge of her life from here on. “I can take care of myself. Thanks.”

His demeanor immediately apologetic, he came closer. “I didn’t mean to come off like that, dictating what I intended to do, but please let me come with you. I’d like to see where you’ll be living. I know all the areas around here.”

Since he sounded more reasonable, she changed her mind. “Okay, but I make the decision. Got that?”

“Got it. But first off you’ve got to know that you don’t have to move out. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thank you, but as a future single mother I’ve got to prove to myself I can take care of things. I got myself into this situation, I should get myself out. Besides, I’ll be starting the temporary job next Monday, and—”

“Your salary won’t be enough to rent an apartment in any decent neighborhood. I’m not trying to throw a wet blanket on your plans, I’m just being honest.”

She refused to lose hope. “I’m going to go see that apartment with Mrs. Adams and then I’ll decide.”

“Can you at least call her back and tell her I’ll drive you over there?”

“Okay, but only because it will be more convenient for her.”

“Fine.”

* * *

That afternoon Joe parked on North Edgemont in front of an old redbrick apartment building that was dark, dank and seedy-looking as hell. He clamped his jaw and ground his molars rather than let Carey know what he thought. She’d made it clear it would be her decision, and he’d honor that. The only thing the area had going for it was a huge hospital a couple of blocks down on Sunset Boulevard.

If they’d offered the rent voucher the first week she’d moved in, he would have encouraged her to jump on it. Having a woman in his house again, especially a pregnant woman, brought back a hundred different and all equally awful memories. Having to do things together, like shopping for groceries and fixing meals, was nearly more than he could bear. Plus, with Carey living with him, it seemed Angela had moved back in, just in a different form. So he’d concentrated on Carey being a victim and he was her protector. Keeping it clinical and obligatory had been the key.

Best-laid plans and all, he’d gotten involved with her anyway. Why had he taken it on himself to teach her self-defense, and why in hell had he volunteered to be her prenatal class partner? The problem was there was too much to like about Carey. So he glanced at the dreary apartment building and felt a little sick.

If she decided to take this place, he’d have to find her a car. Which wouldn’t be a problem with his father’s business. No way did he want her walking these streets at night, coming home from work and getting off the bus. Pressure built in his temples just thinking about it.

He stood back and let Carey introduce herself to Mrs. Adams, who showed her inside. The term flophouse came to mind, but Joe kept his trap shut. Damn, it was hard.

The single room had a tiny alcove with a half-refrigerator, a small microwave and a hot plate. How would she be able to continue with the nutritious meals from Gabriella’s class? He’d throw out the mattress from the pullout bed and burn it rather sleep on it, and the rusty toilet in the so-called bathroom made his stomach churn. Not to mention that the constant dripping from the kitchen sink would keep her awake at night.