105 - The Press Sucks

Sheridan didn’t like the way that muscle in Jon’s jaw was ticking away.  When she put that twitching, tell-tale sign of his anger with the terse exchange he’d shared with Jeri...  It was not good. 

“What?” she demanded when he did nothing but stare at her, his eyes like blue shards of ice.  They were almost as hard as the granite his jaw looked to be carved from .  “What is it?”

“We’ve made the gossip rags again.”

The calmness of his voice belied all of the other prevalent indicators of his repressed fury, and sent a frisson of trepidation down her spine.  He was trying his best to duck paddle and show her only the calm, smooth surface.  If he was trying that hard to be calm, it meant he knew she wasn’t going to be. 

“What is it?” she repeated more firmly. 

“They know we’re having twins.”

Okay.  That wasn’t so bad.  It was bad, but they would have found out eventually, anyway.  At least now they wouldn’t think she was incubating an elephant.  Twins were immeasurably better than a pachyderm.

“There are worse things in life,” she philosophized, relaxing back into her chair now that she knew. “It would’ve come out in the natural course of events at some point.”

He despised them being in his affairs.  That would account for the intensity with which he held his shoulders stiff, and the repetitive tapping of his thumb against the breakfast table.  She didn’t like it either, but she was starting to develop a more callused attitude toward the media.  If news got out a bit prematurely, she was trying very hard to let things like that roll off her back.  Que será será and all that.

“So you don’t have anything new from that photographer or Bridget?”

Again, the deceptively calm voice.  Was there something else he wasn’t telling her?

“No.  Bridget said whoever is spilling secrets is doing a very good job of keeping themselves hidden.  Hal said it was almost like there was an invisible ghost dropping the information.  If anyone knows who it is, they aren’t talking.”

His chin fell toward the Patriots logo on the front of his well-worn t-shirt in a slow nod.  “You might want to ask again.  I’m startin’ to get ideas.”

“Jon,” she huffed, clattering her tea mug against the table.  “If there’s something else, tell me.  If not, please stop being a drama queen.”

“I’m not being a drama queen.  They know about your egg donation.”

The noise rattling in her ears sounded much like a gasp, but it couldn’t have been Sheridan gasping.  She couldn’t breathe.  Her lungs had been punctured, deflated and were like shriveled up balloons inside her chest.  The fruit and yogurt she’d eaten had her tummy fluttering in the most unappealing way.

“What do you mean they know about my egg donation?”  The question was thin and reedy, considering she no longer had functioning lungs.  Yet there was that gasping again, although this time a piteous shadow of the first one.  “They know about Madison?”

“No, not Madison, but they’re speculating that you have unclaimed children.  Right now all they know is that you have preserved eggs.”

Madison...  That poor baby.  If someone said that Suzy wasn’t really her mommy, that sweet little girl’s foundation would be completely rocked.  She would never be the same.  And what would she think of Sheridan who was technically her mother, but had never thought of herself that way? 

“Jon, they can’t find out about Madison.  You have to do something.  Make this stop!”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do besides have a fucking coronary every single goddamn time Jeri calls me?  Huh, Sheridan?  What?  If I had some kind of control over the social media, paparazzi fucking bullshit don’t you think I would’ve exercised it the very first time this happened?”

But...  That was different.  The first time had been Richie.  That had nothing to do with Sheridan.  The wedding and pregnancy did, but that was still more about Jon.  And it was information that would be part of public record at some point.  Even the twins would be public record when they were born. 

But this... 

Her palms thumped the tabletop.  “This is a complete invasion of my privacy!  There’s no reason for anyone to know about that!  It’s my... personal... business!”

“Baby...”  Jon’s expression went gentle.  “I’m sorry, but I though you understood by now.  This is what life with me is like.  Nothing is sacred.”

“Well we have to figure out something before it’s public knowledge when I get a yeast infection or a pap smear.  I can’t stand this Jon.  There are things that should just be kept to yourself for God’s sake!”

He pushed back from the table and circled behind her.  Warm hands fell over the balls of her shoulders and he squeezed.  “We’ll  find who did this and we’ll make their lives as miserable as they’ve made ours.  I promise.”

She twisted in her chair so that she could see his face.  Determination and sincerity had overtaken the anger, but she didn’t see how he could promise that.  They had no way of finding this person. 

“I’m not miserable, I’m livid!  They’ve revealed something very personal to me and-  Ohhh shit.”  There was that fluttering in her stomach again.  This time it was severe enough to carry a wave of nausea with it.

“Are you okay?” 

Her parents.  Her siblings.  They would all know now. 

“Sheridan.”  Her shoulders shook under his grip.  “Your face is gray.  Are you alright?”

What were they going to say?  Not even so much about the donation, but about the fact that she’d hidden it from them.  And would her parents feel like they’d been cheated out of a ‘grandchild’ by not knowing about Madison?  That was why she hadn’t told them in the first place.  She’d known her mother couldn’t be normal with the girl – or Suzy – if she had that information. 

Oh God.  Suzy. 

“I have to call Suzy,” she told her husband, turning out of his grasp to reach for the phone that still lay beside his coffee mug.  “I have to warn her.”

“Wait.”  He leaned over her, holding her wrist in such a way that she couldn’t bring the phone to her ear.  “Wait before you do that.”

“Jon, I can’t wait.   She shouldn’t find out from some flea-bitten media source, and I want to reassure her that I didn’t do this.”

His lips pressed together and his shoulders lifted up and down with the quiet breath that came through his nose.  “But did she?”

That was the most asinine thing Sheridan had ever heard.  She shook him off with a disgusted snort.  “What?  Have you lost your mind?  Of course she didn’t!”

“Before you just dismiss me, think for a minute.  Who else knew about the egg thing?  Huh?  And you told her about the twins yesterday.  She knew about the wedding and that you were pregnant.  Are you really sure?”

Her eyes weren’t blue, like his, but she knew they held every bit of the frost and iciness that his had a moment ago.  “She didn’t know about Richie.  Richie was the only one who knew about that.  Do you think he’s the mysterious informant?”

“Fuck no!  I’ve known Richie for almost thirty years!  He would never...”  Comprehension crept over his features as he caught onto the reason for her redirect of the question.

“Exactly.  Please don’t ask me that again.”

She had known Suzanne for twenty years.  They were as close as sisters ever hoped to be and had shared more secrets than Sheridan and Riley did.  Suzy would never sell her out for any amount of money.  There was no room in Sheridan’s mind for doubt on that subject.  None.

Jon’s hands dropped to his hips with frustrated disgust.  “Then who the hell could it be?  The deal about your donated eggs was highly confidential.  Nobody knew except for a very, very few people.  That severely limits the playing field.”

“And nobody knew about Richie but a very, very few people,” she countered irritably.  “If that’s your source of logic, then I guess one of us is leaking our life to the press.  Are you going to accuse me next?”

“No!”  His hands fell away and he swore under his breath.  “I hate this shit with a passion.  I hate feeling like somebody is spying on me and taking advantage of us.”

“I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

He growled softly and pulled her to her feet, drawing her close into his chest.  Propping his chin on the top of her head, he sighed.  “I know you’re not, and I’m sorry.  It’s been years since I was in the news this much.  I dunno why the sudden obsession with my life and family.”

“I don’t know either.”  She settled into him, sliding her arms around his waist.  “Maybe it’s me.  I’ve no idea why I would be of any interest, but it started when we began dating.”

“Nah.  I don’t think it’s you.  They’re just a bunch of disrespectful sonofabitches.”

“Yeah.  They are.”

The kitchen went quiet as both of them silently brooded and searched their minds for possible answers. 

And wondered what could possibly happen next.

❧❧❧

Mommy and Me

Monday, March 10, 2012

Good morning Poppies!

As a general rule, Mondays are to be dreaded and despised and Mommy can usually respect that.  This particular Monday, though, is a welcome relief.  It means a very difficult weekend has been put behind us.

Today’s tidbit of parental wisdom:  The press sucks.  Mommy will keep you away from them and out of the public eye as much as humanly possible throughout your lives.  I promise.

Daddy worked in the studio all day yesterday while Mommy went to Connecticut to visit your Nana Pam and Grandad Ken.  That’s whose hands were all over you, in case you noticed.   I told Daddy and Aunt Suzy I could go by myself, but neither one of them liked that idea since it was supposed to snow.  Aunt Suzy went with me.

You don’t need to know why that particular trip was necessary, but you do need to know that Nana and Grandad are wonderful, wonderful people who love their family very much.  Their understanding knows no bounds, and I hope that I can be as unconditionally supportive of you as they are of me.

Your Aunt Riley, though?  Not so much.  She’s mad at Mommy right now, but she’ll get over it.  Daddy told me she could hear his new song before he records it, so that will probably make everything better.

I said ‘his’ new song, but I really meant ‘your’ new song.  Daddy finished it this weekend.  He’s calling it “The Fighter” and it’s his legacy to his children – you, your brothers and sister.  He says he wants you to understand him as a person, not just as a performer.  Because, as Daddy is fond of saying, performing is his job.  It has nothing to do with who he is.

You’re going to want to take Daddy and his music for granted.  It’s just something he does, yadda, yadda, yadda...  Mommy realizes that.  It would be hard not to take it for granted, seeing as it will be a part of your life from the moment you’re born.

Do me a favor though?  Remember that “The Fighter” was never about an album, a single or a concert.  It’s Daddy talking to you in a way he may never otherwise talk to you.  Okay?  Show it some respect instead of rolling your eyes.

Spring Break is coming up soon, and Daddy wants to take your brothers on a trip.  Guess what?  That means you and Mommy get to tag along.  Right now, we’re trying to decide where to go.  Daddy likes St. Barth’s, but he’s gone there for so many years, I’m trying to find something else we might enjoy instead.  Any place with sun is good in my book.

Oh no.  Mommy’s belly in a bathing suit.  Maybe sun isn’t the way to go.

Speaking of bellies, why is it you two don’t like anything Mommy eats?  My tummy has been rolling more and more often lately.  I’ve tried everything from pizza to yogurt to fruit salad to steak with the same reaction.  Are you going to be picky eaters?  Good grief, please, no.  Fighting with you over every meal isn’t something I want to do, so learn to like food.  Okay?

From out here to in there... much love, my little Poppies.