Read Nothing Left To Want Online

Authors: Kathleen McKenna

Nothing Left To Want (36 page)

 

It seems the ladies are tangling for the affection of the same lucky man, one John Ray, erstwhile manager for the tastefully named band 'Steel Whores'. Showing steel determination, Miss Carolyn Kelleher has granted this reporter an exclusive story, details inside.

 

I dropped the paper to the floor and looked at Milan blindly. She gathered me up in her arms and rocked me back and forth. “Shh, calm down, Cares. It’s pretty bad for sure, but you know Daddy told me that in a couple of days all this will blow over, and that you should call your dad right away and say you were misquoted, blah blah blah, and then just lay low for a while.”

Her advice was almost as good as Richard Cavins' had been and it might have ended there if not for John.

I did call Daddy. His cell went to voice mail, so I rang the apartment. George answered in a funeral voice. “Hello, Miss Carey. No, your father is unavailable right now. I’ll put you through to Miss Sarah, shall I?”

Sarah’s tone was light when she answered. “Carey, you terrible girl, but never mind, it was awful what Georgia did, and anyway people will forget this. Nobody we know reads the Post anyway, or if they do they won’t admit it, so they can hardly mention this.”

I exhaled the breath I had been holding since I had dialed. “Sarah, I love you. Thank you for saying that. I know it was a crazy thing to do, but I … ”


Don’t say another word. We’ll all act like this never happened.”


Believe me, I wish I could but … oh well, never mind. Is Daddy furious with me?”

She laughed. “Oh well, not furious. You know Kells. I mean what would furious even look like on him. Let’s say he’s a little bit perturbed and leave it at that.”


Could you define perturbed for me, Sarah, in terms of say when he’ll start taking my calls again?”


Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that, Carey, since you’ll be seeing him in a couple of weeks.”


Oh my God, you and Daddy are coming to visit me? I’m so … ”


No, Carey, you’re coming to visit us. Besides, I can’t fly for a while.”


What?”


I’m pregnant, Carey, almost eight months. It’s a boy. We didn’t want to tell anyone until I was through the danger zone. Well, really, I didn’t even tell Kells until after I got the sonogram and knew we were having a boy. He’s thrilled, of course, and there’s even bigger news.” Through numb lips I asked what could possibly be bigger. She giggled. “We’re getting married, in ten days, actually. I’m going to have to wear a tent and I would have been happy to wait until after Kells VI is born but your father insisted, so here we are. Isn’t it fabulous? Now, no matter what this silliness is between you and Georgia, who I know can be difficult, trust me, you have to come. We’ll send the plane for you if you want. That way you can bring Petal.”

I needed to sit down alone in a dark room for a day to process her news but I was touched that she remembered Petal. “Oh well, that would be great, Sarah, but I can’t bring Petal. You know how Daddy is about his carpets.”

There was a little silence. “Don’t worry about that, Carey. Kells thought you’d be more comfortable staying at the Carlisle, you know with all the wedding bustle and ... ”


Of course, yeah, I wouldn’t want … ”


Carey, please don’t be upset. It’s just, well, you know. Uhm, would you rather stay with your mother? We just thought … ”


God no, the Carlisle’s great, Sarah. Listen I have to go now, there’s some kind of pool emergency I have to deal with, but it’s all so amazing and I’m so happy for you and Daddy and Kells VI too. A brother, it’s … ” My voice broke and Sarah, kind, pretty, pregnant Sarah, let me off the hook, literally.

I was going to have a brother. Sarah was laying the golden egg. Where my mother had failed so miserably, producing only girls, and defective ones at that, Sarah had pulled it off. I have always liked Sarah who has never been anything but good to me, so I have never allowed myself to wonder how she managed the impossible on her first pregnancy or if there had ever been earlier tries and earlier sonograms. I prefer to just write it off to incredible luck.

My week went downhill from there because the next morning when I pulled up The Post online, I had another surprise.

Thursday’s headline was more screaming huge red point type.

 

JOHN RAY DENIES RELATIONSHIP WITH HEIRESS CAREY

KELLEHER. SAYS “SHE NEEDS HELP”. DETAILS ON PAGE 8.

 

Gentleman John had decided to give his side of the story, and in what turned into a futile attempt to look good in front of my aunt, announced to the world that not only had we never had a relationship but that I had stalked him and he feared I was delusional, maybe dangerous to myself and others.

The article ended with a moving personal plea from jack-off-John that I please seek help ASAP or, if I was 'too far gone in fantasy', possibly someone close to me should look at having me put in treatment.

I’ll say this for him, if I wasn’t crazed before, I was after reading The Post, and so I made a couple more phone calls.

I don’t regret calling the first adoption lawyer I found in the yellow pages - I can never regret her - but I wish after that I had just gone to my room and started picking out what I wanted to take to New York for Daddy’s upcoming nuptials. Or, hell, I could have done anything less self destructive: driven to Rodeo Drive and bought a pair of diamond shoes or driven to Sunset and bought an eight ball of coke. Anything would have been better than making another call to New York.

Since I wasn’t thinking at all, I certainly wasn’t thinking about how nice it would be for Daddy to arrive home from his week-long honeymoon in Nantucket and go into the library where he would pick up his favorite magazine, Vanity Fair, and see his daughter on the cover.

At the time when the photographer had suggested I be seated on my chaise, wearing only a strategically draped scarf and holding a cigarette, it seemed like a good idea.

 

 

Chapter 38

 

That was a big year for me. I became a sister again and I made the cover of Vanity Fair and spoke openly about a few of my family’s nasty little secrets. I ended up totally on the outs with Daddy who took Aunt Georgia’s side. I bought another horse and I heard back from the adoption lawyer I had so impulsively called.

The lawyer’s name was Claudia Luciano and she was Italian, beautiful and very versed in the ways of my tribe. When you have a last name like mine, all the rest of the world becomes filled with sales people looking to help us cut through any annoying obstacles, most especially the annoyance of having to wait for anything.

For girls like me there is no three year waiting list for a Vuitton Hobo bag and I never needed reservations at restaurants with a six month wait, and my name was helpful for practical day-to-day things like walking onto sold-out planes. With a name like mine, the assumption is automatic - I must have unlimited money - which is obviously a joke as I’m dying right now in squalor. To be fair, though, I can see how people would think I was as rich as God. I’m not, but my father is and, honestly, life was just easier if those around me still viewed me as the great heiress, especially after I was sent out to L.A. .

Before, in New York, I used to shun people I thought were catering to me because of Daddy, but that was when I was also one of the people who thought I was as rich as King Midas, or Bill Gates. After the whole 'go west, young girl' dictates and finding out about my trust, I started feeling poor for the first time in my life, and I may be blond but I’m not stupid, so I kept the truth about my new financial realities to myself.

Milan knew but that was different. If anyone understood that keeping up appearances was more important than reality, it was her, and I knew she would keep my secrets, like I’ve always kept hers.

Not broadcasting my real financial limitations kept the world from treating me like a regular person, and given that I always felt sub-regular at best, I needed the continued ass kissing and special treatment that my last name gave me.

Adoption attorneys are also in the sales business, so I didn’t need to tell Claudia that I wasn’t interested in waiting around for years for a baby. It was understood.

I had become instantly famous after the John and Aunt Georgia debacle, and since that was also when I began going out every night in L.A. and being showcased on Radar online and TMZ for doing it, when word got out about my upcoming motherhood.

The attacks were quick and ugly.

 

Heirhead Carey Kelleher, having decided that you can only buy so many pairs of Jimmy Choos, is now shopping for a baby. Here’s wishing you well, Carey, and also a reminder: you can’t drop off babies at resale boutiques when you get tired of them.

 

That kind of stuff is not only nasty but inaccurate because I always donated my old shoes and clothes, I didn’t sell them.

As far as motherhood was concerned, I was pretty sure I was totally committed to the idea, and why not? Aunt Georgia had adopted a little boy, Daddy had just become the way too proud father of Kells VI, and I had begun to think I would never find anyone to marry me. So why not start my own family?

Still and all, I have to admit I was a little taken aback when Claudia called me a month after my initial inquiry. In her fabulous European diva accent she said, “Carey, darling, I have the most marvelous news. I’ve found you a child, and not just any child, but a gorgeous little blond girl. She’ll look just like you, well … ” her voice faded momentarily then brightened, “ … I’m looking at her photo right now and it’s impossible to tell if she is going to have dimples but, not to worry, that can always be fixed later on.”

I was stunned. “What? Claudia, are you serious? You have a baby for me, a little girl? How did you … I mean how old is she? Oh my God, you have pictures. Send them now. I’m right in front of the computer.”

She laughed, clearly delighted with my reaction. “I just hit send, darling. They should be loading.”

They were and my screen filled with the photograph of a tiny blond baby girl who was looking at whoever was taking her picture with narrowed blue eyes. I don’t know if you can fall in love with a picture, but I knew I wanted her and I told Claudia so.


Of course you do, darling, she’s perfect, and only three months old. I’ll plan on dropping by your home, say Friday, with a small team to do the home visit. Just red tape and nothing for you to worry about, though if you could be there, it would be nice. Maybe some refreshments?”

I was having trouble focusing and repeated stupidly, “Refreshments? Sure, uhm, what time? Oh God, I’m not asking the right questions, am I? Claudia where is she from, the south or … ”


Hardly the south, darling. I found her in Kazakhstan … funny little country; I think it used to be part of … ”


Kazakhstan? You mean the place where Borat came from?”

Claudia burst into laughter. “I loved that movie, but you do know darling, it was fictional? Well, obviously you can see how pretty she is, so it’s clear that her parents weren’t brother and sister, which is something you might presumably run into here in your own country. The days of college girls from good families giving up their children are long gone, I assure you. No, Kazakhstan is the place for stunning white infants these days. I can tell you in confidence that your little girl won’t be the only one from her country growing up in Beverly Hills.”

I mumbled something about how this was the happiest day of my life and told her I would see her on Friday, and then I hung up the phone and panicked. I was going to have a baby. God, what did it mean, what would she need and who could I ask for help?

Which is how I ended up calling my mother. Why I did that is a question for shrinks to debate later on. Surprisingly she answered her cell. “Carey darling, I was just thinking about you.”


You were? Why?”


Oh darling, let’s not start. I know I’ve been terribly neglectful but I’ve had such a year. You will not believe my news.”


Actually, Mom, I’m calling with news too and … ”


I’m getting married.”


You’re what?”


Yes, your old mama has found love again, darling. You’ll know him, of course, his name is Mashid Rasmon, you know the football player. He used to be married to … ”


Oh my God. Have you finally gone crazy? You’re going to marry a Muslim?”

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