Page 19 of The Bodyguard

I take a large sip of my wine, then pick the phone up again. Swiping, I find my mother’s phone number.

It rings and goes to voicemail.

A familiar sadness comes over me.

I’m not even sure if my own mother will have it in her to celebrate with me. She wants money. She’s angry I haven’t given it to her.

So, because I’m a sadist, and there’s no one else, I call my father.

He’s the one person in my life who never believed I could make it. Still, to this day he is yet to tell me how proud he is of me.

Instead, he makes fun of the movies I’m in, calling them “that low-class flick you starred in” despite the fact it broke box office records.

Well, Father darling, your daughter has been nominated for a Golden Fucking Globe.

How will you turn that into a failure?

I gulp down more wine as the phone rings.

The last time we spoke, he asked me to send money so Candy—I kid you not, that’s her name—could get a boob job. To help her back pain.

Jesus, as if I’m that dumb.

Maybe she should get off her back, my mother once said, and it was pretty funny.

“Well, you’re not ringing for money, so there’s that.” Dad says upon answering. Then sighs.

I shake my head slowly.

This was a mistake.

He can’t even say hello.

“Hey, Dad.” I take another big sip of the wine and walk to the fridge to pull out the bottle. I’m going to need it all tonight. “How are you?”

“Working double shifts to help Candy get this medical procedure she needs.”

Medical procedure?

I almost laugh.

I roll my eyes instead and put the cap back on the wine. “It’s a boob job, Dad. Not a medical procedure.”

“You have no idea how much pain she’s in. It's very selfish of you to not help out, Savannah.” He scoffs.

Oh, my god. I’ve met her twice.

“I don’t know her.” I remind him.

“She’s your stepmother.”

What?

“That...it doesn’t work that way, Dad. You aren’t married and I’m twenty-eight,” I cry.

He’s silent because he knows I’m right.

Does he think he raised a stupid child?

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