by Nancy Warren
“You’re a travel writer?”
“Yes. My writing name is Janet Delaney.”
Meg’s eyes opened wide once more. “Janet Delaney? Oh, my gosh. I love your books. You have the most wonderful way of making a person forget that they're reading a travel guide. It's like a friend is taking you through a city. Oh, that story about the pickpocket in Barcelona? I laughed so hard I cried.”
They compared her to Bill Bryson. And Meg, who had been feeling anxiety for weeks as the principal agents in her company decided who was going to get the promotion to agent, suddenly felt that this woman had been planted in her path as a gift. If she could convince Dylan's aunt to bring her considerable business to their agency, she’d be a shoe in for the job. She said, “I'm a literary agent. If I could find another Janet Delaney, I would be very happy.”
The woman laughed, a cool, delicious sound. “If there is another Janet Delaney, I'm going to have to find a new job.” She took a sip of her champagne. “What agency do you work for?”
“RDW entertainment.”
“That's a good firm. I'm with William Penniman and Associates in New York. They've been very good to me.”
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. “Well, that's good to know.” She knew the agency, of course, but didn’t think they had a film agent. “Have they ever considered any of your projects for a movie?”
Janet’s pearls swung as she shrugged. “People always talk about movies. Especially after Under the Tuscan Sun came out, and then Eat, Pray, Love. Suddenly travel memoir was all the rage. But nothing came of that.”
“If I had a producer interested in doing something with one of your projects, would you be interested?”
“Honey, anything that makes me money has me interested.”
Meg slipped one of her business cards out of her purse. She never went anywhere without them. She passed the card over. “I'd love to take you for lunch sometime and hear about your experiences. Honestly, you are one of my heroes.”
Janet beamed. “Well, isn't she the sweetest thing.”
“I think so,” said Dylan.
“Well, children, I better go mingle and make nice. It was lovely to meet you, Meg.”
“It was amazing to meet you.”
After Janet went back inside, she turned to Dylan. “Oh, my gosh, I had no idea your aunt was Janet Delaney.”
“We keep her privacy and leave it up to her who she tells. If she divulged her identity to you, it means she likes you. It was cool watching you work. Very smooth and ruthless. I think Henneman or Penniman or whoever her agent is better watch out.”
“I am not ruthless, or smooth—what I am is desperate. If I could land even a piece of your aunt’s business it could get me that promotion.”
“You know I don't have any influence over her business.”
“Of course.” But her mind was spinning with possibilities.
“I think you were about to tell me something when my aunt interrupted us.”
She was so glad they’d been interrupted before she admitted she’d lied. If Janet Delaney heard about that, she could kiss any hopes of the woman's business goodbye. Anyway, it was so nice to be here with Dylan and enjoy his company. Chances were, when he discovered she’d tried on that dress under false pretenses, he’d realize she was completely nuts and stay as far away from her as he could.
She said, “I think I was going to tell you that as much as I love this venue, I don't see myself getting married here.”
He gazed at her and for a moment she thought she saw sadness cross his face. “Where do you see yourself getting married?”
“I think I'd want something simple. I'm not one of those people who wants a marriage commissioner to marry me on a beach, or a mountaintop. I want to get married in a real church. And have a reception afterwards. In a garden, maybe in a small restaurant. That's what I think I want.”
He laughed. “For someone who's getting married soon, you should probably make up your mind about what you want.”
Oh, she knew what she wanted. Her problem was she didn't know how she was going to get it.
Meg assumed that Saturday was a busy day for Dylan. But, they seemed to be hanging out as friends, and, since he'd invited her to the opening of the old mansion, she thought she would reciprocate.
She stopped by, happy to see her dress still hanging in the window, and went in.
Joe, Janet, and Dylan were all visible. The two women ran the till while Dylan was up on a ladder, fixing the rail that had fallen off one of the change rooms.
He looked happy to see her, glancing down to say, “Hey. You find the next Hemingway yet?”
She shook her head. Another Saturday morning wasted.
“I wondered if you wanted to see a movie premiere with me?”
He motioned her to hand him the curtain rod that was on the ground, resting on top of the red velvet curtain. “A movie premiere?”
She knelt down and hefted it up to him. “Yes. One of our projects was made into a movie, and since I was heavily involved in making it happen, I've got two tickets to the premier and the party afterwards. I thought it would be really nice to take a date. I get so tired of going to these things by myself.”
Even as she realized that a woman who was engaged probably shouldn't be attending a lot of social functions by herself, he said, “Your fiancé doesn't like movies?”
“No. Plus, he travels a lot. We don't really spend much time together.”
He hooked the curtain rod back into place. Gave the whole thing a tug and then climbed down the ladder.
“When is it?”
She told him. He pulled out his phone and made a note in his calendar. “Sure. I'd love to. Is it black tie or anything?”
“No. What you wore the other night would be perfect.”
“Great.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she turned to browse when he said, “I was about to grab some lunch. Do you want to—” He stopped speaking and she thought a look of horror crossed his face. She turned and followed his gaze and saw a woman who was probably a couple of years older than her walk forward. She had dark hair and smart-girl glasses and a beautiful mouth highlighted with red lipstick. She wore designer jeans, a blouse that looked as though it cost more than Meg’s annual salary, and her green Kelly bag was probably not a knock off.
She had a look about her, both entitled and sure of herself, that made Meg feel that she was either from a very rich background or on the fast track in some profession, or maybe both. She returned Meg’s regard with raised eyebrows. And, while Meg watched as though a terrible accident were happening in front of her and she was powerless to stop it, the woman walked right up to Dylan and kissed him full on the mouth.
“Amy,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
She laughed, then slipped her arm around him. To Meg, she said, “He's such a tease. I’m his girlfriend. Where else would I be?”
Meg didn't even know what to say. She’d never been good at awkward social situations. Her instinct was always either to babble something inane or to run away. She was too shocked to babble anything inane, so she went with her default option. “Thanks for helping me out with that dress,” she said to Dylan. “Better be going.”
“Meg, wait . . .” But she was already heading for the door as fast as she could.
Chapter 9
“Meg!” Dylan stared after the retreating figure, willing her not to open the door and walk out. But she did. Without so much as turning around. He took a step forward to go after her but Amy clamped a hand around his arm.
“Dylan. Don't.”
He was beyond frustrated. He turned to her. “Why are you here?”
Amy was always so sure of herself, so directed. She knew what she wanted, figured out how to get it, and worked with single-minded purpose to achieve her goals. He had always admired that about her. However, he had the uncomfortable suspicion that for some reason she had decided that maybe, after two months of silence, she wanted him after all.
He glanced around. The store wasn't super busy and he had planned to go to lunch. He felt that he and Amy should resolve things between them once and for all so he said, “Sure. There's a coffee shop around the corner.”
He walked up to his mother. “Okay if I head out for half an hour?”
She glanced at Amy. “Hello, Amy.”
“Hello.”
The greetings were cool. These two had never liked each other. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
He held the door open for Amy and she passed in front of him. They didn't speak at all as they walked the block to the coffee shop. It wasn't his favorite. It was a chain; impersonal, interchangeable a perfect place to end a relationship.
He grabbed a coffee for himself and green tea for Amy and they settled at a tiny round table in a quiet corner.
Once more he asked, “Why are you here?” He hadn’t liked the way she put on that little scene in front of Meg. He’d seen her as possessive and manipulative and he didn't like either of those qualities.
She pushed her hair behind her ears, then looked up at him. “I saw a picture of you. I was ordering some clothing online, because I don’t have time to shop, and this ad came up. I wouldn’t have paid any attention except it included a picture of you in a tuxedo putting a ring on a woman's finger.”
He felt a moment of pride that his online marketing was working. He’d targeted those ads to women in Amy’s age group who shopped online or at vintage stores.
Even as she explained the situation to him, he felt her puzzlement in her own reaction. “The woman was wearing a wedding dress. I didn't realize it was an ad at first. I saw you and it looked like you were getting married. My first reaction was, “What have I done? What have I let go?”
She shook her head, consternation wrinkling her forehead. “I had this awful feeling, and when I stopped to read the ad and I realized that you weren't actually marrying someone without telling me, but that you were taking part in an advertising spread, well, it seemed like I needed to come back here and make things right with you.” She sipped her tea. “I didn’t like seeing some other woman in your wedding photo.”
He was genuinely puzzled. “But, the last time we were together was awful.” He didn't want to sugarcoat things. Amy had been preoccupied and busy with work, and he'd been a lot more interested in spending the time he had with his startup partners than with Amy. They’d argued, said some harsh words, and he’d cut his trip short. Maybe they hadn’t said, “It’s over,” but he thought two months of complete silence suggested the relationship was over.
“I know. But maybe if we tried harder. I mean, it's not like you need to be in LA. I'm sure your mother and aunt could find someone else to help them out in the vintage store. I think you should come back with me.”
“And do what?”
She looked at him like he was stupid. “Move in with me. I think we should try it out and see if there's any hope for us.”
“When I left, I thought it was over. We maybe emailed, what, twice? Amy, it's been two months. If neither of us cared enough to email, pick up the phone, or text each other, how would it be different if we lived together?”
“I don't know.” She lifted her cup off the saucer and then put it back down again without drinking. “My life’s not like I thought it would be. I work all the time. I know this is what I wanted. And if I keep working as hard as I do now, I'll be a top executive within five years. But I have no social life. I don't meet people and I feel like maybe we gave up on each other too quickly.”
He thought that maybe if he hadn't met Meg he might be tempted at least to think about her proposal. But he had met Meg and he understood now that what he and Amy had shared was never meant to be long term. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed to be clear.
He reached over for her hand and clasped it loosely in his. “You are a terrific woman. You're smart, driven, sophisticated, and gorgeous. But we don't love each other. I don't want to try something out because we’re afraid there's nothing better out there. We've never been the kind of people who settle. You're young, you've got everything going for you. Maybe what you need is to take a little time off work. Take a holiday, go to parties. Try dating online.”
Her lips closed in a thin line and she drew her hand back. “It's her, isn't it?”
Even though he knew exactly who she was referring to, he said, “Her, who?”
Her gaze was cool and level. “Don’t be an ass. That girl. The redhead. When you were talking to her in the store I recognized her from the ad. Are you in love with her?”
“Wow. I’d forgotten how a conversation with you sometimes feels like surgery without anesthetic.”
She smiled a little at that.
He continued, “I know how stupid this sounds. I hardly know that woman but yeah, I think maybe I am in love with her.”
She nodded. “I wish I’d never seen that picture. Then I wouldn't know what I'm missing.” She glanced up. “You never looked at me that way. Two years with you and you never once looked at me the way you looked at the girl in that picture.”
“How do I look at her?”
“Like she's the reason you get up in the morning.”
If Meg was actually his, he’d love that description of how he was around her. But Meg wasn't his. What would he do if the woman he was crazy about didn't feel the same?
He knew one thing. He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed at least to find out whether Meg was engaged or not, and if she had any interest in him.
He said, “I'm glad you came. It's good to be clear about things.”
She nodded, slowly. “I hope we can still be friends.”
“I hope so, too.” Though, honestly, he doubted it. Amy didn’t have time to shop or date. When was she going to find time to keep up with an old flame? He felt that what they were both really saying was that there were no hard feelings. At least he hoped so.
She got up to leave, but he called her back.
“What did that girl look like in the pictures, when she looked at me?”
Her glance was scornful. “Please. I’m not here to pander to your inflated ego.”
Amy was nothing if not sharp, and she noticed things. Pandering to his ego probably meant that Meg looked at him as though he were someone special, too. He felt hope spring up, and rose to follow her. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
And then, he had an important call to make.
Chapter 10
Meg burst into the apartment she shared with June, so wildly mortified and so full of confused energy that she thought her head would explode if she didn't burn some of that energy off.
She charged towards her bedroom and heard June say, “Whoa! What's gotten into you? Somebody piss you off?”
“I can't talk about it right now.” In fact, she couldn't even be inside the apartment. She needed to be outside, and she needed action. She turned to June who ran about thirty miles a week. “Where can I go jogging?”
June's eyes opened wide. “Jogging? You hate jogging.”
“Which makes it the perfect activity for me right now.”
“Okay.” June stared at her and a crease formed in her forehead. “You want urban? Wilderness? A park?”
“Something with long trails, where I can get lost in them.”
“Try Griffith Park. You can jog as long as you like, and if you still have energy you can climb up Hollywood Peak and have a great view of the city.”
“Perfect.” She ran to her room and changed into yoga wear, since she did not own any actual jogging clothes, and slipped into her one and only pair of sneakers. Her yoga pants were black and went to just below her knee. She threw on a sports bra and the first top she could find, which happened to be purple.
She tied her hair back, slapped a ball cap on her head, and grabbed her
car keys.
Back out in the main room, she said, “Draw me a map so I can find a good jogging trail.”
“Okay.” June was treating her with great gentleness as though she'd recently endured a tragedy or were possibly a violent mental case. She dragged a sheet of paper off the tray of their printer and sketched out a quick map. “This is about five miles. If you still have energy when you're finished, you can just do it again.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed the paper.
“Water. Don't forget water.”
“Right.” She didn't own a fancy hydration system, what she had was a purple water bottle she took to yoga. That would have to do. She filled it with water and found her hands were not quite steady.
June watched her with growing concern. “Do you want me to come with you?”
She shook her head violently. Then realized June was being nice and said, “But thanks.” All she wanted to be was alone.
“How about my iPod? Do you want to borrow it so you have music?”
“No.” Her thoughts were running around her head and she felt like she just needed to sort them out. She didn't want the distraction of music.
“At least take your phone. You jogging? This worries me.”
Even though she knew she was acting neurotic and jumpy, she managed to smile at that. “I'll take my phone.” She grabbed her cell and realized she would have to carry all these things when she was jogging. She glanced around helplessly and June jumped up. She came back with a tiny backpack built for joggers. “Have fun. Call me if you get lost.”
“I will.”
She headed off but before she reached the door June admonished her one more time. “Take some money and your driver’s license.”
She nodded, glad somebody was thinking straight since she obviously wasn't. She collected her things and headed out once more.
Griffith Park was full of Saturday tourists and families going to the zoo, couples out having a picnic, or walking up to see the famous Hollywood sign. There were old people, young people, kids, cyclists, rollerbladers, horseback riders, and joggers. Lots of joggers. She checked the map that June had given her and took to the sketched-out path.
