Slender Bridge

by Katrina Clemons

  “Let’s say the reports of his relationships were inflated by the tabloids. But what about the more factual sources that report the same thing. Are they sensational as well? He’s a player, Susan. Plain and simple. And given what I went through with Josh, I don’t see Scott Dawson in either my near or distant future. I will keep out of his way while he’s here. And like I said, I doubt if he remembers me.”

  “Ok. I hear what you’re saying. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Suppose he does remember you. Would you speak to him if he speaks to you?”

  “I’m not uncouth, you know, Susan. I know how to be polite. So, yes, if on the one to infinity chance he remembers who I am, I would say hello. But he has to say hello first. And I don’t want you going on set and jogging his memory either.”

  “I asked a simple question. Calm down and stop casting aspersions.” She pushed her empty plate aside. “Let’s have a look at these bouquets, shall we.”

  I looked at her suspiciously as it was not like Susan to drop a matter so quickly. She looked up, then rolled her eyes.

  “I pinkie swear that I am not up to anything and that I will stay out of you and Scott’s affair, ok?”

  “Get it straight, please. There is no me and Scott’s affair. But thank you for promising not to meddle just the same.” I pulled the file over and began flipping through the pages.

  Half an hour later, I made my selection and placed the order. We said our goodbyes in the parking lot shortly after midday, and I headed back to the café.

  I pulled up just as one of my deliveries arrived. It was a non-stop whirl of activity as the trucks rolled in one after the other. It was nearly three-thirty before I was able to take a break.

  Now that the weather was warmer, I was able to sit outdoors on one of my favorite benches. This spot was where I loved to work on new dishes and upgrades. I bent my head to the task and became so thoroughly engrossed that I was oblivious to the rather flashy car that pulled into the parking lot. It was not until I heard car doors slam that I looked up. A man and a woman were standing in front of the café, deep in conversation. They checked a paper in their hand, then looked up and nodded. Rather than enter from the front, however, they took the path that would lead to the back. I sat up straight.

  “May I help you?” I called out pleasantly.

  They looked over at me. “We’re looking for Andy?”

  “This is Andy’s.”

  “No. Andy, the person, not the place.”

  “May I ask who it is that may be seeking?”

  They walked over as I stood. The man was tall and gangly. Even from this distance, he was well over six feet tall. He had white-blonde hair and wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses. The woman was relatively shorter, and I figured her to be around my height. Her head was a riot of red curls that seemed to do as they pleased. Her sneakers were scuffed, and the laces loose. Her baggy jeans hung on her slim frame and made her look more rotund than she was. The sweatshirt was well worn and seemed to have been chosen more for comfort than fashion. The man stretched his hand out in greeting.

  “Hi, I’m David Muir, and this is Vivian Brooks. I’m sure you’ve seen the fliers and billboards regarding a film being shot here in a few weeks. I’m from the production team, and Miss Brooks is our lead actor’s personal assistant. We would like to discuss with Andy the possibility of contracting his services to provide refreshments on set.”

  I smirked at the thought of who they perceived Andy to be.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you in terms of who you were expecting to meet. But you’re speaking to the owner of Andy’s.” I stuck my hand out in greeting. “Hi. I’m Helen Anderson, owner, and chef of Andy’s. How may I assist?”

  They looked me up and down, then looked at each other. The woman shrugged, and the man pushed his glasses further up his nose.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be a café owner and a chef?”

  I put on my sweetest smile even as my temper began to boil.

  “Age is nothing but a number. Is there some unwritten rule about a twenty-seven-year-old woman owning and operating a café?”

  The man opened his mouth, but the woman cut him off.

  “Just to be clear, this is the same Andy’s that’s among the top ten restaurants in the state?”

  I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “If you find the other Andy’s that holds that honor, please inform me. Again, how may I help you? If I’m not able to do so, I would love to get back to planning my dishes if you don’t mind.”

  She held her hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry. We just need to ensure that we are in the right place, speaking with the right person, that’s all. And you do seem not to fit the profile we were expecting. Can we sit?”

  I gestured for them to take a seat on the bench. I pulled up a chair from one of our outside dining areas. I picked up my notepad and began scribbling as they spoke. When the dinner service started, I was still outside with David and Vivian. I sent for Stacy and ripped a sheet from the back of my notepad, issuing a few brief instructions. With a muttered ‘yes, chef’, Stacy ran off to do my bidding. I saw David and Vivian exchange a look. We continued our discussion.

  By the time we ended, I had five pages of notes covering everything from ingredients to allergies and preferences. I learned that Mr. Dawson should always have a selection of fresh fruit and water each morning and light salads in the afternoon. For dinner, he would make his selection as it suited him, a choice that could range from a sandwich to a multi-course meal.

  “Diva much,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” Vivian asked. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t important.”

  “Calling my boss a ‘diva’ is rather important to me.”

  “I thought you ‘didn’t quite catch that’.” I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes.

  Vivian mirrored my action, and we had a bit of stare off. Then her lips twitched slightly.

  “I like you, Helen. You’re not all that meets the eye.”

  “I guess I should take that as a compliment?” I raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

  She nodded. “You should. Have you ever been on a film production set?”

  “No.”

  “Well, my dear, you are going to be in for a bit of a shock. My boss is a pussy cat compared to some of the other ‘divas’ as you call them. Prepare yourself.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  David chimed in. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  “At this point, no. But how soon can you get me the numbers of persons along with all the other particulars I’ve requested? Spring Feast is high on my list of priorities right now. But since production begins a week after, I have to find some time to squeeze this in as well. The sooner I get that information, the sooner we can work out and finalize the terms of the contract.”

  “Give us a day or two. It was nice doing business with you, Helen. I look forward to the next three months.” David extended his hand, and I shook it.

  I turned to Vivian, and she greeted me with a hug and a smile. “It was lovely meeting you, Helen. Very few people can call me out and get away with it. I think we will get along just fine.”

  I walked them to their car and watched as they drove out of the parking lot. I hurried inside to pick up the slack from the dinner service, pushing the meeting to the back of my mind. It was not until we had closed, and we went into our sterilization operation that a revelation dawned: I was going to be working close to Scott Dawson – for the next three months.

  Chapter 9 – Scott

  I yawned and stretched as my eyes fluttered open. I cleared my throat and rubbed my eyes. They felt as if someone had thrown a fistful of sand and gravel in them. Jet lag sucked. Another yawn snuck up on me, and I stretched out with it. I sniffed and slowly rolled out of bed.

  I reached for my phone. It was just after four p.m. This morning, I had landed in Creek Town at eight
a.m. That seemed to be eons away. I had not slept for more than two hours over the past two days, thanks to stupid ass writers who had decided on a last-minute revision.

  Did they care that the cast had already committed ninety-nine percent of the script to memory? No. Did they consider that we were was just waiting to put our memory into action? Oh no! All these dumb asses cared about was revising a scene because it didn’t seem ‘natural’. Did they care that the one scene revision affected five others? Oh no! They were now satisfied, and all the actors had to do was ‘relearn the lines, that’s all’. I had stayed up for the past forty-eight hours, with a nap or two, ‘relearning’ my lines. All of this was while packing for the next three months. I also had to finalize the usual procedures for being away from the city.

  I fought back another yawn as I plodded to the bathroom. I stepped over and around the suitcases that were in the middle of the floor. This hotel room was going to be my home for the next three months. The sooner I unpacked, the better. I splashed some water on my face and rubbed my face. I had been growing a beard and mustache for the past month to fit my character, Winston. Make-up would do the necessary shaping of the rough hairs when I got on set tomorrow.

  The splash of water felt good. I went back to the room and found my travel kit, and hopped into the shower. Half an hour later, I headed downstairs to the main restaurant. Most of the cast and crew had already eaten. I waved and greeted the few persons I knew. Vivian would be joining me the next day as she had stayed in New York to tie up any loose ends I may have overlooked.

  I finished my meal and stepped outside. The first thing that hit me was the silence. It wasn’t that there were no vehicles or activity, but it was far less than what I would have encountered in the city. The air was warm, but not unpleasantly so. I could feel the slight chill that would come with the impending sunset. I looked around, picked a direction that seemed interesting, and started walking. This was a rare free evening, and I intended to use it. When production kicked in tomorrow, there was no telling when I would come up for air. I would not be the first to admit it, but the change of pace from the big city was already welcome.

  I passed shops and boutiques and what appeared to be a market place of sorts. Some of the vendors were in the middle of packing up their wares. I bought a pound of grapes, and hurried on, aware of the scrutinizing eyes. I could almost hear the whispers as they tried to figure out if I was Scott Dawson or not. I grinned behind the bushy beard and mustache.

  I meandered along, popping grapes into my mouth as I did. Soon, there was nothing but the bare stem which I threw into the nearest bin. My wandering feet soon brought me to what appeared to be the main street. I crossed over to the other side and made my way down until I came to an intersection. I spotted a quaint café smack dab on the corner. It had the look of a New York City bistro as the neon lights shone brightly. I walked past and glanced in at the window. They seemed to be in the middle of the dinner service. Had I known there were other options to the hotel’s fare, I would have explored them. Oh well, I had three months to try this place even once.

  I stepped back on to the curb and was about to continue my journey when I spotted a figure. Oddly, there was something familiar about the person. The build, the shape, the hair… My mouth fell open. Helen. It had to be her. The memories of that night at the club came back and hit me like a sledgehammer. I had lost count of the times she had popped into my mind since she had left me in Miami. For a while, every curly-haired, caramel-skinned woman reminded me of her. I had thought of her often. Too often. Eventually, I had decided that my thoughts were full of her because she had refused me. I made a concerted effort to forget her, but now and then she had popped in when I least expected.

  I watched as she struggled to heft a huge box across the parking lot. Without hesitation, I sprang into action.

  “Well, if it isn’t she who bears the name of one whose face launched a thousand ships. Hi, Helen. Long time no see.”

  I watched as her mouth fell open.

  “Sc-Sc-Scott?”

  “At your service, madam. May I give you a hand?

  “Su-Su-Sure.”

  Deftly, I took the box from her arms, huffing only slightly under its weight. She preceded me up the two steps to the back door. After I followed her down a narrow passage to a storage room, she directed me where to place the box. Soon we were back in the parking lot. I stood looking at her, speechless. I was still finding it hard to believe that she was here, in the flesh, in front of me.

  “So. You weren’t lying when you said you were a chef, were you.”

  She smiled and shook her head. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the familiar dimples wink at me. I rocked back and forth on my heels.

  “So. How have you been?”

  “Fine. And you?”

  “So-so.”

  She shrugged. “If you can call pulling down another box office hit ‘so-so’, who am I to object.”

  I grinned. “You’ve been following me?” I moved in the direction of a low bench at the edge of the parking lot, and she followed.

  I saw her cheeks turn pink and felt my heart soar. I was not the only one whose thoughts had been on someone this past year, it seemed.

  “Follow is such a strong word. You were in the news quite a bit. That’s all.”

  “Wow, Helen. Way to deflate a guy’s ego.”

  She smiled and tilted her head to one side. “You grew a beard and mustache.”

  “The current character calls for it.” I gestured to the café. “Yours?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wow. I’m sure you’re very good at it too.” I felt as if I was running out of things to say. But I was willing to talk about air if it would keep her out there talking to me.

  “You will find out just how good starting tomorrow. I’ll be providing all your meals for the next three months.”

  “Really! And here I was trying to figure out how to pop over here one day. Would you look at that! The café is coming to me. I look forward to my first meal.”

  “If you can call fruit salad a meal.”

  “That’s how I start most days. How did you know?”

  “I make it my business to know what my customers prefer. And your assistant made it succinctly clear what your preferences are.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You’ve met Viv?”

  “Yup.”

  “Dynamic little firecracker, isn’t she? I kid you not when I say that she was the best thing that ever happened to my career.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s highly organized and meticulous to a T. I know she doesn’t look it, and heaven knows, if you saw her workspace, you would wonder how she hasn’t lost herself in it. But trust me when I say that beneath those unruly curls is the mind of a computer. She forgets nothing. And in my line of work, she’s on top of everything. She was a veritable gold mine when she crossed my path, and I’m not letting her go for love nor money. She spoils me, though. Then curses me out, then spoils me again.”

  “I believe you when you say she spoils you. She almost took my head off when I called you a diva after she rattled off your meal preferences.”

  “A diva?” I placed my hand on my chest. “Helen! I’m hurt! I’m a real humble guy.”

  “With a spoilt brat attitude.”

  “Can you blame me if people choose to bestow the treatment of royalty upon me?”

  “Must thou sound as if thou readest from a manuscript? And scene!” She made a clapping sound with her hands to simulate the clapboard.

  I threw my head back and laughed, and I was pleased to hear her join in. I could not stop smiling. I rested an elbow along the back of the bench and reached out a fingertip to find a loose curl.

  “Fate smiled on me to run into you again, Helen. I thought of you often after we met in Miami.” I watched as her cheeks grew pink, and she ducked her head. I sensed an advantage and pressed on. “Did you think of me?”

  Her head snapped up. She opened her mouth.


  “Helen!”

  We both looked up at the shrill voice.

  “We need you, hun!”

  “Coming, mom! Just give me one minute!”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds!”

  She turned back to me. “It sounds as if they need me desperately in the kitchen. Mondays are usually slow, but a big group must have come in.” She stood. “It was nice running into you again, Scott.”

  I was reluctant to let her go, but I had to understand that her business came first right now. I stood. Before she could react, I pulled her into my embrace. I hugged her to me and felt a wave of heat course through me. I could have sworn I felt her tremble slightly. I released her, but not before brushing my lips across her cheek.

  “Your mother’s been glowering at the door for the last ten seconds. I think you should go in now. See you around the site.”

  “Maybe.”

  I winked at her. “It wasn’t a question, hun.” I turned her around and pushed her in the direction of the door. I watched her walk away from me, enjoying the gentle sashay of her hips swaying back and forth. I waited until the door closed behind her before turning away and walking back the way I had come. As soon as I was back at the hotel, I went straight up to my room and picked up the script. We would be starting with scene six to catch the first rays of the sun.

  When twenty minutes passed, and I was still on the first line, I threw the document aside in frustration. I could not concentrate. All I could think about was Helen. Helen in Miami in her little red dress and her curls bouncing around her face. Helen in her chef’s jacket with her hairnet and a few wild curls poking out. Helen naked and underneath me. I wondered if she was a screamer.

  I stood and walked out to the balcony. The stars had started to come out, and I stood watching them being born. I now knew how smokers felt. I had the strongest urge to indulge in a habit I never even had. And all because of this one woman, Helen.