Picture This

by Jayne Denker

  “Brilliant,” he said to Celia, who in turn patted her father’s shoulder.

  “It was all Dad.”

  As usual, Alan just grunted, but the corners of his usually grim mouth were curled up slightly with satisfaction. “I thought it applied.”

  Together they watched the men glare at each other as the karaoke machine tweedled the tune “The Girl Is Mine.” Not a word out of either of them.

  The music had barely gotten to the chorus before they were pushing and shoving one another again.

  Chapter 32

  “I think that went pretty well, all things considered.”

  Celia burst out laughing and swung her hand in Niall’s as they walked down the hallway toward the back door. The arts center was finally quiet, everyone having decamped to Beers for an after-party. “How in the world do you figure that?”

  “Nobody died. No bloodshed, even. Although I think Ray might have torn his cummerbund in the altercation.”

  “Small price to pay. He could have ended up swinging from the Marsden River Bridge if the audience had had its way.”

  “Did he really believe all that stuff was going to be funny?”

  “I don’t know. He does have a . . . strange sense of humor.”

  “Is that what you call it? I’d say it verges on sadistic.”

  “I think he’s learned his lesson. He’ll probably leave the humor to you from now on. Are you happy with the contest results?”

  “Oh, hey, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “It’s got everything to do with you. I don’t think anybody would have thought, when Ray first came up with the idea for the contest—”

  “You mean when Ray first stole the idea from Darryl?”

  “Right, right. Anyway, nobody would have thought that Nora and Laurie would be a team—and would win. You brought Nora in, and everybody knows she won the contest for Laurie.”

  “And you were the one who convinced Ray to let Laurie participate in the first place.”

  “Gosh, we’re good.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for weeks now.” Niall pushed open the door and held it so Celia could step out first.

  “It was sweet that Nora gave Laurie her half of the prize money. Maybe that’ll help everybody realize they should be nicer to Laurie from now on too.”

  “Well, you led the applause for her. You are a very nice person, Celia Marshall.”

  She turned to him in the welcome silence of the night. “As are you, Niall Crenshaw.” She looked around. “We’re outside.”

  “Yep.”

  “What about the photographers?”

  “They’re gone. I sent them on a treasure hunt.”

  “What did you—?”

  “Uh-uh. I’ll explain later. All you need to know is they aren’t around to bother us.” The silence, and the solitude, as well as the cool night breeze, all lifted the blanket of weariness from Niall’s shoulders. He especially came alive again when Celia slipped her arms around his waist, underneath his tux jacket, and rested her cheek on his chest. “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “It is.”

  They stood there at the edge of the hilltop, near his car, looking out over the valley for a few moments, watching the taillights of the last stragglers making their way back to town.

  Celia said, “I loved it when Brianna and Darryl gave their second-place trophies to Nate and Ray. Too bad they didn’t actually sing, though—that would have made the night perfect.”

  “Oh, I don’t know—the two of them going at one another in round two was pretty entertaining.”

  “I don’t think they’re going to be best buddies from now on, but maybe they’ll think twice before they decide to keep up their feud in public.”

  “Are you going to deconstruct this contest all night?”

  “I might.” She tipped her head back to smile up at him. “Unless you stop me.”

  “Oh, I can do that.”

  He covered her smiling lips with his, enveloping her in a tight embrace and a kiss so deep Celia’s knees buckled. He laughed against her mouth and held her up. Her arms moved up his torso, her hands splaying across his back under his jacket.

  “So . . .” she began, breathlessly, when he broke their kiss to touch his lips and the very tip of his tongue to the hollow under her earlobe. “Now that you’re done with Night of the Shooting Stars . . .”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Make me.”

  “Again?”

  Niall complied, and his kiss became hungrier and hungrier until he pulled back, touching his forehead to hers, forcing himself to slow things down. His hands continued their explorations, running over her bare shoulders and down her back, then back up and tracing the top edge of her dress where the soft skin of her breasts swelled.

  “God, you feel so good,” he breathed. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, looking at her, kissing her.

  Celia kissed his jaw and throat, until he lifted her chin with one finger and directed her lips back to his once more. His tongue twined around hers, and she made a noise—a small one, but filled with such pure longing, it was nearly his undoing. He nudged her backward until he could ease her down onto the hood of his car.

  “We’re going to dent your precious Stingray,” she whispered.

  “Don’t care.” Of course he didn’t care—not when his lips were on her skin, his body pressing down on hers. The rest of the world went away when he kissed Celia Marshall, a blessed blackout—

  “What just happened?” He raised his head; something was different.

  Celia laughed softly, her body vibrating against his. “The parking lot lights went out. It’s midnight.”

  “Things turn into pumpkins around here too?” She laughed again as Niall looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. “I have never been in a place this black before. I think it’s lighter behind my closed eyelids.” He tried it. “Yup.”

  “It’s not dark.”

  “It is to me.”

  “Look up then.”

  He rolled to one side of her and tipped his head back. “Wow.” There were stars. Lots of them. Not just the occasional pinprick of light he could make out over the tops of the buildings and the glow of the streetlamps in the cities he’d lived in all his life; instead, the entire sky was full of them—large and small, clusters and single lights, even a swirl of the Milky Way. And . . . something else. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? But no—there it went again. “What the hell was that?”

  “Flatlander. It was a meteor.”

  “I’ve never seen one before.”

  “Never?” She was shocked.

  “Not once. Ever. In my life.”

  “Well, settle in, boy. You’re about to get caught up.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s the Perseids meteor shower. Happens every August.”

  “It does?”

  “Why do you think Ray called his singing contest Night of the Shooting Stars?” Niall was dumbfounded, and it must have shown on his face, because she laughed yet again. He knew he’d never get tired of that sound. “Here—lie down next to me.”

  “I will never say no to that.”

  They lay side by side in silence, hands behind their heads, watching the show—streaks of light, large and small, brief and prolonged, sometimes coming in rapid succession, sometimes leaving large gaps of nothing but blackness in between.

  “This is freaky.”

  “An interesting term for it. Most people would call it breathtaking and magical.”

  Niall turned to her, propping his head on one hand. “Now, see, I reserve those words to describe you.”

  “Oh, you sweet talker, you.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Do you really?”

  “I do.” He put as much sincerity as he could into his words, because he desperately needed her to believe him. “You are an incredible woman, Celia Marshall, and I’m lucky to know you. In fact, I can’t remember what my life was like witho
ut you in it.”

  “Let’s see . . . glamor, celebrity, parties, models, movies, money, yachts, private jets . . .”

  “All worthless. And I’ll have you know I have never traveled on a private jet. Although it’s not for lack of trying to buddy up to the dudes who have them.”

  “Now that you’re done here, you must be ready to go back to all of it.”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe I’m not going back.”

  “Yes, you are.” She said this as a statement of pure fact, with no tinge of sadness coloring her words. That bothered him. He wanted her to want him to stay, wished she needed him as much as he needed her.

  “Not right away. And not . . .” He swallowed. “Not without you.”

  She was silent, staring at him with wide eyes that he could now see in the starlight. On the horizon, over the valley, a bright meteor streaked across the sky.

  “Say you’ll be with me when we get back to New York.” Nothing.

  “Celia? Say yes. Please. I love you.”

  She smiled shyly, and her hand reached up to caress his cheek. “I love you too.”

  “OhthankGod,” he breathed, his heart lifting. “Can I kiss you now?”

  “You’ll miss the meteors.”

  “Eh. You’ve seen one shooting star, you’ve seen ’em all.”

  “You are so jaded.”

  “No. They’re beautiful. But you’re more beautiful.”

  “Well, when you talk like that . . .”

  Niall kissed her again, and again, and again—or perhaps it was one long kiss broken only by his need to pause, pull back, cool down. But when he did, Celia’s hands were at the back of his neck, or on his shoulders, pulling him back down to her for another kiss. Which he couldn’t say no to. Until . . .

  “You know, this is massively uncomfortable,” she whispered.

  “I know, right? All those fantasies about getting it on on top of a car, especially a hot car like this one . . .”

  “Oh, please.”

  “What?”

  “You sound like you’re trapped in the seventies.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Anyway, on top of a car like this one, with a hot babe like you—that’s the fantasy. But you’re right. It’s just uncomfortable. I mean, there’s a curious mix of pain and pleasure, but not in a kinky way . . .” Celia pulled him down again. After a moment or two, in between running his hand up the outside of her thigh under her tight dress and kissing the swell of her breasts, he groaned. “Let’s go back to the inn.”

  “Oh God.” She sighed, eyes closed, tipping her hips up to him and driving him completely mad.

  “Please.”

  “So many issues with that . . .”

  “We’ll sneak in. George and Casey will never know. They’ve got to be asleep by now.”

  “Not just them.”

  “What, then?” He lifted his head to look at her, startled by the uncertainty in her voice.

  “You’re . . .” She laughed a little. “Um, intimidating.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  Even though it was dark, he could have sworn he could see her blush. “All your . . . you know. All the women.”

  He had to work hard to keep a straight face. “What, all nine of them?”

  “Nine hundred?”

  “No, not nine hundred! What the—”

  “Wait. Not . . . not nine thou—” she whispered, before Niall cut her off.

  “Nine! Nine! Just nine! Now stop making me sound like a contrary German!”

  “Wh–what?”

  “Wow, I’ve truly shocked you, haven’t I? In our little game of secrets, I think I win. Game over.”

  “But . . . but . . . you’re Niall Crenshaw. Catnip to women. You have zillions of fans!”

  “I don’t sleep with fans.”

  “Costars, then. Supermodels.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t have opportunities. I just partake far less than people assume.”

  “All those stories . . .”

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to believe everything you’ve read about me? Or, like, don’t believe anything you’ve read about me?” Now grinning from ear to ear, he cleared his throat and purred, “So. How about it?”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  He nibbled her earlobe. “Big, soft bed.”

  “Mm.”

  He ran his hand down her leg, lifting it up until he could reach the ticklish spot behind her knee. “Really big, really soft bed.”

  She squirmed and laughed. “Mmm . . .”

  “Private bath. Huge tub.”

  “Mm ?”

  “I’ll let you wear my boxers. In fact, I insist.”

  Chapter 33

  “Celia. Time to get up.”

  “Mm. No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Bed. Soft.”

  “We’ve got someplace to be.” Niall kissed her gently. And again. “Don’t you remember? I told you last night—”

  “You told me a lot of things last night.”

  “And I meant every one.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “But remember I said we have to go—”

  His words ended in a mangled growl as her hand trailed down his bare chest, over his stomach, and lower still.

  “What were you saying?” she prompted lazily, her voice liquid.

  “Can’t . . . remember.”

  “We have to go somewhere?”

  “It can wait.”

  “Should we be driving this fast?”

  “Well, now we have to make up for lost time, trollop.”

  “Me?” Celia was incredulous. “Hey, that last time was all your idea.”

  “I believe you were a willing participant.”

  She squirmed and readjusted the ill-fitting sundress she’d borrowed from George, blushing at the price she’d had to pay to get it—a knowing grin from her friend, a silent promise that George would tease her about it relentlessly at the first opportunity. “Just drive, horndog. Where are we going, again?”

  “I have a ribbon-cutting ceremony at noon—what time is it?”

  “About ten o’clock.”

  “We’ll make it.” And Niall eased up on the accelerator.

  “A ribbon-cutting for what?”

  “You’ll see. It’s something that’s very important to me.”

  “Tell me, then.”

  “When we get there.”

  Celia stood on the front walk of the sprawling house and read the sign over the double doors. Aaron Crenshaw Recovery Center. She looked over at Niall, her emotions a jumble. Now she knew why he’d grown more serious the closer they’d gotten to their destination—and quieter—startlingly quiet, for him.

  “This isn’t just any ribbon-cutting,” she murmured.

  “No. You know those fancy addiction treatment places only celebrities can afford? I wanted regular people to have a place to go, like those but for free. So they can have the best chance at starting their lives over too.”

  “This is where you’ve been sneaking off to?”

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I had personal business in the area. When Trent told me about the Night of the Shooting Stars gig in Marsden, and I realized it was within a decent driving distance to Utica, I figured I could meet with the people here a few times, tie up all the loose ends before the opening. It worked out pretty well.”

  “I think it’s time you told me about your cousin.”

  She led Niall over to the porch. The place was quiet, just a couple of workers moving around inside. The paparazzi who had camped out on Holly’s street had preceded them—the task Niall had set for them the night before. Now they milled around on the sidewalk, far better behaved than they had been in Marsden. Sensing the seriousness of the occasion, they waited, talking quietly with one another until things got under way.

  Celia and Niall sat down on a bench under the porch roof, and Niall took her hand. Looking down, he said, “This place . . . it’s all I could
think to do to honor Aaron’s memory.”

  “What happened to him?”

  He swallowed, and she could see his Adam’s apple working in his throat. Eventually he murmured, “Our grandmother . . . remember when I said she knew I was going to be famous before I did?” Celia nodded. “She practically shoved me out of the house, told me to get my ass to California or New York. I wanted to stick around. I figured I had plenty of time to try acting—what was the rush, you know? But she knew if I didn’t go off and start auditioning as soon as possible, I might never go. So I went. I did a lot of stand-up and improv to fill my time, took acting classes, worked odd jobs—the usual. But I was lucky—I didn’t have to wait very long before I started getting bit roles and commercials.”

  “That’s not luck—that’s talent.”

  Niall snorted.

  “Star quality. Q score.”

  “Anyway”—he cut her off, but not angrily—“when I got my first big movie role, it kind of went to my head. My grandmother knew what I was up against, so she sent Aaron to California to help me out. You know, to look after me, be the one person I could trust.”

  “Wise lady.”

  “Yes, but . . . it didn’t work out that way.”

  “What happened? Aaron didn’t like it there?”

  “Oh, no, no. He liked it. Loved it, in fact. Loved it too much, in the end. I was a partier, but he was . . . out of control. I should have known—my cousin never did anything halfway. But I had no idea he would go off the rails that badly. He was falling apart right in front of me, but I had my head too far up my own ass to realize he needed serious help. I made all sorts of excuses instead—he wasn’t as bad as I thought, it was just an occasional thing instead of an every-night thing, he’d pull himself out of it. And then one day it was too late.”

  Celia was unable to speak around the lump in her throat, so she just squeezed his hand and waited for him to go on.

  Eventually he said, “I didn’t even know he was gone. We’d had a party in my new house in LA the night before—it was absolutely insane—and I just thought he was sleeping it off. I didn’t find him for . . . hours. And he was in the room right down the hall from mine.” He drew a shaky breath. “It was my fault. He came to California to watch out for me, but I didn’t watch out for him.”