by Emily Bishop
“Perfect.”
He laughed and put it back then drew out a couple plain T-shirts—charcoal gray, black, and white—checked the sizes, and slung them over his arm. He did the same with the jeans and fastidiously avoided anything with ripped knees. “I’ll go try these on,” he said and nodded to the changing room at the back, a single curtain hanging in front of it to shield from prying eyes.
He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
A thrill chased up my spine—another forbidden-fruit moment.
“I’ll be waiting,” I said.
Jarryd marched off and left me to rifle through a few of the shirts myself. Gosh, how many SpongeBob shirts were there? Apparently, Nancy had a fetish. Or a son who was a fan.
Minutes passed, and I walked around to the women’s end of the store. Perhaps, I’d pick up a new skirt or an ankle bracelet. My mom had been a great proponent of ankle bracelets and walking bare foot. The habit hadn’t exactly stuck with me.
I brought out a long, ankle-length skirt in aquamarine and smiled. It reminded me of the crystal I’d brought home yesterday, before Jarryd and I had headed to the hotel. Maybe we’ve finally found our truths.
Jarryd reappeared at the far end of the store and walked toward me, his muscular thighs obvious against the tight blue jeans he wore. Not skinny, just regular. The cotton T-shirt clung to his muscles, and the short sleeves looked on the brink of ripping.
“Wow,” I said.
“You think?” Jarryd brushed off the shirt. “I’ve never worn shit like this before, except on sets for movies.”
“You know, you don’t have to wear suits to be taken seriously,” I said.
He curled his arm around my waist and drew me close, enveloping me in that heat I knew so well, now. “As long as you take me seriously, I’m good.”
I was an ocean, and he was the moon. Subtle fluctuations brought waves crashing down on the shores, even in the middle of a shopping spree. I leaned into his embrace, craned my neck upward and…
The front door of the store burst open, and a low murmur crept down the aisle, followed by footsteps, trainers squeaking on tile.
I pulled out of Jarryd’s embrace, frowning. The store was never busy, per se. There were a finite amount of people who shopped for clothes in Moondance, and most of them were women.
Jarryd craned his neck, spotting the source of the disturbance. “Uh oh.” His smile faded.
“What is it?”
“Paps.”
“Like a pap smear?”
“What? No, ha. Paparazzi.”
“Here? In Moondance? Why? What the –?” Duh, because Jarryd Tombs and Felicity Swan are here. And now, you’re here, too, standing right next to the famous actor who broke up with his fiancée two weeks ago.
I backpedaled. “Sorry,” I said.
“What? No, you don’t have to go, Aurora. I don’t care what they think.” But he kind of twitched when he said it, and his jaw tightened. He did care, whether he wanted to or not. He’d spent years worrying about his reputation, hadn’t he?
Being seen with me, that had to be embarrassing. Or a complication, at the very least.
I opened my mouth, but the tide of photographers streamed around the corner before I could get a word out. Lenses raised and flashes went off, a furious volley of clicks. They weren’t allowed to do this, surely. They couldn’t follow him into the store.
“Jarryd, how are you feeling this morning?” one of the photographers asked, while taking snap after snap. “How’s the movie coming along?”
“Are you and Felicity going to reconcile?”
I stepped back once, and again. This wasn’t my scene. This was my worst nightmare, in fact. If these people caught wind of who I was and what I did for a living, I’d experience all new levels of judgment.
“Where’s Felicity now? Why aren’t you with her?”
Jarryd shook his head and put his palms up. “That’s enough. You’re not allowed to follow me into stores, kids. Get out.”
“Do you miss her? Do you regret leaving her?”
I scurried backward, now, humiliation burning my cheeks. I wasn’t cut out for this, for god’s sake. This was how they’d talk about me if they found out what we were. Not that we’re anything. How can we be with this going on?
Jarryd caught sight of me and held out a hand. “Aurora, wait.”
I shook my head, mute.
The photographers encircled him, now, trapping him against the rack of women’s clothes.
“Why are you in this aisle, Mr. Tombs? Buying something for Felicity? An apology gift?”
I spun on my heel and darted for the door, knocking clothes off the rack, pushing past those paps who hadn’t yet gotten their snap of the famous actor. They turned and opened their mouths to question me then sniffed and refocused on the celebrity—I wasn’t worth the time. Of course I wasn’t.
I shoved out into the street, breathing hard, eyes stinging with unshed tears. It was another sour reminder of the differences between us. My heart beat a mile a damn minute and I pressed my palm to the spot over my heart and rubbed in circles.
“What did you expect?” A refined voice, thin and sharp as a whistle. Felicity. She clip-clopped down the sidewalk in her high heels, clutching a cell phone to her ear. Her gaze burnt a track down my body then up again. “Did you think you could continue without any consequences?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
Felicity dropped the phone from her ear and tapped on the screen. “Duh. What are you, stupid? I’m talking about your little obsession with Jarryd. He’s out of your league, and you should have known that from the start.”
I stiffened.
“He’s a celebrity and you’re a… witch? I don’t give a fuck, actually. Just know that this is dangerous for you. I mean, you could ruin your own life by getting involved with him,” Felicity said. “Think about it. Do you want that in your life?” She pointed to the circus in the store. Paparazzi swarming around him. Nancy waving her arms and gesticulating.
I gritted my teeth. “My life is none of your business.”
“Try telling them that.” Felicity still hadn’t quit tapping away on her screen. She speared me with another glance, lips curled back over whitened teeth. “You’re nothing now but if you want them to notice you, continue seeing him. When he breaks your heart, at least you’ll have the company.” She paused, flicked her platinum-blond hair. “And the articles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the show’s about to start.” She pushed past me and opened the door to the clothing store. “Hello, darlings,” she announced.
Cameras clicked. Men and women yelled out questions. And I dashed off, past the Porsche and toward the RV park, shame curling through my belly.
Chapter 17
Jarryd
“This is the one that bothers me,” Luke said and shifted in the seat across from me, tapping his pen on the side of the page, brow wrinkled above his reading glasses. “I’m not sure it needs a rewrite but it feels so… empty.”
“Vacuous,” I said.
“Right.”
We’d chosen to have the meeting in his room, at the small table that room service had brought in for exactly this purpose. Luke had thrown the curtains open the minute we entered, affording us with a view of the forest out back, the trees silent witnesses to our discussion.
Wind toyed with their leaves, and a cat meandered through the long grass near their base. It wasn’t Mistress, but I sat up and peered at it, nonetheless. Was it crazy I was disappointed that it wasn’t Aurora’s cat out there? Yeah, you’ve officially lost it.
I dragged the end of my ballpoint down the bridge of my nose.
I’d lost Aurora in the fray this morning. A nightmare moment for me, and likely for her, too. She’d run, and I’d tried to follow, but the press of bodies had held me back and then Felicity had made an appearance… what a shit show.
Finding her after that was out of the question. The RV had been empty. The
tent at the fairgrounds, too, and heading back to the hotel had only served to put me in contact with Luke, who’d insisted we do this. Now or never, baby.
“Are you listening to me, Tombs?” Luke intoned. “I don’t think you heard a damn word I said.”
“I’m listening. I’m just… dissatisfied.” And distracted. And a total jackass for thinking I could keep Aurora. She was pure and free, and I was tied to this movie and the people involved. Which meant I was tied to Felicity, too.
“With the script?”
“Yeah. I feel—look, I started writing the damn thing when I was with Felicity,” I said. “She was the one who wanted me to do a romantic thriller, for fuck’s sake. This is the result.”
“Meaning what?”
“That the core idea is based on a time in my life I’d rather not revisit,” I replied, evenly.
Luke dropped his pen and glared at me. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“What?”
“You can’t give up on this project, now, Tombs. We’ve invested too much time and effort into it,” Luke replied.
I sighed and massaged the bridge of my nose, pen caught between my middle and index fingers. “I’m not saying I want to give up on it.” But I do. I do, and at the same time I don’t, because I’m nothing without work. I’m nobody without it. Isn’t that right? “I’m saying there’s a reason it’s not as good as it could be.”
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Luke said, and his shoulders relaxed, at last. “We’re going to fix this and make it great. I mean, the title’s good already. Pride’s Death. That’s a strong starting point.”
“All right, so the problem with the scene,” I said. Shit, this would have me in a depression in short order. I didn’t want to be here. An image of Aurora spun out of my memory. Not naked this time, no, but sitting on the front steps of her RV, holding the rose quartz crystal between her palms, lips moving soundlessly, her hair curling around her shoulders, falling past the straps of her camisole.
“Jarryd!”
“What?” I blinked out of the vision.
“Dude, you’re seriously not even here. What’s this about? Is it that chick?”
“No,” I said, a kneejerk response. “This scene is empty, like you said. It’s got nothing of substance. So, Felicity meets the main character, right? And then what, there’s chemistry and they talk. There’s no tension.” I struck the page between us. “No heat.”
“There’s nothing about heat in the script.”
“Exactly,” I replied.
Luke shook his head. “No, Jay, I mean there’s been no mention of heat prior to this. Are you suggesting that there’s no heat between you and Felicity?”
“Would you stop doing that?” I snapped. “Stop turning this into something personal. It’s not personal.”
“You wrote this script,” Luke said and snatched it up. He held it, waved it, almost whacked me on the damn nose. “Of course it’s personal. It’s your vision.”
“Not anymore,” I grunted.
Luke threw the script down, and it slapped onto the table. He scraped his chair back, neck red and forearms cording with restraint. “Cut the shit, Jay. This isn’t about the script. This is about the girl.”
“What?”
“That fortune-teller chick. You’re obsessed with her.”
I didn’t get up, didn’t rise to his taunt. Focused on the window view instead—the cat had disappeared, leaving nothing but empty space among the trunks of those trees. I shrugged my shoulders, looked back up at him. “We’re here to discuss the script, Luke, not whatever may or may not be going on in my personal life. I thought you understood that.”
“No, I thought you understood that,” Luke replied. “You’re not even focused on what we’re doing. You’re wasting my time. Hell, you’re wasting everybody’s time with this shit.”
“What do you want from me?” Lately, it seemed everyone wanted something. A little piece of Tombs for their collection. Felicity wanted the fame and the money. Luke wanted the time. And what about Aurora? What did she want?
“I want you to fucking be here instead of out there with some chick you barely know.”
“Don’t go there.”
“I’ll go wherever the hell I like.” Luke kicked the chair aside, pressing his fists to the top of the script. “Do you understand that I’m here spending time on this with you? The least you could do is be present with me. You’re making me sound like a whiny girl instead of a business partner.”
“Dude, I’m right here.”
“Then talk to me about the scene instead of daydreaming about what’s between Aurora’s legs.”
I shot upward, out of the chair. “Don’t push me, Luke. I’ve been pushed too often of late.”
“Christ, you’re so self-involved. Do you even realize what’s at stake here?” Luke’s stare heated.
I held back. This was my friend. Luke had been there for years, since the start, since I’d been an aspiring nobody without any guidance, without a clue or a hope. And now? I held two fists and pictured slamming them into his chest, knocking the wind out of him so he couldn’t speak anymore.
“Do you know what’s at stake?” he barked.
“Of course I fucking know.”
“I don’t think you do.” Luke straightened. “This movie is too big already, understand? People are involved. People have invested their time and money into this project. If we don’t finish this, they’ll lose their damn jobs. That’s money they counted on to feed their families. To pay their bills and school fees for their kiddies. Maybe that doesn’t matter to you, but it does to me.”
It mattered—I’d made sure that everyone who worked on my movies was compensated handsomely. That they didn’t want for anything, and the projects had always wound up successful as a result.
“Of course it matters to me,” I replied.
“Not as much as you matter to you. You’ll dump this project, won’t you?”
“What am I supposed to do here? If it doesn’t work, I’ll only bring everyone down with me. I don’t want everyone to fail if I can fail on my own,” I said.
“So, that’s it. That’s what’s really in your mind,” Luke snapped. He knuckled his forehead, pointed at me. “You’re a quitter.”
“Fuck you.”
“I never saw you as a quitter until now. You’re putting some bitch ahead of this movie and everyone else.”
“Luke!” I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward me, bumping him into the table, first. “Don’t you fucking dare call her that.” I shook him, muscles trembling, the ache surreal. This was my friend. My friend, and I wanted to beat the living shit out of him.
“Let go of me,” he said.
“Apologize.”
“No. If using that type of language will snap you back to reality then no.” Luke fisted my collar, too, and held it fast.
I strained against my temper, the slow burn that had started at the beginning of this week built, higher, higher. I didn’t want to explode on him. “You don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re a selfish jackass.”
I dropped my hands, and he did the same, trembling with anger. He wasn’t the same as me when it came to this. He was prone to rage, and this had pushed him to the edge. “If that’s what you think, Luke then fine,” I said. “I don’t want this project to fail, but it’s been doomed from the start.”
“Doomed. Christ, since when were you fatalistic?” Luke backed away, one step at a time, eying me as if I’d contracted a dreaded fucking disease. “No, you’ve got pussy on the mind. That’s all this is.”
“I don’t.”
We squared off, the anger dissolving piece by piece—my jaw unclenched, he ran fingers through his hair, ruffled it.
“Whatever, man,” he said. “I don’t think I know you anymore. The Jarryd I knew wouldn’t give up on a project until it was perfect.”
I wasn’t that Jarryd anymore. Or ma
ybe I was but different. Was it wrong to express unwillingness to waste time on something? Better to cut my losses now. If I’d cut my losses with Felicity, I’d never have gotten hurt or caught her cheating.
There had been warning signs.
“Call me when you’ve gotten over whatever this shit is,” Luke said then spun and stormed from his own hotel room. He slapped the door shut behind him, and I flinched at the noise.
Christ, what was the point in any of this? I’d fallen for Aurora, no point in denying it now, yet I’d managed to isolate her. Luke, my best bud who’d been there for me through thick and thin, thought I’d changed. Everything crumbled around me, and I couldn’t catch the pieces fast enough—couldn’t make the right picture with the rubble.
I picked up the script. The title Pride’s Death mocked me with its bold font, its demand for creation. I tossed it aside and pinched the bridge of my nose again. Fuck it, I didn’t give one shit about the script or the movie. I’d hurt Aurora. Or the fact that I was famous had hurt her.
I’d find a way to make this right.
“What are you doing?” I muttered. “What are you doing? This can’t go anywhere, can it?” But it had to go somewhere now. I’d already fallen for her, and I wouldn’t let her go, this beautiful, free woman who’d shown me what it meant to relax.
I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair and left Luke’s hotel room.
Chapter 18
Aurora
Customers chattered away at the tables, their noise sweeping down the aisles, erasing the negativity that had taken hold of me that morning. Knives and forks clattered against plates, a woman bust a gut laughing, and one kid let out a shrill squeal as his brother dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.
The Moondance Bar and Grill was a home away from home for a lot of folks, and I was included in that, now. I’d come into work, slipped on my apron—it had a pouch at the front for my notepad and pen—and taken up a position behind the bar to slam back my first drink of the night not an hour ago.
Now, the melancholy that had followed me in had dissipated somewhat, chased off by the happy people here. It wasn’t the dinner rush yet, but there were enough tables to keep me busy.
