“She’s as tough as nails, Dane. Don’t let the country girl in bad jeans fool you. She stole your hat this morning.”
“Shhh!”
“She probably planned that whole fiasco to get into my wardrobe closet and make me feel guilty.”
“I’m not manipulative, Scott, and I never have been.” I look back toward Dane. “I stole—” I clear my throat. “—borrowed your hat because for some reason I thought it would bring me good luck.”
“Did it?” he asks.
“I have the job, so I guess so.” But maybe tomorrow I could steal you and we’d be set!
“Don’t feel for Alexa. She’s all venom—a snake coiled up in a magnificent skin.”
“She brought me home tonight, and she bought me something to eat. I have to believe there’s some kind of decency in her. Something you’ve missed. I’m going to write an e-mail and watch a movie on the computer.”
Dane stands up. “You can watch a movie out here. I’ll leave.”
I smile at his thoughtfulness. At this moment, I need that kind of sweetness. “I’ll be more comfortable in bed. Good night.”
“Did she look good?” Scott asks me suddenly. “Alexa. Did she look good? Did she look happy?”
“She looked magnificent. I was absolutely invisible beside her.”
“That probably had something to do with that haircut.” “She’s a sweet girl. Maybe a little on the psychotic side, but then you’re not exactly Prince Charming either. If it’s not her, what exactly are you looking for? Who would you sweep into your arms and take to safety?”
Dane looks up again at this and raises an eyebrow.
“Ignore her—she has this weird, antichristian fantasy about Cary Grant rescuing her.” Scott points to his head and spins his finger. “I think she watched Notorious one too many Saturday nights. The result of being dateless in high school.”
“How do you know it’s antichristian?” I ask. “You, who used to cut Sunday school?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Just never mind. In the old movies they closed the door on any of that business.” I stick my tongue out at him. Some things never change.
“You were dateless in high school?” Dane asks, shaking his head. “What is wrong with the boys in Wyoming?”
I take a moment to smile at Dane. Again. He’s going to think I have some sort of facial tick. Always smiling and grinning at him.
“She had the restaurant staff eating out of her hand. Men buying her drinks at will. I told her to take the ring off, but she said it actually helps her get more attention.”
Scott’s face flinches, and for the briefest of seconds I see the remnant of the man I knew in Wyoming. “What did you talk about at dinner?”
“Los Angeles. Beverly Hills. How to make things work for me here. She was very helpful. She came here from Texas and had a lot of advice on how to present myself well. She thinks two-button jackets are the right look for me.”
At this, Scott’s jaw clenches as he bites down. He obviously doesn’t like sharing the stylist spotlight.
“It’s the cut that matters, not how many buttons there are.”
“Oh, she said that too.”
Naturally, we talked about Scott. But that is exactly what he’s looking for, so I choose a more circuitous route— my own turn at being passive-aggressive. Men—let me rephrase that: the men I know—are like trapped animals when it comes to commitment. If they think they’re going to be caught in the snare, they retreat like moles into a dark corner. Or in this case, a bachelor-pad loft. Talking with Alexa, my mission had become clear to me. Getting Scott married off would be like breaking the family curse, so I intended to do my best to see that it happened.
For some reason, Alexa thinks my cousin is the bee’s knees. I’m the first to admit he can con a queen bee into honey. I’m mean, come on: “I’m the blackness in your universe helping you shine”? No woman on earth is dumb enough to fall for that line. Unless she wants to fall for it.
The scent from Scott’s carton of garlic noodles is overpowering. He shoves a forkful into his mouth. “You don’t know the whole story, Sarah,” he says around the food.
“Gross, would you close your mouth? I—” I pat my chest. “I plan to be the one to break our reign of isolation.” I have confidence. “When I get my mother into rehab and she’s safely in a new line of work, things will change for me. Yoshi will ask me for advice, stars of stage and screen will ask me for an autograph—that kind of thing.”
“I think you have more chance of the Cary Grant reincarnation happening. And I know you don’t even believe in that sort of thing. That’s how ridiculously optimistic I find your thinking.”
“My mom just needs a change of scenery. In Sable, our family is the black sheep, the other woman, the barkeep. What if she came here and found a new title for herself? What if she was the infamous Sarah Winston’s mother?It worked for Stallone’s mom.”
“Uh-huh. Sure it did.”
“What if my mom came out here and went to college? She’s smart, you know.”
“She’s not that smart. She’s been in jail more times than I’ve got fingers. Smart people generally stay out of the pokey and they aren’t on a first-name basis with their bail bondsman.”
“It’s time for my movie.” I lower my voice. “Dane, thanks for offering me the television out here.”
“Dane.” My cousin’s falsetto mimics me. “Can I steal your hat for the movie? It makes me . . .” He lowers his voice to a Marilyn Monroe purr. “It makes me feel so..... Well, you know, some like it hot.”
“Grow up.” I’m an angry nine-year-old. All that’s lacking is the foot stomp. I look to Dane, but he says nothing. He just gets up and walks toward his room.
I have an amazing ability to repel men I find attractive. Dane has just joined the ranks.
“Thanks a lot. Don’t make me act like that.”
“I cannot help the way you act. Unlike you, Sarah Claire, I don’t take on responsibility for other people’s garbage. I have enough of my own.”
“Like I don’t.”
“So your plan is to have this husband-to-be arrive from the past, I take it.” Scott laughs at this. “Because you are aware there will probably have to be a great paradigm shift of time for this to happen. For your mother to get a new line of work, I mean. Face it, that bar is her shell.”
“What did I say to Dane?”
“You’re avoiding the subject. I believe we were talking about breaking the family marital curse.”
I am talking about breaking the family curse. “There’s got to be a man in the greater LA basin searching for a practical yet ambitious career-minded Christian girl, and I intend to find him.”
Dane opens his door and comes searching for his magazine.
“Maybe you should do one of those prison programs. You know, write-to-the-convict. They’re always looking for upwardly mobile people with fear-of-intimacy issues. What do you think, Dane?”
“You found someone willing to marry you, my friend. I doubt your cousin will have to make such an effort. Those skinny jeans are good for at least one commitment.” Dane winks at me.
He winked at me! He did notice. “Thank you, Dane.” I step forward, hoping to continue our conversation, and I can see it in his eyes that he wants to. But something stops him, and he stashes the magazine under his arm, looking back at Scott.
“Men don’t think all that clearly when they see a pretty face like hers in jeans.”
“It isn’t a pretty face that gets noticed,” Scott says.
I watch the exchange take place between my cousin and Dane. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Dane says.
“Hey, if I’m going to live in a bachelor’s crib, I deserve a few details.” I try to keep my voice lighthearted, but it’s pounding in my chest.
Dane starts to chuckle. “Does this look like a crib, Sarah?”
I look around the spotless room, where Scott’s noodles and
Dane’s U.S. News & World Report are the only sign of humanity.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I tell him, thinking back to my filthy, bleach-induced youth.
Dane walks closer to me, his eyes unwavering, until he stands right in front me. Slowly he reaches around me with his arm, and I feel his wrist at my waist. His touch brings my body to life as his face nears my own, and for a moment I think he’s about to kiss me. Then he . . . pulls a piece of mail from the counter and steps back. “Looks can be deceiving.”
What . . . I blink, trying to regain composure as my face flames. I’d thought . . . Oh.
“Don’t you have a glass carriage waiting to take you to 1940 or something?” Scott asks.
“I said that when I was twelve, Scott. I’ve grown up a little since then.” Barely, but still. “Deep down in our hearts, who doesn’t wish for the kind of love that comes from a different time?” Still trying to recover from my humiliation, I refuse to look over at Dane.
“People who live in reality, Sarah Claire, that’s who.”
“Reality bites. I need a shower. Besides picking up a little LA sidewalk bacteria—excuse me, Hollywood bacteria—I just feel grimy, and I have a haircut to fix.” I pull my portfolio close to my chest. But who am I kidding—I know I’m going straight for the TV. I need as a good dose of Cary, is what I need. I look back at Scott. “If you have anything for me to wear, I could use one more day of nice clothes. If not, I’ll mix and match with my fake Laundry pants. It seems skinny jeans are out.”
“Jeans with seams at the back of the knee are always out. There’re a few things in your closet. Help yourself. They’re all last season, but on your salary, one can’t expect much more than that.”
I walk down the hallway. But as I’m about to enter the doorway, I notice Dane is behind me. I turn and am faced once again with his piercing sable eyes. My mind immediately goes to prayer. Lord, You did good on this one. (I didn’t say it was a good prayer!)
I know everyone says that about the piercing eyes. But his really are intense—in a sexy way, not that creepy, Christopher Walken way. I wonder momentarily if they’re contacts. But no one would bother with fake brown eyes. Would they? Then again, this is LA—one never knows what’s real and what isn’t. I read last year alone America had 270,000 boob jobs. That’s a half a million fake things right there.
“I’m sure Alexa never meant to frighten you,” he She’s very territorial when it comes to Scott.”
“Thanks,” I say, a little more dramatically than I'm feeling. I’ll take attention where I can get it, especially when I get to see Dane close up. Even if he did just fake me out.
He is deep. Intense. In a way that I can’t get close to but feel as though I’m meant to. I feel like I’ve known him all my life. “Of all the gin joints in all the world . . .”
He clears his throat as though he’s about to say something important. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be walking the streets of Hollywood alone.”
“That’s something we can agree on.”
He steps closer to me, and I can feel my heart pounding at his proximity. I want to close my eyes and have a real Hollywood moment. Right here in Hollywood. If I closed my eyes and tilted my chin, puckered my lips ever so slightly, would he kiss me?
I pray he can’t hear my heart pounding, for it’s so pathetic. Leaning up against the door, I drink in his gaze, then scramble to refocus on the wall behind him rather than allow my mind to wander to bad World War II fantasies. I hear the scratchy sounds of “I Love You for Sentimental Reasons.” It’s as though he’s floated across the foggy tarmac for me, calling out my name, rather than the mundane truth of walking up the hallway to warn me of my own lack of common sense.
I can’t remember when someone ever looked at me like Dane is. I’m completely powerless under his intensity. I feel parched and isolated from everything I know, and I can’t trust myself to behave as I always have because Dane is the epitome of all I imagined. He’s the human form of the hero I’ve daydreamed about for so many years, though I never saw his face in my dreams—except when I opened my eyes and saw Cary’s poster.
But it wasn’t Cary’s looks, it was his brain and capacity for the different that attracted me. What if Dane’s none of those things? What if this magnetism I feel is totally one-sided?
I pull away from the wall and stand up straight, reminding myself this is exactly how my mother would come home when she was certain she’d met “the one.” Two weeks later she’d describe the same man as Satan himself.
But looking up at Dane, it’s easy to see why I haven’t given up on the idea of romance. I keep trying to stare at the wall, but his gaze wins out consistently. Which isn’t good—when your longings and dream life are as strong as mine, it’s easy to see everything you want in a gaze. And it’s alie, I remind myself.
I try to will his expression to show me the truth of his feelings for me. Although, what am I expecting? I’ve only known him a day. “It’s only been a day.”
“What?” He furrows his brow.
I clear my throat. “I’m glad Alexa was following my cousin, or I might never have found my way here again. I didn’t see a lot of taxis in town.”
“Your cousin told me you might be interested in going with me to church on Sunday.”
I nod, a little too frantically.
“I have a great little church that meets in Hollywood.It has Baptist roots, but it’s a community church.”
“Mrs. Gentry would be pleased.”
“Who?”
“She’s my adopted grandmother back home. She was very worried about me coming to the big city alone.”
“Well, you had your cousin out here.”
“Actually, she knows Scott. I think that made her more nervous.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Scott told me you were a Christian. And don’t worry, he also explained you’re off limits. So I have no plans to hit on you.”
“Did he say why I was off-limits?” I ask, hoping he’ll explain the earlier exchange between him and my cousin.
“I assumed it was because he acts like your big brother, but I told him not to worry, I had no intention of making a play for his precious Sarah Claire.”
“Right.”
“Wait.” He disappears into his room for a second, then returns. “Here’s my business card.” He hands it to me after writing his cell number on the back. “Don’t walk again, at least not until you know the neighborhoods. Please call me when you need a ride; my schedule is flexible, and I can get you anytime.” He pauses. “I meant that I had no intentions, but that was before I met you.”
Gulp.
“Call day or night, Sarah. I’m a light sleeper.”
I feel my mind start to wander into places it shouldn’t. I hold the card up. “Thank you, Dane.”
He comes closer to me, and I focus on the cleft in his chin rather than the sable eyes that seem to hypnotize me at will. There’s a current running between the two of us, and my stomach surges with the warmth. I wish I could just fall into his arms. Honestly. I wish I didn’t know better. It's as though we can’t separate, and I close my eyes and drink in this moment. It’s lovely and toxic all at once.
chapter 8
Nothing makes a woman more beautiful
than the belief that she is beautiful.
~ Sophia Loren
I ’ve read through Yoshi’s manual a few times. The gist of it is this: be a doormat and like it. Luckily, I’m well-prepared for that. I study the labels on all the clothes Scott threw at me and check the Internet to decipher a few. May I just say, anyone who buys clothes simply because of a label needs to go live in a third-world country for a while—even a small town in America. Well, okay, maybe that’s harsh. Designers need to make a living too, I suppose. But do they have to fuel the inadequacies of women to do it? I do notice the stitching and cut are nice, but when you get into couture, it’s just ridiculously expensive as far as I’m concerned. And I’m worried about
impressing people . . . why?
When I log on, there’s an e-mail from Kate. Ah, normal Sable style.
TO: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Men stink
So after you left, Ryan decides to get his panties in a bunch because he feels like now that you’re gone, I’ll spend my time with him. I mean, I love the man and all, but please! A girl needs her space, you know? I spend all day twirling pin curls and coloring old ladies’ hair various shades of Easter egg. I want to relax. He wants me to listen to his mother so she can tell me all about being a rancher’s wife and how to cook properly. Hello? Am I not a hairdresser? Do I want to be nothing but a rancher’s wife? Maybe raise a Cindy Simmons of my own?
Speaking of which, the new rumor is that it was Ryan who got you pregnant, so we’re not friends anymore. Ah, the National Enquirer Sable style. We really need a movie theater here. Any empty chairs there at Yoshi?
Luv ya, miss you already. Me.
P.S. Did you see the ocean yet?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Men do not stink—especially Ryan
Chill, girlfriend. You have a fabulous catch in Ryan, and don’t go thinking the grass is greener like I did. Sable is your town, girl, you own it! I’m here in California and the men are all prettier than me. Probably skinnier too. I was good with that until I met a personal trainer today at Cary Grant’s star. AAAAHHH, can you stand it? I saw it!!! Had a moment. Anyway, met a trainer, whose bulging pecs actually made his chest bigger than mine (he wasn’t wearing a shirt—don’t ask!) Anyway, that was a little disconcerting. I can handle being smaller than the plastic chicks, but sheesh, muscle men? That’s just wrong.
Scott was engaged! Do not pass that on—he’ll kill me, and he’s already looking to throw me out. Not really, but I am annoying him. We’re annoying each other. His fiancée is so beautiful, but they’re not getting married. Not sure why yet, but I think he’s an idiot. Of course, I guess I always did.
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