Love in La La Land

by Lynn Forth

  Jane tried to suppress a yawn, but Scott had seen it.

  Aghast in case he should think he was boring her, which he was, Jane blamed a re-occurrence of the headache brought on by the accident. It was partly true, but the ache between her eyes was more probably caused by the icy sweetness of the wine and the fact that, in her tension, she had drunk far more than she’d intended.

  Scott showed such concern about her head injury that she immediately felt guilty, but it did enable her, at last, to excuse herself from an increasingly embarrassing situation. By this point, Scott’s arm had snaked round her shoulders and he was clasping her hand quite fiercely.

  She somehow extricated herself from his drunken clutches, deflected a lunging kiss so it landed on her cheek, and with a suppressed sigh of relief, fled upstairs to bed.

  Unsure about what had really being going on, Jane sat woozily on the edge of the bed, feeling slightly tipsy, alone, and totally out of her depth in this strange world.

  What had been happening down there on the couch? Scott wasn’t making a move on her, was he? If it had been anyone else, Jane would have confidently interpreted the signals and would have known whether to encourage or firmly reject the advances.

  Did she fancy him?

  Well, who wouldn’t feel definite stirrings in the presence of such handsomeness? And that body…that taut butt, that sculpted chest, and those blue, blue eyes. Yes, definitely a creeping heat overcame her as she contemplated seeing him in the buff.

  But actually as a person? Did she dare to admit to herself, after all her foolish longings, that somehow dreams were better than the reality?

  Anyway, this was silly. As flattering as it may be, surely the great Scott Flynn hadn’t been trying to seduce her.

  Had he?

  But he had been so tactile with her. Was this normal for ‘touchy-feely’ Hollywood? It had to be. It couldn’t be anything else, surely.

  This whole situation was so far out of her comfort zone, she couldn’t process it with her normal reasoning.

  To distract herself from her whirling thoughts, she turned her attention to the troubling issue of her clothes…or rather, lack of them; no nightwear, no clean underwear, and nothing clean to wear tomorrow.

  What to do?

  She had meant to broach the subject of fetching her clothes from the hotel with Scott, but it had seemed such a mundane matter that she never really got the opportunity to raise it with him. And it might sound a bit presumptuous, as if she were assuming she was staying for a long time. After all, he might want her gone by the morning.

  Shivering suddenly, Jane slipped on the soft, luxurious towelling robe and snuggled gratefully into it. If only she could adjust the freezing air-conditioning. During the day, she had left the patio doors open to help mitigate the cold, but now they were firmly closed – presumably by Maria when she came to turn down the bed.

  Jane was just about to go and open the doors again to let in some warm air, when an idea struck her. If she washed her bra and panties through tonight, she could somehow drape them discreetly on the table and chairs outside on the terrace. They would have to be hidden a bit, as the whole second floor had a wrap-around terrace which meant Scott would see them if he emerged from his bedroom next door. But the hot Californian night should dry them enough to wear in the morning, and she could easily get up early to retrieve them before Scott stirred. If they were still a bit damp, she could finish them with the hairdryer. She had done that before in her disorganised student days.

  Glad she had been wearing her best new and very flimsy underwear on that fateful visit to the studio, she gently washed them through in the huge bathroom sink. The expensive perfume from the soap filled the air. Doing something so practical and almost homely, managed to ground her amongst all this unaccustomed luxury. She even hummed to herself.

  She padded into the dark bedroom with her towel-dried undies, ready to drape the items over the outside furniture. But just as she was reaching to open the terrace door, out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadowy figure approaching it. Alarmed, she quickly checked the door was locked and froze flat against the curtain hanging down the side. The figure tried to open the door, and peered in through the flimsy gauze hanging over the darkened window.

  There was a gentle knock on the glass, and Jane realised it was Scott.

  A swift glance told her it was a half-naked Scott.

  The famous torso was bare and tanned, and framed above a towel-clad waist.

  What on earth could he want? Surely not…

  But what else?

  Trembling, heart pounding so loudly she felt sure he would hear, Jane waited, rooted to the spot as he knocked again, calling her name softly.

  The knocking grew louder and his tone became more demanding.

  ‘Jane. Jane. Open up. Open up, it’s me, Scott.’

  Jane hardly dare breathe.

  Scott peered through the glass for a long, long moment, shading his eyes to see further into the darkened room, before eventually giving up and stalking away along the terrace to his own room.

  Quick as a flash, Jane ran across and locked the bedroom door.

  Just in time.

  She watched in horror as the gilded door handle depressed several times and, once again, Scott knocked and called her name.

  Nerves jangling, Jane stood frozen, her eyes never leaving the door handle as it moved up and down ever more frantically. The knocking became more insistent, as did the voice.

  What should she do?

  How much longer could she ignore it?

  She realised with a jolt that the thought of Scott half-naked in her room filled her with dread.

  Not desire, not lust, not…well, not any of the feelings a girl ought to be having at the prospect of a hunky Hollywood heartthrob trying to enter your room, presumably to seduce you.

  Eventually, the knocking stopped and Jane’s heart started beating again…violently.

  She heard his bare feet pad along the marble landing back to his room. Suddenly, her knees gave way, and she slid to the cold, shiny floor.

  What had just happened?

  Curled up in a ball, trembling with tension, she tried to analyse the situation. A man who could have anyone – well, almost anyone – on the planet, would surely not look twice at her.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Was he just checking how she was feeling? If her headache had gone? Yes, yes, that was much more likely. How stupid to think anything else.

  But whatever his motives were, how could she account for the fact she hadn’t opened the door to him? What would she say in the morning? She couldn’t let on that she’d heard him.

  Gradually, the panic subsided and she began to think rationally.

  A bath, that’s it. She could say she had been having a long soak with the bathroom door closed; there was a music system in there, so that would explain why she hadn’t heard him. She would just have to drop that nonchalantly into the breakfast conversation. Would that work?

  Yes, but maybe she should actually have a bath to make it seem plausible. She ran into the bathroom then realised she was still clutching her dripping bra and pants.

  She daren’t go out onto the terrace now to dry them. What on earth could she wear to breakfast – damp underwear under her flimsy dress?

  Calm down, have a bath, lock the door…and think, she told herself.

  Frantically, Jane busied herself running the bath, putting in wonderful sweet-smelling oils, and then found some soothing music. Lying there luxuriating, she eventually came up with a plan.

  If she waited long enough, Scott would eventually drop to sleep and she could put her undies out to dry and, as per her original plan, wake up early to retrieve them. Even if they couldn’t be totally dried with the hairdryer, it wouldn’t be the end of the world to wear them damp. Better that than be naked.

  She definitely couldn’t go commando, not in front of Scott. In fact, she must be very careful about what signals she gave ou
t. She couldn’t even appear at breakfast wearing the towelling robe. No, she must be fully dressed and totally un-alluring.

  Thank goodness her new blue silk dress, bought specially for the trip, had been miraculously dry cleaned and pressed while she was in hospital. She had been told they had managed to remove the blood stains that had dripped from her head wound, relatively easily.

  Brought up on the NHS, Jane had trouble imagining a world where a hospital would do that sort of thing. But the nurses had been surprised at her astonishment. It was a top-class hospital with very high fees, so that was a routine – if no-doubt costly – service. Jane had tried to offer her insurance details but they had been waved away. Scott’s credit card had been more than adequate to cover it.

  That only increased her guilt about not responding more to his charms. Perhaps that was it. He had paid out a lot of money for her, so was he just trying to collect what he thought were his dues?

  Surely not. No matter what she owed him, he couldn’t expect her to pay in kind. Could he?

  She sighed. Had she been naïve in accepting his invitation to stay? Although he had specifically made it clear she would be in the guest room, hadn’t he? This was all proving to be much more complicated than she had expected. She wanted out as quickly as possible, so she began formulating a plan.

  She knew Scott had an early start at the studio in the morning, as he had spent a long time telling her how he was going to tackle his forthcoming scene with Savannah. Actually, a very long time telling her. Why, she couldn’t fathom, but by that point she had barely been listening.

  She decided that, firstly, she must have breakfast with him so she could drop in the reference to her bath, her headache, and how restored she felt after a wonderful night’s sleep. And to lay on thick her gratitude for his hospitality. She must overcome her English reticence. During the evening, her praise for his acting had been sincere and glowing, but he had pushed her for more. When she had exhausted her superlatives, he had taken over and quoted the lavish reviews from the press. So, he clearly required higher levels of gush than she had been giving. If she could summon up the requisite Hollywood hyperbole, perhaps he wouldn’t feel she needed to thank him in kind – if that was what he was thinking.

  Then there was the problem of her clothes. She couldn’t keep washing her underwear each night. She must get to her hotel room to retrieve her luggage.

  But then what? If she stayed, would Scott try again? She really couldn’t believe he was trying to seduce her, but how could she relax in the house with this uncertainty preying on her mind?

  She had to leave; that was crystal clear to her. But what excuse could she give for leaving his house?

  Perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Perhaps he would want her gone by tomorrow. She fervently hoped so.

  At breakfast he would probably hint she should go and, with profuse gratitude for his hospitality, she could rush back to her hotel and then plan her journey home.

  And with what a tale to tell the family!

  She began embroidering – and censoring – her tale for family consumption. Only Milly would get the full unexpurgated picture.

  But should she tell her sister about Jack?

  Her heart sank a little as she realised her only regret would be never seeing Jack again. Obviously, it would be nice to thank him in person for his concern and solicitude in the hospital. No other reason, of course, although the thought of him sent soft shivers over the surface of her skin, rippling the scented silky water. She smiled at the image of him lifting her up as she lost consciousness.

  Wow! She could say she swooned. Swooned in his arms.

  How romantic was that!

  She shook herself. No, she wasn’t like her mother, who had fallen in love with her father at first sight. Or like her sisters, who all swore they had known true love the instant they met their husbands.

  No, even though she was the romantic novelist of the family, she was made of sterner stuff than that. Here she was at 27, heart intact, and still unmarried – unheard of in the Jones family, where all six of her sisters had married young and become mothers within a year.

  Lying soaking in the rose-scented bubbles, she tried to logically analyse her feelings for Jack. Yes, she acknowledged that her heart had unaccountably leapt at the first sight of him, but it certainly hadn’t been captured.

  It hadn’t been a case of love at first sight. Far from it. But she had to admit to herself, it had definitely been lust at first sight. Yup, from the moment he emerged from the booth, tall, powerful and brooding… Stop.

  Was he brooding? No. She was mixing him up with her image of Heathcliff. This romanticising of him really wouldn’t do. He was not some Byronic hero.

  But, unlike Scott, he definitely towered over her. The way he filled the door frame, so sort of indolently…his broad shoulders…those long legs…well, his whole physique really…he was just so, so fanciable.

  She could feel again the prickling of her skin as she thought about their first meeting. Or was that just the sudden blast of cold air from the air-con? Yes, that was it.

  But then those chocolate brown eyes, and the way they crinkled at the edges when he smiled down at her, and as he bent towards her as she lay in her hospital bed…

  No. Stop. Stop now. She sat up in her bath, feeling hot and steamy. The physical attraction was definitely there. But then, it had been with Darren, too, and look how that had turned out.

  She must stop these lustful thoughts. They were dangerous. She couldn’t believe she could be so stupid. A man she barely knew. And so arrogant. All those desecrating changes to her book.

  But then again, his kindness, too. Lifting her into the ambulance, sorting out her hotel.

  This would never do. She couldn’t, wouldn’t spend all this useless time shilly-shallying over a man she would probably never see again. No, she must address herself to the Scott-shaped problem much closer at hand, and sort that out.

  Soothed by the bath, strategy in place, she emerged to stroke perfumed unguents all over her body. So pampering. So relaxing.

  With no sound from the terrace, she stealthily opened the door. Hot air engulfed her body. The deafening incessant chirping of cicadas filled the night. How wonderful to stay outside and revel in the sweet scents from the garden, but instead she crouched furtively forward and hung her bra and panties under the patio table. Silently, creeping back into the cold, silent cocoon of the bedroom, she carefully locked the door behind her. Then, flopping exhausted into the billowing bed, she fell sound asleep until the bright Californian sun woke her in time to fetch in her bone-dry undies at the start of another hot Hollywood day.

  Chapter Six

  Listening intently, Jane managed to time it so that Scott was breakfasted and almost on his way as she emerged downstairs, showered and fully dressed. He looked a little hungover and annoyed as she bade him a chirpy good morning and said what a good night’s sleep she’d had after her lovely long soak in the bath. And what a good sound system there was in the bathroom.

  ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you by having it on too loud,’ she said, as innocently as she could.

  He paused and mulled over her statement. Then a light of understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes, and he immediately cheered up.

  Jane continued with her carefully rehearsed speech. ‘This has all been so wonderful, Scott. I can’t thank you enough, but I really mustn’t trespass on your goodwill any longer.’

  Scott seemed to digest this a little before he realised what she was saying.

  ‘Oh, you can’t leave yet, little lady,’’ he said matter-of-factly, giving her an engaging smile.

  Jane was taken aback. She had been sure he would breathe a sigh of relief and be glad to see her gone.

  ‘But you’ve been too kind to me already, and—’

  ‘No, little lady. I invited you to stay, and you really aren’t properly well yet.’

  ‘I am. I am. Honestly, I’ve never felt better.’

  �
��But you still had a headache last night, didn’t you?’

  Oh, why had she said that?

  ‘But it’s gone this morning,’ she protested brightly. Gritting her teeth at the prospect of yet another ‘little lady’, she had a moment of inspiration. ‘In fact, I feel quite like the old Jane again.’

  ‘No…um, Jane, you really must stay until you are a hundred per cent recovered. And I haven’t had a chance to show you around Hollywood yet,’ Scott said, with a determined look in his eye.

  Jane had a fleeting moment of despair, then a sudden thought hit her. ‘Well, that would be…um, nice. I don’t suppose you know any producers who might want to read my new book.’

  ‘Of course, I do.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Look, little…um, Jane, you give me that new book of yours and I’ll make sure the right people read it. Trust me. On my say-so, they will lap it up. Especially if it’s got a starring part for me in it, eh?’

  Jane gulped. Her main character was a woman, but if Scott could really open some doors… She felt herself illuminated with a ray of hope, and grinned at him.

  Scott beamed. She really did look very fanciable. Those excited, bright eyes and that open, kissable mouth.

  ‘You really must come to see me on set.’ He patted her hand. ‘You wouldn’t want to leave and miss that now, would you?’

  Although his plan hadn’t worked so far, he had an even better one. He would seduce Jane tonight and then flaunt her in full, rosy flush on set tomorrow when Savannah had a difficult scene with Merle. That would teach his co-star to accuse him of getting too self-centred and arrogant.

  And how good it would be to parade her in front of Jack.

  Pleased with himself, he embraced her and whispered in her ear, ‘Wish me luck with my love scene today.’

  He bent to kiss her on the lips, but Jane seemed to move her head so his lips just brushed her cheek.

  Surprised, he gave her a hard look, but Jane – blushing fiercely – avoided his eyes. With mounting glee, he decided it was just as he suspected; she really was shy, modest, so very English…and possibly a virgin.