by Chant, Zoe
He blinked, as she said, “Your early films. I mean, I know how bad student films can be. You were kids. Believe me, I participated in some howlers at UCLA. And we thought they were great at the time.” Her entrancing lips curved. “The deep and meaningful ones were the worst.”
He grasped gratefully at this straw. “I have bored people into catatonia describing what we thought were surefire Oscar winners. Let me put it this way. The last time my buddies were in town, after a few beers we decided to screen one of these. I thought we were going into cardiac arrest. At the serious parts.”
He began to summarize his first precious film project, and smiled inwardly to see her doubt change to quiet laughter.
She responded by telling him about a senior’s final film project that she’d acted in, a painfully earnest examination of the need for recycling that had featured, for some reason known only to the filmmaker, students dressed as crows in order to symbolize the imminent destruction of the world.
“Each scene ended with us flapping and hopping around in circles, then swooping in slowly toward the camera to embrace it with our dark wings. I felt pretty dorky,” Shelley admitted. “But when the auteur screened the final film for us, we crows turned out to be only watchable part of it.”
“The rest being a couple of guys standing around speechifying, as the camera hopped and swooped around them—guaranteeing seasickness in all but the hardiest viewers.”
“You actually saw it?” Shelley asked.
“I was invited to judge the senior projects that year,” he replied. “It was one of the first of the batch. After three or four even more . . . earnest, shall we say, one of the senior profs took me out for a stiff drink and assured me that they were only going to get worse.”
After more discussion of disastrous movies they’d been involved in, he became aware that the shadows had shifted dramatically. Their one hour lunch had turned into almost three hours.
“We’d better go,” he said. “We don’t want to be up here after dark.”
He paid, texted his drivers to meet them back at the lot, and they raced off to regain the trail. Because it was so late, they took the straightest route back, riding side by side. He could see the enjoyment in her grin. She clearly loved fast machines, wind, and sky as much as he did, and there was nothing more graceful, exciting, or sexy than the sight of Shelley handling that bike.
Which gave him an idea.
By the time they reached the private lot belonging to one of his trail-riding friends, the shadows had stretched long. Mick had stuck to his plan, but as they climbed off the bikes, he was already searching his mind for a way to prolong the date.
Once the bikes had been wheeled onto the trailer, those guys took off, leaving Shelley and Mick with the Lexus she’d ridden in and Mick’s Mercedes. The driver of the Lexus waited, texting on his phone.
Mick turned to Shelley. “I’d be delighted to drive you home. Or if you’re hungry, maybe we could discuss a new idea I have. Over dinner.”
Her lips parted, then her head dropped and she made a gesture at her dirt-spattered clothes that Mick interpreted as ‘I’m dressed for riding, not for dinner.’
He flicked a look at the driver, who stood a discreet distance away, apparently absorbed in his phone. Mick restrained himself from blurting what he really thought, which was, I like you whatever you wear. Including wearing nothing.
Stick to the plan!
She also glanced at the driver, then said, “I need to go home and grab a shower. Then I’d be glad to meet you anywhere.”
Nothing would be easier than assigning a driver to her, to make her comfortable. To treat her the way he thought she deserved. But he sensed in her watchful gaze and tense shoulders that she needed some boundaries.
“Sure,” he said. The flash of relief in her expression convinced him that he’d guessed right.
He was surprised at the sharp sense of disappointment that she needed distance between them, as though she didn’t trust him. He kept his voice neutral as they agreed on one of his favorite restaurants, which that was not frequented by the gossiping Hollywood crowd. He wanted Shelley all to himself.
***
Shelley got home, having spent the entire trip running mentally through her wardrobe.
“How’d it go?” Jan asked.
“Great. Fantastic. He wants to meet for dinner. To talk over an idea, he says.”
“An idea?” Jan repeated. “What kind of idea?”
“Didn’t say. I’ve got nothing to wear!”
Jan mimed shock. “Words I never thought to hear from you. What happened to ‘Which of my three date outfits will I put on this time?’ or the old favorite, ‘If he doesn’t like my wardrobe, he can take a hike. I dress for comfort,’” Jan said, complete with hand-waving air quotes. “You must have it bad for this guy.”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Too soon.”
“Too soon?” Jan asked. “After what the two of you have been doing?”
“That’s just it. Out of all the time we’ve been together, that is, two days and one really, really memorable night, we’ve only talked today.”
“Okay, this is true.”
“And I don’t want to end up wearing my two-year-old bought-on-sale date outfits to some fancy restaurant where they charge ten bucks for a glass of water, and have the upper crust of Hollywood wondering if he’s taking out the maid,” Shelley said.
“Maybe he won’t take you to one of those places.”
“Yes, so then I wonder if he’s ashamed to be seen with me.”
“Shelley.” Jan drew out her name in a low, thrilling tremolo. “Is it possible that you are seriously overthinking this?”
“Right. Right. Okay, outfit number one it is.”
On the drive to the restaurant, a small place in the Valley, Shelley brooded. She wasn’t sure she liked the woman she’d become. Even in the early days of her relationship with Dominic, when he’d been dazzling her by saying what she wanted to hear, she hadn’t felt this way. She’d come to the painful realization that with Dominic, she’d been more in love with the idea of being in love. And though her brothers had spent years training her how to handle attackers, she’d been a sitting duck for the insidious type of predator.
Turning herself into a woman who never let things get past two dates had supposedly solved that problem. But as she pulled into the parking lot, she knew that it had been easy because she hadn’t cared about any of the guys she’d tried on those one stop shopping dates.
They hadn’t been sleazebags, either. She’d just not cared.
Until now.
A few minutes later she sat down across from Mick, and her nerves calmed under the effect of his smile. She kept forgetting the way he looked at her with that smile in his eyes. For a moment, she felt like she was seeing herself through his eyes. Not a two-year-old pale blue wrap top over her utility black broomstick skirt, but how the soft fabric clung to her curves as it crossed over her chest, and how the crinkly skirt hinted at the outline of her long legs. With his eyes on her, she felt like she’d just walked out of a Rodeo Drive boutique wearing five grand worth of bespoke clothes.
They ordered drinks, food, and chatted pleasant nothings, but when at last they were alone he leaned on his elbows. All her worries and questions vanished when he said, “I’d like to create a show around you.”
“Me?” she repeated, then looked at him suspiciously. “In a fat suit?”
“Do you want to do that kind of comedy?”
“No,” Shelley replied. “Though I know I’m good at it.”
“True, but I’m not good at comedy. That takes a special skill. Instead of another show centered on another stubble-chinned guy fighting his way through drug lords or gangsters, I want to do a remake of Route 66. It would be about a lone woman riding cross-country on the old route.”
“Me?”
He lowered his voice. “I know it’s a lot to think about. You don’t have to answer right now. I was going to s
uggest this. I have a place up in Idyllwild. Four guest rooms. Take your pick. We’ll spend a few days doing some riding shots so I can put together something for the networks and the money people to look at.”
Considering how few shows there were starring women, especially women who didn’t fit the usual type, she knew it would be a crime to turn him down. Besides . . .
She gazed across the table at his eyes, which looked honey-brown in the candlelight, and said, “When?”
He shrugged, smiled, and said, “The weather is great. Anything the post-production people need from me can be done by wifi. How about we beat the traffic and leave tonight?”
Shelley blinked, her entire body aflame like those candles. “Sure.”
And as they ate, he began throwing out ideas, his accent subtly strengthening as his enthusiasm took fire. She tossed in a few of her own ideas, appreciating the way he listened, gave a little nod, then began weaving her ideas into his own rapidly evolving thoughts.
When it was time to leave, Shelley excused herself to visit the restroom, where she called Jan, who answered on the third ring.
“Where are you?” Shelley asked, holding the phone away from her ear because of the background noise.
“Kara invited a few people over for Rob’s birthday,” Jan replied. “What’s up?”
“Oh, what a relief. You’re only two blocks away from the apartment. Jan, I need your help.”
“Hang on on-n-n-n-e sec.” Shelley heard muffled noises, then the slamming of a door. “Okay, I’m in the bathroom,” Jan whispered. “What happened?”
“Are the roommates home?”
“Not sure about Annette, but I heard Taylor’s TV booming, and she left zero calorie popcorn all over the kitchen counter. I think she’s in her lair for the night.”
“Hell.” Shelley quickly told Jan what had happened, then broke into Jan’s squeal of glee. “Jan! Focus! I need you to get rid of the roommates. Can you do that? I don’t mind Annette, but if Taylor is there, you know how she’ll be.”
“Yes! Score! She takes one look at Mick Volkov walking into our crappy apartment, she will have to shut up about the ice cream at last!”
“And that’s exactly why I don’t want her to see him,” Shelley said.
“Because of the ice cream?”
“Because he’s Mick Volkov. I mean, famous.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Jan asked.
“It will be if this doesn’t work out. If I was bringing over an ordinary guy, and he disappears a week later, we’re back to square one. But whatever happens with Mick, all ten billion of her Facebook friends will hear about it. And if it goes sour, I will be poor-babied to death in that smirking fake pity she is so good at. Especially when I bring home a pint of consolation ice cream.”
“You’re r-r-r-right.” Jan trilled the ‘r’. “I’ve had too many of Rob’s power Margaritas. I can’t think strategically. However, I can think tactically.”
“What does that mean?” Shelley asked, halfway between laughter and exasperation.
“It means, isn’t it Taylor’s turn to deal with the plumbing?”
“Technically,” Shelley said. “Except she somehow always has an emergency when it’s her turn to wield the Plunger of Doom. What has that to do with anything?”
“Your psychic brother’s powers have rubbed off on me. Woo-ooo,” Jan crooned, making Twilight Zone noises into the phone. “I predict that the sink is about to get really nasty. Where are you?” And after Shelley told her, she said, “Good, half an hour if the traffic is the usual mess. By the time you get here, the coast will be clear.”
Shelley breathed a sigh of relief as they ended the call. Maybe Jan was one margarita away from being plastered, but she’d never let Shelley down yet.
She walked out and found Mick waiting. “Ready,” she said.
***
Shelley had agreed with Mick that the simplest thing was for him to follow her to her place so she could park her car and pack, and they could leave from there.
At first he was dismayed at the mixed signals he got from her. She seemed as enthusiastic about the new idea as he, but she’d closed up like a book when he’d suggested stopping by her place.
He half expected her to tell him to wait in his car when they drove up a narrow street in mid-LA lined by seedy apartment buildings. He managed to find parking when someone pulled out, and watched Shelley carefully fit her banged-up old Toyota into a tight, awkward space by a flimsy-looking sixties apartment building.
She came around front, and when he got out to meet her, she said, “I’ll only be five minutes.” Then, trying to hide her reluctance, “If you’d like to come in . . .” She didn’t look at him.
He almost said he’d stay, except for intense curiosity. Already his instinct to sweep her away was revving into overdrive. He knew exactly what kind of digs these were—he’d lived in similar ones during his student days.
She opened the door to a cramped room that was part living room, part kitchen divided by a narrow breakfast bar too badly designed to actually sit at. It was piled with mail and other stuff.
A small, round, fair-haired woman stood up, smiling.
“This is Jan,” Shelley said. “One of my roommates.”
One? This place would be crowded for two, Mick thought as he shook hands with Jan.
Shelley said, “It’ll only take me a minute.” She vanished into the narrow hall, leaving him with Jan, who whiffed strongly of tequila.
He started to follow Shelley, but Jan stuck out her arm. “Trust me. There isn’t room for two in that closet. Can I just say that I love all your pictures?” Jan smiled up at him, rosy-faced. Yep, she was pretty toasted.
“Thank you,” Mick responded, still standing there, feeling as awkward as a kid again.
“Oh.” Jan blinked owlishly around the room as if she’d just discovered it. Then she hastily smoothed an Indian print cloth over a rump-sprung couch of an ugly color that had been popular with cheapo landlords in the eighties. “Please. Have a seat.”
She plopped into a shapeless chair also covered with a cotton print.
He cleared his throat, and to make conversation, said, “How long have you known Shelley?”
“Since college.” Jan leaned forward and fixed Mick with an unwinking gaze. “Shell is the most successful of us all. As she should be, she’s so talented!”
Mick couldn’t help a glance around the seedy apartment.
Jan said with an air of imparting an ominous hint, “She used to have a nice place.”
There was so much meaning in her voice that Mick wondered how he could get out of an excruciating situation. It felt like he’d fallen into a bad movie.
Jan huffed, sat back, crossed her arms, and added darkly, “Well, let’s just leave it at this: Shelley really, really hates lies. And surprises. She has good reason.”
Shelley reappeared, looking a little wild-eyed. “I’m ready. I hope I didn’t take too long.”
“I just sat down,” Mick said, getting up. He resisted the urge to brush off the back of his trousers, and bade Jan a polite good-bye.
“Have fun.” Jan waved vigorously as the door closed.
Shelley pushed a battered-looking small suitcase, walking away rapidly with an air of someone escaping a gulag. They loaded her case into the trunk of his car and got in.
“Your friend seems like a nice person,” he began, thinking, but I hope she doesn’t drink alone.
Shelley cast him a look, and he knew that she’d heard the invisible but anyway. “Jan was at a party.”
And she didn’t stay because . . . ? He knew he was missing something here, but it was equally clear that Shelley didn’t want to say what it was, so he asked, even more tentatively, “You really live in a closet?”
“Yes. I think it was meant to be a utility room of some sort, but the landlord calls it a bedroom to get more rent. And I was lucky that Jan had it when I needed it,” Shelley added. “That’s why I get a parking spot.
The other two roommates share the second one. So how far is Idyllwild? I’ve never been there before.”
End of subject. Mick accepted that. But he was hyperaware of her sitting next to him.
She began to relax as they left Los Angeles behind. Soon they sped up the freeway, mountains looming to the right, city lights like a mirror to the sky spreading to the left.
They talked easily as he exerted himself to find subjects that wouldn’t tread into territory too personal: they were in his car, going to his place. He would let her set the boundaries on intimacy, though mentally he kept coming back to Jan’s dire warning about lies and surprises. True, Jan was pretty wasted, but he wouldn’t discount her words.
At least they had no problem finding plenty to talk about. Not surprisingly, considering her tastes had been shaped by older brothers, they both were lifelong fans of Zatoichi, the Blind Swordsman. She talked proudly of their hoard of much-used VHS tapes, and he decided to surprise her with his collection of mint DVDs.
Surprise. He knew it was going to bug him all weekend.
But he’d wait. They had plenty of time.
The thought of being alone with her for four days made him smile.
The Mercedes ate up the miles, and they drove through quiet Idyllwild a little past midnight. Half an hour later they pulled into the private road to his house, ghost-lit evergreens brushing over the windshield of his car.
They got out, the cold air a shock after the spring balm of L.A.
He led the way in and flipped on the lights, then stood back to watch Shelley covertly as she swept her gaze over the clean lines of the living room, with its beam ceiling, massive rock fireplace, and split level architecture—kitchen up to the right, den lower down, bedrooms overhead.
“Choose any bedroom you like,” he offered. “Each has its own bathroom. The master suite is above us here.” He glanced upward. “View over the valley. I’ve some decent bottles of wine on hand. I happen to prefer reds, especially to unwind after that drive. Want some? Red or white?”
“Red, please. I’ll be right back.”
The wheels of her suitcase rumbled over the flagstones of the hall leading to the stairwell, and shortly after he heard her quiet footsteps in the hall overhead. From the creaks in the hardwood floor, it sounded like she’d picked the middle bedroom, not the one farthest from his, but not next to it.
