Queen of the Universe (In Love in the Limelight Book 2)

by Geralyn Corcillo

  Arlen pushed a hand through his hair. “There is no girlfriend, Katie. No long term relationships. No one I would think twice about introducing you guys to.”

  “So we won't be meeting anyone this time either?”

  Either? Arlen felt a chill ice through him. Had the kids been waiting, hoping, all this time for him to get married again? If so, it was the first he'd heard about it. And he was pretty sure he'd been paying attention. “Katie,” he said softly. “What are you talking about?”

  Then he heard tears in her voice.

  “I just want you to be happy. You were left all alone.”

  “Not entirely,” he said. “I still have you guys. Not living with me. Not all the time. But believe me, you're with me everyday.”

  She snuffled down a sob.

  Arlen thought of all the arguments he'd had with himself over the years. All the bullshit things he'd tried to tell himself. But the truth smacked him down every time. Fact was, it hurt like hell all the time to have had your heart ripped out. But now he needed an argument for Katie. She'd suffered enough, just like Matteo and Ella. Arlen HAD to make it better.

  “Katie?” He kept his voice quiet but he wanted to make sure she was listening.

  She sniffed. “Yeah?”

  “You're sixteen,” he began. “You're going to be applying to college in two years just like all your friends. You're all going to go off and live lives of your own, right? That's what kids do. They leave their parents. It's what's supposed to happen. I just lost you guys a little early, that's all.”

  “Then why haven't you found someone else?”

  “Are you kidding?” He made his voice about a million times lighter than he felt. “After you guys and your mom, do you think just anybody's gonna do? She'd have to be pretty special, not to bore me to tears.”

  Katie let out a little laugh. “Really?”

  “I meet people, Katie, I do. But not anybody I'd want to make a part of my life, you know?”

  Ten minutes later, when he finally had Katie back to laughing about the upcoming summer, Arlen said good-bye. Feeling drained, he tossed the phone onto the bench seat and slumped back. His oldest daughter's point-blank questions had blasted him with guilt.

  Part of him knew that seclusion was no way to live. And tragedy was no excuse. Tragedy? Sure, but it had also been his voluntary blindness. Arlen had set himself up for heartbreak. He had. His life with Rachel had been on borrowed time. He wished like hell it hadn't ended the way it had, but his marriage had been a damn fantasy. He had to get over it.

  Chapter 21

  LOLA

  I pull up in front of the house and see right away that Arlen isn't in the garage. He's not on the roof, either. But I know he's here because his truck is still in the driveway. I pull the Tesla up next to it and get out, ready to hunt down Arlen. When I go into the house and through to the kitchen, I finally see him. My heart thumps and my tummy flutters. Butterflies? What the hell? It's not like I'm a fourth grader who just got passed my first note from a boy. Arlen isn't even a boy. He's Sam. That's it. Not anyone else. Just Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam.

  He's out on the patio, standing next to the pool. He's looking down at something in his hand and I imagine Sam, looking at some sort of clue as he hunts for his bounty.

  Sliding open the glass door, I step outside.

  Arlen looks up. “Lola.” He closes his hand and shuffles his feet, as if he's thinking of standing at attention. “It's not even five o'clock.”

  “It's five-ten,” I correct. “I finish early on Fridays when we're not in production. Watcha doin'?”

  Arlen looks away and back at his closed palm. “I picked up some sample tiles today to compare to the cracked ones already here. In the store the colors looked pretty close. But out here, I'm not so sure ...”

  “Can I see?” I brush against his shoulder as I sidle up to him to look into his palm.

  Arlen pulls back and walks back toward the house. “As long as you're here, you may as well help.”

  “Sure,” I say, not wanting to follow him. Too giggly-girly by far. “What do you want me to do?”

  He flicks a glance my way, then turns to the mermaid design on the exterior wall of the house. “I want you to hold these tiles against the ones on the wall so I can see if they match.”

  “Okay.” I walk toward him, reaching out to take bits of porcelain.

  Arlen drops the tiles into my open hand. “Right here,” he says, indicating the sweep of the mermaid's tail. Then he steps back to get a good look.

  “How's this?” I hold up a red sample tile next to a reddish tile in the wall.

  Arlen looks at the tiles, his forehead dented into a deep scowl. “The blue,” he says.

  So I switch to the blue tile.

  “Green.”

  I switch to green.

  Without saying anything, Arlen comes back to me and holds out his hand. “The tiles?”

  I hand them back, letting my fingers brush against his palm.

  He clenches his hand into a fist. “Cut it out, Lola.”

  My eyes snap to his face. “Cut what out?”

  He backs up, his angry eyes searing into me. “Just stop it.”

  I step back. “No! I'm not doing anything. I'm not trying to harass you or anything. Jesus, I'm sorry about the kiss this morning. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear!”

  “Why are you always here, Lola? You promised you wouldn't be.”

  “I know! I KNOW I should stay away from you. I do.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing?” Arlen dashes the tiles to the ground in frustration. “Lola, you are driving me crazy. There's no way you don't know what you're doing to me.”

  I open my mouth to protest. “Me?” It's all I manage to squeak out.

  “You,” he says, and I can see he's breathing hard.

  I catch my breath.

  In two strides he's across the patio and taking me by the shoulders. He's barely lowered his head when I'm all over him, kissing him for everything I'm worth. I feel like I'm starving and drowning and just need him him him.

  My back hits the wall and Arlen's weight presses into me as we kiss with blind abandon. I think we were heading for the door, to get to the couch or a bed or the kitchen table, but pinned against the wall is fine with me. I just want Arlen. I yank his shirt over his head and sink my teeth into his chest.

  “Yoo-hoo!” The front door slams. “Lola, you bad girl! You left today without giving Tom Arlen's signed contract. He told me to get over—”

  Ray stops dead in his tracks as he sees us from inside the kitchen.

  Arlen has stepped away from me and I'm standing kind of awkwardly against the wall. All the mussed hair and missing clothes … I can't move or speak.

  “Holy shit.” Ray looks back and forth between us and then speeds out of the house so fast you'd think a hell hole opened up in my kitchen.

  Arlen looks at me with a steely stare that spikes right into me. He's breathing even harder now. “No way.” His voice is getting louder with every word. “No fucking way. This has all been about your damn show?”

  I don't break eye contact as I lift one hand and wave it feebly between us. “Not this. But everything else. Yes.”

  Arlen puts his shirt back on. “Not this. You've been stringing me along like a puppet all week but not this. Right.”

  He storms through the house and toward the front door.

  “This wasn't part of the plan,” I insist, chasing after him. “I was trying to get close to you so I could convince you to be on the show. Yes. But I didn't mean to get this close.”

  He doesn't even stop to talk to me. He just yells back as he heads out. “But you knew it was happening and you just kept coming at me. When you knew you were lying to me the whole time.”

  “I thought the attraction was all me! I really had no idea you were feeling it, too. I thought I was just going crazy.”

  Arlen gets into his truck, looking at me through the open window. “Lola, you
were batshit crazy the day I met you. Now go back to whatever God-awful lair you came from and leave me alone.”

  He steps on the gas and guns the truck right past the Tesla, ripping off my side-view mirror. For a few seconds I'm completely numb as I watch him plow past my car. Then I run into the house and press the button to open the gate down at the end of the drive before he can smash through that, too.

  Chapter 22

  LOLA

  It's not what you think.

  I send the text to Ray, not knowing what else to write. The only other option is Sorry I just fucked the whole show, but I'll write you a hell of a reference. And I am too chicken to write that.

  Ray texts me back. So he didn't have you pinned against the wall about to fuck you and you weren't loving every second of it?

  I text back. Okay, it's exactly what you think. But it had nothing to do with his signing the contract.

  Ray's text. WHY THE HELL NOT?!?!?!?!?!?!

  Ray has a point. If I'm going to get screwed I should at least make sure the show and dozens of jobs aren't completely screwed as well. I see his point. I do. But Ray doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that for one damn second of my life I actually wanted Arlen. Not Sam, not the show—but Arlen. And that one second lost me everything else.

  Chapter 23

  LOLA

  Sixteen hours after The Biggest Mistake of My Life I race down the freeway in the early morning sun, trying to adjust to the fact that I no longer have a side mirror.

  My damn conscience is riding shotgun. My entire body feels sick and cold inside. I need to fix this.

  I meant to spend the night at my computer examining the auditions of all the other Sams. I did. I'm not forgetting about everyone else and all those jobs. I'm not. But I watched the first audition, started crying, and couldn't stop. When I woke up an hour ago, face plastered to my keyboard, I knew the auditions could wait. Everything had to wait. The world had to stop turning in the freaking sky until I could make this right.

  I exit at Hill and weave my way into Bungalow Heaven. Someone actually named this neighborhood Bungalow Heaven, and I can see why. I look around me.

  Why hadn't I just come here in the beginning? If I had seen how Arlen lived—comfortable and content in one of Pasadena's oldest neighborhoods of craftsman houses—maybe I would have realized sooner that there was nothing either I or my show could give him. I find the house bearing Arlen's address—at least Ray had been able to suss out the address—and park at the curb.

  One look at Arlen's nest in front of me and I feel like such a colossal ass. His house sits well back from the street, dark brown wood with forest green trim, as if Dolly Levi herself had painted it. And the entire property is shaded with trees. I can even see all the trees billowing up from behind the house, folding the entire place in cool, leafy serenity.

  My head falls back against the headrest. Why the hell had I ever thought I could get this guy to change his entire life? He literally lives in Heaven.

  Two little girls wearing helmets race scooters down the sidewalk, and further up the block two teenage boys wash a car to blaring tunes. Arlen lives in the heart of normalcy, and I'd tried to finagle him into my demented Hollywood world. I crossed the line. Arlen wasn't an actor or anyone else who had voluntarily elected to work in the TV industry. I should have stayed the hell away.

  I take a deep breath. This is it. I salvage my soul or I'm lost forever. You knew you were lying to me and you kept coming at me. This is one I don't get past unless I can make it right.

  I try to remember how brave I was a week ago as I march up the front steps and knock on the door. Nothing. I knock again. Nothing.

  His truck is in the driveway. So is his car, a Toyota Camry. He's home. Is he purposely ignoring me? Is he asleep? I knock louder. Arlen said he had kids. Once you have kids, aren't you up and alert at the tiniest sound? He must be ignoring me. Humiliating me. Leaving me to stand on his porch like an unwanted loser. But I am not so easily defeated. I lope down the porch steps and scuttle along the edge of the house, peering in windows. I don't see any movement inside. Just still furniture looking hazy through the sheer curtains.

  I check the six-foot gate to the back yard. It isn't locked, so I open it and skulk through. The whole yard is shady and breezy. But Arlen's not around. Not hosing down the patio, not mulching anything, not sleeping in the hammock stretched between two massive trees. He must be in the house. He has to be. I go to the back porch and knock on the kitchen door. Still nothing. Okay. Maybe he's not home. Or in the shower. Or maybe there's a side door on the other side of the house. I step away from the kitchen door and suddenly, I catch a flurry of movement out of the corner of my eye.

  I turn just in time to see two cow-sized dogs charging through the gate. And they're coming right for me! I scream as I turn and run. One of them thumps into my back, sending me sprawling into recently watered bushes. I try to scramble up, but the hounds from hell are all over me! I make it to my hands and knees, but one is across my back, and the other comes at me head on!

  “Aaaah!” I bury my face in my arms and scrunch up to protect myself, screaming the whole time, as the vicious mongrels … lick me?

  “Nick! Nora!”

  The dogs get off me just as strong hands take me by the shoulders and jerk me to my feet. I open my eyes and see the dogs wriggling around Arlen, who holds me up like a rag doll.

  “I ...” I try to step back from him and he lets me go. “I—” One of the dogs jumps at me, its big paws socking me right in the gut and sending me careening onto my butt.

  “Nora!”

  I sit there on the ground, looking up at Arlen. “I—”

  “Shut up,” he snaps. “Don't say another word. Just shut up or I swear I will pour steak sauce all over you and lock you out here with them.”

  Five minutes later I'm sitting on the island in the middle of Arlen's kitchen while the dogs eat like racehorses out on the patio. Arlen grabbed me by the upper arms and put me up here, commanding me not to move a muscle as he fed the dogs. So here I sit, covered in mud and scratches and dog drool.

  My jeans have a hole in one knee now. But at least my smurf blue NY Giants tee seems to have survived unscathed.

  Arlen comes in from outside and shuts the kitchen door behind him. He goes to the fridge where he takes out a bottle of water and downs almost the entire bottle in one gulp.

  “Want one?” he asks.

  “Yes, please.”

  He hands me a bottle of water and I chug and chug. My encounter with the two huge and exuberantly playful dogs has taken its toll.

  He looks at me. “Let me guess. You got here. Knocked at the front door. No answer. But no, that's not good enough for Lola Scott. So you snuck around the house like a cat burglar until the dogs found you.”

  “Did you just get back from walking them?”

  “You are a smart cookie,” Arlen says, cheering me on like I'm a first grader learning to count.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “I'm sorry, Arlen. For all of it. For this whole past week.”

  He pulls back from me, like a horse who just spotted a rattlesnake. “You're here to talk about that, are you?”

  “Yes, Arlen. I want you to know exactly what I was trying to do, just to make sure that you hate me for all the right reasons.”

  “I know what you were trying to do.”

  “No, you don't!”

  “You were trying to get me to play Sam.”

  “But not by seducing you! Please listen to me.”

  “You are a liar.” He stalks out of the kitchen.

  I could hop down and chase him, but I promised I would stay put. So I stay. “I hired you to work on my place so I could get to know you,” I shout through the house. “I wanted to learn something about you, some reason for you to do the show. For you to want to do the show.”

  Arlen storms back into the kitchen. “Oh, I get it,” he says. “You thought you'd know m
y life better than I know it and you could show me how wrong I really am not to want to play Sam.” He stands there glaring at me.

  “Yeah.”

  My quiet admission takes all the gust out of his fury.

  “And Arlen, I swear to God, I didn't realize you wanted me. I had no idea.”

  He spears me with a look filled with such accusation. “Lola, that kiss, on the very first day—”

  “It was an audition!”

  “I'm not an actor,” he says. “And neither are you.”

  I close my eyes for a second, trying to forget that kiss. Just like I've been trying to do since it happened.

  I open my eyes and look at Arlen. “But I told myself it all had to do with Sam,” I explain. “I concentrated on how it meant that you would make the perfect Sam.”

  Arlen just pins me with this look of utter contempt.

  “And even when I wanted you and it had nothing to do with Sam,” I forge on, “I never thought you wanted me back. Not until the patio.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It's true!”

  “You're trying to tell me you don't know you're a freaking blonde bombshell?”

  “Do you realize that I'm a size 10?” I cry. “In Los Angeles, size 8 is fat. And I'm a 10. And I don't get manicures or style my hair or cinch up my cleavage. My whole life, no guy I've ever really wanted has looked at me twice or wanted me back.”

  “I imagine it has more to do with all the lying than the state of your nails.”

  I shake my head. “I crossed the line with you. I'm sorry.”

  He looks at me from across the kitchen, breathing evenly now. “You know,” he finally says. “I was beginning to think we'd be perfect for each other.”

  I look at him feeling all confused. Perfect for each other?

  He shakes his head. “It was beginning to make such good sense. I don't want to get involved with anyone. You live for your show and your career. My kids get here soon. Your show starts soon. I figured we could have, what? A month or so—no strings, no holds barred—”