Paul nodded solemnly.
“No…” she whispered again, not believing what had to be true.
“Tyler Stovall,” he said aloud.
Tyler Stovall…Hearing his name again after all these years had the power to turn Cammie’s insides to liquid. He was her worst mistake—more dire than the one she’d made by marrying Paul—and the thought of him still held so much power that for a moment Cammie couldn’t speak. Finding her voice with an effort, she said, “He’s been missing for ten years.”
“You can find him,” he said with certainty.
Cammie’s aqua eyes gazed at him in disbelief. “Are you crazy? Tyler Stovall? Was this your idea? For God’s sake, Paul. You’re unbelievable!”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal!”
“You know him,” Paul pointed out tautly. “Better than anyone.”
“Not true! I haven’t been close to him in years—even before he disappeared. You know that! For heaven’s sake, no one’s sure if he’s even alive!”
“Oh, he’s alive.”
“How do you know?”
“It stands to reason. If he were dead, the whole world would know it. That kind of news travels like lightning. No, he’s hiding out somewhere. Cammie, it’s Paul you’re talking to, remember? We’ve discussed this. You and I both know that, for whatever reason, he packed it in, left Hollywood and chose to live the life of a recluse in some podunk part of the world where no one can recognize him. But whatever sent him away is long over now,” Paul rationalized. “It’s time he came back.”
“Easy for you to say, Paul! We don’t know what happened to him. No one does but Tyler!”
“Look, I’m just being realistic. Nora and James want Tyler for this picture. It would be a great comeback film for him. They’re willing to use you if you can get him.”
“Otherwise, any number of starlets will do,” she stated with a certain amount of bitterness.
He spread his hands. “I didn’t make the rules in this town.”
“No, but you sure know how to play by them!”
“Camilla, come on. You can reach him. I know you can.”
“I don’t have any idea where he is!”
Paul made a face, as if Tyler Stovall’s disappearance had been perpetrated just to annoy him personally. “No one does. The guy’s a damn ghost. But you could find out. His family would talk to you. Hell, they’re your family, too.”
“Not anymore!”
“Well, they were once. Come on, Cammie. You know what I’m saying. This could be the biggest thing you’ll ever see.”
Her legs shaking from outrage, Cammie strode over to the desk, glaring down at her ex-husband. He straightened in his chair and smoothed back his thinning hair. He’d once been very good-looking, but now he sported that wellfed, too-many-steaks-and-martinis look, and his natural appeal had all but vanished. She wondered anew what she’d ever seen in him. “I won’t do it.”
“You’re slitting your own throat.”
“My prerogative.”
“Look, somebody’s going to find him. If you don’t do it, someone else will. Nora and James really want him, and they’re willing to pay a lot. Someone with less scruples than yourself will get the job done, and your role will go to an actress with less credentials and talent, but who’ll play the game. That’s the way it always is.”
“Your cynicism has rotted your soul, Paul.”
He half-laughed. “I don’t have a soul left, Cammie. I sold it years ago. You should take a lesson.”
“I’d rather the a painful, humiliating, grisly death.”
“That’s what the death of your career will feel like.”
“Go to hell, Paul.” She strode toward the door, feeling slightly sick and definitely depressed.
“Think about it, Cammie. Friday night. At the Connellys’ Brentwood home.”
She glanced back, so infuriated she could hardly see. And the worst of it was that Paul was right! Just because she possessed more morals and ethics than most of the dwellers around these parts didn’t mean it would turn her into a success. And that made her all the angrier. She wanted to call him filthy, low-down dirty names, and when he lifted his brows in challenge, she had to fight down the bile bubbling in the back of her throat.
“Fate is a man,” she muttered through clenched teeth, and was gratified at least to witness his look of total incomprehension before she slammed the door to his office behind her, closing his wretched visage from her sight.
Maybe it was because she never spoke of it. Maybe it was because Tyler’s father, Samuel Stovall, had been married so many times that some of his ex-wives, and certainly his ex-stepdaughters, were forgotten memories. Or maybe it was because Tyler had been gone for so many years and that she, Cammie, refused to think about him.
Or maybe it was remembering how close they’d once been…
Shivering in the bright L.A. sunshine, Cammie climbed into her blue BMW and headed outside the studio, waving to the guard at the gate for one of the last times. With a pang, she thought about the job on Cherry Blossom Lane that was about to end. A new chapter of her life was beginning.
Tyler Stovall…
Waiting at a red light, Cammie closed her eyes for a moment. Thinking about him wouldn’t do. Not now. Not ever. She wanted her association with the Stovalls to be a forgotten memory in this community. It was just too bad Paul knew so much about her history.
But he didn’t know about Tyler and her. Not all of it. Tyler, himself, might not remember that last fateful night they’d shared together, for he’d been too unhappy, too destroyed, and too drunk for it to be a complete memory.
At least that’s what she told herself.
Oh, Cammie, she thought for about the billionth time. How could you have?
Punching out a number on her cellular phone, Cammie weaved her way toward the Hollywood Freeway. Teri, the receptionist for her agent, Susannah Coburn, put her on hold without checking who was on the line. Knowing how busy Susannah could be, Cammie hung up. She would call Susannah later. Right now, she just wanted to get home.
Tyler Stovall…
She’d adored him as a teenager, and when he’d gone on to megafame, becoming an icon in the acting profession in six short years, she’d nearly fallen into a coma of delight. All those other girls might salivate over him, but Tyler was her big brother.
Sort of.
Tyler, for mysterious reasons no one seemed to understand, had disappeared ten years earlier. There was speculation he was dead, ill, or dying. People thought he’d run off with some woman he didn’t want the press to know about. While a Hollywood celebrity, he’d been hounded by paparazzi in the usual fashion and had been known to politely, but firmly, run them off his property. Once, if one could believe everything they read, he’d actually come at a trespasser while riding on his lawn mower. Tyler had simply pushed the man and his invasive camera into the water of a pond located on his property. Incensed, the interloper had sued him—and lost. He had been trespassing, after all, and no one looked favorably on the viciousness of celebrity stalkers in the first place.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Cammie encountered her own blue-green, anxious eyes. That anxiety was for a lot of reasons, not least the matter of her one night with Tyler. She’d never forgotten him; he probably didn’t remember. But if she should encounter him again…then, what? How could she ever explain that sleeping with him while he was under the influence had just happened, the result of some unfulfilled love and need that had suddenly taken over her common sense.
No! She could never try to find him now. However remote her chance of success might be, she couldn’t face him again. She couldn’t face herself.
You called Paul a coward, but you’re the coward.
Pressing her foot to the accelerator, she headed up the on-ramp to the freeway, desperately in need of speed to help her outrun her memories. But once trapped in the afternoon traffic, speed eluded her, a
nd her jumbled thoughts and fears surged to the forefront of her brain.
The soft touch of his kisses, his sinewy limbs surrounding her, the sweet thrill of his uneven breaths feathering her skin, the strength of his possession…to this day the recollections made her shudder and squirm with humiliation, although another part of herself was still so very susceptible! She hated thinking about their night together, yet it crept into her dreams even to this day. She wished she could forget the feel of his strong body pressed against her softer form, his lips possessively demanding her response, her own body eagerly responding.
Unbidden, a squeak of protest rose to her lips. She shook herself to get rid of the feelings, wishing she were free of the past.
And though she should be glad that he’d been dead drunk at the time and probably didn’t remember a thing, she still couldn’t help wishing he’d been sober enough to realize what he was doing. Maybe then he would not have reached for her, and maybe then she would have been able to resist…
She hadn’t been in contact with Tyler since that night, and though she’d wondered about his later disappearance, she’d been aware Tyler had been suffering some kind of major emotional trauma the night she’d slept with him. He’d been distraught and seeking comfort—and she’d been there. It was just too bad she hadn’t relied on her normal common sense and had succumbed instead to hot desire.
Ah, well, Cammie thought resignedly. Such were the mistakes nightmares were made of.
How did Paul expect her to find Tyler anyway? There was no doubt in Cammie’s mind that Tyler’s overbearing, egocentric father, Samuel Stovall, had raised heaven and earth looking for him. Why hadn’t Paul contacted the great Samuel Stovall himself?
Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Cammie considered the Hollywood legend who’d sired Tyler. Sam Stovall was still a recognized leading man, though with the meteoric rise of Tyler’s fame, his had certainly taken a backseat. And though it was true that Samuel’s A-List stature had slipped a few degrees after Tyler’s disappearance, he still was a fairly weighty name in town. He would certainly have a better chance and more resources for finding his son.
Maybe he even knew where Tyler was.
Cammie had lost contact with both Tyler and Sam when Sam divorced her mother. Samuel had moved on to a new wife—his fourth at last count—and Cammie’s mother had slipped into deep depression, followed by a losing battle with cancer. Cammie, who’d never much liked her adulterous stepfather in the first place, Hollywood legend or no, blamed Samuel for contributing to her mother’s death. Unwarranted, perhaps, but it was how she’d always felt, and she had been unable to ever completely recognize his innocence in the matter.
Tyler, on the other hand, held her heart within his grasp—had he but known it. Cammie dreamed of him long after he was a forgotten part of her life, and when she married Paul, it was simply as a substitute for the man who’d disappeared from her life and the world at large.
Oh, she hadn’t known it at the time, of course. She’d made herself believe she loved Paul. Twenty-four years old with no family to rely on, the young Cammie had been entranced by Paul’s quick wit and good looks. Paul had found Cammie at an audition and had promptly fallen in love. At least that’s what he told her, and what she’d once believed. And when he met Cammie’s mother, Claire, just before her death, he professed himself in love all over again. He flattered Claire, who responded like a wilted flower to water. When Paul asked Cammie to marry him, Claire clasped her daughter’s hands within her own and begged her to say yes.
It was one of those moments etched in Cammie’s memory. Her mother’s dark blue eyes full of hope as she stared at her uncertain daughter. “Cammie, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. This man loves you. Don’t marry someone who doesn’t love you. Paul is right for you, I can feel it. Do you feel it?”
“Y-y-ess,” Cammie struggled. She felt something. Was it love? She really hoped so.
“Marry him. Please.”
If Cammie had known then how truly ill her mother was at that point, she might have hesitated, might have realized that Claire’s desire for her daughter’s marriage was based on her own need as a mother to have everything tied up neatly and done with before she died.
But she hadn’t known. Nor had she realized her mother was truly on her deathbed. Though cancer had spread throughout her body, Claire’s beauty remained, fooling Cammie into believing her mother’s immortality.
“Are you going to marry Paul?” Claire beseeched her daughter, a now constant litany.
“Yes,” Cammie told her.
“Good…” Claire’s lashes fluttered. “I haven’t made a mistake, have I? About Paul? You do love him, don’t you?”
Cammie couldn’t bear to air her own fears. She simply swallowed and nodded.
“You’ll do fine. You’re stronger than I am.”
“Mom, please…” Cammie squeezed her mother’s hand, sensing she was struggling hard.
“I’ll tell you a secret.” Her voice lowered. “I only loved one man, but he’s a cheat. Sam…”
“Mom, don’t—”
“No, listen. Listen…” She took several shallow, unsteady breaths. “I didn’t understand when I was your age. Family’s the most important thing. I thought love was everything. Romance, you know. But it turned out I just loved illusions. Your father never wanted to marry me, and he left us both, but Sam…”
“I know, I know. It’s okay,” Cammie assured her. “When you’re better, we’ll plan a wedding.”
“Don’t wait too long.”
“I won’t.” Cammie just wanted to change the subject.
“Family is everything. It’s all we have, in the end. And you need to have a baby, Camilla. Someone to love.” She relaxed her grip on Cammie’s hands, falling into a troubled sleep.
Three days later, she simply didn’t wake up and suddenly Cammie was standing at her gravesite, Paul by her side, wondering what to do. Her mother’s death filled her with enormous grief. Claire had been Cammie’s only true family and it seemed impossible that she was gone forever.
And it hadn’t helped that Sam Stovall appeared at the ceremony. He murmured condolences, but Cammie couldn’t look at him. Maybe her anger and blame were misguided. She didn’t care. It just hurt too much. Tyler was already long gone. He’d disappeared soon after Cammie’s night with him, and no one knew how to reach him.
Cammie married Paul soon afterward, abiding by her pledge to her mother. Then ironically, within the first few months of her marriage, she learned she was pregnant—Claire’s other wish for her. Cammie had barely adjusted to the news when she miscarried. In those sad hours that followed, while she coped with this next unexpected loss, she learned another unpalatable truth: Paul might have professed his love for her, but he truly only cared about himself. He couldn’t understand Cammie’s melancholia.
“We’ll have another kid. Better later anyway,” he told her, checking his watch as if every moment counted in his busy, busy life. His impatience made her cover up her misery, and she pretended that it didn’t matter.
But she learned that ambition was his true mistress; Cammie didn’t even run a close second. She miscarried again, and Paul shrugged it off. Then, a few years later, she miscarried once more, and Paul grew even more callous and less empathetic, if that were possible. He couldn’t understand her feelings, labeling them as some kind of weird “female phobia.”
That’s when she left him and focused on her career.
She was happier without Paul. She struggled, waiting tables and heading for audition after audition. She thought of Tyler often, wondering where he was, how he was, and though she believed Sam might know, she would rather walk on hot coals than contact him.
She was running out of money, literally scraping pennies to make enough for rent, when she got her break: Cherry Blossom Lane was looking for a new character, Donna Jenkins, whose road to true love would be a rocky one, to say the least. Cammie beat out a slew of other would-be Donnas, her own pai
n in the romance department so real and raw that it translated onto her screen test. They loved her. They hired her, and she spent a blissful three seasons with the nighttime drama, thinking her luck had finally changed. Even with Paul on board, she seemed secure in her position. Now, of course, that was over.
Family…the only thing of value.
Her mother’s words floated across her conscience again, almost forgotten until this moment of introspective pain.
Family…
Signaling for the next off-ramp, she considered her life to date, realizing with a sad smile that she wished she’d gotten pregnant all those years ago when she and Tyler Stovall had made love.
He awakened with a jerk, nearly rolling off the narrow couch onto the stone floor. In the semidarkness, he blinked, trying to orient himself. Across the room the television flickered noiselessly, an anomaly of the electronic age set in the fir and river rock wall of shelves that marched up the west end of the cabin. Squinting at the late-night host, Tyler Stovall blindly reached a hand for the remote control, sending magazines and papers flying in his search. Swearing good-naturedly, he finally discovered the rectangular object, clicking off the familiar face on the screen. Yawning, he stretched, and vaguely remembered the uneasy dream he’d been having. Cammie Pendleton.
Without a stitch on.
Ty shook his head in a mixture of disgust and amazement. What time was it? Ten o’clock? Eleven? He’d come in from chopping wood as the light was fading and had simply flopped down on the couch to relax before dinner. Well, he’d relaxed himself right through to bedtime, it appeared, although now he didn’t feel the least bit sleepy.
Scratching his beard, he grimaced, pulling at some of the stiff, curling hairs. He needed a serious shave. He looked a bit like the hermit he was, and even his hair was too long, brushing the back of his collar and then some.
Frowning, he rolled to his feet, wondering where that thought had come from. His appearance had scarcely changed in ten years. In this Canadian border town, the locals simply knew him as Jerry, and for as long as they could remember, he’d looked just the same.
Someday Soon Page 2
