Sam’s gaze darted back to Molly. “Okay, sure. No sweat. But do me a couple of favors, okay?”
“That depends.”
“Don’t dismiss the offer out of hand. And don’t tell Molly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, ya mook.”
Sam punched him in the shoulder. Hard. “You’re a good man. I could use your talents.”
“They’re taken.”
Sam raised his bushy eyebrows, then headed to the stage door while Charlie wondered, for maybe the zillionth time what the hell was going on. Everything had been screwy since his nocturnal visit from you-know-who. He still didn’t understand why Dead Elvis wanted him to succeed with Molly. Okay, maybe the question should still be why Dead Elvis at all?
On the other hand, why not? Why not Elvis, and why not miracles and why not Charlie as a hottie, and why the hell not Molly and Charlie making it? Going the whole nine yards? Stranger things had happened. Not that he knew of personally, but hey. Stuff like this probably went on all the time, and no one talked about it because, well, Dead Elvis.
He listened to the rhythm of Molly’s routine, waiting for the laugh. Not yet, not yet…
There. Damn. Killer material. Together they’d made that. Sitting in diners, in the empty showroom, on her ugly couch. The best times of his whole life. Everything was better when it was Molly. Her laugh. Her smile.
She turned, making her way to her water glass, and he grinned at her. Gave her the old thumbs-up.
Usually, at this point, she’d wink, get the water, then move right into the bit about her mom. Only, she didn’t. She just stared at him. Mouth slightly open, eyes un-blinking. The laughter from the audience had faded, and if she stood like that for another minute, they were going to get mighty itchy.
“Go,” he said, waving at her frantically.
She got her water, turned with flare and fell apart.
Charlie’s breath caught, and he watched her flail on stage, trying to pick up the bit, searching for her groove, but it was like watching a car accident. Her cheeks turned pink, she gripped the mike like a lifeline, and he was already halfway to yanking the curtain.
Then she stopped. Laughed. Took a deep breath, and started again.
Okay, she was back. But not with that same fire. She’d stumbled on the high wire, and it wasn’t easy to recover. Molly was a pro, she’d find it again, he was sure of that. What he was also sure of was that he was the cause. She’d blown it because of him. Because of the kiss. Because he was screwing with something sacred: the work.
He couldn’t get out of the Hilton fast enough. Cursing his own stupidity the whole damn way to the parking lot, he dropped the keys twice. When he got in the car, he slammed his head into the steering wheel, but all that did was hurt. Moaning, he rubbed the blossoming lump and went back to swearing.
That didn’t help either.
MOLLY TOOK her final bow and walked off stage with as much dignity as she could muster. The moment she was behind the blue curtains, she grabbed on to the wall so she wouldn’t fall down.
She breathed, filling her lungs with air, fighting the urge to throw up. It had been years since she’d blown it like this. Lost her footing, nearly tumbled down the mountain. The last time was when she’d been with Rand.
He’d been offstage, too. Of course the room hadn’t been this large, the stakes not nearly so high. But being with Rand, letting her personal life mix with her profession had nearly ended everything.
If she’d needed proof that she and Charlie could never get together, she’d gotten it tonight.
“Hey, Molly, you okay?”
She smiled at Gwen, the stage manager. “Sure, no sweat.”
“Good show.”
Molly’s stomach clenched again. “Yeah, right.”
“Hey, it happens. But you came right back, girl. They left happy.”
“Thanks.”
Gwen squeezed her arm and headed toward the dressing rooms. Molly waited a few seconds, then followed. She didn’t think Charlie was here. He’d seen it. Seen her crash. And he must have figured it had everything to do with last night.
By the time she got to her dressing room, she was shaking. Funny, she hadn’t onstage, but now that she was out of the spotlight, she was a complete mess.
Bobby had given her a fifth of Chivas when she’d opened at the Hilton, and there was still more than half a bottle left. Now seemed like a real good time to finish it.
She only spilled a little when she poured, and damn, but it burned all the way down her throat. On the other hand, she did feel a bit better.
She sat down on her ugly wooden chair and put her head in her hands. “Oh, Charlie. Why?”
Why did he have to kiss her? And why did it have to feel so amazing?
The bitch of it was, she could see them together. God, he was right for her in so many ways. She’d never had a friend like him before, let alone a partner. She’d tried to go solo, after Rand, but while she could deliver the goods, she needed a catalyst to write the material. If it hadn’t been for Charlie, she’d have given it all up. And missed the best ride anyone could ever dream of.
And now, it was all going supernova. The TV show was way outside her wildest dreams. The money, the fame. It was all right there, just within reach. She couldn’t risk it. Not now.
She stood, ran her hand through her hair, hating the red. Maybe she’d go blond again. Yeah, she’d felt good as a blonde.
She felt good with Charlie.
The thing is, it would end. There was no doubt in her mind. She tried to think of one couple she knew that had made it more than five years, and you know what? There wasn’t one.
Yeah, she knew it happened, but not in her world. There was too much in her universe. Too much money, booze, excitement, notoriety. It was hard enough to keep her sanity, let alone a lover.
So even if they did get together, and it was great for a while, the inevitable would happen. Something would go wrong. He’d find someone else. He’d get tired of her hours. Jealous of her always being the one to get the applause.
She’d seen it before. Lived it. And it would kill her if it happened with him.
She sat again and opened the jar of cold cream. Once she had her makeup off, she’d go to Charlie’s. They’d talk. He had to see that they weren’t meant to be. He had to.
CHARLIE SAT in his living room staring into the dark. He hadn’t turned on the light. The drapes were open and the moon was bright through the sliding glass doors. He listened to the hum of his air conditioner as his thoughts tumbled.
He remembered the first night he’d seen Molly on stage. It had been at a horrible comedy club in New York, a real dive. Most of the customers were drunk off their butts. Molly hadn’t let it phase her, not even the heckling, which had been downright brutal. He’d been enchanted. Laughed until he had to wipe his eyes, and when she was through he’d gone backstage, excited to meet her. Estelle had sent him, hoping they would click, and click they had.
They’d found an all-night coffee shop and talked until breakfast. Two days later, they were an official team. The next two weeks were some of the most exciting he’d ever had. Individually, they were good; together, they were extraordinary.
It was as if they’d been born to work together. From that time on, they’d had success after success.
Jeez, that first time on The Tonight Show. She’d been so nervous she’d thrown up for two days. But once she went on, she’d been brilliant. Leno had cracked up, and after, he’d given her a standing invitation, which was something quite rare. She’d gotten better and better gigs, and even hosted an HBO special.
He wondered if he’d been in love with her all that time. It felt like it, but was it true?
He’d only admitted his feelings a few months ago. Maybe the saner part of him understood it couldn’t really happen. That he had as much of her as he could hope to have.
It was the crazy part of him that wanted more. The part that saw Elvis. Which, for the first tim
e, made sense.
He knew he wasn’t Madame LaFarge, drooling on the bedsheets crazy, but he also had ample evidence that he was slightly left of center, and seeing Elvis was just the most obvious sign. Loving Molly was a lot more subtle but crazier still.
Unfortunately, knowing it was hopeless didn’t make it hurt less. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anything before. She was his soul mate. Not that he’d ever say those words to another human being, but it was true. She was his destiny. His reason.
And working together had to be enough. Now, the thing he had to focus on was not his stupid dreams, but Molly. He needed to convince her that the kiss was nothing. A joke. No reason for her to see him and lose it. No reason to run for the hills.
He was just her buddy Charlie. Different haircut, different clothes, but the same guy she could always depend on.
And he had to promise her, with complete and utter seriousness, that he’d never, no matter what, kiss her again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MOLLY STOOD at his door, wanting to knock but she couldn’t lift her hand. And then when she did get her hand up, she just stood there.
She sighed as she turned to face the suburban street awash in moonlight.
All these people, wives and husbands and little kids, they were all sleeping at this ridiculous hour, peaceful in their ordinary lives. None of them were going to host a nationally broadcast talk show. They didn’t know what it was like to be on stage in front of hundreds, all expecting to get their money’s worth of laughter. None of them had writing partners who wanted more than they could give.
It was the life she’d chosen and she loved it. But there were trade-offs. She slept during the day, she saw the world through the lens of comedy, which wasn’t always the healthiest perspective but it beat watching the world through tears, and she couldn’t have Charlie as anything but a writing partner.
She turned back, knocked on the door, knowing he would still be awake. She rang the doorbell, too. This had to end. Now.
The door opened, and Charlie’s expression spoke volumes. “Hey,” he said, and she hated the resignation, the sadness in the one brief word.
“Hey yourself.”
He stepped back and she walked in. She liked his place, and wondered why they never worked here. It was so much cozier than her house. Not that she didn’t like her house, she’d just never invested much of herself in the decor. Here, on the other hand, you’d have to be a complete stranger not to see Charlie in every piece of furniture, every tchotchke on every shelf.
Moving straight to the dark living room, her gaze went to the mantel where he had his American Comedy award, his prized picture of him standing with George Carlin and Robin Williams. Behind the couch there were more photos, his wall of fame, as he called it. So many of her.
She stopped by the old coffee table, the one he’d found at a secondhand store in Tucson.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She turned, still not used to seeing him look so sophisticated, so handsome. No, that wasn’t true. She’d always thought he was good-looking. Shlumpy, but hunky. “Talk to me, Charlie.”
He shook his head. “Can’t we just forget it? It’s over.”
“What’s over? What happened? Aren’t you happy?” She walked closer to him, and he took a step back. “Charlie, please. We need to talk about this.”
He nodded. “You want a drink? I’m thinking tequila and lots of it.”
“Orange juice?”
He nodded, then left her in the living room. She wondered if she should turn on the lights, but figured it might be easier for both of them if they didn’t see too much.
Instead, she sat down on the couch and ran her hand over the soft Italian leather. Her sofa was an exercise in ugly, and she kept meaning to get a new one, but she wasn’t a good shopper. Charlie would go with her. He’d offered a hundred times, and the last time, she’d just told him to go pick one out, but he wanted to do it together.
Closing her eyes, she chased away visions of them as a couple. Shopping for couches, buying groceries, climbing into bed together.
He came back into the room holding two screwdrivers.
“Speak to me,” she said.
He handed her a drink, then sat down across from her in the big recliner he liked so much. “What do you want me to say?”
“Why don’t you start with the clothes.”
He shrugged, and although she couldn’t see it, she knew he was blushing. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Don’t get me wrong, you look great. It’s just…”
“Not me?”
She nodded.
“I know. I guess I got tired of being the same old Charlie.” He sipped his drink. “I’m a little old for college grunge.”
“It’s a good change,” she said. “Honest. You look fabulous.”
“When it’s all said and done, I’m still just me.”
“Thank God.”
His head dipped. “It’s okay, Molly. I swear. Nothing else is going to change. I got a little nuts. It was a momentary whim. Nothing to fret about.”
She could let it go now. Crack a joke. But a joke wouldn’t resolve a thing. “That’s not what it felt like from this side.”
He looked up again. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“The truth?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s what I thought. How long?”
“What?”
“Charlie.”
He drank more. Held his glass with both hands. “I thought there could be, I don’t know, more.”
“You’re not happy with what we have?”
“Yeah, I’m happy. It’s the best.”
“But?”
“I like being with you, okay? More than I’ve ever liked being with anyone else.”
“How long were you with Kim?”
“Kim’s ancient history.”
“But didn’t you tell me she was the one? That you figured you would be with her for the rest of your life?”
“It didn’t work out that way.”
“I know. You were together for two years, and then she left. She fell in love with that drummer. And you were knocked on your ass for how long?”
“What difference does it make?”
She leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees, wishing now that she had turned on the lights. “Because they end, Charlie. All of them. And when they do, it’s a bloody mess. You know that. I told you what happened with me and Rand. I won’t let that happen to us.”
“Okay, fine. It won’t happen to us.”
“Having unresolved feelings will be just as bad.”
“I can’t simply turn it off, Molly. It doesn’t work that way.”
“So what can we do?”
“We? We can’t do anything. I will do lots of things. Starting with not talking about this ever again.”
Molly drank some and stared at her feet. “What do you like?” she asked, finally.
“About?”
She looked up. “Me.”
“Oh.” He smiled at her. Not one of the big jolly smiles. Just a quirk of the lips that was everything sweet. “What’s not to like?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. But if it’s details you want…”
She nodded.
“The way you think.”
“Well, that’s just perverse. We both know I’m incredibly twisted and that a normal thought hasn’t passed through this brain in years.”
“Exactly,” he said.
“Okay. Go on.”
“The look on your face when you’re about to kick my ass at pool. The way you talk to your cats. How you shine on stage and how everything in you is about connecting with the people, about making them see how absurd it all is, and how great it can be. I love how you don’t give up, ever, and how you keep on going even when you’re scared to death. And most of all, I love the way I am with you. The way you think I’m a riot.
How you make me believe it, too.”
Molly closed her eyes. Tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t go away. What he’d said was beautiful, wonderful, but how he’d said it made her ache.
“Molly? You okay?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be doing much right, do I?”
“It’s not…” She looked at him, seeing beyond the hair, the new look. “When you kissed me—”
He stood up so quickly she jerked back on the couch. “Stop it. It happened. It was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”
“That’s the problem. It did.”
He looked at her and even in the dark she could see his confusion. It matched her own. “What?”
She stood, too. Moved closer. “I keep trying to convince myself that I didn’t feel anything. That it was just, you know, lips and stuff.”
He didn’t say anything. He swallowed though. And blinked.
“But things did occur.”
“Things?” he asked, his voice so low she had to move closer still.
She nodded. “We can’t do this, you know. It’s a total mistake, and we’re minutes away from the biggest break of our lives, and this would complicate things beyond belief, and God, the worst possible outcome is that we lose what we have because of all the crap that comes along with relationships, and Charlie, that would kill me because I can’t lose you, you’re the best thing that’s ever—”
He kissed her. Again.
It wasn’t at all like the last one. There were no bruising hands on her arms, no stunning timing to make her gasp. No blinding shock that stopped the night.
This was warm breath, softness. She could feel him caring, feel him wanting. Just lips, but oh, how the touch of those lips infused her with a kind of wild peace that made no sense at all.
His hand cupped her jaw. Fingers, cool and tender.
She let herself fall. Only for a minute, and then she would stop. It would stop, and they would go back to what they were supposed to be. Friends who worked together. Friends without benefits. Just pals.
But first, she parted her lips and his tongue slipped inside. How could it possibly be so different to touch this part of him? They’d held hands, hugged, been through a million moments, and none of them had been close to this.
Love So Tender: Taking Care of BusinessPlay It Again, ElvisGood Luck Charm Page 13
