Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “Besides, I never knocked.” She sounded perfectly serious.

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Isn’t your bed on the other side of our connecting wall?”

  She shook her head. “No. Between the two windows.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I forgot. So … you didn’t get out of bed?”

  “No.”

  “Did you hear the knock on the wall?”

  She shook her head. “I was in a deep sleep until I heard you knock on my door.”

  That was right. She always used to sleep like a log.

  He scratched his head. “Maybe I was dreaming.”

  “That was probably it.” She paused. “You did that a couple of times when we were … together.”

  “Oh, yeah.” It seemed like an intimate memory to talk about.

  “Good night.” She lingered a second longer than he expected she would, which meant his mind went back to its very debauched thoughts.

  “Good night,” he said back.

  She smiled a little shyly and pulled her door shut.

  That was that.

  When he got back to bed, Hank pulled the sheets up very carefully and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was thinking about Ella, about the old days, when she’d had the occasional nightmare and would wake him and tell him about it. Most of the times she’d snuggle up next to him and go back to sleep. And other times, she’d want him to make love to her, when the city was quiet, save for the occasional siren and muffled laughter or talking coming from the street four stories below. Either way, he’d made sure she was happy again. And then he’d always wait until he heard her even breathing before he fell back asleep too. He’d felt it was his duty as her boyfriend to ensure her a sweet, untroubled slumber.

  Now he thought back on those nights and realized he’d never been happier. He’d loved feeling needed by her. He’d mattered.

  They’d mattered.

  The ceiling was boring. Hank’s eyelids started feeling heavy. He lifted his head off the pillow and took one last glance at the portrait of the three little boys on the wall, in deep shadow now. They must have been brothers. Or cousins. He thought about how the canvas had looked in daylight, how the boys had stood so plainly, their faces holding nothing back, that staid black carriage and the house in the background.

  Every day was a new adventure, their expressions said.

  Had they been going somewhere in that carriage? Or had it been bringing a visitor to them? Either way, they’d have been able to create a make-believe quest around whatever was being commemorated in the painting, Hank was sure.

  He yawned and remembered feeling like every day was an adventure. He remembered being a boy who had brothers. He was lucky to still have them. He needed to call them more.

  The final words he thought before he fell asleep were I need to pay attention to the people in my life. The last vision he had before he nodded off was Ella’s face at her bedroom door.

  * * *

  Tuesday morning, Hank’s alarm went off at seven. He and Ella had to be on the set at eight, and it was a ten-minute drive. They were playing it close. Luckily, Hank could get in and out of a shower fast. And there was no need to get too worried. Today was only a read-through. A half day at most. He sat up, grabbed the robe at the foot of the bed, and heard a distant, steady pelleting of water against tile coming from the downstairs shower. Must be Ella. Pammy had told them last night she didn’t have to be at Beau and Lacey’s big house until nine and that she’d wait for the bathroom until they were done.

  So Ella was totally naked and in the same house, and Hank never thought that scenario would happen again. But here they were. He hadn’t even heard her wake up and walk past his bedroom door.

  He stood at the top of the stairs and smelled coffee percolating. Ella again, no doubt. He’d seen a Mr. Coffee in the pantry. Sometimes it was nice to skip the coffee pods and drink the freshly brewed stuff from the pot. He’d have to grab a cup before she got out so he could have some without hazelnut creamer in it.

  What an idiot he’d been to concoct that story.

  He was standing there gulping it down when she whizzed by the kitchen in a short towel, her hair dripping wet, and took off up the stairs without a word. Maybe she thought he was still in bed.

  Seeing her like that was enough to torture him for the rest of the day.

  And then he heard the hair dryer start up, and she was humming a song from the musical she’d just finished. The song about her rotten ex-lover whom she’d gotten completely over.

  “That’s me,” he said aloud as he rinsed out his cup and put it on the side of the sink. He usually had two, but he’d get the second one at the set. There’d be food there too. All he had to do was jump in the shower and get dressed in half an hour.

  Entirely doable.

  Unless you have three ladies show up at your door, unannounced, with a box of Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnuts and chocolate-covered ones. With sprinkles.

  Man oh man.

  “Well, hey there, Hank Rogers, you handsome thing,” said the oldest one in a thick Southern drawl. She was very attractive, probably mid-forties or so. “Don’t mind us. We’re here to tell Ella to break a leg on her first day on the set. You too.” She beamed in her yellow suit. “I’m Miss Thing.”

  So this was Miss Thing!

  She fluttered her fingers at him in a little wave and grinned.

  He was glad he’d just had his first cup of coffee. “Come on in,” he said, and grinned back.

  The other two were Ella’s age, beauties both. One wore a flowery skirt and white blouse, her hair in a ponytail. The look was very romantic and feminine.

  “Hello, Mr. Rogers,” she said with a warm smile in a lighter Southern accent than Miss Thing’s. She was carrying the boxes of doughnuts. “I’m Macy.”

  “And I’m Greer,” the third woman cut in with a twinkle in her eye. She wore a sleek pantsuit and her hair loose in a sexy wave. “We’re Ella’s colleagues and BFFs.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” he said. “And please call me Hank.”

  “Hank,” they all said at once.

  It made him happy, somehow, that they said his name all together. Like three sweet angels, he couldn’t help thinking. Or enforcers. He couldn’t decide. These were Ella’s colleagues and best friends … he’d better be on his best behavior. He wanted them on his side.

  “I hate to leave you, but I need to shower,” he said.

  Miss Thing started fanning herself. “Lawd, it’s hot in here.”

  “Do you want a glass of water?” he asked. Her two friends didn’t seem too worried.

  “I’m fine.” Miss Thing walked to the sofa and perched on the edge, her feet turned demurely to the side, her hands folded in her lap. “I’ll just sit here a minute.”

  “Good,” he said. “Make yourself at home. Ella and I have to leave here in”—he looked at the old clock on the mantel—“twenty-five minutes.”

  “We understand,” said Macy. “We’ll head upstairs to see her, if that’s where she is.”

  “Yes, she just ran by in a towel,” he said.

  “Oho!” Miss Thing chuckled.

  Greer made a face at her that Hank caught, then redirected her gaze to him. “You go shower, Hank. We will see you again, I’m sure.”

  He grinned again. “I’m sure too. See you soon. In about five minutes, actually. I gotta move fast.”

  “Ta-ta ’til then!” Miss Thing called after him. “We’ll save you a couple of doughnuts.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Bye, Hank!” Macy said too. “Have a good shower!”

  It wasn’t as if he had to go far. Just down the hall. But they were sending him off like he was going to war or something.

  He waved awkwardly. “Yeah. See ya.”

  The whole time in the shower, he thought about how Ella had just been in it before him. And now she must be upstairs laughing and chatting with her friends.
Was she still in that towel? Why didn’t she have a robe? Maybe she’d left it at home by accident. He hoped she’d never go back and get it.

  The door swung open a second with a small whine, and he felt a slight draft.

  “Hello?” he called from behind the vinyl curtain. He was in the middle of washing his hair.

  Then it swung shut again.

  He could swear he’d locked that door! But it was old. Maybe the latch mechanism didn’t work right. He scrubbed under his left arm. And then his right. Maybe it was Pammy getting up. All that noise out front had probably woken her and she stumbled half asleep into the bathroom, forgetting he was in there.

  It was time to get out anyway.

  He rubbed down with a small white cotton towel, more like a washcloth. It was too small, but it was also nice and rough, the way he liked towels. None of that fabric softener stuff for him. He’d buy a good set of towels for the house today online—a small gift to Beau and Lacey—and get them sent overnight. He’d wash them himself in the big house tomorrow. That was one thing he still knew how to do: use a washer and dryer. Too many of his assistants ruined his clothes, at least the ones he didn’t send to the dry cleaner.

  He looked around for his robe. Damn. He’d left it upstairs.

  “Wait a sec—” he murmured. He hadn’t forgotten his robe. He’d been naked underneath it. He’d met the women at the front door in it. He’d walked to the bathroom in it!

  Whatever had happened to it, he had no choice now. He’d have to do the towel thing too.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ella was so nervous about going to the movie set Tuesday morning. Would she trip over some wires when she got there? Would anyone look at her and talk about her behind their hand to someone else? Would they say, “That’s the woman who came on board because of Hank? Maybe she can’t even act?”

  Or did only Isabel and Samantha know how she got the part?

  She had no idea. She simply had to hold her head up high.

  “You’ll be amazing,” her mother said that morning as she held Ella’s cheeks between her hands. She had tears in her eyes. “Your papa would be so proud. He is proud.” She looked up to the ceiling and blew a kiss. Luckily, they were in the living room, not the kitchen, where Jupiter would have been the recipient of Mama’s affection. No, her kiss went all the way up to Heaven.

  “Thanks, Mama.” Ella had tears in her eyes too. “It’s not a big part, but yes, Papa would be excited for me.”

  “Don’t forget your nonnas!” said Nonna Boo. “We’re proud too.”

  She and Nonna Sofia were snug in the new recliners Cosmo had sent down from New York. They were ergonomically designed, he said, especially for beautiful ladies from Sicily who didn’t feel like pushing themselves out of their chairs. These chairs pushed them out without their help. The seat cushions rose up and gently placed the nonnas right onto the carpet.

  “That’s right,” said Nonna Sofia. “Samantha Drake better watch out.”

  Ella heard that over and over that morning. She’d stopped by her mother’s, leaving Hank on his own with that big box of doughnuts her friends had left them. At a nerve-wracking time like this, she needed her family too.

  But now she was on the movie set. She’d been preparing for it in her head, and it was nothing—absolutely nothing—like what she’d imagined. Nobody was lounging around with clipboards, staring at the morning arrivals, ready to size them up. In fact, when Ella got to the portion of a block of King Street that had been cordoned off and was surrounded by trucks, including the “Desi” and “Lucy” restroom truck, which was found on most movie sets, she couldn’t find anyone, and that was because they weren’t there, according to a police officer watching all the equipment. She’d been supposed to meet the cast and crew in a nearby music hall, a sort of glorified bar with a massive floor and a stage at one end, a popular watering hole and music venue for regional and even national acts. They were going to do a read-through on chairs on the stage, and on the floor was going to be another big breakfast spread.

  Ella was legitimately hungry now. She hadn’t had time to eat at her mother’s, and that had concerned both Mama and the nonnas. They’d tried to get her to have a little grappa to soothe her, but she reminded them that nine o’clock in the morning wasn’t anywhere close to happy hour. She needed to be sharp on set.

  She hoped Hank wouldn’t be watching her, to make sure she was living up to the description of her he’d given the producer and director. On the other hand, she hoped Samantha would be more interactive today. After all, they were doing several scenes together.

  Her nerves came back when she walked through the doors of the music hall. Lots of people milled about, plates in hand, filling up at the breakfast buffet. She caught the back of Hank’s head and her heart leaped. She didn’t want to be happy to see him, but she was. Samantha was next to him, her hair done up in a gorgeous chignon. They were talking animatedly as they strolled over to a picnic table and sat down. No one joined them, Ella saw.

  “Hi, I’m Ella Mancini,” she said to a person with Bluetooth earbuds and an iPad, not a clipboard.

  “Great,” the girl said, and tapped on her iPad. “Gotcha signed in. Why don’t you get some breakfast? The read-through starts in twenty.”

  “Okay,” said Ella, and then was left alone. People walked right by her and didn’t even notice she was there. In this crowd, she was a big nobody. But that didn’t mean she had to be ashamed of her small role. No, it meant that she was a genuine actor who took parts for the love of the dramatic arts. She did this because it was like breathing to her. She couldn’t imagine never being able to act in a play. Or in this case, a movie. She had to be around a stage or a set. Not that she had a whole lot of experience on a set, but she had a little. She’d been in several commercials in New York.

  “Fine,” she said under her breath. And then realized, with utter shock, that she hadn’t read the script they’d sent over for her to peruse the night before—

  And she’d never even noticed.

  Because she’d been out with Pammy and Hank at dinner, with his professional cohorts. And when they got home several hours later, Ella did her best to avoid Hank by making Pammy cheese toast under the oven broiler, which fascinated Pammy, who had only used toaster ovens and pop-up toasters before that night. But then Hank wanted some cheese toast because Ella had bought really good Jarlsberg and Irish cheddar, and while she was cutting it, she realized she did too, especially because she’d bought a loaf of brioche, her favorite kind of bread.

  So they sat around the kitchen table eating gooey cheese toast and drinking Prosecco, and they never discussed the movie for even one second. Ella tried not to directly address Hank, focusing instead on how Samantha had behaved to Pammy outside the yacht club and what it was like for Pammy to grow up in Oregon. And then right as they’d decided to call it quits for the night, they went to play pool at the Blind Tiger. And there Pammy asked Hank how he’d met Ella, and he went through the whole Serendipity 3 story very quickly. He’d been a busboy. He’d met Ella there and vowed to meet her again, four years later, after she graduated.

  And they had. Neither one had forgotten their date.

  “And that was that,” he said, and then had lousy luck sinking all the solid balls on the green baize top of the pool table.

  At least for a while, that was that, Ella had thought, and went on to beat both Hank and Pammy at pool. And while she appreciated that Hank didn’t linger over the details of their relationship with a bunch of sappy, romantic comments, she also felt sad that their love story didn’t matter anymore.

  And now here she was the next morning standing in a music hall, picking up a paper plate to fill it with eggs and grits and bacon. The brave Mancini in her decided she was going to be social and sit at a table with people she didn’t know and leave Hank and Samantha to themselves. She wasn’t going to run after either one of them.

  Of course, she wasn’t supposed to anyway. They were the sta
rs.

  So she sat with two camera grips and a makeup artist. They’d all been to school in North Carolina to learn their trade, and over the course of their training, they’d become NASCAR fans, which she knew nothing about. But she managed, somehow, to engage with each of them and have a good time. And finish off her plate. That would make Mama happy.

  However, Ella wasn’t happy. She watched Hank and Samantha ignore everyone and stay chitchatting at their own private picnic table. Samantha was beautiful when she was engaged. It was why the world and the camera loved her. The expressions she could conjure!

  She was using them to full effect on Hank.

  “Look at the lovebirds,” one of the camera grips said, and laughed. He sounded a little bitter.

  “Isn’t it too early for that kind of talk?” asked the makeup artist, with a wry lift to one of her brows. “I mean, come on. It’s his first day. Give him a break.”

  “Those kind of people don’t work on the world’s usual timelines,” the grip said. “And ten years’ difference in age is nothing. Especially with the miracles plastic surgeons work these days.”

  “That kind of flirting is everywhere,” the other grip said. “They’re no different from us. If I were straight, I’d want to hook up with Samantha the first day I met her if I had the chance, wouldn’t you?”

  The first grip shrugged. “Sure. But gossiping is fun. It makes the day go faster.”

  Ella didn’t know what to say. She focused on finishing up her coffee. Inside, she felt stupid for caring that Hank and Samantha were already being talked about as a couple.

  “Have you ever met either one of them?” the second grip, the one without a chip on his shoulder, asked her.

  “Yes,” said Ella. She wasn’t going to lie and be caught out about it. “I had dinner with them last night.”

  “Whoa,” said the makeup girl. “That’s a big deal.”

  Ella balled up her napkin, picked up her plate and plastic utensils, and stood. “I’d never met Samantha before. But Hank and I are friends from back in our audition days in New York.”

  “Ohhh,” said the grouchy grip. His neck got slightly red.