Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “Oh, what was I thinking … literally.” Ella laughed. And then a low-level hum of embarrassment ran from her head to her toes. She’d been thinking about making love with Hank, the last time they had. She remembered it in great detail, the dress she’d worn (red, with lace-up strings down the back), and the night (they’d attended a concert given by her favorite male solo performer at Madison Square Garden). When they’d returned to the house, Hank had shut the front door behind them and immediately grabbed the strings at the back of her dress and started unlacing. She’d laughed.

  He’d said, “When you think about other guys the way I know you were tonight, it’s sexy as hell. And I get very jealous.”

  She’d said, “You don’t need to be. Silly.” She’d turned to him then, filled with such love for him, and that wonderful longing to be one with him, to show him with her body what she couldn’t say in words because sometimes words weren’t enough.

  They’d had the bawdiest coupling they’d ever had right there by the front door, against the wall. But it had been so much more than great sex. Way more. It had been about love too, real love, the kind she never knew existed until she’d met Hank.

  Now, with Samantha, she gave a little laugh. “I was thinking about a concert I went to once.” She smiled and shrugged. “I know that sounds weird. I mean, why in the middle of a read-through? I think I heard one of the guy’s songs right before I got here this morning.”

  Samantha narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling too. “It must have been an amazing concert,” she murmured.

  “It was,” Ella said, and felt like an idiot.

  “Who was it?”

  “Justin Bieber.”

  Samantha clapped her hand over her mouth and stifled a very girlish giggle. “No.”

  Ella laughed. “Yes. I’m a big fan. Still.”

  “Who did you go with?” Samantha asked, her tone bright.

  Ella’s face fell. She was a good actor but a rotten liar. “I-I can’t remember.” She swallowed. “No, I do. A couple of girlfriends from high school.”

  “Ah.” Samantha gave her a lingering look. “Perhaps I should start listening to Justin Bieber.”

  “He’s awesome,” Ella said, and laughed. Nervously. Like she’d been caught in a big lie, which she had. Not about Justin, who would always hold a special place in her heart, something Hank had been amused by but had never made fun of. He’d bought her those tickets, after all. But she’d lied about whom she’d gone with.

  She suspected that somehow, Samantha was on to her.

  But how could she be?

  And why would Samantha want to know what she was thinking, anyway?

  Samantha laughed too. “Do you have plans for lunch? Want to join me in my trailer?”

  Oh, God. Samantha was reaching out to her. Ella was astounded. But she had to go to Two Love Lane at lunchtime. Miss Thing had said she’d had to talk to Ella about something very, very important, but she wanted to tell Ella in person because it was so mind-blowing. She hinted that it involved baking, which seemed the opposite of mind-blowing to Ella. So she was more intrigued than ever.

  “I wish I could,” Ella said. “But today I can’t. I have to get back to the office for a quick meeting.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Samantha. “You have a regular job as a matchmaker.”

  “It’s Monday through Friday—and sometimes weekends—but I wouldn’t call it regular,” Ella said with a wry grin. “No day is ever the same. And talk about drama.”

  “I can imagine,” said Samantha. “Another time, then. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Hank. You two are friends, and I thought perhaps…” She trailed off, but she had a rather wistful smile on her face, which Ella instantly recognized.

  Samantha liked Hank. Like-liked Hank. As in she was already crushing on him. And she was confiding in Ella. The matchmaker. Duh.

  “Oh,” Ella said, having put two and two together. None of this attention had been about Samantha wanting to take her down a notch—thank God—but neither had it been about them forging a friendship. Samantha, it seemed, was looking for an alliance of a different kind. “You want to talk about Hank? In terms of…?”

  Samantha gave a little shuddering sigh. “You don’t know how much I campaigned for him to be in this film. And when Frampton had to leave, I was thrilled Hank finally said yes.”

  She had it bad.

  Ella scratched the side of her nose. She couldn’t very well ask Samantha to uphold the principles of girl power and not practice them herself. She wished she didn’t have to, because she was violating Hank’s privacy—he hadn’t disclosed the true nature of their relationship to anyone on the set—but shouldn’t she tell Samantha about their romantic past? Wouldn’t it be weird not to? Samantha might feel foolish if she found out later, especially since she was confiding in Ella about her crush on Hank.

  Ella was a matchmaker, so that was like wearing a big sign on her chest saying, Tell me your deepest secrets.

  But did professional matchmakers have to divulge their past to their clients?

  Ella didn’t think so … unless the client wanted to date your old boyfriend. Not that Samantha was an actual client. But still, Ella never thought she’d run into a problem like this.

  There was no way around it. She had to tell Samantha. Hank’s privacy would be compromised. But there was girl power. And Hank would survive. She didn’t owe Hank anything anymore, and she—and he—needed to remember that.

  “Samantha,” Ella said. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Yes?”

  Ella took a mental breath. “I used to date Hank. I lived with him, in fact, ten years ago. Not long, and we were pretty much still kids, now that I look back on it—”

  “I know all that,” Samantha said, chuckling.

  “You do?”

  “Sure.” Samantha lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Hank might think he lived in a vacuum before he got famous, but he didn’t.”

  “You mean—”

  “I Googled him,” Samantha said. “I mean, my private detective did. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

  Ella nodded slowly, remembering how Pammy had Googled her. “I guess so. Maybe not with the private detective…”

  “I make no apologies about my snooping,” Samantha said. “I do it to all my costars. I prefer to call it practicing good security measures.”

  “I understand you’re in a unique situation,” Ella said.

  “Unique, no,” replied Samantha. “I’m not the only famous person—”

  “I meant, unique in that you’re part of the point zero zero zero one percent of the population that is an A-list movie star,” said Ella.

  “Right.” Samantha folded her arms over her chest. “There are a few of us around. Mainly in L.A. and New York, and London, and Paris, and the French Riviera, and Monte Carlo. Occasionally, we’re found in Nashville. We do exist.”

  Ella knew that. And now the rare species was roaming in Charleston, and quite frankly, they were wreaking havoc in her life. “Okay,” she said, “so you don’t care that I dated Hank.”

  “Yes, I do care. I lobbied to bring him here because he’s an amazing actor I’ve always wanted to work with, but little did I know I was playing Cupid, too, by insisting he come.” Samantha waggled her brows.

  Ella laughed out loud. That was one expression she’d never seen on Samantha on the big screen. “You’re playing Cupid? How?”

  “You and Hank,” Samantha said with a soft smile. “He obviously still adores you. In fact, I’m sure you’re the reason he’s here. He’s putting on a good front about the movie, and he’s a professional, so he’ll do an outstanding job. But he and I have been in the business long enough to have figured out that taking home an Oscar isn’t as fulfilling as having a happy personal life.”

  “Samantha,” Ella actually chided her. “Please don’t try to get involved. I’m not interested. Hank and I have too much history.”

  Samantha sighed. “
Darling, let’s have a little slumber party. Divulge all your secrets to me. I’ll sort out your issues with Hank, I promise. What have you got to lose?”

  “A lot,” said Ella. “My peace.”

  “Overrated,” said Samantha. “You’re young. Go wreak havoc.”

  Ella chuckled. “You’re very sweet, but even with the friends I have now, I don’t tell them intimate details about my past relationships.”

  Which was a white lie. Greer, Macy, and Miss Thing knew an awful lot about Hank, things that would make him blush, but they were her very closest friends, and Hank would never know.

  “All right,” said Samantha, clearly disappointed. “But I can’t forget that photo.”

  “What photo?”

  “The one of you two at an ice cream shop in Manhattan. You were young, as you said. The Facebook caption read, ‘Ella and I on our first date.’”

  Ella blinked to hold back the sting of tears. That picture had been taken by a food server at Serendipity 3 the day they’d met up for their first date, four years after Hank had asked her out. She’d put it on social media a few times—so had he. She loved that picture. But it also reminded her that her father had died her senior year at the College of Charleston, and when she’d returned to New York after graduation, things weren’t the same. She went out on auditions, knowing Papa was looking down with approval from wherever he was. But she really struggled with the decision to go or not to go to Serendipity 3 to meet Hank. She’d been afraid to return to a place filled with so many memories she’d shared with her father. And she’d remembered what he’d said the last time they’d been there together: Don’t let any man get in the way of your dreams.

  But she’d wanted to see Hank.

  So she’d done it.

  And look what had happened as a result. Her whole life since Hank flashed before her eyes. She was alone, she had a job she adored—

  And she wasn’t an actor on Broadway, television, or in the movies.

  Papa, she thought now, and turned away from Samantha for a second.

  “Are you all right?” Samantha asked.

  She nodded and turned back. “I’m fine. I was about to sneeze, is all.”

  “Very well,” said Samantha. She sighed again. “At least we got everything out on the table. And I’m here to help, if you need me.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Goodbye, Ella. Until our next scene.”

  “Goodbye, Samantha. See you then.”

  Samantha walked away, then turned around. “You’re sure I can’t meddle?”

  “Yes.”

  Samantha seemed surprised. “You don’t care that he’s gorgeous and rich and an international celebrity?”

  “No.”

  Samantha shot her a soft smile again. “That’s nice. He’s more than that, isn’t he?”

  Ella nodded. “Much more.”

  “You don’t mind that we’re going to have two sex scenes? And lots of kissing in between?”

  Ella shook her head. It killed her, in a way, as it had when she’d seen his previous movies with love scenes, but what could she do?

  “I hoped you’d be jealous,” Samantha said.

  “Oh, I am.”

  “Don’t be.” Samantha waved again dismissively—she had a tendency to do that. “We’ll be surrounded by camera people and hot lights. It’s torture.”

  Ella laughed.

  Samantha left, and Ella realized they’d been the only two people still in the music hall. Everyone else had gone back to the set.

  She needed to get to Two Love Lane and find out Miss Thing’s idea. She hoped it was good. Usually, Miss Thing’s ideas were outlandish. She lived to be outlandish. It was her whole vibe. Ella was nervous the idea would be too far out. As she walked to her office, she decided to remain calm and pessimistic.

  She also thought about how Samantha was going to kiss Hank. And have fake sex with him.

  “It’s not your business,” she told herself, and walked through the front door of Two Love Lane. When she approached Miss Thing’s desk, the office manager threw down her pink feather duster—she’d been dusting her keyboard—and started applying lipstick, which she always did before she was going to make a big pronouncement.

  “What’s so important?” Ella asked her.

  Miss Thing tossed her lipstick into her top drawer. “I know what to do,” she said, “about Roberta Ruttle.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hank had no idea he was being set up when he walked into his trailer after leaving Ella at the music hall. One minute he was talking to Isabel, the producer, and the costume designer, and the next minute, all three of them got phone calls and had to leave.

  Supposedly had to leave. He had his doubts. Because that was when Samantha walked in, looking gorgeous, smelling like lavender and grass baking in the sun. It was a good, nature-infused smell. And her dress was spot-on, as the English would say, feminine and chic. She’d changed clothes since the read-through.

  It was immediately apparent she was up to no good. Which was a complication he had not expected.

  “Hello, there,” she said. There was something in her eyes, something speculative. It wasn’t awful, but he sensed an agenda that involved going beyond talking about the script or venting about the director or someone else working on the film.

  “Great to see you,” Hank said, and stood. “I gotta go.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have an appointment.” That very moment, he decided to go visit Ella, after all. He texted her: On my way to Two Love Lane.

  “What kind of appointment?” Samantha was awfully nosy. And she’d probably figured out he’d made it up on the spot.

  “I’m going to see my friend Ella at her matchmaking agency,” he told her.

  “Your ex-lover, you mean.”

  Wow. That was blunt. He opened the door to the trailer and stepped out. “How did you know?”

  “She told me.” She stepped out too.

  He shut the door behind her. He had no idea why Ella would have told Samantha that. It didn’t seem like her. He looked down at his phone and saw that Ella had texted back: Oh, good! See you in a few.

  “It was a long time ago,” he told Samantha.

  “Why are you so private about it then?”

  “Because people on sets talk. Which is why you and I shouldn’t be alone in my trailer. You know better. It’s a new day in Hollywood.”

  “But we’re in Charleston.”

  “You know what I mean, and you should be on board with it.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said. “I have a stellar, no-nonsense reputation on all my sets.”

  “I know that. I have the same, and I guard it well.”

  “If every once in a while you can’t rely on a reputation you’ve worked hard to earn, what’s the point?”

  “You can’t rely on it,” Hank said. “Those days are gone. Isabel, Chad, and Todd just exited my trailer at the same time. I suspect you texted them. And while it goes against their best interests to participate in the gossip mill, maybe someone else saw them leave and you walk in. And there goes your hard-earned reputation. And mine.”

  “I didn’t text them.”

  He refused to buy that. So he said nothing.

  “Okay, I did,” she finally admitted. “But I only wanted to get to know you a bit better. We hardly spoke last night at the yacht club. That’s all.”

  He’d take her at her word. But he hadn’t gotten his great reputation by being naive either. “We can fix that,” he said agreeably. “We can chat over coffee, in public. Or have breakfast together again, with the crew. I’d love to hear more about you too.”

  “Fine,” she said. “How about I go with you now? To the agency?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have any friends to hang out with, as you Americans say.”

  “Fair enough. How would you phrase that in England?”

  “I don’t have any friends with whom to hang.”

  �
�That doesn’t sound right.”

  “It isn’t.” She gave a low chuckle.

  “Okay,” he said. “Walk with me. But in those heels?”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t know what to do in flat shoes.”

  “Then you didn’t grow up on the moors. You must be a city girl.”

  “That’s true. I grew up in a suburb of London.”

  They talked about their childhoods, mainly hers, all the way to Two Love Lane, which was about three blocks away, close to the harbor. They stopped to sign a few autographs for a carriage full of tourists and eventually traversed the cobblestones on Love Lane without mishap.

  “I’ve walked on far older cobblestones,” said Samantha.

  “Show-off,” he said back.

  She stopped suddenly. “Thank you for making a genuine effort with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To be my friend.”

  Hank was touched. “Samantha, you say it like—” He didn’t want to finish.

  “As if I don’t have any friends,” she finished for him. “Tell me something. Do you have any? Real ones? People who see you, and not the celebrity?”

  He had to think a few seconds. “Apart from some high school friends and a few people I met during my audition days”—he was thinking of Ella, of course, and some of their mutual friends who used to hang out at their apartment: two cooks from her diner, several other kids their age making the audition rounds, and a couple of British guys who lived in the apartment below theirs, all of whom he’d stayed in touch with, except Ella—“not really. Everyone since then is tied in somehow to my job.” He paused. “I love my agent.”

  “Agents don’t count, no matter how much you love them.”

  “I have my brothers—”

  “Family doesn’t count either.”

  They both stared at each other a moment. “Well, this is pretty sad, isn’t it?” he said.

  She laughed. “No one would ever believe us. We’re lucky, you and I. That’s what they’d say.”

  “We are,” he replied.

  “But there’s a price to be paid,” Samantha reminded him.

  “Maybe we’re not trying hard enough,” he told her. “To make real friends.”