“Socially, I’m not around many people not in the business,” Samantha said. “I’m never quite certain, too, when I meet them, how to behave.”
Hank thought about Samantha’s chatting with Pammy about her ex-husbands outside the yacht club the night before, and then abruptly leaving in the limo without a farewell.
“I’m a little out of practice too,” he said. “But we can get more today. Look what we’re doing right now.”
“True.” She brightened a little, which again made him feel for her.
It also made him step back and wonder if he was heading down the same path toward loneliness and isolation. And he was. He definitely was. It was a wake-up call he really didn’t want at that moment.
But there it was.
“Let’s live it up,” he said. “I mean it, Samantha. Let’s be normal. Let’s forget about the movie when we’re off the set together. We’ll call it Operation Friendship. We’ll start with you and me. Friends.” He held out his hand.
“Friends.” She shook it.
“We’re in the business together,” he reminded her, “but it’s a start. Our next step is to move outward. I challenge you to make at least one friend not in show business.”
“Very well.” She smiled. “Challenge accepted.” She hesitated. “Did you think I was coming onto you in the trailer? I mean, you obviously did, right? You gave me that speech about our reputations.”
Whoa. How should he reply? “I kind of did.” He winced, sensing it was the wrong answer. “Okay, I really did.”
She laughed. “I have no designs on you, Hank. I wanted to talk to you about Ella, is all.”
“Ella? Isn’t she working out as your cousin?”
She nodded. “Not a single worry on set. No, it’s about something else. But we can chat later. Look at this place!”
They both stood at the wrought-iron gate, enchanted. At least Hank was sure Samantha was as captivated as he was. She gazed at the turret, her mouth slightly agape, and then at the front garden with its cherub fountain spouting water. She ran her hand over the top of the gate, which was a work of art itself, two hearts intertwined in the middle of it.
“Gorgeous,” is all she said about the entire tableau.
“It is.” He felt a sense of pride that Ella was part owner of the house, that she and her best friends had created a thriving business headquartered here.
And then he realized he hadn’t warned Ella that Samantha was coming too. He hoped she’d be okay with that.
They heard some mild gasping and a curse word behind them and turned to see a woman in her late forties or early fifties navigating the cobblestones. She wore a purple suit and big sunglasses and a little snakeskin purse that flapped against her side. Her platinum blonde hair and sophisticated blunt cut shouted well-to-do.
She’d fit in well on the Upper East Side in Hank’s mother’s crowd. Ella had told him that when she’d lived in Charleston in college, she’d seen a lot of women like the one approaching. Many of them lived South of Broad Street in the historic district. The locals called the residents there SOBs for short. Hank had never forgotten that. It was a funny designation.
But the truth was, according to Ella, most people in Charleston were pretty damn nice. And if you weren’t in the upper-crust crowd, you could probably count your blessings. When they’d first started dating, Ella had told him about Macy. She’d only just been a debutante at the oldest debutante ball in the United States, which took place right here in Charleston. The fuss around that event had stressed Ella—and Macy too. Macy had gotten into big fights with her mother about what her gown would look like and who was going to sign her dance card.
Ella thought all the focus on maintaining tradition and social standing—which seemed to go hand in hand in Charleston—seemed more trouble than it was worth. In college, she’d told Hank, she’d had fun the way most people around town did, by going to the beach—which was accessible to the public—having porch parties, shucking oysters, and riding bikes along the sea wall, where a bunch of big mansions faced Fort Sumter in the harbor. One of those mansions, of course, was Beau and Lacey’s, and Hank, Ella, and Pammy were living behind it in the carriage house right now.
The irony wasn’t lost on Hank. Here he was in Ella’s Charleston, the one she’d told him stories about when they were younger. He never thought he’d wind up in the Lowcountry doing a movie. But so far, he liked it. The flowers smelled good. The salt air off the harbor was invigorating. The people were friendly. The walk alone from the set to Two Love Lane had lifted his spirits. It was made even more satisfying knowing he was heading toward Ella.
“Hey there!” the woman in purple called cheerily to them both. Her Southern accent was as pronounced as Miss Thing’s.
“Hi,” Hank said with a grin.
“Good afternoon,” Samantha chimed in.
Hank noticed she sounded friendlier than she usually did. Good for her.
The woman caught up with them. “Y’all are headin’ to the same place. I’m Roberta Ruttle.”
Introductions were made.
“You’re both so charming,” Roberta said. “Welcome to Charleston.”
And that was it. Didn’t acknowledge their movie-star status directly. Didn’t ask for an autograph. Hank could get used to this kind of treatment. He opened the gate. “After you, ladies.”
Samantha trailed behind Roberta. “Lovely St. John suit,” she called up to her.
“Thanks,” said Roberta. “Junior League Thrift Shop. It used to belong to my good friend Mimi, and when she saw it on me, she said, ‘Honey, that looks way better on you.’ She was wearing one of my missing special-collection Hermes scarves at the time. I couldn’t figure out how. I knew she didn’t have one from that particular collection. She said she’d bought it at the thrift shop too. I realized I must have left it in a set of suitcases I’d donated. I couldn’t very well snatch it back from her, could I?”
Samantha laughed. “I suppose not. But she didn’t offer to give it back?”
“She did,” Roberta said. “But I wouldn’t take it. How could I deny her the pleasure of finding an Hermes scarf at the thrift shop? It’s a great story. And I got her St. John suit, didn’t I? Friends don’t split up over scarves, bottom line.”
“I suppose,” Samantha said. “I must go to this thrift shop.”
“I’ll take you,” Roberta said.
Samantha looked over her shoulder at Hank, her eyes twinkling. He gave her a thumbs-up. Way to go, he mouthed to her.
She winked.
At the front door, Roberta rang the bell.
It was flung open almost immediately by Miss Thing. She wore a white suit with aqua buttons and aqua shoes dyed to match. Hank knew all about dyed shoes, thanks to his costume-designer friends. But while Roberta Ruttle looked up-to-date in her suit, Miss Thing looked like she was from an old Life magazine, circa 1965. Her hairdo added to the effect. It was rolled tightly like the Queen of England’s.
“Come in, one and all!” she cried.
When she saw Samantha, her cry turned to a strangled gasp. She twisted an invisible key in her mouth. “Not a word,” she said. “I won’t say a word!”
“Thank you,” Samantha said, her smile a tad weary but authentic all the same.
Miss Thing clasped her hands in front of her underwhelming bosom. “Roberta, I’ll take you to Ella’s office. And as for you two stars of the big screen, one of whom is an outright legend, although Hank, you’re on your way too—”
He chuckled. She was a real performer.
“Please head that way, if you would be so kind”—she pointed a manicured finger down the hall—“and I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I’ll get the tea kettle going, and by then, Ella will probably be available.” She blinked her fake eyelashes at him. “She told me you were on your way.”
“Yes.” Hank took no offense at Miss Thing’s leaving him off her list of stars who’d achieved legendary status in Hollywood. It was refreshing to be re
minded that he still had mountains to climb.
“I’ll start the kettle,” said Samantha.
“You will?” Miss Thing practically quivered with delight.
“Of course,” said Samantha.
The office manager put her hand on her heart. “The Brita pitcher’s in the fridge, and the kettle’s on the AGA.”
Samantha smiled. “So glad you have an AGA stove.”
“We’d have nothing less,” said Miss Thing, and then in a stage whisper, added, “I told the girls I can’t work here unless I get an AGA in the kitchen! I have homemade cookies too. We’ll have a tea party!”
“Lovely,” said Samantha. She seemed genuinely pleased.
Miss Thing whirled to face Hank. “If you prefer coffee, we have a machine there for that. But don’t tell Pete. He runs Roastbusters at the top of the lane. He’s one of our dearest friends.”
“No, tea’s good,” Hank said, to be polite and to please her and Samantha. He wasn’t a fan, but if he could handle hazelnut coffee creamer, he could do tea.
“Why don’t I grab Ella, and we’ll all have tea?” asked Roberta. “I could use some, honestly. I love your mint juleps, Miss Thing, but we are nowhere near five o’clock. And I had an Arnold Palmer right before I got here, so iced tea or lemonade doesn’t suit my fancy right now.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Miss Thing exclaimed. “Tea for all! But I believe Ella wanted to talk to you in private. She has an update for you.”
“On my dating situation?” Roberta asked without blinking an eye.
Miss Thing fingered her pearl necklace. “Yes. I think that’s it.” She stole a sideways glance at Hank and Samantha.
“I don’t mind if they listen in,” Roberta told her.
“Well, in that case, I know that’s it!” cried Miss Thing. “Wait until you hear. It’s so exciting!”
“Oh, so you know what’s going on?” Roberta asked her.
“Not usually. Ella respects your privacy.” Miss Thing gave a tiny hop. “But honey, sometimes she consults us if she needs extra inspiration, and it was my idea she loved. Or didn’t love. But is willing to try.” She clamped her mouth shut. “But it’s Ella’s place to tell you,” she couldn’t resist adding.
“I’m right here,” Ella said, raising her hand. Hank looked over and saw her grinning outside her office door. “Miss Thing, I wish you’d buzzed me.”
“I was going to, but then it got very exciting, and now you’re in the middle of it,” Miss Thing said. “See?” She looked around, lifted her hands, and let them drop.
“Dear God, Ella, what is going on?” Roberta asked. “I left a big meeting to come over.”
“I promise I’ll tell you,” Ella replied. Then she saw Samantha. “Oh, hi, Samantha! It’s good to see you.”
Hank thought she sounded genuinely glad to see his costar, which he appreciated, especially considering that Samantha hadn’t been particularly warm to Ella at the yacht club last night and earlier today at the read-through.
“I tagged along with Hank,” Samantha said.
“I meant to text you,” Hank said.
“It’s fine,” Ella assured him.
Hank couldn’t help feeling relieved. He didn’t like to displease Ella. Sometimes he disappointed her because he had to, like when he broke up with her—idiot!—and that one time he’d accidentally washed her favorite white blouse with his red shorts, and it turned pink. He also remembered favoring a cuss word she hated, and it took him about twenty mild reminders and then a few tongue-lashings from her to cut it out of his life for good. To this day he didn’t say it.
All in all, he much preferred to see her happy. It warmed his heart. A happy Ella was a gift to the world.
“Tell me right now what’s going on,” said Roberta. “I don’t care who hears.”
“I’ll go get the tea party started,” said Miss Thing.
“Let’s all head that way, then,” said Ella. “You sure, Roberta, about not wanting to meet in private?”
“I’m sure.”
Hank was now walking between Ella and Samantha. This was an exciting day. Not because of the movie but because he was here with Ella, and everything was so crazy. Was her life like this all the time? He suspected it was if Miss Thing was always in it, as apparently, she was, and breezy characters like Roberta Ruttle, who didn’t care who heard her private business.
Charleston was fun.
“All righty,” Ella said when they were all finally in the kitchen.
“Everyone, take a seat,” said Miss Thing, “while I get the tea going and the cookies out. I wish Greer and Macy were here to say hello. They’re both out on scouting visits.”
“What’s a scouting visit in your world?” Samantha asked.
Everyone knew what it was in the movies—when you looked for places you could use in your film as backdrops or scene settings.
“It’s when we look at possible romantic date sites,” said Ella. “Sometimes our clients don’t know where to go or what to do. We stay on top of the latest goings-on, as well as the tried and true. And Miss Thing writes most of them up on our blog.”
“I sure do.” She did her thing at the stove, prepping the tea.
“But a few we keep to ourselves,” Ella said. “We pull them out for our clients when they want to go the extra mile.”
“Those sound intriguing,” said Samantha.
“Believe me, they are,” Miss Thing said, her eyes wide. “I especially like the scenario we call Operation Shrimp Trawler.”
“Operation Shrimp Trawler?” Roberta laughed.
“Oh, honey,” said Miss Thing. “You have no idea how romantic a shrimp trawler can be.”
“No, I don’t,” Roberta said.
Hank was scratching his head at that one too.
“All right, don’t give away all our secrets, Miss Thing,” Ella said fondly. “Y’all, take a seat. We really have to get moving. Everyone’s on a schedule.”
Hank pulled out a chair for Roberta at the small farm table. Ella and Samantha sat on a bench on the other side. Miss Thing was still bustling around the stove. He’d save the other chair for her. He took a seat on the bench between Ella and Samantha. Roberta put her two elbows on the table and said, “Shoot,” to Ella.
Ella sat up a little straighter. “Miss Thing thinks she might understand the tarot card reader’s riddle, if that’s what we want to call it.”
“Excuse me,” Hank said. “Tarot cards? A riddle? Am I in the middle of a scripted mystery series?”
Samantha chuckled.
“Just hold your celebrity horses, you two,” said Roberta with a mischievous grin. “This is something very important to me. So you need to sit tight and listen.”
Hank and Samantha looked at each other. The mild surprise in her eyes reflected his own. When was the last time anyone had spoken to them like that?
He couldn’t remember.
And he knew she couldn’t either.
“I’m sorry,” he said at the same time Samantha did.
“Really sorry,” Samantha added.
He saw Ella trying not to laugh. Miss Thing giggled.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Roberta said, grinning. “My land, it’s obvious you two haven’t had anyone talk back to you in a long time. If you listen to what happened to me a long time ago, all is forgiven.”
So Hank and Samantha listened. He found the whole story weird but fascinating. Apparently, Samantha did too. “I don’t know what to say,” she said when it was over. “What an interesting problem to have.”
“Thank you,” said Roberta. “I don’t want it. But it’s nice to be able to share it with you.”
“So is everyone ready to hear what Miss Thing thinks the tarot card reader meant?” Ella asked them.
“I’m certainly ready, more than anyone here,” said Roberta. She tapped her fingers on the table.
“Tell them, Miss Thing,” said Ella.
By this time, Miss Thing had set out the te
a things, along with a platter of cookies that Hank thought resembled Frisbees with pink and white sprinkles. Miss Thing poured everyone a cuppa and they all grabbed cookies, except for Samantha, who said the costume shop would kill her.
Hank smiled over the rim of his cup at Ella. He liked having her so close by. The corner of her mouth tipped up, but then she looked away. He’d say she was playing hard to get, but he knew better. She wasn’t playing. She meant it.
Patience, he told himself, although he didn’t have time for patience, did he? He needed hope. Because that woman was stubborn. And she had excellent reasons for putting up a wall between them. He took it very seriously. Neither was he sure what would happen if she decided to let him in.
Maybe nothing. That would suck. A lot.
But he wanted to try. He had to at least try. He thought back to his dad saying how he’d liked Ella and how Hank should go down to Charleston, which was so out of character for his dad to say. That gave Hank a little boost. He wasn’t crazy to try. Ella was special.
Ella was—if he dared to admit it—the love of his life. When he was younger and told her he’d loved her, he really had.
And he’d never stopped.
He loved her right now. What would she do if she knew? He had less than a week to figure out how to tell her without her running away.
To hell with the costume shop. He ate a whole cookie. Ella did too.
He was surprised that somehow they’d made it this far—eight minutes, judging by the Kit-Cat Klock on the wall with the swinging tail—without Ella yet revealing the news Roberta was waiting for.
And then the front door opened and slammed.
“Hey, Ella! Ya here?” It was Pammy. “I’m done for the day. I have a date tonight! Where are you? Hellooooo? What am I supposed to say on this date? Ella?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Back here, Pammy!” Ella yelled. “The kitchen! In the rear of the house!”
Loud footsteps clomped down the hall, and Pammy burst into the room. “My date’s with the mayor of Charleston, and he’s hot. Hotter than Hank. Not that I think Hank is hot. He’s my cousin. Gross.” She flipped the bird at him.
Second Chance At Two Love Lane Page 14
