Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “I did, didn’t I? Like a caring sister.”

  “But he called you T,” Greer said.

  Miss Thing stopped walking, so they all did. “Yes, he did. It’s a nickname he gave me—the same way a brother would.”

  “Is it because he knows your first name?” asked Ella.

  There was an extended silence on Miss Thing’s part.

  “And did you want to go with him to the gala?” Macy asked.

  The silence went on.

  “That’s enough about Pete,” Miss Thing finally said, and started walking again.

  Ella, Greer, and Macy exchanged another look. Something was definitely going on. Miss Thing, who was usually so talkative, so willing to share, was clamming up.

  “But since you’re pushing on me,” Miss Thing said at the front door, “I’m gonna push on you, Ella. Any smooches yet between you and Triple H?”

  “Triple H?”

  “Hollywood Hottie Hank,” Miss Thing explained.

  That was a good reminder. He belonged to Hollywood. Ella looked around at her three friends. “Yes, as a matter of fact. And you’ll be interested to know that we’ve progressed beyond a sweet smooch on the front porch.”

  Miss Thing collapsed a shoulder against the door. “Oh, Lord. That makes me so happy.”

  “Don’t get excited,” Ella said. “I initiated it because he’s afraid to hurt my feelings when he leaves. I don’t want to talk about it yet. But I promise, at some point, I will.”

  “Before or after he leaves?” Macy asked.

  What she really meant was, before or after Ella’s heart broke again?

  “I don’t know,” she answered. And she really didn’t.

  “Well, here’s what I know,” said Macy. “When two of my friends aren’t up to talking, something big is in the works.”

  “Exactly,” said Greer. “Like when the earth’s plates move before an earthquake.”

  “Honey,” said Miss Thing, “no earthquake is gonna be happening in my life. I promise you.”

  “Don’t look so sad saying so,” said Ella. “Earthquakes are dangerous.”

  “They certainly shake things up,” said Macy.

  Ella was nervous when she got back to her desk. She needed her old life back. Before Hank’s return.

  But like it or not, the earth’s plates had already shifted for her. Just thinking about their time in bed together made her knees weak. She couldn’t go back, no matter how much she felt she should. Hank was here. Hank was going to leave again.

  And Ella’s horizons were changed forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Wednesday was a good day for Hank—except for the major problem of not seeing Ella at all. He looked for her, but he always seemed to show up about five minutes after she’d left the costume shop or the break area. And her set was closed. It was a golf cart ride away, a bedroom at an old Charleston single home. The cameramen and director could barely fit in, much less visitors who had no good reason to be there.

  When he got home at 11:30 that night, Pammy was sitting in the recliner in the living room, reading a book. “Hey, you,” she said, and shut it right away. “I knew you’d be gone a lot. But this is really a lot.”

  “That’s how it goes in the movie biz, unfortunately,” he said, and sat down on the corner of the sofa closest to her. “How’s it going with you?”

  Pammy shrugged. “I had a good time with Reggie. I got home about six this morning, slept until noon, and then met some students at the main campus to talk about a woodworking project we’re doing for some people with an old house down the street. And then I went to Beau and Lacey’s and worked there. They have some issues with the old built-in bookcases in their library.”

  “Sounds like a good day.” He was dying to ask her more about the mayor. But he didn’t want to come across as nosy.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about the mayor?” she said.

  He laughed. “I wanted to. But I was going to leave it up to you to tell me what you want.”

  She chuckled. “He’s adorbz. I’m in love.”

  “But you just met him.” Hank paused. “I mean, that’s nice. But—” He didn’t know how to say it without insulting her. Pammy was thirty. She was smart and she could do whatever she wanted.

  “You’re worried I’m latching onto the first guy who shows an interest in me here in Charleston,” Pammy said. “Because I’m homesick. And now … I’m not. Poof.” She snapped her fingers. “Homesickness gone.”

  She’d hit the nail on the head. He was worried.

  “You’re not homesick?” he asked, trying not to sound skeptical. But a major romance couldn’t happen that fast. No way.

  “I’m not ready to hop on a plane back to Bend. And guess what? It’s because I’ve latched onto the first guy who’s shown an interest in me since I’ve been here.” She chuckled. “Oregon? See ya later. Pammy’s gonna be doin’ the Charleston for a while. I mean, literally. The dance. Have you ever done that?”

  “No.” Hank was getting slightly confused, but he vowed to hang in.

  “It’s fun,” Pammy said. “I did it last night at the homeless shelter. But I also mean, I’m gonna stick it out here. Love is in the air. I felt it when I first flew in and walked out of the airport and saw a couple of gorgeous police officers shooing people away from the curb. They were seriously hot. And again when I took a taxi downtown and got out and smelled yellow jasmine. It smells heavenly, Hank. Like everyone should be in love.” She stabbed a finger on his knee. “Cupid’s touch is strong here. But he wasn’t shooting arrows at me. It’s because I was too worried about being alone. I was sucking up all my own energy. But then Ella came, and she reminded me to let go and let love. Repeat that, Hank.”

  “Pammy—”

  She raised her finger. “Say it: Let go and let love.”

  “Let go and let love,” he repeated after her. What the hell. She was his cousin. And he hadn’t seen her all day, and he was leaving soon.

  “See?” Her face brightened. “You feel better already.”

  He kind of did, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

  “Once you stop trying, Cupid jumps in and goes to work,” she said. “And he doesn’t work on anyone else’s time card. Love exists outside of time. Ask the late, great Stephen Hawking.”

  “He talked about that?”

  “No, but it makes sense, right? Time doesn’t matter with love. Fast, slow, whatever. Don’t measure it on a clock, Hank. Let go and let love. Stop trying so hard to find it. It’ll find you.”

  “I’m not trying,” he said.

  “Oh?” Pammy made a skeptical face. “Oh? Are you being a big liar? Or just someone in denial? I hope the latter. Because I take down lying cousins, Hank.” She put on a very angelic face and cracked her knuckles.

  Hank stifled a laugh. “Okay, so lately I have been trying. I mean, I wanted to see you, but I came down here to win Ella back. Not to be in a movie either.”

  Pammy drew in her chin. “Hank, my dear cuz, I knew all that.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. You’ve been trying to find your passion ever since you were little. You might think cousin Pammy is oblivious. But I know you better than you think. And you’ve never been satisfied with what you have. You are always looking. You want bliss, baby. Not bland, which is you being the tax lawyer your father wanted you to be. Not bling either, which is you in your Hollywood mode. The only BL word you want is ‘bliss.’ Am I right?”

  What could he say to that? She was right.

  She took his silence as agreement. “And when you showed up here, it was written all over you. You were still searching for da bliss, Hank.” She cocked her head. “You have this restless quality about you, you know? It comes across as a yearning on screen. Which is why you’re a big star. It’s sexy and raw. Chicks dig it. They think you’re vulnerable. Guys think you’re a badass.”

  “Um, thanks, I guess.”

  “And then I saw you with Ella. And y
ou had that stupid hazelnut creamer incident.” She chuckled. “It made me so happy. Because I realized then you’d finally figured it out. Who you love. Where your bliss is at.” Her expression got serious. “If it works out for you, it might mean you’ll suck on the movie screen from here on out. You won’t have that natural yearning face anymore. You might look like this instead.”

  She made a happy face, the kind only Pammy could do. It combined the innocence of unbridled joy with her natural swagger. She grinned, but one of her eyebrows arched high. And somehow she waggled it, while the other one stayed still.

  He would definitely lose ticket sales with that face. “How do you do that?”

  “That’s for you to find out on your own. Moving on.” She was on a roll. “Let me tell you something, cuz, about me and Reggie.”

  “Okay.” He sensed her fervor, burning bright. This was Pammy. Nothing was low-key with her.

  “Reggie’s the first guy I’ve really shown an interest in, too, not only since I’ve been in Charleston but since forever.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” She looked solemn and repentant. “I’ve been looking for any guy who looks good on my arm and can hang with the Pammy schtick.” She tapped her heart. “I haven’t been noticing that there’s a place in me that needs to shut up and just let things be. It’s a place where no one is good-looking or witty. It’s a mysterious place, like Oz. Or the back corner of Walmart where all the clearance tools are. No one is ever there, but it’s awesome, and I can load up my cart with sooooo many boxes of nails, it’s crazy.”

  “Right,” Hank said because he loved his cousin.

  “I don’t get to choose who hangs with me in this magical place,” Pammy went on. “And I don’t get to choose what I do. It’s an enchanted circle I didn’t know I had inside me. And that’s where Reggie showed up. And I was like, holy shit. I had no idea this was in me. And the same place is in him. Don’t think too hard about it—it’ll blow your mind.”

  She leaned back in her recliner. Time to take a breath.

  “You’ve only known him a couple of days,” Hank reminded her gently. “I’m glad you like him so much, but aren’t you a little worried you might be moving too fast?”

  “Of course I am,” she said. “But in Oz, you go with it. So I am.” She shrugged. “And it’s the best place I’ve ever been. I can say that already, before we’ve even gotten to the bedroom wham-bam boogie business.”

  “Um, okay.”

  She lifted his hand from the sofa arm and slapped it against his face. “Wake up, cuz. Don’t let Ella go. She’s upstairs snoozing. Probably not hard. Probably waiting for you to show up and show her some rootin’-tootin’ love moves.” She stood. “I’m putting in my earplugs and heading to bed.”

  “Okay then,” he said, standing up with her. She was way shorter than he was, but she looked up at him with that special Pammy look that promised many arm and leg wrestle fights if he didn’t listen to her. “You rock, cuz,” he said, and hugged her.

  She squeezed him back. “Good night. I’m sorry your movie career is going to change drastically once you win Ella back. You’ll be getting sensitive doctor parts now. But maybe that’s a good thing. You’ve never played a doctor.”

  “True. I’m willing to play those kind of roles if—”

  “If Ella goes along with your plan to capture her heart,” Pammy interrupted him. “Here’s my last tip, Hank. Take it from Pammy, who has had no experience with real love until now.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t leave Charleston.”

  “That’s impossible. I have to go.”

  Pammy threw up her arms and dropped them. “Then get used to it, Hank. Without Ella, you’re gonna be an A-lister movie star forever. No doubt you’ll win People’s Sexiest Man Alive within the next couple of years. And you’ll make buckets of money endorsing ultra-masculine products, like man-sized Kleenex, extra-hot barbecue sauce, and Old Spice. I’m sorry, but if you leave Ella behind, say goodbye to the doctor roles and all the sensitive products you could have endorsed if you’d follow through on your plan to surrender to love. Like Depends for Men and herbal tea. And anything to do with puppies. You’re gonna hate that, Hank. You love puppies.”

  He did love puppies. And she was right. On his current career trajectory, no way in hell would Tracy ever let him be seen holding a puppy on camera. But he could still have a puppy if he wanted to. At home. Away from the paparazzi.

  Which kind of sucked. If he ever bought a puppy, he wanted to cuddle it in a bistro. Or on the waterfront. In public.

  But none of that mattered because Pammy disappeared into her room, taking her newfound Pammy wisdom with her.

  Time for the rootin’-tootin’ love moves she’d mentioned. Not that he wanted to remotely have Pammy on his mind once he started walking upstairs. So he took his time, stopping in the kitchen and opening the fridge.

  His heart nearly stopped. There on the top shelf was a note that said, I saved some for you, Hank, next to a plate of brownies. I gave the rest to the nonnas and Mama and the Sicilian relatives at my apartment. I stopped by after my scene today with Samantha to check on everyone. By the way, the scene went well. Working with S was a real treat (better than any brownie, haha!). Mama, the nonnas, and my Sicilian relatives say hello. Everyone hopes you had a good day, including me. I have to report to the set at six a.m. tomorrow. Samantha has some people coming in tomorrow afternoon, and she wants to get our scene done early. So I might not see you.

  Shoot. Ella knew he liked his brownies cold. In the fridge. She was the sweetest, most wonderful woman he’d ever met. And she had a life apart from him. A very full, rich life. And he was an idiot—an idiot!—to think that winning her over was going to be as easy as coming down here, crooking his finger, and having her leave her current life and come back to Brooklyn with him. And to LA. And to all his movie locations.

  He wasn’t Beau Wilder. Ella wasn’t Lacey. Who knew why their marriage worked? Everyone was different.

  Nope. He’d never fully thought it through. And it was because he hadn’t had to strive for anything in his personal life for a long time. Not since—

  Not since he’d been with Ella, and he’d ponder what flowers to get her at the neighborhood market. And think of ways he could show her he loved her at home, like lining up all her tea mugs at the front of the cupboard, for easy reaching. And giving her the best towel rack in the bathroom. And washing her hair for her over the kitchen sink when she missed her mother too much. Mama Mancini used to do that for her girls every Saturday night before church the next morning.

  He grabbed a brownie and a glass of milk. Sat at the kitchen table. Savored that brownie and all that it meant to him. Ella cared about him. Ella put him in a category with her nonnas, her mama, and her relatives.

  There was hope. She didn’t have to leave him those brownies … or that nice note.

  Was he over-reaching?

  The imaginary psychoanalyst in his head said yes, he was grasping at straws, the same way he thought Pammy was. But Pammy knew her romantic situation better than he did.

  And Hank knew Ella. She wouldn’t leave him pity brownies. How else could he put it? He leaned his fist on his ear and chewed. Could these be break-up brownies?

  No. They weren’t together.

  He thought about it. Finished the brownie. Ate another one. Downed it with milk. If Ella wanted him gone, she’d straight up tell him, he decided. He’d get no brownies to pack in his suitcase to take back to New York.

  No. These brownies meant something and he refused to let himself doubt. Now was not the time for doubt. Now was the time for action.

  Hank was scared—he didn’t know how to—what did Pammy call it?—let go and let love. But tonight he was going to try.

  Let go and let love, he silently told himself as he walked up the stairs. He’d go to his room, get undressed, and then he’d knock on Ella’s wall. He’d wait inside his bedroom door, and if she peeked out o
f hers, he’d ask to come visit her. In the bathrobe he’d borrowed from Beau, of course. He wouldn’t make any assumptions.

  When he got to his room, for some reason, he went straight to the portrait of the boys and lifted it off the wall. It was heavy. He looked at it hard and flipped the painting over. On the back were some words written in faint ink with a quill pen, in formal handwriting: Michael, Frederick, and Thomas Griswold, 1822.

  “Who were these guys?” he murmured. At least he knew they were from the same family, likely brothers rather than cousins with the same last name.

  He wondered if he could find out. He took out his phone and Googled them. Nada.

  But maybe he could check with Pammy. She might know some historians from all the work she was doing on old Charleston homes. She’d at least lead him in the right direction.

  That was what he’d do.

  He turned the painting back over and studied the boys’ faces. The paint strokes were fine. Whoever had labored over the canvas had rendered their expressions with loving care. Hank couldn’t help but smile. He felt the artist had captured the essence of the boys. They seemed about to burst out of their skins, the way boys of all generations do.

  He remembered when he was like that, first as a kid playing in Central Park with his friends, and then as he got a little older, busing tables at Serendipity 3, where he dreamed of big adventures while he picked up dirty ice creams dishes, cups and saucers, and glasses. Some days he wondered why no one could tell he was filled with big plans—he was the guy who was going to change the world. Yet at the same time, he didn’t care what anyone else thought. Back then he believed in himself without even thinking about it.

  And then things changed.

  He grew up. The world intruded with its harsh realities, as it did to everyone. He had to start comparing his life with everyone else’s. He saw his strengths. His weaknesses. He saw that no one, apart from his family and friends, cared more about him and his goals than he did himself. He would have to fight to be heard, to get what he wanted.

  He’d learned to fight. He’d learned to be heard. But he had never known what he really wanted. Until now.