by Lori Wilde
She quickly learned it was much different from New York. And being on a movie set was much more grueling (and at times more boring) than she expected. People were nice, but she found she couldn’t always trust the niceness. At least in Manhattan, you knew where you stood. People called it as they saw it. Here, you had to try and guess at motives. She didn’t like that. And after letting down her guard in Twilight, where what you saw was what you got, it was doubly hard to get her emotional shield back up.
She was grateful that Sam had taught her how to drive, but she hated the traffic. And what was with the darn sun? It shone constantly. She found herself homesick for a little inclement weather.
A few days after she arrived, she stopped by the supermarket to pick up a few groceries and ran into her old roommate Jill Freeman, the one who’d put in the good word for her with Master X.
“Emma!” Jill squealed at her over the avocados. “I heard you’d moved to L.A.”
They embraced in the middle of the store.
“God, let me have a look at you.” Jill stepped back. “You’re radiant.”
“And you’re gorgeous. What a tan.”
“Congrats on landing that part in Malcolm Talmadge’s latest.” Jill clapped her right hand against her left palm in soft applause. “Especially after that crap you suffered through with Scott Miller.”
“Thanks.”
“This business, huh?” Jill shook her head. “Remember how naïve we were when we first started? You have this dream of what you want and it seems so magical, that if you achieve it, somehow everything will be perfect after that.” Jill’s laugh was harsh.
“Did something happen?” Emma asked, concerned for her friend.
“They’re canceling Coeds.”
“I hate to hear that,” Emma said, and meant it. “But you’ll get something else.”
Jill shook her head again. “I don’t think I want something else.”
“What are you saying? You’re quitting acting?”
“This life isn’t real, Em. It changes you, and not in a good way. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve lost myself. All this time I’ve been pretending to be someone else and I realize I don’t even know who I am anymore. You dumbly think money will solve everything. That if you just get that next part everything will be great. But it’s not. There’s no peak to the mountain. You’re never satisfied. And fame isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. It gets to be a real drag. Everyone loves you when you’re a success, but when you hit the skids, they’re all gone. So you run and run and run trying to keep up, but after a while, you just want to get off the treadmill. I don’t want to wake up one day, forty years old, without a husband and kids because I put my life on hold. Do you know what I mean?” Jill paused, hauled in a deep breath, and looked her straight in the eyes. “No, of course not. You’re flying high right now. You haven’t hit the wall yet. Forgive me. I don’t mean to be a buzzkill. Don’t listen to me. Enjoy the good times while they last.”
Jill’s words struck her like nothing else could have because they echoed Emma’s own fears about her choices.
Shrug it off. Jill is just down about her canceled series. She’ll be singing a different tune as soon as she gets a new gig.
They hugged again and promised to keep in touch, but for the rest of the day, Emma couldn’t shake the sadness that settled in her bones. All she could think about was what she’d left behind in Twilight, and she couldn’t help wondering if her sacrifices were worth it.
The dachshund was a biter.
Every time Sam tried to examine the short-legged dog, it latched on to his hand with sharp little teeth.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” exclaimed the pooch’s owner as she forcefully wrung her hands. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Cheek. Prissy is so high-strung.”
It ain’t Prissy who’s high-strung. “Ms. Applebaum—”
“Miss Applebaum,” she emphasized, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I’m not married. And please, call me Tara.”
He raked a gaze over the woman, seeing her for the first time. Actually, she was quite pretty, with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and dimples in both cheeks. Her body wasn’t bad either. Nice boobs, long legs, but Sam didn’t feel even a whisper of sexual interest. She wasn’t Emma.
He narrowed his eyes. “Did my aunt Belinda send you?”
“Aunt Belinda?” She looked confused.
“What brought you into my office today?”
“I told you, Prissy hasn’t been eating and her tummy is getting so big. I’m scared she’s got an intestinal obstruction.”
“And that’s it? You have no hidden agenda?”
“Well…” She straightened, sent him a dazzling smile. “I did hear that your girlfriend left town and I was thinking—”
“I’m sure you’re a very nice person,” he interrupted. “But I’ve got no room in my life for romance.”
Tara pushed her bangs from her eyes. “Still hung up on her, huh?”
“You heard?”
“It’s all over Twilight—”
The dachshund bit him again.
“That’s it,” he said, “I’ve had enough.”
“What?”
He bared his teeth at Prissy, who backed down and whimpered. “That’s right pooch, I’ve got teeth too. No more of this biting nonsense.” Then to Tara he said, “Prissy’s pregnant.”
“But that can’t be, I never let her out.”
“She’s not spayed.”
“No but—”
“She’s pregnant,” he said. “Congratulations. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have someone I need to speak to.”
“Okay,” Tara blinked and gathered up Prissy.
Sam stripped off his exam gloves and stalked into the front office. “Cancel my appointments,” he said to Delia.
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely,” he said.
He stalked over to the Twilight Playhouse to find Nina rehearsing the nativity scene with the fifth graders from Twilight Middle School.
Nina looked up and caught his gaze. “Children, let’s take a short break.”
The kids dispersed, and she came over to him. “Is something the matter, Sam?”
“I let her slip through my fingers, Nina. I had her and I let her go.”
“You didn’t want to stop her from going after her dreams, Sam.”
“No, I did not. But I could have told her I loved her. I should have told her I loved her, but I didn’t.”
“You were afraid that if you did, she wouldn’t go.”
He nodded. “She deserves this chance, but she also deserves to know that I intend on being here for her, no matter what.”
“You’re going to put your life on hold until Emma decides she’s had enough of the limelight?” Nina asked gently.
He pulled a palm down his face. “Yes.”
“That’s not realistic.”
“I know, but it’s how I feel. I don’t want any other woman. It’s always been her from the time I was fourteen years old.”
“If you go to her and tell her you love her and then she gives up her career for you, you’re always going to feel guilty.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m ready and willing to move to L.A. to be with her. I’m a vet. I can get a job anywhere. And Charlie, well, it’s time he knew there was a world beyond Twilight.”
“There’s nothing else in the world that could make you leave this town, is there?” Nina asked softly.
“No,” he admitted. “But Emma is worth it and I’m going to tell her so. Do you know her schedule? Where she’ll be at this evening?”
“She and the rest of the cast are attending a charity event for our troops. Malcolm left for the event this morning.”
“You’re not going with him?”
Nina waved at the kids horsing around on the stage. “I’m otherwise occupied. Plus, there’s some other business Malcolm had to attend to. In fact, if everything works out like he’s planning, we might
have a solution to your long-distance love affair.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t say anything, just that you might want to hold off on professing your love for a few weeks.”
Sam shook his head. “No. I need to see her. I can’t wait any longer.”
Nina nodded. “Okay, but if you’re going to go you’ll need a tuxedo and an invitation. I’ll arrange for someone to meet you at the airport with both.”
Six hours later, after he made arrangements for Charlie to stay with his mother, Sam’s plane touched down in L.A. He was met by a driver in a Lincoln Town Car, along with the tuxedo and invitation to the charity event that Nina had promised. He changed in the airport bathroom and they took off for Beverly Hills.
On the plane ride over, he’d mentally rehearsed how he was going to handle this, but by the time the driver pulled up in front of the Ritz-Carlton, he was second-guessing himself. And when he was ushered into the luxurious ballroom packed with celebrities, luminaries, and VIPs, he realized it was the fanciest building he’d ever been in.
A buffet table groaned under the weight of the lavish spread—lobster rolls, beef puff pastry canapés, shrimp tapas; caviar and foie gras and pâté. Off to one side, a harpist played heavenly sounding notes. It made him think of Jenny. His sister loved all things cherubic. Exotic flowers decorated the tables—bird of paradise and plumeria and bougainvillea—their lush scent filling the room.
Waiters carried silver trays laden with champagne flutes throughout the gathering. He noticed their tuxedos looked exactly like his. The plain-Jane rental type. Nothing at all like the expensively tailored tuxes that the other guests wore.
He swallowed hard and tugged at the collar of his tuxedo. The pinch of the Italian leather shoes squeezing his feet reminded him that he didn’t fit here, that he was a fish out of water. Hell, if he was being honest, he’d confess this was his first time in a penguin suit.
Except that he had no one with whom to confess. He knew no one. He was completely alone.
Buck up and stop feeling self-conscious. You’re here for one reason. Emma.
Sam scanned the room, searching the throng for that familiar flash of copper-colored hair. At last he spied her, up on the podium at the back of the room, standing beside Matt Damon and some other movie stars he recognized. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her and his mouth went dry.
Sam moved closer, trying to figure out how he was going to get her alone, realizing all the way he’d picked a bad time, a bad place. He should have listened to Nina. He should have waited.
You don’t belong here.
Matt Damon leaned over to whisper something to Emma. She laughed. He could hear it from where he stood. The soft sound of her joy.
“Here,” snapped a waiter carrying two trays with champagne. “Take one of these, you slacker.”
Before Sam could tell him he was a guest, the waiter shoved a tray at him and he stood there like the hired help, while up on the stage, Emma laughed with Matt Damon. She was a star and he was just Steady Sam from Twilight, Texas. Nothing could have been clearer.
That’s when he knew for certain that Trixie Lynn was lost to him as surely as Valerie was, and it was time he accepted it. He had to let her go.
Mentally shutting down the emotional pain that stabbed at his heart, he sat the tray down on a nearby table, turned, and walked away.
Emma had never felt so lonely in such a crowded room and she had no idea why.
All her dreams had come true. She was in L.A. at a charity event with Matt Damon. She was eating lavish food and drinking expensive champagne, and on the way inside the event a half-dozen people had asked for her autograph. It was everything she’d ever imagined and yet it did not feel magical.
She thought of what Jill had told her. This life isn’t real, Em. And in that moment, she realized just how true that was. Tonight she would go home. Back to the apartment Malcolm had rented for her. She’d be alone, surrounded by nothing familiar. Nothing she knew.
Biting down on her bottom lip, she tried to shake off the gloom, but all she could think about was Sam. She wondered what he was doing right now. Probably reading Charlie a bedtime story.
Emma took a deep breath. How she wished she could be there with them.
You could, if you wanted. You could dream a new dream.
The hairs on the nape of her neck lifted, and she had the oddest feeling, as if she was being watched. She raised her head, looked out across the crowd milling around the stage, saw the side exit door open, watched a man in a tuxedo walk out.
Sam, her crazy heart cried as the door closed behind him.
Of course it wasn’t Sam. Same height, same build, same color hair, yes, but she knew he was home in Twilight where he belonged.
And she was here alone in L.A., seeing phantom images of the love she’d left behind.
A week after the charity event, Emma was sitting in the makeup chair in the trailer she shared with another actress playing a minor role in the movie, when the door swung open.
Emma and the makeup artist turned their heads.
A gaunt woman, dressed in shabby clothing, stood in the doorway. “Hey, lamb chop, remember me?”
Emma hadn’t seen her in twenty-four years, but the minute she looked into the eyes, she recognized her mother. Sylvie Parks—or whatever her name might be now.
The years hadn’t been kind. Sylvie appeared thin and worn, like a cotton dress washed too many times. There were deep lines dug in around her eyes, as if she had to keep squinting at the world to hold on to her rose-colored point of view. Her hair was long and unkempt—blond on the ends, graying and brown at the roots. She had a hank of it pulled back from her face by a child’s blue barrette, and her teeth were yellowed with nicotine stains. She wore a purple tunic top embroidered with butterflies, a pair of faded jeans, and flip-flops that showed off toes badly in need of a pedicure. On her wrist she wore a pale green plastic bracelet with the word “dream” printed on it in black lettering. She looked like she’d shuffled in from a day at the flea market. Emma wondered how she’d managed to get onto the set.
“Ma…Mama?”
So many times over the years she’d envisioned a moment just like this, where she’d made it big and her mother came crawling back begging her forgiveness for leaving her and praising her for having become a star. But now that it was happening, it felt totally surreal, and she wondered if perhaps she was imagining it.
Sylvie stood there assessing her, not saying a word.
Emma had forgotten how much her mother had hurt her. Taking off with the man in the Cadillac, never calling, never writing, never sending a birthday card or a Christmas present. She’d pushed aside memories of those nights she’d cried herself to sleep. How Rex hadn’t known how to comfort her or hadn’t bothered to make an effort. She’d disconnected from her teenage angst of the hurt, anger, and betrayal that had caused her to lash out in foolish ways, like joyriding in Rex’s car and graffitiing the Twilight Bridge.
And yet, in spite of all that, she felt a surprising rush of pity and forgiveness for her mother.
Sylvie opened her arms wide. “Aren’t you gonna give your mama a big hug?”
Emma did just that, waving aside the makeup artist who looked ready to call security, sliding from the chair, rushing up to embrace her mother for the first time in over two decades. She smelled the same, like cigarettes and Wind Song cologne and despair. It was a stiff hug, awkward and cool, not like the warm, enveloping embraces she received from the members of the True Love Quilting Club.
In her mind, she’d always imagined there’d be tears at this point, from both of them. But she didn’t feel moved to that degree. She felt detached, as if she was standing outside her body watching it all play out with mild curiosity and nothing else. In all honesty, she was appreciative that there was no big emotional fallout. It helped.
Sylvie was the first to step back, and she cocked her head to study Emma. She reached up and finge
red a lock of Emma’s hair. “Still shiny red.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve missed you so much. I love you, Trixie Lynn.”
Was she supposed to tell her she loved her back? Once upon a time, she had loved her mother with an undying fierceness. Now? She just felt hollow. “I go by Emma now.”
“Of course you do.” Her mother nodded. “It sounds more like a movie star name. Can’t say I blame you for that. I never wanted to call you Trixie Lynn in the first place, but Rex wanted to name you after his grand-mama.”
“Funny,” she said, “seeing as how Rex wasn’t my father.”
Sylvie’s gaze darted away. “Oh. You found out about that, huh?”
“Who’s my real father?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. It was a long time ago. I knew a lot of men before I met Rex.”
“You were pregnant with me when he married you and you didn’t tell him? How could you do that?”
“Let’s not talk about ancient history.” Sylvie ironed a palm across Emma’s shoulder. “Let’s discuss something more pleasant, like you being in the movies. I can’t believe it, my own daughter a big star. Who would have thought it would ever happen after you kicked that Broadway producer in the balls.”
“You heard about that?”
“I read the tabloids, honey.”
“And you’re just now coming to see me?”
Sylvie ignored that and prattled on. “I gotta say, ouch! You don’t go around kicking a big-time producer in the balls just because he spurns your sexual advances.”
Emma was floored. “You believed his story?”
“Well, it was in the tabloids.”
“He lied. He put the make on me, and when I refused to have sex with him to get the part, he got rough. That’s when I defended myself.”
