by Tracy Ewens
“How do you know?” He felt a jolt of optimism like a kid being told he wasn’t grounded.
“I’ve seen her heart.”
“Okay… is this another metaphor?”
Towner shook her head. “Her heart for the foundation.”
“Why haven’t I seen it?”
“No one has seen it yet. I mean, I’m sure the VIPs have been given a glimpse, but not the public.”
“Then how did you see it?”
“The man I’m dating works as a curator at the art museum. Meg has been working on it there, and that’s where it will stay until they move it tomorrow for the unveiling.”
“Rewind. You have a boyfriend?”
Towner cringed. “I don’t like that word, but yes, I suppose he is that. What did you think, I was some aging widow sitting in the lobby waiting for your next crisis?”
West laughed. His head hurt and his mouth was cotton now, but he didn’t care. “Forgive me. I should have known better. Back to my crisis. What does Meg’s foundation heart have to do with getting her back?”
“Oh, you’ll need to see that for yourself. I’ll make a call and Vince can take you by the museum. Now that you’re back to being simply another pretty face, I don’t think there will be much fuss.”
“And then?”
“You’ll know what to do.”
“Such faith in me.”
“From the day I met you, Westin. From the first day.” She patted his hand and returned to the concierge desk.
West cleared their tea and left the tray on the bar. If he were a certain kind of guy, he might think Towner was sent to him. He might think that Aunt Margaret somehow lived on through Towner. As he strode to the elevator, Towner texted him.
SFMOM at 7:00. Ask for Mark
West stepped into the elevator and glanced at the concierge desk. She nodded as the doors closed. He looked up, as men do when they’re hoping there is something bigger than themselves, and for the first time in days, allowed himself to wonder about Meg’s heart: both of them.
Meg returned to her apartment that night following a three-day shoot in LA. Amy had closed the deal with the USC coach. While initially taking pictures of college football players had been almost as intimidating as the Spirit Bears, it was a blast. The guys were respectful and fun to work with. She was given creative freedom to shoot the kinds of pictures rarely seen on college sports websites, and she took full advantage. Lots of variety: different angles, shots with some of the fans, and players’ family members too. It was exciting. The first time she’d had fun since picking herself up off the couch after the realization that no matter what he said, West had made a huge mistake. He forgot the barbed wire. That the woman he fell in love with could handle anything if she believed in the cause.
And God, she had believed in him. Still did. She’d allowed the false reality of his world to mix her up too, but she’d never given up on him. He couldn’t say the same and while there were so many things that broke her heart when she thought about West, the fact that he didn’t even put up a fight was the worst.
After getting into her pajamas and putting in a load of laundry, she sat down with the salad she bought on her way home from the airport and opened her laptop. It had been such a long time since she’d had butterflies about a shoot and she needed to focus on what was working. It had been almost three weeks since what her sisters now termed, “lobbygate.” Thanks to her family and a large pity party, Meg had found her way back. Professionally anyway.
Following the drama at the hotel, she had stayed out of sight for almost a week, shut off her Internet service, and watched a lot of documentaries. After consuming her weight in trail mix, Meg decided it was time to hit an actual trail. By the time she reemerged, it was as if a huge storm had blown over, leaving nothing in its wake but fresh air and happy plants.
West’s security left his post outside her apartment once the photographers lost interest but not before giving her his number just in case “some stragglers return.” She would admit it was bizarre having people outside her home even when West wasn’t there, but all of that was over now and Meg was back to her routine. As the days went on, her time with him gently softened into memories.
Still she was approaching fine. That was all she could hope for because much like scar tissue, her heart might heal but it would never be the same.
She’d thought about him while she was in LA. Oh, who was she kidding, she thought about him all the time. Wondered if he was all right and if the movie was going well. Driving around the city during her free time, Meg had enjoyed the warmth and the energy, which somehow made her ache even more. Los Angeles was different than San Francisco. It seemed lighter, sunnier. She was sure West’s world was different than the surface scenery she drove by, but it didn’t seem all that bad. She had allowed herself a moment to imagine what things would look like if they were together somewhere other than the safe spaces he’d arranged for them in San Francisco and then decided there was no point in reliving a discarded dream.
Meg had learned to appreciate humans since returning from the wild. That didn’t mean she was ready for swanky parties and the Hollywood crowd, but he’d never even asked her to try. Being in Los Angeles had pulled the mask off the beast West so often complained about, and Meg found she wasn’t all that terrified.
While she waited for the USC photos to load, she thought about the heart dedication the next morning. She’d put the final touches on before leaving for LA. The president loved it and commented that he appreciated her courage to be so abstract. Meg wasn’t sure if that was a compliment but they seemed pleased.
For Meg, it wasn’t abstract at all. Each image she chose was gut-wrenching and therapeutic at the same time. She could have done anything, selected any topic to share with the city where she grew up. She had always used her photographs to show a side of things others rarely witnessed. It was never about preaching and always about reaching out and allowing her experiences to touch those around her. The subject she chose would not be familiar to the casual observer, but details weren’t necessary. Everyone recognized love. There were so many reasons her San Francisco heart was West, not the least of which was the fact that he’d shown her so much. She had learned that losing him didn’t change that.
“Are these images all about one person?” the president of the foundation had asked when she’d submitted her work.
“No. It’s a compilation of a lot of different pieces, a collection of memories and characteristics that make up a whole heart.” She wasn’t about to share the intimate details of her experience and honestly the West she knew was a collection of several pieces.
They’d told her they were going to use her explanation in their exhibit materials.
“Do you want to select a title for your work, or shall we simply call it the Meg Jeffries Heart? A lot of our artists want the press exposure.”
The last thing Meg wanted was press exposure; besides, it wasn’t her heart. She couldn’t think of anything in that initial meeting, but in LA it had come to her. The perfect name. She e-mailed the president and now all she needed to do was show up tomorrow for the unveiling.
Meg would admit to fantasies that someday West would be walking down the streets of San Francisco, his head down per usual, but then something would pull his focus and he’d notice his heart out in the open air. Or maybe some other couple finding one another like they had that first night she’d kissed him would understand the romance in the heart. Or someone else going through a rough time, would stop and see the isolation. If his celebrity was overwhelming, maybe that was the best way for people to relate to West was in pieces. If that were possible then she’d given the city a true gift. A man so deserving of love instead of adoration. Meg had spent so much time trying to show people the life and beauty of animals. But now that she’d loved and lost, it seemed important to share that journey too.
Not all stories had a happy ending—she should have known that from her time on assignment—bu
t her heart, the real one, wanted to tell him so many things. That she would be fine in his world if it meant sharing it with him. That everyone had baggage and she was so proud of him and his work. All of it, the good and the bad, had brought him to her.
Meg didn’t realize she was crying until the buzzer on the dryer went off. Wiping her eyes, she realized that in the flurry of getting to know each other and herself, she’d forgotten to tell him those things.
Regret was sharp and over the past few weeks Meg had thought about calling him, trying to say some of the things distance made crystal clear, but he’d sent her away. “People show you who they are. You simply need to pay attention,” her father used to say. He was right and that’s why she never picked up the phone.
Instead she set out to create a secret, something that would show their city the man he was without the polish, who he might have been if he’d stayed in theater or if his beer gut had kept him from Full Throttle. No one knew that man, except her and his family. He’d given her so much at an unsure time in her life. Through her work, she wanted to leave the details of the man she would love for the rest of her life.
Her father was right. West had shown her who he was and what he was capable of in no uncertain terms. He may never make it out from behind the dark windows of his backseat, but she still held out hope. Still remembered what it was like to stroll with her hand tucked safely into his. He’d given up on her, on them, but she hadn’t given up on him. It was too late to say all of that to his face so she would have to be satisfied letting an abstract heart speak for her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
West called down for coffee when he woke up the next morning. He’d barely slept, but it was refreshing to be exhausted and hopeful again. Last night, Mark had escorted him to the back room and left him alone with Meg’s work. There was something so grounding in the silence of a museum. Meg’s heart was contained in a clear box, no doubt ready for delivery to the hospital foundation where it would be on display for two months and then placed somewhere in the city. He’d learned all of this when he went to the foundation’s website after tea with Towner. It made no sense that they would share pictures of a heart that wasn’t unveiled yet, but West had never pretended to be patient.
At seven o’clock sharp, he was standing as close as he’d been to Meg’s heart in almost a month. He remembered her saying they wanted her to use Polaroid pictures. The heart, painted a deep purple, was covered in tiny snapshots. West carefully leaned on the glass and as he traveled from one image to the next, his chest tightened. By the time he’d circled the heart once, a lump had grown so large in his throat, he was struggling for a decent breath.
The rumpled sheets of the Tony Bennett bed, a sunset off his Pier 32, a single closed eye he recognized as his own, were mixed in with his mother’s hands, flowers from his parents’ garden, and an incredible shot of his brothers’ boots piled near the front door. No faces or identifying features but endless details of a life he never shared. West wiped his eyes and quickly put his hands back on the glass as if he were some child waiting for a store to open. He circled the heart again and when he noticed the title, he slid to his knees.
A Tender Heart
How was it possible that he’d left her with enough love to create something like this? The display in front of him wasn’t born of hatred, so she’d lied again. Yeah, he’d be sure to bring that up as soon as he got her back.
He’d messed up and while it shouldn’t surprise him, Towner was right. Twice. A guy only met a woman like Meg once in a lifetime, and now that he was sitting on the floor surrounded by her private pieces of his heart, he did know exactly how to get her back. It might take a few tries, but he knew all about rejection. Dust yourself off and don’t be afraid. His Aunt Margaret had told him that from the time when he was a little boy. He should have listened to her sooner.
Meg took a taxi to the foundation. She was wearing heels, reasonably comfortable ones she bought recently, but she didn’t want to risk falling on her ass the afternoon of the unveiling. Each picture ran through her mind a dozen more times last night, assuring her that she’d given nothing away. Choosing West as the theme of her heart had been simple, but she needed the pictures to be personal, the details no one else would bother to know about him. That was the only way she could shield her work from exploitation.
She had photographed some amazing creatures, been to the corners of the world, and yet somehow this simple project seemed as important. Now all she had to do was shake a bunch of hands, including those of the president of the foundation and the mayor of San Francisco. Her pulse raced every time she thought about it, but at least she didn’t have to speak. Finally, someone had let her pictures speak for her.
The sky was overcast as she climbed out of the taxi. Glancing up, she noticed a podium set outside the entrance and four people positioning a box draped in red cloth. They would remove the heart from the box at the unveiling; that’s what Meg had been told, and she hoped the sealant they’d put on it was enough to protect her work from the San Francisco weather. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she was reminded of the first time a taxi had dropped her off for an event she was terrified to face. Glancing up at the tall buildings, Meg wasn’t terrified anymore. She’d faced her fears and come out on the other side. A little damaged, true, but better and stronger for the experience.
West walked to the foundation, pacing himself so he was rarely stuck at a crosswalk, he’d learned that technique recently. After Meg, he found he needed air as if it would somehow bring her closer to him. Collar up and hat pulled low, he’d practiced and eventually to his surprise and complete delight, confrontation was either a friendly wave, or he went unnoticed. The piranhas were down to a few, and while he knew that would pick up in the spring when the movie premiered, he wasn’t worried. He was done worrying. After seeing Meg’s heart, he’d called Hannah with a list of auditions he’d be going on once Throttle wrapped. He’d sign up for another two installments, but he wanted to keep trying for other projects.
“Are you sure you can handle the rejection, West? You’re a star, I’m not certain you’re ready for the hard way again,” Hannah had said.
He assured her he would be fine. He was a McNaughton, tough stock, and it was about time he started working his ass off in addition to the occasional wax. That work started with Meg.
Listening to a morning meditation through his headphones, he approached the foundation from the opposite side of the street and noticed her sitting near a podium, legs crossed and wearing the poncho he’d given her.
She looked better than the last time he’d seen her, but she was staring at the heart, still covered and flanked by crowds and reporters. West had often thought he’d met Meg at a time when he desperately needed to feel. She had given him everything, but watching her now, he realized she needed him too. Even with his baggage and piranhas. He woke that morning thinking there was no way he could live without her. With one glance, he knew neither of them could live without the other. They were pieces of a story that only worked if they were together.
West pulled his headphones out and made his way across the street right as the mayor announced her name and they pulled the red cloth off to reveal his tender heart, their tender heart. The crowd clapped and cameras began clicking. The whole scene should have had him scrambling for a better plan. Yet as the mayor shook Meg’s hand, West realized two important things. His life was no longer exclusively about him, and he was far from powerless. In all his years in the spotlight, he’d forgotten Mr. Hernandez’s number one rule. “Actors are resourceful,” he’d instructed. “They hone their craft until they can take any situation and turn it away from themselves and back to the story. They are sorcerers in disguise.”
West took a deep breath and remembered who he was and all the people he’d come from. Standing back a safe distance, he watched as the crowd walked around the heart. It was no longer in a box. Towner would be proud as that metaphor struck him square in the chest. The
sun parted a small section of the clouds and for a moment, Meg stood among the applause and he could barely keep it together. Her face was beaming and she was once again giving and receiving praise for her work, but this time he’d been her subject. The honor of that was not lost on him, so as the presentation began winding down, he made his way to her, hoping to honor her as best he knew how.
Whispers started by the time he was halfway through the crowd, a woman stepped in front of him, pen and paper at the ready. West held his hand up to stop her as Meg found him and their eyes met. His entire body seemed to reach for her, but when she smiled with those eyes colored by all the beauty she’d witnessed, West needed her more than he’d ever needed anything.
“Westin Drake, would you mind?” The woman’s voice broke through and for a beat of panic, West realized he was about to make a spectacle at an event that was for her. Actors are resourceful, he almost said out loud, and then he put his arm around the woman.
“Can I ask you a favor?” He didn’t wait for an answer since she was doing that shaking and pseudosquealing thing women tended to do when they were close to the cloak of celebrity. “Do you see that woman up there?” He pointed to Meg and at this point, the crowd was all eyes on him. The woman nodded. “There is no one in this world more important to me than that woman. But, you see, I’ve screwed things up.”
“Typical man,” someone yelled from the crowd.
“Right?” West chuckled along with the rest of them. Meg twisted her hands. She was nervous. He knew the feeling. “Anyway, I need her to understand that we can have a normal life together, that I’m the guy that can give that to her. I can’t do that if you guys lose it and freak out on me.”
The woman nodded as if they were coming up with a top-secret plan.
“I need to walk through this crowd without having to sign anything or smile at anyone but her. Can you help me with that? Because I can’t live without her and I’m going to have to get down on my knees and beg her to take me back. I need everyone to keep it together for me. Can you do that?”
