Acting on Impulse (Silverweed Falls Book 2)

by Thea Dawson

  Instead, after they’d finished their coffee and engaged in some chit chat, she’d set him up with Eva Campbell, a friend she’d known for years. Like most real estate agents, Eva worked weekends. After a quick call, Joy had walked Chris over to Eva’s office and introduced the two of them. She’d left him in Eva’s capable hands, and he’d promised to be in touch soon about the Players.

  It wasn’t unusual for Charlotte to sleep until noon on weekends—Charlotte’s sleeping habits were the source of many an argument—so Joy let herself into the house not expecting to see her. When her daughter rounded the corner and almost walked into her, she gave a little scream.

  Equally startled, Charlotte gave a scream back and the two of them looked at each other accusingly.

  “You scared me!” Joy grumbled. She pushed past Charlotte and put a reusable grocery bag of produce on the kitchen counter. “Since when are you up before lunchtime on a Saturday?”

  Charlotte was still in her pajamas, her long red hair a tangle of curls, and her face still puffy from sleep. She bounced behind Joy and seated herself at the counter with an energy she rarely showed before noon.

  “Since when do you complain if I’m up before lunch on a Saturday? Okay, Mom, this is serious. I need to know—were you just at the Farmer’s Market with Chris McPherson?” she asked, her voice low with barely contained excitement.

  Joy huffed a sigh and began pulling vegetables out of the bag. “I swear to God, the gossip in this town—”

  “Cat says her mom swears she saw you walking past Hartmann’s ice cream stand holding Chris McPherson’s hand.”

  “For heaven’s sake, I was not holding his hand—”

  Charlotte almost fell off her chair. “But you were with him? Oh my God, Mom! What’s going on?”

  Joy laughed. Her almost-high-school graduate looked like a little kid again, staring at her eagerly from beneath her messy red hair. “Victor and Simon asked him to come back over the summer to direct the summer Shakespeare play. They figured he might help get them some attention.”

  “I’ll say, but that doesn’t explain why you were making out with him at the Farmer’s Market.”

  “I was not—”

  “Kidding, Mom.” Charlotte grinned at her. “You didn’t bring me any of that amazing iced coffee from Riverfront, did you?” She batted her sleepy eyes appealing at Joy.

  Joy rolled her eyes. “You want coffee from Riverfront, you could get up at a reasonable hour and come with me.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes back. “But then I’d have to go to your spin class and your yoga class, and your vegetable shopping, and I would have been a bit of a damper on your make-out session with the movie star, wouldn’t I?”

  Joy opened the fridge, pulled out the crisper drawer and began shoveling tomatoes into it. “There was no make-out session. We met up at Victor’s house, then walked through the farmer’s market to Riverfront. We had coffee and talked about the Players. That was about it. He asked after you.”

  Charlotte clutched her chest dramatically. “Oh my God, Chris McPherson asked after me!”

  Joy narrowed her eyes at Charlotte, unable to tell how serious she was being.

  “I hope you told him I’m totally hot and available.”

  Joy put the eggplant into the crisper for good measure. “Good Lord, Charlotte. You’re half his age.”

  “I’m just kidding, Mom. He’s all yours. It’s beneath my dignity to get into a cat fight with my own mother. OH MY GOD, MOM!”

  “What?” Joy stepped back in alarm.

  “Were you wearing Muffy hair when you had coffee with him? Mom, please, no more Muffy hair!” Charlotte reached over and pulled Joy’s headband out of her hair in one swift motion.

  Joy sighed in relief and exasperation. “Muffy hair”—wearing her hair back in a hairband—was an ongoing source of horror to Charlotte. “Charlotte, for heaven’s sake, you frightened me! Give me back the headband.”

  “No. You can’t be trusted with it. Do you realize you just put all the tomatoes and an eggplant in the fridge?”

  Joy pressed her lips together in annoyance. She was ordinarily very particular about where things went. “Quit changing the subject. Give me my headband.”

  Charlotte snorted. “You’ve got it bad, Mom. And no more headbands for you.” She yawned. “It’s so early. I may have to go back to bed. When do I get to meet Chris?”

  Joy shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t deny Charlotte the chance to meet Chris again. Whatever his faults, he’d been quite sweet with her when she was four and had tagged along at rehearsals. “You can’t go back to bed. You have a prom to get ready for, remember? Anyway, we’ll be holding auditions in a couple of weeks. You could try out.”

  Joy kept her voice casual because Charlotte had a funny habit of doing the opposite of anything that she suggested. But she had been brilliant in Hedda Gabler, and Joy hoped she’d give the stage another shot.

  “Mm ...” Charlotte was noncommittal. “I was thinking more like we could have him over for dinner.”

  Joy gave her a sidelong glance. “A dinner in which several of your friends just happen to show up?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes at the obviousness of this statement. “Well, yeah. This is a major street cred op. Help me out here, Mom.”

  “There’s another bag of groceries in the car. Why don’t you go get it?” Joy suggested.

  Charlotte yawned again. “Oh fine, work me like a slave and dangle Chris McPherson in front of me like a carrot. I see what you’re doing there, Mom.” She slid off her stool and made for the garage.

  Joy opened the refrigerator again and began taking out the tomatoes. Chris McPherson momentarily slipped from her mind as she contemplated the fact that Charlotte would be away at college in just a few months and Joy would be an official empty nester. It was an unbearably sad thought that seemed to mock her efforts at staying in shape, keeping a beautiful house, and pursuing her career.

  None of those things were as important as Charlotte, and once she was gone, ready to pursue a life of her own, what was left for Joy?

  5

  Chris sat in business class on the flight back to LA that evening. He couldn’t quite justify first-class status yet, but he’d earned enough frequent flyer points during the shooting of Galactic Crusaders that he could easily upgrade to business. Settling in and buckling his seatbelt, he recalled the last time he’d left Oregon for Los Angeles: he’d made the fourteen-hour drive in his third-hand Nissan, and the air conditioning had quit on him barely half way into the journey.

  He might not be able to justify flying first class on a regular basis quite yet, but he was definitely going in the right direction.

  In less than 24 hours he’d reconnected with Victor, Simon and Joy; thanks to Joy’s friend Eva, he’d been able to rent a nice house that belonged to a professor who was on sabbatical for a year; and he’d gotten himself involved in a good enough cause to—he hoped—placate Sherri.

  Otherwise, it’d be fat kids and whales.

  But something nagged at him, a sense of something forgotten or left undone. Part of it was the play. He did not share Victor’s confidence in his ability to direct Shakespeare, even in a community theater production as low-key as this one.

  Victor was right about Midsummer Night’s Dream—it was a crowd-pleaser—but it was also a big cast. It was familiar enough that people had high expectations of it, but not so familiar that the audience could be relied on to follow the story easily. There were multiple scenes that needed to be blocked, and in each of them, he’d have to find humor, romance, or both, and convey it to the audience.

  Victor and Simon were on hand to help him, of course ... but only to an extent. Simon clearly had his hands full as Victor’s caregiver, and Victor, Chris could tell, had only a fraction of the strength and energy he’d had before he fell ill. Victor’s involvement would have to be minimal. He was failing in strength, and even a few minutes of conversation wore him out.

 
Chris would have to be careful not to tire him out or expect too much from either of them.

  He stared out the window at the tarmac as the flight attendant began her spiel about inflight safety. He wasn’t ready to explore his feelings about his old mentor quite yet, but he couldn’t help being drawn back into his memories of college.

  Chris hadn’t actually majored in theater—though if he’d stayed on to finish his senior year, he would have tried to switch. It had taken just one elective acting class with Victor—Professor Blumen back then— to make him realize that wherever he thought environmental sciences would take him, it wasn’t where he wanted to go. It had been at Victor’s suggestion that he had stayed in town the summer between his junior and senior years—that strange and wonderful summer that had changed everything—and had joined the Silver Scene Players.

  And met Joy.

  The airplane rumbled beneath him as it began to move toward the runway, and Chris had the sense that he was coming closer to grasping the elusive sensation that nagged at him. Joy ... who was, if anything, more beautiful at the age of forty than she had been at the age of twenty-seven. Who still indulged him in the witty banter that had been a hallmark of their friendship.

  Who, through no fault of her own, had been the cause of both heartbreak and humiliation and, more obliquely, the beginning of his career as an actor.

  To whom he still, thirteen years later, owed a Texas-sized apology that he wasn’t sure how to bring up.

  And who would be close at hand over the coming summer.

  A passing flight attendant interrupted his thoughts to point out that his seatbelt was still undone. Absentmindedly, he fastened it, and the plane took off.

  Chris McPherson Takes off in Galactic Crusaders

  Chris McPherson: Will This Star Keep Rising—or Will He Crash and Burn?

  Chris and Vanessa—Hollywood’s newest power couple?

  Joy stood in line at Safeway on Sunday evening staring listlessly at the tabloids that lined the shelves above the checkout counter. Chris McPherson dominated the covers of at least three. The Chris on the covers looked stern and serious, tough and a little bit angry—nothing like the relaxed and cheerful man she’d had coffee with just yesterday. Part of his image, she supposed. But where did that leave the real him?

  It was funny: for over a decade, she had successfully not thought about Chris; now suddenly he was everywhere—including in her thoughts.

  Charlotte came trotting up with the tub of yogurt they’d forgotten to put in the cart. “Got it! Hey, is that Chris?” She reached for the nearest magazine. “We should get this.”

  “It’s trash, Charlotte,” Joy sniffed, hauling a large bag of flour onto the counter. “Put it back.”

  “But you’re going to be working together. This is, like, research.” She flipped through the magazine. “‘He may be Hollywood’s newest bad boy, but Chris McPherson has a flair for the art of charm,’” she read in an faux-deep voice. “Is he this hot in real life?”

  It was bad enough hearing her daughter refer to a man almost twice her age as “hot”; given that the man in question was Chris, Joy had to pretend for a moment that lifting a gallon of milk out of the cart rendered her unable to respond.

  “He’s very good looking,” she said finally. “But he doesn’t have the best reputation. He got in another fight just a few weeks ago.”

  Charlotte, who naturally knew everything about Chris’s latest scandal, snorted. “Big deal. He shoved some guy in a bar. Sounds like the dude was a total dickhead anyway.”

  “Language, Charlotte,” Joy murmured, more out of habit than any actual expectation that Charlotte would stop swearing.

  “Sorry, Mom.” Charlotte sounded penitent as she placed the magazine on the counter next to a carton of eggs.

  “Nice try.” Joy picked it up and put it back on the shelf.

  Charlotte snatched it off again. “Fine. I’ll buy it with my own money. Now that you’re single, maybe you guys could hook up.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Why not? Dad said he had a crush on you when you were in the Silver Scene Players together. Maybe he still does.”

  Joy thumped a bottle of olive oil down on the counter a little harder than necessary. “When did—? Never mind. Look, Chris was—is—a nice guy, but he’s a lot younger than I am, and he’s a movie star. We really don’t have that much in common, except that we both really want to do something nice for Victor. Plus it looks like he’s dating Vanessa Swink.” She nodded at the cover with “Hollywood’s newest power couple” on it, a snapshot of Chris with his arm around a laughing Vanessa.

  “Meh, rumors and innuendo,” Charlotte replied.

  “It’s all rumors and innuendo,” Joy retorted. “In other words, trash.”

  “Oh come on!” groaned Charlotte. “You could like, take private jets to cool places and meet lots of famous people. Wouldn’t it be fun to date a movie star?”

  Joy glanced disapprovingly at the magazine. “Not if he’s ‘Hollywood’s newest bad boy.’” She heard the prissiness in her voice; she was starting to sound like her own mother. But her tone belied the anxiety she felt for Chris. He had the looks and the talent to be hugely successful, but he also had an outsized personality that attracted both good and bad attention, along with the ego to think he could get away with things other people couldn’t. She could see him crashing and burning just as easily as she could see him rising to the top.

  “You know that’s just tabloid talk,” Charlotte replied. “You don’t need to take it seriously,” she scolded.

  “Then why do you need to buy the magazine?”

  Charlotte looked sheepish for just a moment before brightly admitting, “For the pictures of your sexy movie star friend. Come on,” she waved the magazine under Joy’s nose, “You’ve gotta admit, he’s hot. He could be your next boyfriend,” she added in a sing-song voice that was just a little too loud.

  “I don’t need a boyfriend, thank you.”

  “You need something. You’ve been blah ever since dad took off. Which, I admit, was a shitty thing to do, but it was over a year ago now. Time to move on.”

  “Language, Charlotte. And I have no interest in discussing my private life in the middle of Safeway.” Joy kept her voice low, hoping that Charlotte would get the hint and lower hers.

  Charlotte shrugged and went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “I mean, at least you’re not knocking back your Valium with mojitos like Cat’s and Zena’s moms, but you’re definitely in a funk.”

  The person in line ahead of them paid and moved along and the counter began to slide forward. Joy unloaded the last of her groceries as space opened up and wondered how someone as reserved as she was had raised such a very unreserved daughter. Her best bet was probably to just not respond and hope that Charlotte lost interest in goading her.

  “Will you be home for dinner?” she asked instead.

  “Way to change the subject, Mom. Anyway, Cat and Zena and I are getting together at Zena’s house to deconstruct the prom.”

  “Early dinner, then,” Joy asked, relieved that she wouldn’t be eating alone, but disheartened at the thought of another night by herself.

  Charlotte gave her a knowing sideways glance. “You need a life, Mom.”

  Joy placed a last bag of onions onto the counter and studied her groceries. “I forgot Parmesan,” she murmured. “Would you be an angel and run back to the cheese section and pick some up?”

  Charlotte huffed but trotted off obediently. Parmesan wasn’t actually on the list, but Joy wasn’t ready to face her midlife crisis while doing her weekly shopping at Safeway.

  For all the resentment that she still harbored for Scott, she sometimes envied him. Sure, his mid-life crisis had taken the form of a humiliating and painfully public affair—but at least he’d known what he wanted and hadgone after it.

  Joy on the other hand, had no idea what she wanted. All she knew was that it wasn’t the life she had now. She
stared at the groceries as the counter slid forward, her eyes landing vacantly on the magazine.

  Chris’s eyes stared back at her.

  “I trust Jenny went over the publicity schedule with you?”

  Chris was back in Sherri’s office, staring out the wide window into the hot, smoggy day. This afternoon, he promised himself, he’d go for a swim. Being able to swim in the ocean was one of his favorite things about California, and he’d rented a house right on the beach for that reason. It was modest by movie star standards, but he didn’t need anything big or flashy. Quiet and near the beach: that was enough.

  “Hm? Yeah, the press conferences and all that. Yes, I have a complete schedule of where I need to be when.”

  “Good. How’s this play of yours in Oregon shaping up?”

  He braced himself. “I’m going to be moving up there in a couple of weeks.”

  There was a long minute of disapproving silence. “Really.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I rented a house for the summer. Figured it’d be easier than going back and forth from LA every weekend. But it won’t be a problem to come back here or get to New York or wherever,” he assured her. “I won’t miss anything.”

  Sherri sat down at her desk and leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers like some James Bond villain. “And the play itself?” she said finally.

  He shrugged and turned to face her head on. “Not much to report yet. I went up there over the weekend and met with Victor, my old teacher, and his partner, Simon, who wrote the letter. We’ll be performing Midsummer Night’s Dream in August, and I will be directing.”

  “Partner.” Sheri narrowed her eyes. “As in business partner, or lover?”

  “Both, I guess, as far as the theater group is concerned. But yeah, they’re together.”

  Sherri nodded her head approvingly. “LGBT ally. That’s good. And the dying mentor is a great human interest angle.”