“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s from Hollywood, too, or thereabouts,” Rafe qualified. He realized that he wasn’t all that certain exactly just where Val called home.
“Well, don’t hold that against her, little brother,” Mike told him. “After all, the girl had no say over where she was born and raised.”
Rafe laughed and shook his head. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?”
Mike looked at him, a serious expression taking over his features. “Not half as crazy as you if you just let her go like that.”
A skeptical look came over Rafe’s face. “Since when have you become such an advocate of what a guy’s supposed to do if he wants to hang on to a woman—which I don’t, by the way.”
“I read a lot,” Mike replied drily. “And as for the rest of what you just said—bull,” he declared with more than just a touch of earnest conviction. “I’m your older brother and I know you pretty much inside and out. You’re sweet on that girl and for what it’s worth, you two do kind of look good together.”
Rafe laughed shortly. “Oh, well, as long as you approve, everything’s perfect,” he said loftily, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
“Get off your high horse, Rafe. I’m just looking out for you. She needs work,” his brother admitted, “but all in all, I’ve changed my opinion about her. She’s not half bad, really. God knows you could do a whole lot worse.”
Who was he to pass judgment on Val? Rafe could feel his temper flaring. “Why don’t you just butt out of my business?”
“Glad to,” Mike answered. “Just as soon as you butt into it,” he told Rafe.
Rafe stared at him. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means start taking charge. Head’s up, now’s your chance,” Mike announced as he nodded at something just behind his brother.
“What are you talking about now?” Rafe asked in exasperation as he turned around.
He found himself looking at Val and her director’s thin, shallow chest. To look into Jim Sinclair’s gaunt face required looking up. For a second, Rafe was speechless, but that made no difference because Val had taken over and was now doing the talking.
“Jim, this is the guy I was telling you about.” Shifting positions, she hooked her arm through Rafe’s, gently nudging him forward. Neither one of them noticed Mike stepping back and out of their circle. “Rafe Rodriguez. My tour guide,” she added with a really wide smile as she looked up into Rafe’s face.
“Nice to meet you,” Jim said warmly, extending his rather large hand to the man beside Val.
During his senior year in high school, so the story went, Jim had spent five agonizing months, trying to decide whether his heart belonged to basketball or filmmaking. He’d played well enough to be offered a sports scholarship to a midwestern college, but ultimately he went with filmmaking. He enrolled in a local university, went after a degree in films and never looked back, luckily for the audiences who wholeheartedly enjoyed his movies.
“Since you’ve been so helpful to Val,” Jim told him, “how would you feel about staying on as a consultant while we’re filming here? Full salary, of course,” he added.
Rafe looked at the director uncertainly, convinced he’d heard wrong. “You want to pay me?”
“Yes. For being a consultant,” Jim repeated. “Would that be all right with you?”
He knew that his younger brother would have jumped at this chance to hang around the set while they were filming—and get paid to boot—but Rafe didn’t want to just take the man’s money without knowing what was expected of him.
“And exactly what would I have to do as a ‘consultant?’” Rafe honestly had no idea what something like that involved.
“Be consulted,” Jim replied with a straight face that cracked into a grin halfway through. “Just kidding. But what you would do is answer questions about the area if we need anything.” His expression indicated that he knew he wasn’t really being very clear on the subject. “Sorry, but it doesn’t get any more specific than that,” Jim apologized. “But I could really use someone local to be a go-between between the good people of Forever and my crew. Make sure things are running smoothly and let us know if maybe we’re overstepping some sort of boundaries.
“Maybe we should call you a good will ambassador instead.” Jim laughed. “For starters, Val probably already told you that we’re also going to need a lot of the citizens here to be in our street shots, lend some authenticity to the movie. You could point us in the right direction, tell us who we could use and who might be a little hard to work with.” Jim lowered his voice, making their conversation seem exceedingly personal as he added, “Sometimes people get carried away, play up to the camera, that sort of thing. We need people who can be natural, ignore the cameras around them, understand what I mean?” Jim asked.
Rafe had his doubts about this. “Val said that the movie was supposed to be taking place in like the late ’60s.”
“It does,” Jim confirmed. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Well, just off the top of my head, I don’t think anyone here’s got the kind of clothes you would have seen back then just hanging around in their closets.”
“Good point,” Jim agreed, treating the argument seriously. “That’s where the wardrobe department comes in. We’ve brought enough clothes with us to outfit as many people as we’re going to need.”
That still didn’t fix things, Rafe thought. “No offense, but the folks here don’t exactly come in the standard, thin Hollywood size,” he pointed out.
“Let you in on a secret,” Jim said. “Neither do the Hollywood ‘folks.’ Not to worry,” he added. “We’ve got people who can make those adjustments, take in clothes or let them out, as needed. Anything else?”
“Can’t think of anything at the moment,” Rafe admitted, beginning to take a liking to the man despite himself.
“So does that mean you’ll take the job? Be our consultant/liaison?” Jim asked.
He supposed it sounded simple enough. And, Rafe assumed, it would allow him to hang around Val a bit more closely. “Sure, why not?”
“Great,” Jim enthused, clapping his hands together. “Now, where’s your mayor?” he asked, scanning the immediate area, presumably for someone who looked the part of a small-town mayor. “I need to get the contract giving us permission to film here signed so we can issue the town a check and get that all out of the way.”
Rafe was about to say that they didn’t really have an official building where the mayor did business. Harold Chesterfield won the past election uncontested mainly because no one wanted the extra work. The title was more or less an honorary one, the position paying a few extra hundred dollars a year. Chesterfield worked out of his own home, conducting official business in his den. Any meetings took place in Miss Joan’s diner.
But before Rafe could explain any of this, he saw the portly man breaking through the ever-growing crowd of people.
With the instincts of a homing pigeon, Chesterfield was making his way over.
“That’s him right there,” Rafe said. He nodded toward the approaching mayor. Jim turned to see whom he was referring to. “His name’s Harold Chesterfield.”
That was about all Rafe had time to say before the mayor and his wife descended on the film director and the handful of people he’d brought with him for this first look around the town.
Rafe stepped back, getting out of the way. He had a hunch that the director wouldn’t be needing his further “services” at the moment.
To his surprise, Val stepped back with him rather than remain with the director.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with him?” Rafe asked.
“I’d rather be with you,” she answered before she could give her answer any thought. “Jim can handle this on his own,” she continued, hoping Rafe
would focus on this part. “I’ve seen him charm a whole town before. Audrey says that he could get along with the devil with no effort if he had to.”
She’d sprung a new name on him. Or was he already supposed to know this one? “Audrey?”
Val nodded. “Jim’s wife.”
“He’s married?” Rafe asked, doing his best to keep the relief he was suddenly experiencing out of his voice. But he had to admit that he felt a whole lot more inclined to smile right now than he had a few minutes ago.
“For the past eleven years,” she told him. “Audrey was the star of Jim’s very first feature film. He always likes to say she took direction so well, he married her.” Val always smiled at the old familiar quote. “When the kids started coming along, she decided to give up her career and focus her attention on her family.”
Rafe was still stuck in first gear—but as far as he was concerned, it was a great gear to be stuck in. “So he’s married, huh?”
Humor curved her mouth. “I thought we already established that part. Audrey’s a terrific lady.” She looked at him more closely, picking up more in his tone and his expression than he would have wanted her to. “Did you think that he and I...?” And then, before she could finish the sentence, she began to laugh.
Second guessing what she was about to ask—because he’d been so focused on just this particular aspect—Rafe shifted uncomfortably.
“No, why would I?” he protested possibly a little too stringently. She was still laughing. “Why are you laughing?” he asked.
She hooked her arm through his and moved him even farther away from the center of the growing crowd. “Because I think you’re sweet.” Then, before he could protest an image he didn’t care for, she quickly continued. “And because Jim’s like the older brother I never had. He looks out for me. I used to babysit his kids when they were really little. Now he and I work together. And when we ‘play’ together,” Val specified, “it’s really playing and usually his family’s on the set and involved in whatever the game is. Jim’s a real family man. He likes having his wife and kids close whenever possible. It’s hard being a family man in this industry,” she confided, knowing firsthand the problems her own parents had endured, “but Jim’s managed to make it work.” Pausing, she smiled at him before asking, “Do you have any other questions for me?”
“I didn’t even have that one,” Rafe pointed out stiffly, feeling embarrassed that he was apparently so transparent to her.
“Yes, you did,” she countered with a warm smile. “And I’m flattered. For the record, I am not involved with anyone. In the interest of full disclosure, I was married once, though.” She saw him look at her in surprise.
“Was,” Rafe repeated, watching her expression. “But you’re not now.”
“No.”
For once, she didn’t elaborate and he found that rather odd. “What happened?” The moment he uttered the question, he realized how intrusive and insensitive that had probably sounded to her. He had no right to be prying like this. Most likely, she didn’t want to talk about it. Most people with failed marriages preferred to ignore the whole episode. “Sorry, none of my business.”
“He died,” Val replied quietly, her eyes meeting his.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said with sincerity.
She supposed the first sentence was the hardest. Now that she had uttered it, she might as well tell him the rest of it. After all, she wasn’t ashamed of loving Scott, or of marrying him.
“He was a stuntman. We got married way too young and there were a few bumps in the road, a few things that needed to be ironed out,” she told him honestly, “but I think it might have worked out in the long run. He was a good guy,” Val said fondly. “But he was a little reckless and stunt work isn’t exactly the place for that sort of cavalier attitude.”
As she talked, they walked farther away from the crowd. This was something personal and she was sharing it with one specific person. She didn’t care to be overheard. There were people in the crew—of course Jim—who knew her circumstances, but she was in no mood for either questions or sympathy from those who didn’t.
“A gag went wrong,” she said simply.
“Gag?” Rafe repeated, trying to follow what she was telling him. “You mean like a joke he pulled?” He tried to think of a practical joke that could go so badly.
She flashed an apologetic smile at him. “Sorry, I forget sometimes that everyone wasn’t raised on a movie set like I was. A ‘gag’ is what insiders call a stunt. He was supposed to flip a car, you know, one of those chase scenes they’re always doing and trying to make bigger, better, more exciting. More daring and dangerous. Well, Scott thought it would be ‘more daring’ if he was in the car for longer than he was supposed to be.
“The stunt was supposed to stop short of the car going into a roll and he was ‘supposed’ to get out,” she said, stretching the word. “Except that he didn’t and the controlled roll got way out of hand...” For a moment, the words stuck in her throat, but then she continued. “The car burst into flames and Scott was trapped.”
She pressed her lips together, getting her voice under control and then went on. “The medical examiner told me that he’d been killed instantly—but I still have nightmares about that fire. About his last few seconds...” She drew in a breath and then released it slowly.
Rafe watched as she straightened and lifted her chin, managing to shed the serious mood that had all but enshrouded her.
“C’mon,” she suddenly said brightly, taking his hand in hers and moving back toward the center of the crowd. “I’ll introduce you around. They’re a great group of people,” she assured him.
But Rafe held her back for a second. He wanted to get in one final private word before they stepped back into what was decidedly her world. “I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories for you.”
“You didn’t,” she told him, grateful for this display of his sensitivity. “That’s just all part of my life and it’s in the past. But I don’t ever want to forget Scott. We had a good year and a half together,” she told him. “And I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Now c’mon.” she tugged on his hand. “If you’re going to be Jim’s ‘consultant’ there are people you need to meet and know by name.” She winked at him before turning forward and pulling him in her wake.
He went willingly. It was at that point that he realized he would have followed her to the ends of the earth—or into the jaws of hell—if that was what she wanted.
But he still refused to explore why.
Chapter Thirteen
“Is this what it’s like?” Rafe raised his voice as he asked Val the question more than a week later.
On a whim, they had walked into Miss Joan’s diner to grab a bite to eat and found that the place was unbelievably crowded. Rafe couldn’t recall ever seeing the diner filled to this capacity. It was all but bulging at the seams.
Not only that, but there were more than a few people lined up next to the register, waiting for someone to leave so that seats could be vacated and they could finally sit down. Thinking back, over the years, even at the height of the business day, Rafe couldn’t remember the diner being this busy.
Leaning into him so that he could hear her, unaware of the chaos she was creating to his insides by being so very close, Val raised her own voice and asked, “Is what like?”
“Life where you come from. In the city,” he added in case he was still being unclear. “Is it always this crowded so that you can’t hear yourself think?”
This was nothing in comparison to some of the crowded conditions she’d encountered, she thought. To her, it was no big deal, and she answered Rafe’s question with a careless shrug.
“I guess.”
In all honesty, she was accustomed to waiting, to inching her way from one destination to another on one of many Southern
California freeways, which like as not usually alternated between a crawl and a complete stop. Free-flowing traffic was reserved for the absolute dead of night or very early Sunday mornings.
“Although,” she continued, “Hollywood isn’t nearly as bad as New York City. There it’s the streets that are exceedingly crowded. In Hollywood, it’s the freeways. For the most part, walking is a lost art in L.A., although there are still some of us diehards left.” She smiled at him. “But in comparison to what you would find in that city, this is nothing,” she assured him, gesturing around the diner.
Silently, she had to admit that she was a little surprised to see how full the diner actually was. Especially since Miss Joan’s was no longer the only place in town to get food. The production company had its own catering truck and each day, more than enough food was flown in to provide three square meals for the cast and crew, with a good margin so that there would be leftovers to snack on, should there be the need.
However, the makeshift commissary that had been set up beneath a wide, open-ended tent was usually empty most of the time. Word had spread about the food in Miss Joan’s diner and, one by one, the skeptics had come to sample and the converts returned on a daily basis. They were all here, rubbing elbows with the locals.
It disgruntled the regulars, some of whom voiced their displeasure where others could hear, saying that they couldn’t wait until “these outsiders took themselves back to wherever it was that they came from. And the sooner, the better.”
Overhearing the last statement, Miss Joan stopped what she was doing and made her way over to where the offending party was standing, waiting for a seat. Among her other duties, she had always considered herself to be a peacemaker, disarming frays before they could become either dangerous or emotionally damaging.
“Now, Bill,” she began reprovingly, like a maiden aunt focused on restoring good manners to a favored nephew, “someone hearing you would say that you weren’t being neighborly.”
Bill, a towering, heavyset man in his late forties frowned. “Someone hearing me would also hear my stomach grumbling and understand,” the weather-beaten wrangler complained, glaring at the four men who had just taken a newly freed-up table.
His Forever Valentine Page 13
