by Emily Bishop
“I’m not wearing flannel,” Jarryd said, flatly, and brushed lint off his lapel. “This is a good suit. It’s Gucci.”
“That means nothing to me,” I replied. “But wouldn’t you be more comfortable, I dunno, in jeans and a T-shirt?”
“Maybe,” he said.
That was good enough for me. I’d never been much of a shopper, but this was something fun we could do together. It might even make him a little more incognito, not that he was bothered by the autographs and pictures.
“Awesome! Do you want some of these?” I gestured to the half-empty plate of fries.
“Sure,” he replied and strolled over.
We polished off the fries together and replaced the bowl, and Jarryd insisted on scooping his clothes off the floor and folding them neatly for dry cleaning. It was cute—and something I’d never have done in a million years.
I’d more likely have dumped them in the closet or washed them later myself.
“Ready?” Jarryd asked. “This is the first time we’ll be appearing in public together.”
“Gosh, you make it sound like there are people out there, waiting for us.”
“Fingers crossed there aren’t any cameras.” Jarryd laughed. “I’m kidding.” He opened the room door and stood back for me to exit first.
I hurried past him and into the hall of the Moondance Motel. It was quiet, early as it was, apart from a maid who walked the cream carpeted hall with a cart loaded full of cleaning supplies. She nodded and smiled at us both.
“See?” Jarryd said. “She didn’t say anything.”
“Great. That’s my fears laid to rest.”
He slipped his arm around my shoulders and guided me past wall sconces and numbered doors, toward the reception desk at the far end of the corridor. The man behind it wore glasses and a smirk. I didn’t know him personally but recognized him—he’d come to the fair a time or two and hovered around the cotton candy machine.
“Good morning, Mr. Tombs,” he said. “You have ten messages.”
“Jesus,” Jarryd said, under his breath. “Do me a favor, Kevin, pigeon hole those messages. I’ll deal with them later.” He looked through the glass front doors of the motel, past the retro silver egg chairs perched in either corner, and grinned.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Luke left his car here. Or he’s not taking it out today. Kevin, do you have the keys for Mr. Carlson’s car?”
“I do,” he said. “But—”
“Don’t worry, I already have his permission.” Jarryd extended his hand and waited. He brooked no arguments, just stared the receptionist down.
Kevin’s smirk shriveled right up. He squeezed his bulk, barely contained by a checked shirt with sweat stains at the pits, out from behind the desk and shuffled to a corkboard and set of cubbies against the wall. He fumbled in one then waddled back with the keys. “Here you are, Mr. Tombs.”
“Thank you, Kevin. You have a good day now.”
“You, too, sir.” Kevin scanned me from head to toe then caught Jarryd’s gaze and flinched away. He sat down again, and his rolling chair squeaked a complaint.
“Come on,” Jarryd said and placed his hand in the small of my back. “Let’s go. You ever taken a ride in a Porsche 911?”
“Oh, yeah, all the time. I’ve got one hidden in the forest,” I replied.
Jarryd pinched my ass, and I yelped. “That’s what you get,” he said and winked. Once again, he opened the door for me, and I exited the motel first, glad for the breeze and the cloudless sky.
Wait, hadn’t there been a storm last night? But the tarmac in the parking lot wasn’t wet, and neither was the road.
Jarryd unlocked the Porsche and opened the passenger side door. “Hop in.”
What an image. Jarryd Tombs, handsome, tanned, kind eyes standing beside a cherry-red Porsche, his hand on the door, waiting for me. Like I was some type of princess who warranted the special attention.
“Aurora?”
“Coming,” I said and jerked to motion. I hurried to the car then slid into the seat.
Jarryd shut the door behind me, circled around to the driver’s side, and got in.
“Are you sure this is OK? Luke won’t be pissed?”
Jarryd chuckled and started the engine, a pop-rumble that held a seduction of its own. “Oh, yeah, he’ll probably be pissed, but he’ll get over it. I helped him find this car.” He backed out of the space then drove off, out onto the road.
I braced myself—I wasn’t a big fan of fast cars or reckless driving—but Jarryd surprised me.
He took it slow. We cruised down the road toward the edge of town, past the welcome sign and the first of the stores. The barbershop again, the bakery. Buildings and people passed us. This had to be the smoothest ride of my life, and the experience was hardly dented by the smell of Cuban cigars. Apparently, Luke liked a smoke on occasion.
We passed the General Store, the glass door propped open by a little log carved into the shape of a crescent moon, and continued on.
“There!” I pointed to the small brick building on the corner, hidden behind the low-hanging branch of an oak tree.
Jarryd jumped, but his hands didn’t slip from the wheel. “Shit, you scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Sorry,” I giggled. “There, that’s the clothes store.”
“That’s it?”
“What did you expect? A mall?”
“No,” he replied, but the doubtful tone remained. He slowed in front of the store and took a spot on the street. “It’s kind of small, though.”
“Well, I’m sorry it’s not New York Fashion Week out here,” I said and clunked open my car door. “But I’m sure they can provide for you, Mr. Gucci.”
“You need a smack on the ass,” he said and pointed a finger at me.
I tugged on it. “You offering?”
“I might be.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” We got out of the car and shaded our eyes from the sun then walked to the entrance of the store. So far, so good. No people asking for autographs, and the easy repartee between us was a bonus.
Jarryd open the door for, me and I sidled into the only clothing store Moondance had to offer. They did a little of everything for everyone: a kids’ section on the right, alongside the men’s section further back. The left side of the store was dedicated to women, since most of the shoppers who came in were female.
“Nancy?” I called out.
“Yoohoo!” The airy voice came from the back of the store. “I’ll be out in a sec, lovely. Just stacking the shelves.”
“Nancy’s a doll,” I said. “She’ll help us pick out something casual for you to wear.”
“Yes, let’s include more people in this.” Jarryd stood with his feet parted, arms behind his back like a soldier at ease. The suit fit him like he’d been born in it. “I’m kidding, by the way. It’s about time I loosen up with this type of thing.”
Nancy chose that moment to appear in all her chubby, red-headed glory. She was one of my favorite people in Moondance, simply because she’d never commented on my sense of style. She rang up the purchases every time, thanked me for my patronage, and wished me luck at the fairgrounds.
“Hi, there, Aurora, and my, my, what do we have here?” Nancy grinned and flashed a set of yellowing teeth. So, she wasn’t a looker, but she was nice, and nice triumphed over pretty any day in my books. “Jarryd Tombs. Shouldn’t you be shopping in New York or Paris? That’s a fancy suit.”
Typical Nancy, the clothes were all that worried her.
“We’re in the market for something a little more casual, Nance. What do you have in stock?” I asked.
“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that,” she replied. “Follow me, you two. Come on, come on.” She trundled down the central aisle then took a sharp left and disappeared between the racks.
“Are you sure about this?” Jarryd whispered.
“One hundred percent,” I replied and scurried after the shopkeeper.
She’d already halted in front of a rack of faded blue jeans. “This is what we’ve got. Jeans and there are some casual tees over there.” Nance gestured to the rack opposite. Some of those T-shirts looked a little vibrant—SpongeBob Squarepants peered from the front of one.
“Thanks, Nance. You’re the best.”
“Holler if you need me,” she said then gave us each a smile and trotted off to the back counter.
“She’s nice,” Jarryd said. “Very low-key.”
“Nancy’s been around for ages. She’s seen everything Moondance has to offer,” I replied. “And probably more than that since she moved here from New York.”
Jarryd stepped forward and picked at a few of the shirts. “What about this one?” He held up one with Spiderman on the front. “Suit me?”
“Perfect.”
He laughed and put it back then drew out a couple plain T-shirts—charcoal gray, black, and white—checked the sizes, and slung them over his arm. He did the same with the jeans and fastidiously avoided anything with ripped knees. “I’ll go try these on,” he said and nodded to the changing room at the back, a single curtain hanging in front of it to shield from prying eyes.
He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
A thrill chased up my spine—another forbidden-fruit moment.
“I’ll be waiting,” I said.
Jarryd marched off and left me to rifle through a few of the shirts myself. Gosh, how many SpongeBob shirts were there? Apparently, Nancy had a fetish. Or a son who was a fan.
Minutes passed, and I walked around to the women’s end of the store. Perhaps, I’d pick up a new skirt or an ankle bracelet. My mom had been a great proponent of ankle bracelets and walking bare foot. The habit hadn’t exactly stuck with me.
I brought out a long, ankle-length skirt in aquamarine and smiled. It reminded me of the crystal I’d brought home yesterday, before Jarryd and I had headed to the hotel. Maybe we’ve finally found our truths.
Jarryd reappeared at the far end of the store and walked toward me, his muscular thighs obvious against the tight blue jeans he wore. Not skinny, just regular. The cotton T-shirt clung to his muscles, and the short sleeves looked on the brink of ripping.
“Wow,” I said.
“You think?” Jarryd brushed off the shirt. “I’ve never worn shit like this before, except on sets for movies.”
“You know, you don’t have to wear suits to be taken seriously,” I said.
He curled his arm around my waist and drew me close, enveloping me in that heat I knew so well, now. “As long as you take me seriously, I’m good.”
I was an ocean, and he was the moon. Subtle fluctuations brought waves crashing down on the shores, even in the middle of a shopping spree. I leaned into his embrace, craned my neck upward and…
The front door of the store burst open, and a low murmur crept down the aisle, followed by footsteps, trainers squeaking on tile.
I pulled out of Jarryd’s embrace, frowning. The store was never busy, per se. There were a finite amount of people who shopped for clothes in Moondance, and most of them were women.
Jarryd craned his neck, spotting the source of the disturbance. “Uh oh.” His smile faded.
“What is it?”
“Paps.”
“Like a pap smear?”
“What? No, ha. Paparazzi.”
“Here? In Moondance? Why? What the –?” Duh, because Jarryd Tombs and Felicity Swan are here. And now, you’re here, too, standing right next to the famous actor who broke up with his fiancée two weeks ago.
I backpedaled. “Sorry,” I said.
“What? No, you don’t have to go, Aurora. I don’t care what they think.” But he kind of twitched when he said it, and his jaw tightened. He did care, whether he wanted to or not. He’d spent years worrying about his reputation, hadn’t he?
Being seen with me, that had to be embarrassing. Or a complication, at the very least.
I opened my mouth, but the tide of photographers streamed around the corner before I could get a word out. Lenses raised and flashes went off, a furious volley of clicks. They weren’t allowed to do this, surely. They couldn’t follow him into the store.
“Jarryd, how are you feeling this morning?” one of the photographers asked, while taking snap after snap. “How’s the movie coming along?”
“Are you and Felicity going to reconcile?”
I stepped back once, and again. This wasn’t my scene. This was my worst nightmare, in fact. If these people caught wind of who I was and what I did for a living, I’d experience all new levels of judgment.
“Where’s Felicity now? Why aren’t you with her?”
Jarryd shook his head and put his palms up. “That’s enough. You’re not allowed to follow me into stores, kids. Get out.”
“Do you miss her? Do you regret leaving her?”
I scurried backward, now, humiliation burning my cheeks. I wasn’t cut out for this, for god’s sake. This was how they’d talk about me if they found out what we were. Not that we’re anything. How can we be with this going on?
Jarryd caught sight of me and held out a hand. “Aurora, wait.”
I shook my head, mute.
The photographers encircled him, now, trapping him against the rack of women’s clothes.
“Why are you in this aisle, Mr. Tombs? Buying something for Felicity? An apology gift?”
I spun on my heel and darted for the door, knocking clothes off the rack, pushing past those paps who hadn’t yet gotten their snap of the famous actor. They turned and opened their mouths to question me then sniffed and refocused on the celebrity—I wasn’t worth the time. Of course I wasn’t.
I shoved out into the street, breathing hard, eyes stinging with unshed tears. It was another sour reminder of the differences between us. My heart beat a mile a damn minute and I pressed my palm to the spot over my heart and rubbed in circles.
“What did you expect?” A refined voice, thin and sharp as a whistle. Felicity. She clip-clopped down the sidewalk in her high heels, clutching a cell phone to her ear. Her gaze burnt a track down my body then up again. “Did you think you could continue without any consequences?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
Felicity dropped the phone from her ear and tapped on the screen. “Duh. What are you, stupid? I’m talking about your little obsession with Jarryd. He’s out of your league, and you should have known that from the start.”
I stiffened.
“He’s a celebrity and you’re a… witch? I don’t give a fuck, actually. Just know that this is dangerous for you. I mean, you could ruin your own life by getting involved with him,” Felicity said. “Think about it. Do you want that in your life?” She pointed to the circus in the store. Paparazzi swarming around him. Nancy waving her arms and gesticulating.
I gritted my teeth. “My life is none of your business.”
“Try telling them that.” Felicity still hadn’t quit tapping away on her screen. She speared me with another glance, lips curled back over whitened teeth. “You’re nothing now but if you want them to notice you, continue seeing him. When he breaks your heart, at least you’ll have the company.” She paused, flicked her platinum-blond hair. “And the articles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the show’s about to start.” She pushed past me and opened the door to the clothing store. “Hello, darlings,” she announced.
Cameras clicked. Men and women yelled out questions. And I dashed off, past the Porsche and toward the RV park, shame curling through my belly.
Chapter 17
Jarryd
“This is the one that bothers me,” Luke said and shifted in the seat across from me, tapping his pen on the side of the page, brow wrinkled above his reading glasses. “I’m not sure it needs a rewrite but it feels so… empty.”
“Vacuous,” I said.
“Right.”
We’d chosen to have the meeting in his room, at the small table that room service had brought in f
or exactly this purpose. Luke had thrown the curtains open the minute we entered, affording us with a view of the forest out back, the trees silent witnesses to our discussion.
Wind toyed with their leaves, and a cat meandered through the long grass near their base. It wasn’t Mistress, but I sat up and peered at it, nonetheless. Was it crazy I was disappointed that it wasn’t Aurora’s cat out there? Yeah, you’ve officially lost it.
I dragged the end of my ballpoint down the bridge of my nose.
I’d lost Aurora in the fray this morning. A nightmare moment for me, and likely for her, too. She’d run, and I’d tried to follow, but the press of bodies had held me back and then Felicity had made an appearance… what a shit show.
Finding her after that was out of the question. The RV had been empty. The tent at the fairgrounds, too, and heading back to the hotel had only served to put me in contact with Luke, who’d insisted we do this. Now or never, baby.
“Are you listening to me, Tombs?” Luke intoned. “I don’t think you heard a damn word I said.”
“I’m listening. I’m just… dissatisfied.” And distracted. And a total jackass for thinking I could keep Aurora. She was pure and free, and I was tied to this movie and the people involved. Which meant I was tied to Felicity, too.
“With the script?”
“Yeah. I feel—look, I started writing the damn thing when I was with Felicity,” I said. “She was the one who wanted me to do a romantic thriller, for fuck’s sake. This is the result.”
“Meaning what?”
“That the core idea is based on a time in my life I’d rather not revisit,” I replied, evenly.
Luke dropped his pen and glared at me. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“What?”
“You can’t give up on this project, now, Tombs. We’ve invested too much time and effort into it,” Luke replied.
I sighed and massaged the bridge of my nose, pen caught between my middle and index fingers. “I’m not saying I want to give up on it.” But I do. I do, and at the same time I don’t, because I’m nothing without work. I’m nobody without it. Isn’t that right? “I’m saying there’s a reason it’s not as good as it could be.”
