“Oh, cool!” Analise looked impressed. All right. Good sign. “You think he’d really help me? A guy who’s been on TV?”
I fished out my cell phone, praying I wasn’t getting her hopes up for nothing or greatly overstepping with Dane. But he had offered to drive me up here. He couldn’t be entirely opposed to meeting my daughter and visiting the camp for a half hour, could he?
I inhaled deeply and then texted him. “I have a HUGE favor to ask. Could you please text me when you get this?”
Literally ten seconds later, my cell phone buzzed. Dane wrote, “A bigger favor than letting you sleep in my bed last night? LOL.”
I blushed and held the phone’s screen away from Analise’s inquiring eyes. “Significantly bigger, actually,” I messaged back. “It’s about my daughter. She’s in a skit this afternoon and could use some expert advice on her lines. Any chance you could come over here, for just a little while, and help us practice?”
The pause before his reply was longer this time. Much longer. Twenty seconds went by. Then a minute. Then two minutes. Still no answer.
I swallowed when I thought of all the requests Dane must have gotten over the years from acting hopefuls. All the favors mere acquaintances must have asked him, not necessarily realizing—or caring—that it was a grave imposition.
I fought the embarrassment I was feeling only because I’d asked on behalf of Analise. I would do a million things for her that I would never dream of doing just for myself.
My daughter sat on a tree stump in the middle of a grassy field and looked up at me anxiously. “Did he say yes, Mommy?”
“Honestly, I just don’t know yet. He hasn’t—” My phone finally buzzed, and I held my breath as I read his short message.
“Already in the car,” Dane wrote. “See you at the front gate of the camp in ten minutes.”
And at that moment, I knew just how easy it might be to fall in love with Dane Tyler.
~*~
Analise and I took a pass on playing games by the lake and, instead, found a quiet spot behind the rec center to bring Dane for “skit practice.”
When my daughter first laid eyes on him, she looked at him with interest, but the moment he took off his baseball cap and sunglasses, her small jaw dropped open.
“I’ve seen pictures of you,” she stated, awestruck.
He grinned at her and reached his hand out to shake hers. “Online or in magazines?”
“Both,” she whispered, taking his hand.
He leaned closer to her. “I’ve seen pictures of you, too.”
“Really? Where?”
“On your mom’s keychain,” Dane said solemnly. “You’ve got to be really important to somebody to make it onto their keychain.”
I smiled and silently blessed him for being so sweet, but I was also surprised. I’d kept photos of Analise on my keychain ever since she was a baby, updating them with newer ones each year. I knew Dane was observant, but I hadn’t realized he’d noticed the little photos I’d carried with me. He hadn’t commented on them, so I wasn’t sure when, exactly, they’d caught his eye.
Analise took in this information and just nodded. “How long have you known my mom?”
“A little less than a month,” he replied.
“Why’d you send her all those flowers?”
“Sweetheart—” I started to say, hoping to cut off the inquisition, but Dane laughed and held up his hand to stop me.
“That’s okay, Julia. She should know.” Then, turning to my daughter, he said, “Because the night I met your mom, I made a big mistake. I thought she was someone else, and I said something insulting to her. And when a person makes a mistake like that, they need to apologize, right?”
Analise nodded. “Right.”
“Thus, the flowers.” Then he added, “Were they pretty?”
“They were beautiful,” my daughter said. “And there were, like, a million of them.”
“Good.”
Analise smiled at him, accepting his explanation with ease, probably because it was the truth. She had a great built-in B.S. detector and Dane wasn’t trying to snow her or talk down to her.
Yet another thing I admired about him. Maybe he’d had so much experience with his legions of female fans that he knew just what to say to girls and women. I couldn’t rule out that possibility. But I didn’t think his choice to be honest or his ability to come across as so natural with my little girl was for that reason alone.
His behavior was in sharp contrast to Kristopher’s that day at the coffee shop. Dane had much more of an excuse to be guarded than my old high-school boyfriend did, but he elected not to be. The only thing I could figure was that it was simply a character issue. Dane was just more willing to be authentic than Kristopher was.
Analise had picked up her copy of the skit’s script from the cabin before Dane arrived, and she set about explaining the different roles to him.
“There are five characters,” she told him. “I’m Clara. But there’s also Tommy, Alice, Pam and, finally, Bobby—that’s Justin’s part,” she added, and I caught her rolling her eyes.
“Hmm,” Dane said. “Is he one of those difficult actors to work with?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“They’re out there, kiddo. Don’t let ’em get to you.” He paused. “Okay, I’ll take the two boy roles, your mom can take the other two girl roles, and you can be Clara. Let’s do a read-through all together first, then we’ll go from there. Sound like a plan?”
She nodded.
And so, splitting up the parts as Dane had suggested, we read through the short skit, which was some kind of modern take on the fairy tale “Beauty and the Beast.” Although, in this case, the “beast” was a semi-demented Sasquatch-like woodland creature (Justin’s role) and Analise’s character was a forest dweller who came upon him and protected him from the hunters.
“Now,” Dane said to her, “let’s you and I do it again without the script. We’ll let your mom hang onto it for the two parts she’s reading and, also, to make sure we get our lines right. And when—”
“Wait! You memorized the other parts already?” my daughter asked in shock. “You only read it once.”
He shrugged. “But, see, I know some tricks. Wanna learn a few?”
I almost laughed aloud when I saw Analise’s expression. She was completely enthralled. “Yes, please, Mr. Tyler.”
“Call me Dane.”
She glanced at me to check if this was okay. I nodded.
“Yes, please, Dane.”
He smiled warmly at her, and I knew that there was no one—no one of any age—who would be immune to the power of Dane Tyler’s charisma when he turned it on. He was a master, and I could only watch what he was doing with heartfelt gratitude.
Having been an English major, the feeling reminded me of something Jane Austen had written about in her novel Pride and Prejudice. The way the main character, Elizabeth Bennet, felt her feelings change for Mr. Darcy, a man she’d initially despised. He was wealthy and attractive, but she’d ignored those attributes and settled into a firm dislike of the man until she’d gotten to know him. Gotten some insight into his real character, not just her negative first impressions of it. And then, to a large extent because of the gratitude she’d felt toward him for the good things he’d done on her behalf, her appreciation and respect for the man transformed into love.
For the first time, I truly understood how this wasn’t just a clever literary device in a classic 19th-century British novel. How it could really happen.
“The biggest trick is to step into the body of the character you’re playing,” Dane instructed Analise. “Don’t just say the lines. Understand the viewpoint of the person who’s saying them. If the words make sense in the character’s point of view, they’ll be a lot easier for you to remember. And if you make a mistake and change a word or two, that’ll be okay, as long as you manage to convey the meaning and can get the majority of the phrases right.”
The two of
them tried the first half of the skit this way, as I read the lines of the two other female characters. I could see Analise’s growing confidence in her part. And Dane was just remarkable. Full stop. He was encouraging, attentive, helpful to her, and he took the task seriously.
When we reached the second half, though, Analise slipped up. There was a line that she kept accidentally omitting.
“This is where a different trick comes in,” Dane said. “For tougher lines, you might try using what I like to call ‘the ridiculous connection.’ You think about the line that’s said right before the problematic one and the line after it, and you come up with the weirdest thing you can imagine to bind all three lines together in your head. That way, when you think of the first line, you’ll remember the second one and your thoughts will flow right to the third line.”
He helped her come up with an absolutely absurd mental image to connect her lines about the hunters arriving with the sentence she kept forgetting—something about the Sasquatch’s matted fur—with her next line that involved an escape plan for the duo.
“The only hard part now is gonna be to not laugh when I say it!” she said, giggling.
“I have every confidence you’ll get through it perfectly,” he replied. “Let’s take it from the top, just one more time.”
It had been over an hour since Dane had gotten to the camp and, because we were in a serene section of the property, we hadn’t been interrupted by anyone else.
But chatter was now coming from the rec center and a stream of people were passing near us to go in for lunch.
“All right, honey,” I said when we finished that last run through. “I think we’ve kept Dane long enough.” I looked at him and hoped he could see my boundless appreciation. “You are amazing. Thank you.”
He shrugged off the compliment. “It was no problem at all. Glad to help.”
My daughter shook her head. “No. You’re not leaving, are you, Dane?”
“Well, I—” he began.
“Please stay,” she begged. “You can have lunch with us. Can’t he, Mommy?”
“Of course he can, if he’d like to,” I said, “but Dane may have some plans, Analise. We don’t want to trespass upon—”
He winked at me. “What’s for lunch, kiddo?” he asked my daughter.
She recited the menu.
“Tater tots! I haven’t had those in forever,” he confided. “Or cheesy pizza burgers, for that matter. And I’m starving. But I should warn you. When I’m around a large group of people, sometimes I get interrupted. I doesn’t happen as much as it used to, but it’s still pretty often. And I don’t know how you’ll feel about that if it happens. Would it be too distracting for you if some of the adults and, maybe, a few other campers recognized me? They might come up to talk to me or ask for an autograph or a selfie during lunch.”
“Really?” she said.
He nodded. “Really. So, it’s your call, Analise. ’Cause I could just take my tater tots and zip out.” He thumbed in the direction of the parking lot.
To my daughter’s credit—and maybe, again, because Dane wasn’t talking down to her but leveling with her, like he might an adult—she didn’t seem remotely conflicted about this decision. “I hope you’ll stay all afternoon,” she told him. “But if you don’t want to be bothered by other people, it’s okay. Sometimes I like to just be alone without anyone talking to me.”
An expression crossed his face that I couldn’t read. “That’s very considerate of you to think of me,” he said to her. “You’re even better at getting into someone else’s point of view than I thought.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, slowly, then smiled. “But I don’t want to be alone this afternoon. So, I’ll tag along with you two, if that’s okay.”
“Yay!” Analise said, pumping her fist in the air.
He laughed then looked at me. “Okay with you, too?”
“If you’re willing to chance it, Dane, I certainly am.”
“Good,” he said. “Then let’s get us some hot tater tots.”
~*~
The rest of the afternoon had a touch of magic about it.
Dane wore his cap, though not the sunglasses, into the rec center. And while many of the campers were too young to have recognized him right away from his movies, their parents were not.
I heard whispers around us all throughout lunch, a couple of audible gasps, some giggles, and a few people who came up to us directly. One of them said to him, “You know, you look so much like Dane Tyler.”
“I get that a lot,” he said with a good-natured laugh and then introduced himself.
By the time we started on our chocolate pudding cups, word had spread around the entire camp that a famous actor was in the house.
Fortunately, most everyone was on their best behavior. Once lunch ended, Dane got about two dozen people who came up to him asking for autographs or for selfies to post on their social media sites. But they were courteous. And when it was time for Analise’s performance to begin, he politely excused the three of us and said, “We have a skit to get to. You all should come watch.”
Analise blanched, but he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna be great. Break a leg.” Once again, I wanted to throw my arms around the man and hug him.
Dane and I sat together as my daughter’s group did their little play. She got through every line on cue and without so much as a hiccup. Dane gave her a thumbs up from the crowd while they were all taking their bows, and she couldn’t have looked more proud of herself than if it had been Broadway.
While the other skits were being performed, Yvette motioned me over to her. I told Dane I’d be back in a moment and went to say hello.
“Hey,” I said to her and her husband Andy. “How was your week in Door County?”
“Seriously?” my sweet neighbor hissed at me. “You’re asking about our vacation?” She laughed. “You’re here with Dane Tyler. I clearly missed some very important news, Julia.”
Andy nudged me and added, “All my wife could say for the past half hour was, ‘That’ll teach us to leave Mirabelle Harbor for nine days.’”
Yvette and Andy had been away since the weekend before Dane’s radio interview. Their plan had been to drive directly from the quaint Wisconsin resort town they’d been staying in to come to Camp Willowgreen for Parents’ Day. And though my friends were joking with me, I suddenly realized just how much had gone on in my life in only the past week.
“Kind of an involved story.” I smiled at Yvette, who looked at me with the sort of exasperation I usually only got from Shar. “But I’ll fill you in when we’re all back home. I promise. And,” I added, “I also have your mail.”
“Bring it over tomorrow,” Yvette said. “Early. Plan to stay for breakfast and lunch. I might hold you hostage through dinner if you don’t give me enough details.”
I laughed, waved at them, and wandered back to Dane, who whispered, “Analise said there’s an awards ceremony next.”
“Yes, last thing on the schedule, from what I was told.”
“Excellent,” he replied, turning his attention back to the penultimate skit and seamlessly transitioning to the final event of the afternoon.
When it was time for all of the parents to leave after the awards ceremony, the pang of missing Analise was almost as strong for me as when we’d had to part two weeks ago.
This time, though, she was flanked by quite a few more kids than just Lindsay and Brooke. Even Justin from the skit was hanging nearby, watching her say goodbye to me and to Dane.
I hugged her tight. “I love you, my beautiful girl,” I whispered in her ear.
“Love you, too, Mommy.”
Then she thrust her hand out at Dane. “Thanks for showing me how to remember my lines,” she told him sincerely. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I think you could have, but I was glad to help. You were brilliant up there, kiddo,” he said.
And, somehow, I managed to tear myself away from h
er and make it to Dane’s car before I started to cry and before a horde of his admirers could awaken from their awed trance and descend upon him.
We rode the first twenty minutes in silence before he broke in. “It’s hard to leave her, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It was just a tiny bit easier this time, though, knowing she’d had such a great day. I can’t thank you enough for that. Truly, you were wonderf—”
“It was nothing.” And, as was his usual reaction to praise, he brushed it away and fiddled with the radio instead.
I reached out and touched his hand. “No, Dane. It was something. What you did meant a lot to me, and to Analise, too.”
He grasped my fingers in a quick squeeze then, just as quickly, pulled away.
“You’re welcome, Julia. Now,” he pointed to the radio of his rental car, “choose a station and let’s get out on the open highway.” He pushed the button for the window to roll down and let a gust of wind blow in. Then he hit the gas pedal and smiled. “God, I miss driving in the Midwest.”
“You do? Why?”
“Ever visit New York or L.A.?”
“No. Neither.”
“Both coasts are a traffic nightmare. This, though—this is fun.”
As he turned onto the Interstate and increased his speed, I found a radio station that was playing Roxette’s “Dangerous” and settled into the return drive. Just listening to music. Enjoying the wind whistling through the car. And chatting with Dane about nothing and, yet, everything.
When we arrived back at my house, I immediately invited him inside.
“Look,” I said, “after all of the things you did this weekend, the least I can do is make you dinner before you have to go to the theater to strike the set. Are you a lasagna fan?”
“Homemade lasagna? You may not have leftovers tomorrow.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ll throw it together.”
And, somehow, the magic that had swirled around us up at the camp followed us into the early evening. I opened up a bottle of wine. We drank half of it while the lasagna baked. We nibbled on crackers and cut-up veggies. And we kept talking. It was as if we hadn’t already spent more than twenty-four hours together. We should have been sick of each other. I should have been looking forward to finally having a bit of quiet time. He should have been itching to leave.
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