She sniffed at this, and held up the small prime rib in the shopping bag. “Enjoy your pizza tonight, Mr. Fleming.”
She finished unpacking her things, and noticing that it was coming to eleven o’clock, decided to read for a few minutes, before tucking it in. She had a stack of travel brochures to look through, and hoping to form a plan of the places she desired to visit, she slid under the covers and started to read.
Her room was not as warm as the one she had slept in the previous evening, but the bed was comfortable enough, and she was only down the hall from him, and might even hear his breathing in the still of the night. She wished that she had been able to stay awake last evening, but she had been truthful with him when she had admitted to falling asleep within seconds.
Just my luck, she thought, pounding her pillow. My friends will NEVER believe it. Slept with Alex Fleming, and couldn’t stay awake long enough to enjoy any of it.
Absorbed in the Shakespeare Globe Theater information guide, she did not hear his footsteps as he climbed the stairs, and just barely had time to look up before she saw him standing in her doorway. She was about to greet him when he walked over to the bed, grabbed her hand, and said, “Come on.”
Confused, she crawled out from beneath her blankets and followed him barefoot to his room, where he threw open the covers of the bed they’d slept in together.
“You’d better get in. Just because the power is on now doesn’t mean it will stay on all night. We’ve had rolling black outs all day, and you don’t want to wake up in the refrigerator room, iced like a Popsicle.” His face was quite serious.
“You really are a nice person,” she said, snuggling under the blankets, smiling at the flames licking the log in the fireplace. “How was your dinner?”
“Pepperoni, and some other enticing mystery meat,” she heard him say from the bathroom as he rinsed his toothbrush.
“Oh no, Alex! Would you like a sandwich?” she asked, starting to swing her legs out of the bed.
“No, no… I’ve already been warned against popping the buttons of my tunic by my housekeeper.” He peeked around the corner of the bathroom, pointing at his chest with his toothbrush. “No more midnight snacks for me.”
She burst out with a laugh, watching as he patted his stomach. “Well, you don’t have anything to worry about. You look quite amazing - more handsome now than in your younger days.”
He blinked incredulously at her, then taking off his slippers, he unfolded the covers of his bed. “And how would you know how I looked in my younger days? I don’t keep any studio photographs in my home. They are all in my downtown office.”
She felt the warmth creep into her cheeks, and decided that perhaps now was the time for the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, she thought, but he had been so generous with her, he deserved her honesty.
“I’m a fan,” she murmured, as he flicked out the lights, the soft glow of the logs in the fire providing a reddish hue to the room.
“Really?” He rolled over to his side facing her, his pillow doubled under his head. “My younger days… let me see, which one? I’m guessing… Flanders Fields?”
“Yes… and the others.”
“Ah, you’ve seen more than one of my films, then? Tell me which ones. I’m curious about your choices,” he prodded her.
“All of them,” she whispered, then cleared her throat with a cough, hoping he hadn’t heard her.
“Did you say ‘All of them?’ Ha, I’ve got you now. All of them isn’t an answer. Admit it. You haven’t seen any. You’re just trying to spare my feelings.” His throaty laugh rumbled against the covers.
“Would you like them alphabetically?” She wondered for a split second if this was really a wise move, but delivered the question, none the less.
He was silent for a second, then as if calling her bluff, said, “Go ahead.”
“Alright, let’s see. Starting with A. - ‘All is Fair’. You played Richard Atchkiss. B is for ‘Bell Tower’, the imposing Reverend Donnelly. Also ‘Better Days’ and the Beekeeper series. C… Well, I can think of two. ‘Cross Carrier’ and ‘Carnival Nights’, the Crusader and Joe the Carnie. D would be ‘Destination Riga’. And ‘Dames and Gents”. Can’t think of an E. F for ‘Flanders Fields’.”
“STOP!” he yelped. “You are scaring me. Did you look those up on the computer this afternoon to impress me?”
“What? No! I don’t have a computer here and I wouldn’t dream of using yours without your permission,” she answered boldly, but her voice dropped in volume as she realized that her next few words might very well make or break their somewhat unconventional relationship. “ I really have seen all of your films. I just thought it would be better to be honest with you.”
He was silently watching her.
Sara sat up and drew in a deep breath. “Look, I know how this must sound, and I’m afraid now that you’re thinking I’m one of those crazed, obsessed fans, and that I somehow finagled a way into your home.” She was seriously starting to regret her confession. “But in all honesty, your films became a hobby of mine, after seeing Flanders Fields. I fell in love with that epic piece, and started looking for more of your work. With all the junk out there these days, I was drawn to the quality of your work, and within a year or so, I had the full collection.”
He remained silent.
“Alex, I had no idea that I would be placed in your home by the agency. When I was made aware of this, as a fan I was very excited. But as your employee, I’m here in a different capacity, and I’m committed to doing a very good job for you. And I promise that in no way will I expose your privacy to anyone at anytime.”
Her face felt hot and her stomach ached from clenching her muscles in a tight knot. But at least she had finally been honest with him, and if that meant that she would have to pack her bag and leave, so be it. As much as she cherished her time with Alex, in all good conscience, she felt she could no longer deceive him.
A log fell in the fireplace and tiny flecks of burning embers, red and orange, shot in all directions. The log seemed to sigh with a contented wheeze.
“You actually watched Cross Carrier?” he spoke at length. “That was terrible.”
Sara let the breath out into her pillow. Perhaps it was alright after all.
They talked late into the night, he sharing funny background moments about various film shoots, she encouraging his fascinating stories. Unable to describe the plot of one particular tale to his satisfaction, Alex sat up in bed, waving his arms in the air and stomping his feet on the floor, causing Sara to choke on laughter, begging him to stop.
“Did you always know that you would be an actor?” she asked some time later, sleep still eluding her.
“I always knew that my mind processed things in a different way from other people,” he said with a serious tone.
“I’m not sure…”
“Alright, for instance, let’s say we are walking by the ocean. What do you hear, Sara?”
“All sorts of noises, I suppose. Mostly pleasant, I think. What do you hear?”
“Music. A wave will crash on the shore and at the same time a gull may scream in the distance. In the background, a clanging of a mast or the pounding of the wind on the surf joins in with the rhythm. I never hear just the individual noises. To my ears it as though the entire piece has been orchestrated. I know that may sound a bit precious, but nothing to do about it. That is just the way my mind functions.”
“But that’s lovely, Alex, and not at all precious. It’s a gift.”
“It is, yes. But it’s not always practical in a practical world. I see many things with a different eye. There are certain pieces of art that I can’t hang in my home because they touch me with such intensity that I am moved to tears.”
“But how does that translate to your profession?”
He was silent for a moment, and Sara thought that perhaps she had touched a core that he wasn’t ready to share with her.
“It’s not easy to explain wi
thout sounding haughty or arrogant,” he answered at length, his face reflecting the reddish glow of the firelight. “Some people think that actors are seeking escape. I believe that we are doing exactly the opposite. Much like I hear the symphony of the ocean or see the revelation of a watercolor, I also perceive wonderful images in the written word; stories that beg to be told properly, peeled like a ripe orange to reveal the sweet fruit within.
“And you were born with the ability to do that?”
He gave a light snort. “No. I was born cocky enough to think I could. The actual mechanics require years of training and hard work. And even then the message doesn’t always translate.”
It did for me, she thought. But that story will keep for another time.
They fell asleep in the early morning hours facing one the other.
By the end of her first week on the job, the weather had turned toward spring. An early thaw had arrived, bringing with it blue skies and warm sunshine. Buds had appeared on the trees lining the sidewalks of the city, and noisy bird songs heralded the coming season.
Sara optimistically opened the bedroom windows, and breathed in the delicious scent of grass awakening in the sun-warmed soil.
The sudden change in the weather made her wonder about the sleeping arrangement that they had instituted out of necessity. Surely he was expecting her to return to her own room sooner or later at some point in time, and with more than a small twinge of regret, Sara decided that this was the proper time to make the change.
Alex had been the kindest of hosts, sharing his room and the warmth of his fire with her when the weather had shut down the power, and threatened to freeze her in the night, but now there were no further concerns about that. And she most certainly didn’t want to become one of those annoying guests who left the party long after the hosts were yawning and hinting about getting to bed. In fact, she wasn’t a guest at all, but rather an employee who had been treated with the greatest kindness. Yes, it was time to take the hint before the hint was given.
She moved the few personal items of hers from his bedroom into her own, and changed the bedding, leaving it clean and fresh for whatever purpose it might serve in the future. In her smaller room, she opened the window handle with a jerk and let the warm breeze enter.
Alex came around the corner just as she was tidying up her designated room. He glanced in the doorway, but left without comment.
At dinnertime, he seemed to be uncharacteristically silent, even though she tried to engage him with a funny story. At last she decided that he had something pressing on his mind, and let it go, excusing herself to clear the dishes and clean up in the kitchen.
He was waiting for her though, as always, wine glasses in hand when she had finished, and now seemed relaxed and talkative as usual. She shrugged a bit to herself, concluding that he must have worked out the problem that had kept him silent all evening.
As they finished their wine, he began telling an anecdote about an actor he had worked with many years earlier. His tale seemed to go on forever, long past the time that they normally retired for the evening.
“You’re getting sleepy?” he said, as he noticed the yawn that she stifled.
“Oh, sorry. It’s a great story; it’s just that I’ve had a really busy day and… ”
“Oh, of course; thoughtless of me - you’ve been hard at it all day.” He took the wine glass from her hand and helped her to her feet. “No worries though. I’ll finish it upstairs while we’re snuggled in bed. You’ll love the way it ends.”
Was she imagining things, she wondered, or had he actually planned this scenario to discourage her from changing rooms? It didn’t really matter though, because from that point on, she never moved again.
They had settled into a comfortable routine, Sara cleaning and cooking, Alex working in his study, going to his downtown office for an hour or two, then returning to poke his nose into the kitchen to offer little jibes or pleasantries. They took all meals together, sometimes sitting in the atrium room in the back of the house, when the sun broke through the clouds. But despite his hours at work and the endless phone calls, as soon as she finished cleaning up the dinner dishes, he appeared with wine glasses in hand, ushering her to the fireplace, insisting on no work from that point on. And despite the warming weather, it was now a silent understanding between both that when the lights went out, they faced each other in the side-by-side beds and talked until their eyes closed.
On the weekends Sara sometimes visited assorted sites in the city, and he was always anxious to hear of her adventures. At first she invited him to join her, but understood his reluctance, as it wasn’t at all unusual to find the occasional photographer lurking at his front gate. On some evenings, Alex would leave to visit with family or close friends or a business dinner. But always, always, they finished their night face to face, finally murmuring sleepy goodnights to each other.
On the rare occasion, moments before sleep overtook her, it occurred to her that this was a rather odd arrangement, lasting long past the point of necessity, but their ease in each other’s company was such that they both chose to ignore the unconventionality of the situation. Why stir the waters? She blinked and yawned, listening to his contented snores coming from the bed next to hers, and with only the mildest pang of conscience, felt sleep override all argument. After all, they were both adults and nothing more than friendship had transpired between them. What or who could it possibly hurt?
“Would you mind very much if I put off our wine for an hour tonight?” she asked from the kitchen, looking out at the glorious spring evening from the window above the sink.
She had been restless all day and with mild surprise, realized that she was feeling a definite pang of spring fever. Having lived in a tropical climate for a number of years, it was a feeling that she had almost forgotten, but thinking back to her early childhood in the northern state of Michigan, it had come back to her, like a bird that innately knows how to fly. She felt a light-headed giddiness, a prickling of the skin on her arms, and she was overwhelmingly eager to get out in the fresh air.
He appeared in the doorway looking a bit lost, a child about to be told that he would not be getting his nightly milk and cookies.
She laughed at his somewhat pitiful appearance, and was almost tempted to pat his cheek in a motherly fashion. “No need for pouting. I just want to go out for a little walk in the fresh air. It’s a beautiful evening and I want to soak it in a bit. I may even put on my running shoes and head out to the park.”
“Which park?” His forehead creased in a worrisome expression.
“Hyde Park. It’s not far. I’ll be back in an hour, and we can have our evening drink as soon as I return. I’m sure there will even be enough time for me to beat you at cards if you like.” She gave him an extra dimpled smile in reassurance.
“It’s not safe,” he said, shaking his head, his lips forming a negative pucker.
“Alright,” Sara yielded. She was a bit disappointed, but of course he was much more familiar with London, and she would rather be safe than foolish. “It was just a thought.”
“But if we go in the other direction, I have a friend who has a rather large private garden on his estate, not far from here. I’ll call and have the gate opened for us.”
“Mm. I don’t know.” She was of course deliciously excited to walk in a private garden estate in the spring with Alex beside her, but Sara wasn’t going to let him know that information quite so readily.
“What don’t you know?” He lifted his palms in question.
“I don’t know if at your age you can keep up with me, that’s all.” She bent over to touch her toes and pretended some elaborate stretches.
“Right,” he said, a gleam in his eye, and in a split second, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder without so much as a groan. “Let’s give it a go then, shall we?”
With a great sigh of reluctance, she admitted defeat as he neatly outran her throughout the trails of the ‘garden’, whi
ch was in her estimation, as grand as any park she had ever seen.
Collapsing on the grass, she pulled off her shoe, adjusted her wrinkled sock and stared up at him.
“So, when did you turn into an athlete? I’ve never seen you do any more than poke at the logs in the fire and pick up a telephone.”
“I run three miles at the gym track every day.” He slid down beside her in the grass, placing his elbows on his knees.
“What? Why didn’t I know about this?” She stared at him in disbelief. Sara certainly knew about his daily office routine, but a run on the gymnasium track had never been mentioned.
He gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, it wasn’t always a part of my routine. I’ve only been going since you… “
“Since I what?”
“Since you reminded me that I had to keep in shape to wear that tunic,” he mumbled into his folded arms.
“Alex, I’m proud of you!” she said, touching his arm. “My concern isn’t for your appearance. Just for the record, you look damn good in that tunic. It’s for your health. I guess it’s an occupational hazard, being trained as a nurse. I will admit to sneaking some good nutrition into your daily diet, and I’m thrilled that that has inspired you to take better care of yourself.”
She smiled with a pleasant sense of satisfaction and stretched down in the grass, catching the last warm rays of the spring evening on her face.
He lay down next to her, his cheek very close. “It’s you that inspires me, Sara,” he said, so softly that she barely heard.
She could feel the heat radiating off his face. Sara wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion of the miles that they had just finished running or perhaps… but she shook off the thought. It would be emotional suicide to start imagining any more to their friendship than was there. But still…
They walked the streets and back alleyways, she mindful of any photographers that might have discovered their route to and from the mansion, but Alex didn’t seem to be concerned.
Don't Tell the Moon Page 5
