Don't Tell the Moon

by LILY TEEGARDIN

  “He looked like hell. Old and gnarly, unlike myself.” He grinned at her as he stirred the scotch into the glass of water and ice. “Not that you care either way.”

  It wasn’t much, but it kept her up most of the night. Had the mention of her name truly elicited such interest from him? No, there must have been some other reason, she thought. Did he still remember her name? she wondered.

  Sara tossed and turned and replayed the scene over and over in her mind at least a dozen times before succumbing to exhaustion, and sinking into a troubled sleep.

  In her dream, she set down a plate of biscuits and gravy in front of him.

  “I was waiting for these,” he smiled up at her. “You made the dough this morning but I couldn’t stay.” The smile faded and his face became sad.

  “But I gave you a banana and an umbrella,” she patted his hand. “I hope you didn’t get wet. You could catch a cold.”

  “I did,” he said softly, his eyes filling with tears. “And then I died.”

  She sat up with a jolt, the sobs wracking her body.

  “Yes, you did,” she whispered, her face wet. “We both did.”

  She looked out of the window where the dawn was breaking.

  “I think it’s about time to go home,” she said, swallowing back her tears and heading for the shower.

  Sara blinked at all the items in her closet. Had she really arrived in London with only one suitcase a year earlier? She was starting to organize her things for her return trip home, and now knew that most of them would have to be shipped. There were mementos from new friends, souvenirs from her trips to other countries, and presents from Ian. Heaps and heaps of presents from Ian. She had pleaded with him early on to curb his extravagant gift giving, but at last giving up, she begged him for mercy. “Ian, I’ve told you many times. I live in a very small house on an island, and it will sink if I bring back all of these crates and boxes.”

  “Give it away,” he had shrugged. “It doesn’t matter; as long as you allow me the pleasure of the giving.”

  Sara decided to start with the clothing, and as she folded sweaters, he popped his head into her doorway.

  “A second of your time, darling?” he asked her, hesitant to enter without her permission.

  “My time is your time.” She motioned with her head for him to enter. “What gives?”

  “I just wanted to remind you. Next week is the SIM awards. You may want to go dress shopping. It’s a fancy shindig,” he said, rocking on his heels, his hands in his pockets. Sara always marveled at his constant state of motion - the man just didn’t know how to stand still.

  The word SIM brought a flood of bittersweet memories, but she shook them off before they led her down a path she didn’t intend to travel. “Is it already that time of the year, Ian?”

  “Yes, and I will require your assistance. It gets pretty confusing by the end of the night, what with the press and flocks of producers and company executives that I don’t see during the course of the year, and I will be presenting as well, thanks to being a candidate last year; got robbed of that one by that Fleming character. And good job for almost keeping a blank expression as I said his name,” he grinned. “But I did say it on purpose, because I have already made inquiries and he won’t be present. They are back in Switzerland shooting the next episode of that never ending Beekeeper jibber jabber.”

  “You don’t like The Beekeeper series?” She avoided the obvious.

  “Not since I turned down one of the main parts. Who would have thought that it would be a recurring gig?” he shrugged. “But back to the matter at hand. You have my credit card. I’ll ring my accountant in case you desire to purchase a sparkling bauble or two that he would need to authorize.”

  Sara stared at him, shaking her head. “I have everything I desire right here in this room. I have exquisite dresses, half of which I haven’t even worn, that you generously bought me in every shop up and down the Rhine, and quite a few baubles that you’ve gifted me with this year. And the most handsome escort in the entire country.”

  “Alright then, may I suggest that little sapphire-blue number? You would make the sphinx faint in that dress,” he said, spotting it hanging in the open closet where Sara had been sorting and packing.

  “Absolutely. The sapphire it is,” she nodded, kissing him on the cheek, happy for his friendship.

  He turned his eyes to hers, took her face in his hands, and returned the kiss on her lips.

  She was used to his impromptu kisses, and wouldn’t have thought a thing of it, had it not lingered for several seconds past the acceptable time between friends, and deepened with his sigh.

  With a slight hesitation, she allowed the kiss to continue, hoping with all her heart to feel within her the glimmer of a familiar spark.

  “Ian…” she said as their lips parted.

  “Not to worry, not to worry,” he backed away slightly. “If I thought that your eyes would ever light up at the sound of my name, like they do when I mention that other bloke, I would pursue you to the ends of the earth. But that’s not going to happen and we both know it.” He touched her cheek.

  “You don’t need those kinds of complications,” she mumbled with honest regret, rubbing his arm.

  “Yes, well. But just to let you know, I am a touch jealous.”

  “Don’t be!” she stated fervently, meaning it. “You are the most special man in my life right now. Love affairs pale against a friendship like ours.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” He hugged her, kissed her cheek, and walked out the door.

  She pinned up her hair and arranged wisps and tendrils at the neck line until she was pleased with the style, at the same time noting the golden streaks that the spring sun had added, and decided that she looked quite pretty. No one at the star-studded, awards ceremony would take notice of her, but she still wanted to look nice for… she made a face in the mirror. Why, for Ian, of course, she admonished herself. She would be walking next to him on the famed carpet and without a doubt, her appearance would reflect on him. A million people would be watching.

  Or maybe a million and one? She stuck her tongue out at the reflection in the glass and scrunched up her eyes to avoid the light misting of hair spray. Why should it matter what he thought? Sara touched her lips with a coat of soft pink gloss, and tried to concentrate on other things.

  She slid her small frame into the stunning, floor-length, sapphire-blue frock, pleased at how the material caressed her waist and hips and accented her cleavage ever so subtly. Slipping her feet into the high, silver heels that complimented the color of the gown, her mind traveled back to the last time she had worn these heels, modeling them with the wine colored dress for Alex.

  “Don’t wear this one for anyone else but me,” he had said.

  She hadn’t.

  As she started to descend the stairs, she saw Ian standing at the bottom, smiling up at her, his face radiant.

  “I’m afraid I’ll be totally ignored this year.” He held his hand out to her as she reached him. “Look at you. You are a vision.”

  “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she said with a grin as she hugged the tall, handsome man and straightened his bow tie, snowy white against the ebony black of his tuxedo jacket. “Every woman in London will swoon when they see you on that carpet tonight.”

  “All but one, darling,” he whispered, so she could not hear.

  As they entered the red carpet area, Sara’s stomach twirled with nerves. The red carpet walk was something that she had seen on television, but had never, ever entertained the thought that her feet would take this walk. Not that she was anyone of any importance, but just to be there as part of the event was a thrill that she had never expected.

  She broke into a laugh as she heard a fan shouting, “Ian! Sara! I love you guys!”

  “It must be someone I provided with your autographed photo,” she said, at the surprise on Ian’s face.

  “Oh, for a minute there, I thought you were keeping somethin
g from me,” he laughed back. “Perhaps you actually are someone fabulously famous and I wasn’t made aware.”

  “Yes, Mata Hari in disguise,” she winked.

  As she walked with Ian, a popular television entertainment network motioned him to their roped off area for a one minute interview.

  His long and lean body was just made for formal attire, and his elegant stance was reminiscent of stars of the old days - David Niven, Charles Boyer. Dark sun shades added a mystery to his look, and female fans at the rope line screamed his name in ecstasy.

  “Ian, marry me,” shouted one with great enthusiasm. He lowered his shades to his nose and gave her a wave, followed by a thumbs-up. The elated girl pounded her friend’s shoulder in excitement.

  As he was about to approach the interviewer, she felt his firm hand grasp her by the elbow and nudge her along. She reddened, but let him guide her, not wishing to cause him embarrassment.

  “Ian Donnelly, what a pleasure. I am such a fan…..” droned the lady, pushing a microphone in his face.

  “Thank you so much. That is very kind of you.” He gave her a genuine smile.

  “And your lovely lady this evening is…”

  “My personal assistant, Sara Evans.” He nodded at Sara with a smile, his confident grasp on her trembling arm.

  “What a beautiful gown. Who are you wearing?” The woman eyed her from head to toe.

  “Well, I guess it would be… Ian Donnelly.” Put on the spot, this was the only truthful answer she could give. She was certain that the dress had not come with a designer’s label sewn within the material. “Ian found it in a little shop in Germany this summer.”

  “An Ian Donnelly original!” The skinny woman with too white teeth flashed an ear-to-ear smile. “Well, it is stunning. I think I will have to call you for fashion advice.” She patted Ian on the arm. “Thank you both so much for stopping by.” She turned her face once again to the camera. “After this commercial, our next guest will be the winner of last year’s supporting SIM award for Bell Tower, someone we have also come to know quite well as the Beekeeper in the Beekeeper series, Mr. Alex Fleming.”

  The blood left Sara’s face, and as she turned to leave the podium, he stood directly behind her, staring darkly into her eyes. There was no way to avoid him.

  Ian put one hand on her waist and reached out his other to shake the silver haired actor’s hand. “Alex. How nice to see you again. I’m surprised though. I thought you would still be in Switzerland.”

  “I’m just home for the weekend.” His voice was low and a bit husky. He did not meet Ian’s eyes, but continued to stare at Sara.

  She did not avoid his look, returning it with a darker one of her own.

  Ian coughed. “I think you know Sara,” he attempted a casual tone. “When she left your employ, I was able to convince her to come help me out while Emily went on maternity leave.”

  “Yes, I remember Sara. She left me abruptly,” he said, eyes stormy.

  Abruptly? The blood returned to her cheeks and she lifted her chin in a defiant gesture.

  “How kind of you to remember me, Mr. Fleming.” She stressed the word kind through gritted teeth. “Although, Ian, I doubt that Mr. Fleming paid any attention to a temp housekeeper. I was there for a few short weeks and he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.” Her cheeks glowed hot red from her anger.

  “We’re back now!” The white-toothed television lady reached across and pulled Alex up on the podium next to her as Ian and Sara were absorbed by the oncoming crowd.

  “Whoa, baby, you did that nicely, with a lot of class and style,” Ian whispered in her ear. “I hope the skinny woman up there will help him to pull that big knife out of his heart,” he chuckled.

  “She left me ABRUPTLY? I should have punched him!” she bristled, her hand knotting into a fist. “How dare he?” Angry tears blinded her vision, but she kept her voice low, her responsibility to Ian keeping her from combusting, as cameras flashed around them.

  “I’m sorry, Sara. I thought it would be safe for you,” he whispered again, smiling broadly at the same time to yet another set of photographers. “Well at least the color in your face is perfect for the gown.” He rubbed her back soothingly. “There isn’t a prettier girl in the whole crowd.”

  They found their seats in the large hall, and smiled and waved to now mutual friends.

  Colin leaned over the back of his chair and grinned at her, motioning her to move her head to his face. “Marry me,” he mouthed, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Stop it!” She blushed and pinched him on the shoulder, laughter rising in her throat, despite the shock of her encounter with Alex.

  “You look fantastic,” he continued, then reached his hand over to shake Ian’s outstretched palm.

  The lights dimmed and the ceremony began.

  Sara now had time to ponder the words that had brought her such fury.

  SHE LEFT ME ABRUPTLY.

  She bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood, then blinked away tears of pain. Bastard, she shrieked inside of her head.

  But why would he say that? The little voice niggled in the back of her brain.

  Shut up, she growled in her throat. Shut up and leave me alone!

  In her mind she once again replayed the last three days of her stay at Alex’s home in London - the three long, miserable, gut wrenching days and nights. She had paced the carpet and run to the front window every time she’d heard a passing car. As the minutes had ticked off, her stomach had tied into a tighter knot, wondering what she should do, where she should go. The final few hours had brought no word from him and she had had to accept that his lack of communication was his way of sending her a message that their time together was now over.

  Her eyes clouded with tears as she pictured her exit from the home they had shared, rain pelting her face as she struggled to pull her suitcase down the cobbled walkway to the awaiting taxi.

  Some minutes into the ceremony Ian had to leave to make his presentation. The broadcasting network went to commercial, and people started milling around, some to the bathroom, others to the lobby bar. Sara remained in her seat, not taking any chances of once more bumping into Alex Fleming.

  Suddenly he was in Ian’s empty chair next to her, his arm wrapped around the back of her theater seat, his face next to her ear.

  “What the hell did you mean by that comment? How could I have said goodbye? I left to go to a meeting, and when I returned, you were gone. No phone number, no forwarding address, no hint or clue to anyone how I could reach you,” he said, red hot fire in his voice.

  “Doesn’t matter.” She looked straight ahead and waved with a smile to Margaret Dunning who was now craning her neck and eyeing them with curiosity from her seat, three rows down.

  She turned to face him to avoid a scene, for Ian’s sake.

  “Look, I’m not blaming you for being afraid to start a relationship with me. I never expected a commitment, but I would have liked a simple goodbye.”

  “You are so very, very mistaken,” he continued in her ear, as Margaret’s curiosity continued to grow as well. “I hunted for you. I turned the town upside down. I went to the temp agency and was prepared to fly to the states to find you, but their policy doesn’t allow them to give out personal addresses. You were the one who disappeared.” His cheek was so hot with his anger that she was just a tiny bit frightened. He was now the dark and menacing Crusader, the character she well remembered from his early film, and he couldn’t have been any more intimidating.

  “Alex,” she said, steeling herself to look him directly in the eye. “You knew that I was leaving in three days. Do you remember the words you spoke to me that night? You said, ‘This is so wrong.’ And in the morning you were gone. The only goodbye I ever received from you was a fax to pack your bags.”

  Her nose was starting to water as tears welled in her eyes, but she hesitated to sniff, in fear of calling attention to their confrontation. “There was not another word from you, even up to t
he last moment that I had to walk out of your front door.”

  She pressed the back of her wrist to her nose, hoping to dam up the waterworks, but hastened to finish her words.

  “Your message to me was loud and clear - and understood.”

  She rose to let in a woman who was passing through to get to her seat. Recognizing Alex, the excited, plump matron stopped to apologize for inconveniencing him, whereupon Sara seized the opportunity to turn and sprint up the carpeted aisle, seeking the nearest bathroom. The tears in her eyes were close to bursting over, and she didn’t want to give Dame Margaret Dunning a piece of juicy gossip to share over the garden fence.

  Ian sat on the top step outside of the stage door, smoking a cigarette and awaiting his turn on the podium. He was in his element on any stage in the world, in the disguise of any character, be it human or animal, and on one occasion in his early acting days, even the stump of tree – but he loathed going before an audience in his own skin, and wished that they would hurry and call him, so that he could get this over with.

  He looked up relieved as the stage door opened, but his relief turned to annoyance as the figure emerging from the door turned out to be a rather exasperated, angry Alex Fleming, and obviously Ian was the target that he had come seeking.

  “I’ve never hit a man in my life,” Alex glared at him, sparks flying from his squinted eyes, “but… “

  “You’re an idiot, Fleming,” Ian sighed, shaking his head and crushing the cigarette butt under the toe of his shiny, black shoe. He rose to his full height and stood nose to nose with the angry actor. “But go ahead, if you think it will help. You’ve botched everything else so far between you and Sara. Why not truly piss her off by blackening the eye of her only true friend on this side of the Atlantic Ocean?”

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Alex groaned, running a hand through the silvery hair and causing it to stand up in tufts. “I am in such pain, Ian. I don’t know which direction to turn. I had absolute happiness in the palm of my hand. Tell me, how did I manage to lose it?” His eyes were now empty of all anger, but the purple smudges beneath his lashes underscored his words.