Lovers and Strangers (The Hollywood Nights Series, Book 1)

by Candace Schuler

  "What if I said I'd missed you?"

  "And have you?"

  "Yeah, I have," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand in his. "I've missed you a lot. More than I—" He broke off, looking up as if he'd just that second seen the cocktail waitress approaching their table. "Hi, Angel," he said carelessly, clamping down on Jill's hand to keep her from drawing it out of his. "You know Jill Mickelson, don't you? From 2-B."

  "We've met," Jill said, nodding a greeting at Faith before she could answer. "How are you?"

  "Fine, thank you," Faith said, looking carefully back and forth between the two of them. "What can I get you to drink?"

  "Jill will have a Brandy Alexander. You can bring me my usual Corona."

  Without another word, Faith nodded and left the table.

  Jill yanked her hand out of Jack's, winning her release only because he let her go. "Just what the hell was that all about?" she demanded.

  Jack shrugged. "Just making a few things clear, is all."

  Jill looked toward the bar, and the stiff back of the young cocktail waitress walking toward it with their order. She brought her gaze back to his. "I don't like to be used, Jack," she warned him.

  "Not even for a good cause?"

  She shook her head. "I didn't think you were that kind of man," she said sadly.

  "What kind of man is that?"

  "The kind who plays fast and loose with a woman's heart just so he can get her into bed," she said. "A cad. A bounder. A bum. Should I go on?"

  He lifted an eyebrow at her, apparently unmoved by the scorn in her words. "I think I get the general idea."

  "I'm sure you do," she snapped, and started to scoot across the booth. "You'll forgive me if I don't stick around for the rest of your brush-off performance."

  "Dammit, Jill, wait." He reached out, as if to grab her and pull her back, then dropped his hand on the table between them. "Please, wait," he said.

  She stopped and looked at him, startled by the odd note in his voice. She hesitated, her gaze darting to the man opposite her and then to the young woman he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of. She was coming back toward the table, their drinks on a tray, her young face set and serious.

  "Wait," he said again, and the word was an out-and-out plea.

  Jill dropped back into her seat but keep her hands together in her lap to keep him from holding them, watching as the scene played itself out.

  Nothing untoward was said, no harsh or biting words were exchanged. It was all very orderly on the surface. Faith set their drinks down in front of them and asked if they'd like anything else. Jack said no and handed her a couple of bills, telling her to keep the change. And she smiled politely, invited them to enjoy their drinks and walked away. All very calm and orderly. On the surface. Underneath, hearts were breaking into tiny shattered pieces. Jill wondered why the sound wasn't echoing through the room.

  "You're in love with her," she said when Faith had gone back to the bar. It wasn't a question. "You're down-on-your-knees, white-picket-fence in love with her."

  "So?" Jack said, and picked up his beer.

  "So?" Jill shook her head. "So she's in love with you, too. Or haven't you noticed that fact?"

  "She only thinks she is."

  "She only thinks she is? Is that what you said? She only thinks she is?" Jill turned her gaze skyward for a moment. "God save me from the pigheaded arrogance of men," she intoned, and returned her gaze to Jack's face. "You listen to me, Jack Shannon. Thinking has nothing to do with the way that girl feels about you, believe me. Nothing at all. Her whole heart and soul was in that look she gave you, not her brains."

  "Well, then, they should have been, dammit!" he bit out, furious with the world. With life. With himself. "They damn well should have been. If she'd used her head and stayed away from me like I told her to, neither one of us would be in this mess."

  "You told her to stay away from you? Why?"

  "Why the hell do you think? You're a grown woman, for God's sake. Look at her. And then look at me."

  Jill did as he ordered.

  "And what do you see?" Jack demanded.

  "Well, you look like hell, for one thing." A particularly attractive, sexy sort of hell, but she didn't tell him that. "And she looks miserable."

  "She's a child, a little girl playing at being a grownup. She'll get over it."

  Jill shook her head. "God, men are such fools," she said. "And the best men are the biggest fools." She slid out of the booth and stood up. "I like you, Jack, and that's why I can't sit here and participate in this idiocy with you for another minute. You want to ruin your life—and hers, too, while you're at it—then you're on your own. Thanks for the drink," she said, and turned on her heel, leaving the Brandy Alexander completely untouched.

  Afraid Faith might approach him if he was alone, afraid he would break down and beg her forgiveness if she did, Jack slugged back his beer and got up, following Jill out of the bar.

  * * *

  "I'm going to rip his heart out," Sammie-Jo threatened through clenched teeth. "I'm going to shove my fist down his lying mouth and rip his no-good, double-dealing black heart out by its evil roots."

  Faith couldn't help but smile at her friend's ferocity, even as she fought to hold back the tears stinging at her eyes. "It's all right, Sammie-Jo. I know what he's doing."

  "He's acting like a jerk, is what he's doing. A stupid, insensitive, unfeeling, two-timing, rat-faced jerk. God, to bring Jill in here like that, when he knew you were working. When he'd already made a date to meet you when you got off. Why would he act that way?" She looked at Tim, busy counting up the night's receipts behind the bar. "Why would a man be so deliberately cruel?" she demanded to know.

  "He doesn't think he's good enough for me," Faith said before Tim could form an answer.

  "Well, he's right about that. He isn't half-good enough for you. He keeps you out until all hours of the night, bringing you back at nearly four in the morning, with a hickey on your neck and your eyes all heavy looking, and so damn happy you can't even see straight. And then he waltzes in here with another woman, just like the last two days never happened. And you don't even get mad." She looked over at Tim. "Do you think she might be in shock?"

  "I'm not in shock," Faith said, answering for Tim again. "I'm upset and a little hurt but I'm nowhere near ready to fall over about it. I told you, I understand what he's trying to do."

  "Well, that's more than I understand, that's for sure, but if I were you—Faith, honey, you put that towel down and forget about cleaning up. I'll clean up tonight. You just sit down and relax for a few minutes, let Tim pour you a nice Baileys. Tim, pour Faith a Baileys. A double," she ordered. "She's going to sit here at the bar and drink it while I finish wiping off the tables."

  "No, Tim," Faith said, forestalling him. "I don't want a Baileys. And I don't want to sit down and relax," she said to Sammie-Jo. "I need to think. And I think best when I'm working. I'm fine, really," she said when Sammie-Jo stood there, looking at her as if she expected Faith to fall to pieces at any minute. "Now, stop fussing and let me finish my shift so we can go home."

  "If you're sure you're all right?"

  "I just said so, didn't I?" Faith said, letting her exasperation show.

  "Okay." Sammie-Jo waved a hand toward the waiting tables. "Have at it."

  And Faith did, with a vengeance. Why did everybody expect her to crumble at the first sign of trouble? When had she ever? Never, that's when! She slapped her damp bar towel down on a table, making a most satisfying smacking sound. Just because she looked like a naive little school girl didn't mean she was one. And she wished people would stop treating her that way. One person in particular.

  If he thought he could make her stop loving him with some stupid sophomoric stunt like the one he'd pulled tonight, he had another think coming. Would he stop loving her if she let some other man hold her hand? No, she thought, then hell, no! she added, just for good measure. If she let some other man hold her hand
, Jack would very likely break all of his fingers for him.

  Not that Faith wanted to break Jill's fingers. Any fool could tell that Jill had been an unwitting pawn in Jack's little scheme—and that she'd been mad as fire when she realized it. No, it wasn't Jill's fingers she wanted to break. It was Jack's rock hard head. Maybe that would knock some sense into him, she thought, smacking the bar towel down again.

  She cleaned three tables before she moved on to the booths along the wall and saw the envelope Jack had left there. She dropped the towel down on the table and picked up the envelope. The metal clasp was fastened but it wasn't sealed shut.

  Faith bit her lip. It wasn't any of her business, of course, and it wasn't ethical to snoop but... she had to find out who it belonged to, didn't she? She sat down, perching herself on the very edge of the booth, opened the metal clasp and slowly drew the contents out.

  It was a script. Two scripts. No, two copies of the same script. Lovers and Strangers by Eric and Jack Shannon. Why had he made copies of it? And then she noticed that there was no date on either copy, no address and phone number in the lower right-hand corner. Just the title and, under it, the two names. She flipped one of them open.

  "Faith, honey—"

  Faith nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Sammie-Jo's voice.

  "—what have you got there?"

  She shoved both copies back in the envelope. "It's Jack's," she said. "A script."

  "A script?"

  "For a movie," she said, and made a quick decision. "He wanted me to read it and give him my opinion."

  Chapter 12

  She was crying when she finished reading it. Great, gulping sobs wrenched up from deep inside of her.

  "My, God, Faith, honey, what's the matter?" Sammie-Jo demanded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she came out of the bedroom. "What did he do?" She sat down on the arm of the chair and put her arm around Faith's heaving shoulders. "Honey, what is it? What's the matter?"

  "My l-life," Faith said through her tears. "He w-wrote my l-life."

  "Your life? What do you mean he wrote your life? Oh, Lord, Faith, honey, please. Stop crying like that and tell me—Oh, never mind. It doesn't matter." Sammie-Jo put both arms around her and held on tight. "You go ahead and cry," she said, and began rocking Faith like a child.

  It took Faith a few minutes to get control of herself but she pushed out of Sammie-Jo's arms, finally, and sat up, wiping at her streaming eyes with her palms.

  "Okay now?" Sammie-Jo asked. She pulled a handful of tissues out of the pocket of her bathrobe and handed them to Faith. "Are you ready to tell me what's the matter?"

  "It's nothing," Faith said and blew her nose. "And I'm fine now, anyway. Really," she added when Sammie-Jo looked skeptical. "Everything's just fine."

  "Then what was that all about?"

  "Jack's script," Faith said.

  "What about Jack's script?"

  "It's about me."

  "About you? That two-timing snake wrote about you?"

  "I told him about something that happened to me. Something bad. Something that I always thought was my fault. And he wrote about it—" she smiled, her eyes alight with joy "—and showed me that it wasn't."

  "I don't understand."

  "I can't explain now," Faith said as she jumped up from the chair. "I'll explain later. I've got to go tell Jack."

  * * *

  He was awake when she came knocking on his door.

  He'd realized almost immediately that he'd left the two copies of the script behind him at Flynn's. And he'd known she would find it. And read it. And, maybe, that's the way he'd planned it. Otherwise, why had he forgotten them? Wasn't it Freud who'd said there were no coincidences?

  He'd been waiting for the last hour and a half for her to finish it and come to him. He'd known she would. Faith was a woman who faced things straight on, no matter what the consequences. That was one of the things that made her too good for him. One of the many things.

  He walked down the hall to the door to answer her knock, slowly, reluctantly, knowing what he would find on the other side. She would be hurt and angry.

  Hurt and angry enough to throw his betrayal in his face and walk away. Forever.

  He was wrong.

  "Oh, Jack," she said when he opened the door. "Oh, Jack, it's beautiful."

  He stood there, stunned. Her face was wet with tears. Those, he understood. Expected. But, "Beautiful?" he echoed.

  "You took what happened to me and you turned it into something good. Something worthwhile. The girl you wrote about grew up to be strong and caring, in spite of what happened to her. Her story is so inspirational. It's..." She looked down at the envelope she held clutched to her breasts as if she might find the words she needed there. "It's just so beautiful."

  Jack was totally, completely bewildered. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, feeling as if he'd just fallen down the rabbit hole. His whole world was spinning out of control and she was rambling on about beauty.

  "The script," she said, as if it should be obvious. "Your script." She held it out to him in both hands. "Lovers and Strangers."

  He reached out and grabbed her by the arm. "Get in here," he said. Jack's answer to his confusion—to any puzzling emotion—was action. Aggressive action. "And tell me what the hell you're talking about." He dragged her into the living room, then pushed her down on the couch. "Talk," he said.

  "I loved it," she said, gazing up at him with adoration in her eyes. "Every word. Every syllable."

  Jack shook his head, as if that would clear it. "Are you crazy?"

  "Crazy?"

  "I betrayed you, dammit! I took what you told me in confidence and I wrote about it."

  "Betrayed me?" Now Faith was the one who was confused. "You didn't—" And then the light dawned. "Oh, no, Jack. No." She dropped the script onto the table in front of her and stood up, reaching out for him. "How could you think you'd betrayed me by writing that?" she said, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "It's a beautiful story. When I read it I felt... I don't know... cleansed, somehow. As if all my guilt and shame had been washed away."

  "You were never guilty of anything," he said, furious that she would say so. "Never."

  "I know that. Now. After reading what you wrote, I truly do know it. I didn't before, not really. Oh, intellectually, maybe, I might have known I wasn't really to blame. But in here, inside—" she brought his hand to her breast in both of hers, pressing the back of it to her heart "—I didn't really believe it. Some part of me always thought that if I'd been a better person or been more spiritual or stronger, or if I'd just done something different—anything—it would never have happened."

  "It wouldn't have mattered," Jack told her, the same conviction in his voice that had been in his written words. "You were abused by the very people who should have been doing everything they could to shelter and protect you. Nothing you could have done would have changed the fact that they didn't do their duty." He touched her hair, brushing it back from the side of her face with his free hand, wiping at her damp cheek with his thumb. "You've got to believe that."

  She lifted his hand to her lips. "I do now," she said and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

  "My God, Angel," Jack said, unbearably, painfully moved by her simple, unselfconscious display of affection and gratitude. "Why do you never do what I expect you to?"

  "Maybe because you keep expecting me to react like someone you dreamed up. I'm not a dream, Jack. I'm me. And I do things my own way. It's not always the right way, or the smart way, but it's my way. You're just going to have to get used to it."

  He was almost afraid to ask. "Am I going to get the chance?"

  "Do you want it?"

  "Yes." God forgive him. "Yes, I want the chance. I know I don't deserve it. I know I'll never deserve it. But I-"

  "Don't say that," Faith said furiously, jumping to his defense as if a third party had slandered him. She reached up to put her hand over his mouth. "I don'
t want to hear you say that to me ever again. It's not true. It's never been true. You're a good man, Jack Shannon. A wonderful, caring, compassionate man. And you're not responsible for your brother's death. Do you hear me?" She put her hands on either side of his face, making him look at her. "You didn't push him. He jumped. He killed himself."

  Jack wrapped his fingers around her wrists, pulling her hands away from his face. "After I told him he had no talent."

  "Was it true?"

  "You asked me that before."

  "And you never answered. Was it true?"

  "Yes," he admitted, reluctantly. "Yes, it was true."

  "And do you really think he didn't know it before that night?" she asked softly. "Do you think he didn't know you were the gifted one?"

  Jack just stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. He had thought his brother didn't know. For twenty-five years, he'd thought exactly that. It had never occurred to him to think anything else.

  She could see the beginnings of doubt in his eyes and pressed her advantage. "Most of us know where our true talents lie. We may not want to admit it, but we know. You told me that Eric wanted you to write the bulk of the script, remember? And that he put himself in charge of making it more commercial. It sounds to me as if your brother knew exactly what his talents were. And what they weren't. So what you said to him that night couldn't have come as any surprise, certainly not enough of one to make him want to kill himself. There had to be some other problem, Jack. Something you didn't know about. You said he was always high that summer, remember? Maybe that was the reason. Or maybe it was something else. A woman. His job. Or maybe all those things together. Who knows? The point is, people don't commit suicide for any one single reason, and to think Eric killed himself because of what you said is..." she groped for a word "...is unbelievably arrogant."

  "Arrogant?"

  "Yes. Arrogant. You had a fight with your brother—it happens all the time. You made a cutting remark—brothers do that all the time, too. But to think that that's what made Eric kill himself...?" She shook her head. "That's arrogance, pure and simple. You're not responsible for the whole world, Jack. You're only responsible for you."