Just Kiss Me

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Just Kiss Me Page 16

by Rachel Gibson


  She’d been home a full week this time, cleaning and packing up her mother’s house. As before, he’d picked her up at the airport, but this time he’d followed her into the carriage house and made love to her on the living-room floor. He still had rug burns to prove it.

  “I really want that role,” she said as she wrapped her mother’s china in newspaper and stuck it in a box. “Every actress in Hollywood has auditioned for it.” She grabbed another plate “It’s a Meryl.” She wore jean shorts and a white T-shirt and sneakers. A Clemson ball cap cast a shadow across her forehead, and her hair was held back by a plain rubber band. There was nothing plain about her.

  “A what?”

  “The kind of role that wins awards.” She looked up, focused and determined like when she’d been a kid. “I want to win an Oscar.”

  He laughed and set a blender in the donate bin next to an old toaster. “I thought it was just great to be nominated. Isn’t that what y’all say?”

  “That’s crap.” She waved a hand in the air. “Everyone wants to win.”

  Henry thought about his former life, when he’d wanted to win at all cost. When losing hadn’t been an option. When he’d been flying high and his heart had beat to the rhythm of the stock market. He understood Vivien’s ambition, it just wasn’t his life any longer.

  “If I’m cast, I’ll have a wider range of films on my resume and grow my brand.” She chatted about future parts and the production company she planned to create. “No remakes,” she said. “I mean, how many different times and ways do you want to see The Invisible Man or Zorro? I hate to see big studios suck the life out of Jane Austen or Hitchcock when the originals are such classics and should be left alone.” She wrapped one last plate. “But first I need to land that Dorothy Parker role.”

  “When will you know if you get the part?”

  “Soon.” Vivien put the last plate in the box then shoved her hands on her hips and glanced about the kitchen. “It looks like an episode of hoarders in here.”

  Not quite, but there were three bins: keep, donate, and throw away. She’d made headway sorting her mother’s personal belongings, but she still had quite a bit to do yet.

  “Momma was sentimental. A lot of the time, she couldn’t bear to throw away anything. Then there were other times when she cleared the house of clutter and threw away the stuff she hadn’t been able to part with the day before.” Sadness crept into her eyes and she turned toward the sink. “Her life was a rollercoaster.” She washed her hands with a bar of rose-scented soap.

  “So was yours.” Henry joined her at the sink and took the soap from her hands. “You were forced to live her ups and downs alongside her.” He would smell like roses, but he’d smelled like worse.

  “Yeah, but she couldn’t help it.” She ripped off two paper towels and handed him one. “Most of the time it was okay.”

  Her green eyes looked into his and he could see that it hadn’t been “okay.”

  “When she was stable, she was a real good momma. She cared for me and loved me and I loved her. Then she’d get hyper manic and stay up for days doing a hundred projects at once.” She looked down at her feet, and the bill of her hat blocked his view of her face.

  Henry reached for her ball cap and pulled it from her head. “I remember Spence and I came home from Hilton Head one night and she had a flashlight in one hand a paintbrush in the other. She was singing to Tom Petty on the radio and painting the shutters.” He tossed the hat onto a box. “We just thought she didn’t want to paint during the heat of the day. Later Mother told us she was bipolar and explained what that meant.” He put a finger beneath Vivien’s chin and lifted her gaze to his. “That must have sucked for you as a kid.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t really mind when she talked about her dreams. She made them seem real and she’d entertain me for hours with things we would do when we ran off to Zanzibar or Bali. For a while she’d just be a normal mother. We’d just be normal, and then I’d see her getting dressed up nice, and I knew she was going out to find some sorry excuse for a boyfriend. I hated her boyfriends, but I hated her sad moods even more.” She shook her head and her brows furrowed above her beautiful eyes. “I figured out real quick the patterns of her moods. They were always the same: happy, normal, needy, and sad. I never knew how long she’d stay in one of her moods before moving into the next. Sometimes she wouldn’t get out of bed for two weeks.”

  He brushed his thumb across her jaw. “What did you do when she was in bed?”

  “Sometimes Mamaw Roz stayed with us or I stayed at her house. When I got older, I took care of her.”

  “She was lucky to have you.”

  She tilted her head to one side in thought. “I was lucky to have her. She taught me to dream big and that nothing was beyond my reach. She always told me that I could be anything I wanted to be. She never set limits on my imagination or had crushing expectations of me. Without her, I don’t know that I would be where I am today.” One corner of her pink lips curved upward. “I grew up in your backyard, but our lives were different.”

  “Drastically different. Growing up in boarding schools was lonely. Once we were sent away to school, mother’s job was over. Spence and I had each other, but we were raised by headmasters and dorm advisers and Grandfather Shuler. I don’t think Spence has ever forgiven her. If you add up the number of days we spent at home, they probably wouldn’t even add up to a year.”

  “I think I’d rather have my momma than yours.”

  “You don’t think, you know you’d rather have your momma.” He chuckled. “I love my mother. God knows I do, but she is a hard nut to crack.”

  “Nonnie’s a hard nut and my momma did nutty stuff sometimes. Maybe that’s what they had in common after all.”

  “Macy Jane couldn’t help her nutty side.”

  “I know.” She brushed her cheek against his palm like she had the first time they’d made love. “She knew some of the kids at school made fun of me because of her. So one time, she stayed up for days and made pecan sandies for the entire school in hopes of winning them over.”

  “That’s really nice. Did it work?”

  “Not so much.” She chuckled. “She didn’t have baking powder so she used baking soda.”

  “I take it the two are not interchangeable.”

  “Not even close. Her cookies tasted like sodium bicarbonate. All five hundred. Not even the neighbor’s dog would eat them.”

  She laughed now, but he imagined it hadn’t been funny at the time. He could practically see the humiliation in her eyes. He probably had seen it. Vivien mortified to her core but pretending she didn’t care. Pretending nothing hurt her. Hitting first before she got hit. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the part in her hair. He hadn’t understood her back then. He understood now, and he felt a clunk clunk like the chain drive snapping on his drum sander and wreaking havoc inside. If he wasn’t careful, Vivien would wreak havoc in him.

  That night as she lay curled up against him in her favorite spoon position, he thought of the day he would take her to the airport one final time. The day she would leave and not return. The thought made him turn cold and hollow inside.

  They’d both agreed that the two of them didn’t belong together long-term. They didn’t fit outside of the bedroom. Except when they were at the carriage house packing her mother’s things. At his house having dinner or driving the Mercedes with the top down. He always looked forward to picking her up at the airport, and he was going to miss her like hell.

  Over the next three weeks, she made even more headway in the carriage house. He filled the bed of his truck with boxes for Goodwill and helped her stack “keep” boxes in one end of the living room. As much as he fought against it, the little clunk near his heart grew bigger and each time he took her to the airport he felt it snap a bit harder. Every time she left, it was a little bit harder to see her go, but even when she was gone, he could still see her. All he had to do was turn on the televis
ion and watch her segment on the Today Show, promoting her role in Psychic Detectives. Or he’d see her on the cover of some fashion magazine in the check-out line at Publix. She should look ridiculous wearing a pink feathery gown and a hat with a bird on it, but she didn’t. He bought the magazine to read the article, only to discover it talked about her clothes and not her. It did have a nice photo spread of her, though. He especially liked the black-and-white taken of her in a corset and motorcycle boots. He liked all her pictures, but nothing was like the real thing. He got a kick out of watching her on television, but having her close enough to touch was much better. “I got the role!” she said the next time she jumped into his truck. A huge smile lit her face. “I got Dorothy Parker.”

  That night he took her to his favorite white-tablecloth restaurant to celebrate. He wore a blue suit and she dressed in the skirt and blouse she’d worn the day they’d had sex in the carriage house. They sat in a booth near the back of the restaurant, drinking champagne and eating steak and whipped potatoes. The meal was delicious and decadent, but not as delicious and decadent as his memory of her the last time he’d slipped that skirt from her hips.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked, a slight curve to her red lips.

  “You. Me. Those red shoes and your momma’s row house.”

  “I thought I recognized that look in your eyes.”

  “I didn’t know I had a look.”

  “You have a look, Henry. It’s kind of sleepy and ravenous at the same time.”

  Sleepy and ravenous? “Sounds scary.”

  “You don’t scare me anymore, Henry.”

  “Were you ever really afraid of me, darlin’?”

  “Terrified.”

  “You didn’t seem terrified earlier when I washed your back in the shower.”

  She chuckled. “I’m a trained actress and my back needed scrubbing.” Her laughter died and she tossed her napkin on the table. “I start filming in a few weeks. I won’t be in Charleston as much.”

  “When you finish filming, we should find a secluded island. We’ll lay on the beach and drink rum from coconuts all day.” He took her hand. “Until then, I’ll look forward to spending time with you when you return.”

  “I always look forward to spending time with you, Henry.” She dipped her head and a smile beamed at him from across the table. “When I’m gone, I think about you. A lot. You’re important to me. I trust you and—”

  “Oh my God! Zahara West!” an excited girl squealed as she approached their table. “It is you!” Several more teenage girls and one boy with seriously complicated hair joined their friend. They spoke fast, as if they had to get it all out before their heads were chopped off, and Henry sat there wondering what Vivien had been about to say before they’d been interrupted by sci-fi fans who talked as if the Raffle films were real.

  “I loooved the last Raffle movie,” the boy said. “You were—”

  “—Zahara’s Revenge was—”

  She’d said she thought about him and that he was important to her.

  “—When you hotwired the calabrone intergalactic cruiser—”

  He wished she wouldn’t have said she trusted him.

  “—And escaped the sotarian hoard!”

  They all held up one hand and said, “—Defy, rebel, triumph.”

  Henry glanced from the worked-up teens in front of him to Vivien. She looked apprehensive, amused, and maybe a little terrified all at one time. If he were in Vivien’s shoes, he’d be embarrassed as hell and looking for a back exit.

  “We’re members of Kings Street Cosplay—”

  “—I’m Commander Trent—”

  “—Vixen Star Chaser—”

  “—can you say, ‘Open and free for all humans!’ just once? Or Maybe—”

  “—Can we get a picture with you?”

  The corners of her smile dipped a fraction. “I’d love to.”

  Henry signaled the waiter and reached for his wallet. “We’re in a hurry,” he said as he handed over his card.

  “Can you take our picture?” One of the Raffle fans shoved a cell phone at Henry before Vivien could even respond.

  “Sure.”

  They crowded around Vivien and said, “Death over sotarian tyranny!” as Henry snapped the photo. As soon as he handed back the cellphone, he signed his credit card receipt and took Vivien’s elbow in his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes.” Her gratitude shone in her eyes, and as they walked to his car, she asked, “Are you sure you look forward to seeing me?”

  “Always.” She was becoming important to him, too. Maybe too important. So much so that the next time he took her to the airport, he felt like she was taking a piece of him and leaving a hollow place in his chest. “I have to tell you something before I go,” she said as he once again unloaded the last of her suitcases from his trunk.

  That didn’t sound good. He stood at the curb of Charleston International, bus fumes clogging the muggy air and horns honking up and down the departure lanes. She wasn’t just leaving a tidy hollowed-out hole in his chest. It felt more like she was ripping him apart. He looked down at the top of her straw hat and asked, “Am I going to like it?”

  “I hope so.” The airport concierge took her bags and she tilted her face up to look at Henry. Her green eyes turned serious. “You know when I told you that you could see other people?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m rescinding that. I don’t want you to see other women.”

  “Does this mean I’m more than just your meat?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed with relief. “So I should cancel the dates I have lined up while you’re gone?”

  “Don’t tease.” She frowned and the corner of her mouth trembled. “I’m falling in love with you, Henry.” Then she turned on the heels of her red pumps and before she could walk away, he pulled her against his chest and dipped beneath the brim of her hat. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her, long and deep and filled with everything he felt inside. Everything that he couldn’t say. Fear and longing and maybe he was falling in love with her too. “Have a safe trip.”

  She shoved sunglasses on her face and covered the deep furrow wrinkling her brow. Henry knew that look. He’d seen it before on the disappointed faces of women in his past. She’d wanted to hear him to say more. “Okay.” Then Vivien Rochet the actress pushed her lips up into a beautiful smile. “Okay.” When she turned to leave this time, he didn’t stop her.

  I’m falling in love with you. In Henry’s experience, when women said that it was more than just falling. It meant they’d already landed but were testing his feeling. It meant love. Real love. Was Vivien really in love with him? Was it real love? Was he in love with her or was it just intense lust that drove him both mad and crazy? She’d come back into his life and turned it upside down, inside out, and knocked him for a loop. He didn’t know what he felt other than deep affection, consuming passion, and a big dose of guilt. He didn’t know what to think, other than it was impossible.

  Vivien Rochet lived a gigantic life. He’d downsized his. He loved his new job and the calm he’d found. His life was in Charleston, hers in Hollywood. Even if they fit together in bed, their lives were at odds. They didn’t fit together, and if he ever forgot that, he always had his mother to remind him.

  “When is Vivien returning?” she asked, all stretched out like a cat on the chaise in the red parlor.

  “I’m not sure,” he lied. He knew the day and hour she would return. She was currently in Tokyo, making outrageous money for shooting a Honda commercial, and would be back in Charleston in two days. He crossed his foot over one knee and picked at the crease of his khaki pants. It had been three days since he’d dropped Vivien off at the airport. Three days since she’d said she was falling in love with him. Three days for him to figure out exactly what he felt for her. Not that he’d had much to figure out. He’d fallen in love with her, too. Plain and simple, only it wasn’t so plain and simple. She�
��d trusted him when she shouldn’t, and that made him feel guilty as hell. Now he just had to figure out what he was going to do about it.

  “You are not fooling anyone.” Nonnie reached for a cup and saucer on the table next to her. “I know you and Vivien are messing around. Did you really think you could keep it a secret?”

  Since the night of her mother’s funeral, she’d spent every night with him when she was in town. He’d hardly been trying to keep it a secret. “How’s Spence?”

  “Your brother is behaving badly.” She lifted a cup of tea to her lips. “He got kicked out of his country club for bringing tawdry strumpets to a black tie event.”

  He hadn’t seen his brother since the night he’d talked about running off to Key West and morphing into a cross between Hemingway and Jimmy Buffet. “Spence is a big boy. He’ll figure it out.”

  “He’s bringing shame and embarrassment to the family.”

  “I think we’ll survive.”

  “I don’t know if we’ll ever live it done. Which is why you need to watch what you do with Vivien and be on your best behavior.”

  “We’re all in this mess because of your behavior,” he reminded her.

  Her gaze narrowed as she set her teacup on the saucer on the table. “Mind your manners, Henry.”

  Earlier, he’d been at a meeting with the chamber of commerce and thought he’d check up on his mother before he drove home. Kind of kill two birds with one stone. Bad idea. “I came by to see how you’re doing.” He leaned back against the crimson couch and stretched his arm out across the top. “Not to get a lecture about Vivien. She’s not your business.”

  “She certainly is my business. Since the day she and Macy Jane moved into the carriage house, she’s been my business.”

  “I thought you and Vivien had buried the hatchet.”

  Nonnie frowned. “There was no hatchet, Henry. She was a child and it wasn’t her fault that Macy Jane was unable to take care of either one of them. I don’t have anything against Vivien. She’s turned out to be a responsible woman. Admirable, given that she used to be such a terror. Her mother was very proud of her, as she should have been.”

 

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