Love on the Sound

by Matthews, Jamie

  When she didn’t respond, he tipped her chin up to see her eyes, in which he caught a flash of sorrow that left as quickly as it came. “You can say no. I won’t make it awkward during our last few days together.”

  She stood quietly for another minute. “I don’t have any plans on New Years. So.” She nodded, reached up to kiss him. “I guess I’ll see you in La La Land.”

  Amy gently disentangled herself from his embrace and smiled. “But, right now I want to read the latest screenplay from one of La La Land’s hottest talents.”

  Ben watched her go, then turned to finish the potatoes. He’d thought his plan was a good one. Sun, sand, a chance to show Amy some of the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. But that glimpse of sadness in Amy’s eyes left a lingering note of unease with him. He wasn’t sure how, but somehow, he had a feeling he may have, as Artie would elegantly put it, fucked it all up.

  Chapter 27

  “This is going to suck,” Ben said with a sigh, holding open the car door for her. He handed the keys to the valet.

  Amy laughed at him as she slid out of the car and joined him. “Mr. Sunshine.”

  The Hollywood Hills mansion spread out before them, sprawling out into the carved rock of the hillside. A riot of flowers cascaded over the entryway, but Ben led the way down the gravel path off to the side, lit by hundreds of tea lights.

  She hadn’t been prepared for a glitzy Hollywood pool party, so had planned on going shopping, but the sun had been out in full force, and Ben had talked her into going to the beach instead. After a day of sun, sand and surf lessons, she’d figured on showering and then going shopping, but he’d joined her in the shower.…now she followed him to the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses and music, her cheeks slightly pink from the sun, hair still damp and curling.

  As they rounded the corner, Amy held back a sigh, forced to agree with Ben that this would, indeed, suck. Women milled around in cocktail dresses (who wore a cocktail dress to a pool party, for God’s sake?) or gauzy, glittery wraps over tiny bikinis. Amy wore what she thought of as “Northwest chic”—a handcrafted skirt made in Seattle, black with a swirling gray design like tendrils of fog, a square neck gray blouse woven with silver threads that added some sparkle, and red Dansko Mary Janes.

  “Champagne?” Ben snagged a waiter who was circling the periphery and handed Amy a glass. “You’ll need it.”

  Amy sipped, enjoying the bubbles dancing on her tongue, and mentally shrugged. Who cared what she was wearing, anyway? It wasn’t like she’d see any of these people again. She followed his gaze to the closest group of people that stood chatting and watched as one of the men did a double take, then strode their way.

  “Here we go,” Ben murmured to her. “Stay strong.”

  “Shhh.” Amy elbowed him, struggling not to laugh.

  “Morrison! How the hell are you?” The man grabbed Ben’s hand, then pulled him in for a one-armed hug, clapping him on the back. “Where you been, man?”

  “Good to see you, Simon.” Ben avoided answering the question, and instead, turned to Amy. “This is Amy. Simon here is a producer.”

  Simon smiled at her, and Amy blinked when the smile kept going until nearly all his teeth were showing. He pumped her hand enthusiastically, all the while looking her up and down with a bemused expression. “Nice to meet you! Are you a…writer? A writer!” He nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

  Amy struggled not to laugh. Clearly her choice of attire equaled eccentric, which therefore equaled writer.

  “Innkeeper,” she said, smiling. “Lopez Island, On the Sound.”

  “Ah. How lovely,” Simon said, his smooth brow furrowing in confusion. He solved the problem by turning back to Ben. “So, Ben. What are you working on? We need to do something together, you and me!”

  Amy found herself tuning them out as she scanned the crowd, taking in details to tell Hannah and Nell about later. Blinking Christmas lights still twinkled on the palm trees, reflecting off the surface of the huge pool. Lights spilled out of the mansion behind the pool. A bar stood off to the side, and on the other end, a three-piece band laid down a funky, jazzy beat.

  Ben laid his hand on the small of her back and smiled at Simon. “I need to get the lady a drink. We’ll talk later.”

  “Absolutely!” Simon clapped him on the back. “Good to see you, bro. Good to see you.”

  “Bro?” Amy repeated under her breath as they walked away. “And, that was the worst excuse I ever heard—I already have a half full glass of champagne in my hand.”

  “Half empty,” Ben corrected.

  “You two were close, then?” Amy asked, looking up to see Ben scanning the crowd.

  “Barely know him,” he said absently. “That’s how everyone acts—like they’re your best friend. Aha.”

  Amy looked to where he pointed and smiled at the sight of Artie, slightly rumpled, with a stunning older woman. Artie didn’t bother to disguise his bored expression, while the older woman, sleek in a black pantsuit and high heels, silver hair artfully woven in an updo, maintained a polite expression. Both broke into huge grins at the sight of Ben. Artie broke off their conversation with another couple and met them halfway. Amy liked the fact that he dispensed with the lame one-armed bro-hug most men went for and instead pulled Ben close, clapped him on the back.

  “Finally. Thought I would die of boredom before you got here.” Artie rolled his eyes.

  “Thanks,” the older woman said wryly.

  Artie flashed her a grin and slid his arm around her waist. “Just because I’d rather be alone with you somewhere.”

  The woman actually blushed and leaned into Artie’s side. “You charmer.” She smiled at Ben. “I’m sure we’ve met at one of these horrible things before. I’m Lisa.”

  Ben smiled back. “You’re one of the most powerful women in Hollywood, so yeah, I know who you are. What you’re doing with this doofus escapes me, however.”

  “He keeps me sane.” Lisa laid a hand on Artie’s cheek. “I had my eye on him for quite a while. Only problem is, we agreed not to mix business with pleasure, and that means I can’t produce your movie—I read the screenplay and loved it. I might just break up with him so we can work together.”

  “Really?” Ben’s eyes lit up. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

  “Not kindness,” Artie scoffed. “And, you’re being very rude to your guest.” He turned to Amy, introduced her to Lisa. “Amy has the best B&B in the San Juans. We’ll have to make a trip sometime.”

  “I’d love that.” Lisa sighed. “Sounds perfect right about now—remote, peaceful.”

  “Enough of this,” Artie declared. “Let’s make the rounds and get this over with so we can all go home.”

  Ben had explained on the ride over that he’d be schmoozing with potential funders for his screenplay, reassuring people that he was over his meltdown and back in business. Amy trailed along behind them while Lisa chatted with her about On the Sound and Lopez Island.

  As she talked with Lisa about the Island, Amy found herself intensely homesick. The past four days had passed in a blur of sightseeing, sun, sand and sex—a fun combination, she had to admit. But, like all vacations, it was beginning to wear thin. She sipped her champagne, watching as Ben turned on the charm and slid into a mode she’d never seen up close and personal—high-powered movie star. He laughed at jokes not remotely funny, chatted up guests as if he were a talk show host and came clean about his meltdown in a way that managed to be both sincere, self-effacing and endearing.

  “He’s good at it, isn’t he?” Lisa followed her gaze where Ben stood a few feet away with Artie and a few other men.

  “I haven’t seen him in movie star mode before,” admitted Amy.

  “Really?” Lisa smiled. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “I’m not sure,” Amy said honestly. “I know it’s part of the job, but I like the Ben I knew on the Island better.”

  Lisa watched the men in silence for a moment. “It
’s a hard life,” she said finally. “I won’t try to sugarcoat it for you, because Artie said he likes you, and if Artie says that, then you’re the real deal.” She smiled at her. “And, you do seem lovely. Being the partner of someone like us—” she waved her hand to encompass herself, Artie and Ben, “—can be lonely. The industry requires long hours, travel away from home. Now, there are those folks who don’t live here or in New York, who have isolated themselves from the whirl and twirl of it all to some extent and been successful. But, the balance is tough.”

  “Oh, we’re not really serious,” Amy said, tossing back the rest of her champagne. She tried for a confident, careless smile and figured that if she managed to pull it off, she might have some acting chops of her own. “He was just passing through and looking for a distraction. I mean, look at me.” She gestured at her outfit. “This is not exactly Hollywood style.”

  “I think your outfit is beautiful,” Lisa said. “So are you. That skin—I’d kill for your complexion.”

  Amy shot her a look and was surprised to realize she was serious.

  “We just met, but you seem to me to be someone very sure of who she is and not willing to change to fit our Hollywood standards. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my career here—and I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve learned most of it only fairly recently being with Artie—you can only be happy being who you really are. It’s one of the hardest things about this town.”

  Amy smiled and gratefully accepted another glass of champagne. She thought she might get slightly drunk. “That’s a nice compliment, thank you.”

  She noticed a couple a few feet away trying to get Lisa’s attention. “Don’t feel you need to babysit me if you have work of your own to do.”

  Lisa sent her a rueful smile. “These parties are indeed work. But, I’m not going to abandon you. Tag along, or let me find you someone interesting to talk to—I know pretty much everyone here.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll wander around for a while and catch up with Ben,” Amy said after scanning the crowd and realizing Ben wasn’t in sight.

  She followed the path around the pool and took a fork at the left, which hugged the back of the mansion. As she rounded the corner, she saw Ben just ahead, standing very close to a well-known actress, her luscious curves showcased in a sleek cocktail dress with a demure scoop neckline and a plunging back. She tossed back her blonde hair and laughed at something he said, laying a manicured hand on his forearm and peering up at him from under thick lashes.

  Amy stopped, slightly hidden by the bend in the path and watched while the actress flirted, her body language a clear invitation that she was more than willing to make him a lucky man tonight. To his credit, Ben gently removed her hand and stepped back, but Amy still wanted to yank the blonde back by her perfect hair and tell her to go find her own man.

  Trouble was, Ben wasn’t really her man.

  Amy sighed and knocked back more champagne, the bubbles flat on her tongue. Ben had kept her on the go nonstop the whole trip, whirling from one activity to another. Their lovemaking had been passionate, desperate. Now that she had a moment—now that she allowed herself that moment—Amy admitted what she’d known from the first moment she set foot in Ben’s gorgeous, yet impersonal, mansion. Their lives were too different.

  Oh, he cared about her, she had no doubt. But, did he love her? She wasn’t sure why he’d really invited her to see his home, to get this glimpse into his life—did he think it was a life she could share, that they could spend half their time here? Because she felt as empty here as that cold mansion he lived in. She’d already faced doubts about her future with Kevin because of the long hours he put in for his job. She wanted a man who was present, available, ready to commit to a life with her, give her children—not one who spent half his time amongst the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.

  The champagne curdled in her stomach. She closed her eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened. Oh, she knew what she had to do. But why did it have to be so damn hard?

  “There you are. Hey, is everything okay?” Ben appeared, laid a hand on her cheek.

  Amy opened her eyes and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Just fine,” she lied, smiling wide. “Just great.”

  ***

  On the morning of New Year’s Eve, Ben lay in his bed and stretched, enjoying the smell of coffee wafting up the stairs. Christ, that party last night had been so damn boring. Funny how just a few years ago, that would have been the type of gathering he’d sought out, enjoyed. Now, he felt like Artie—able to see through the phoniness, the desperation, the illusions. It had been worthwhile, for sure, because he had run into a few decent producers that he’d be willing to work with again.

  Otherwise, the only good thing about it had been Amy, standing out in the midst of all that fake glitz and glitter, the most beautiful woman in the room. This past week, he’d begun to wonder—what if they didn’t say goodbye after all? Couldn’t they carve out some sort of life for themselves, part of the time up at Lopez, part of the time here? With her at his side, Hollywood didn’t seem so bad. Slightly more ridiculous, maybe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun, being a tourist in his own city, and the last time he’d felt less alone in his own home.

  He slid out of bed and slipped on his boxers, tugged on a t-shirt, ignoring the whisper in his head that Amy wasn’t really an on-the-go woman, but one who was rooted firmly in one place.

  Downstairs, Ben found Amy in the kitchen, fully dressed, makeup on. Momentarily, he wondered if he’d forgotten plans to go out to breakfast. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her suitcases through the doorway. She met his eyes, her own sad, shadowed by dark circles. Ben crossed the kitchen and grabbed her shoulders.

  “What happened? Is it your parents? Something on Lopez?” Mentally he ran through the list of people he knew with their own private jet who could get them wherever they needed to go without the hassle of long lines and flight delays. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Oh.” Her lower lip trembled before she firmed it, squared her shoulders. “That’s really sweet. God.” She took a deep breath. “No, it’s not my parents, or my family. Everything’s fine on Lopez as far as I know.”

  She stepped back a bit, tilted her head to meet his eyes.

  “From the beginning we said this would be casual. No strings attached.” A single tear slid down her cheek, and she dabbed it away impatiently, gave him a half smile. “I broke the rules—I fell in love with you.”

  Ben stared at her, the words all making sense individually but strung together not adding up at all. He opened his mouth, closed it. Yes, she was the smartest, funniest, sexiest woman he’d ever been with. Hadn’t he just been thinking how she lit up his life? But, was that love? He frowned.

  “Yeah.” Her half smile faded. “I thought you’d react like that.”

  “No, I…” Ben trailed off, not sure how to explain himself.

  “Shh.” Amy laid a finger over his lips. “Turns out you were right. I’m a white picket fence, happily ever after woman after all. I want it all—the house, the 2.5 kids, a husband who adores me. And,” she continued, watching him closely, “I want a husband who isn’t flying off to make a movie every two months. Who isn’t living half his life with me and the other half here.”

  The security gate beeped, and Ben turned to the monitor to see a cab waiting.

  “You’re leaving right now? Right this second?”

  Amy turned away, walked over and pressed the intercom on the monitor and asked the cabbie to wait a few moments. She crossed back over to him and ran her hands down his arms, linked her hands with his.

  “Yes. Our lives are too different, Ben. You want all this…” she waved her hand to encompass the giant kitchen with its marble counters and sub-zero fridge, “And I just want my little inn, my friends, my isolated island and my quiet life.”

  She looked down at their joined hands, blew out a breath and let go. Stepped back.


  “And, I don’t want to start the new year with someone who isn’t going to end it with me.”

  “Is it something I did? Something that happened at the party last night?” Ben felt like his mind was racing 100 miles an hour, trying to process, trying to stop her while she slipped out of his hands in slow motion.

  “No. This week has been wonderful. The last few months…amazing. I don’t regret a moment of it. I’m just greedy. I want more.” She met his eyes, paused, and when he didn’t say anything, she closed the distance between them, stood up on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his cheek. “I think we’ve been trying to draw it out so we could avoid this moment. So, I’m going to say this for the both of us. I will miss you.” Once again her lips trembled, and once again she firmed them. She laid a hand on his cheek in a light caress, let out a watery laugh. “I hate goodbyes, so I’m just going to run out before I embarrass us both with my waterworks.”

  She whirled and grabbed her bags. Ben followed her, feeling like he was moving through water. Amy opened the door, looked back over her shoulder, gave him a smile through her tears.

  “Knock ‘em, dead, Morrison. I’ll be first in line to get the advance tickets to your new blockbuster.”

  With that, she shut the door behind her and was gone.

  His hand was on the doorknob and his mouth open to call out, to tell her to wait. Just wait a damn minute. But, he stopped before pulling the door open, remembering the tears in those big, brown eyes. What was he going to say? Stop and…what, exactly? She’d blown to smithereens his half-baked idea of continuing on and splitting their time between two homes. Was that what he really wanted, anyway?

  Ben laid his forehead against the door, the wood cool against his skin. What the hell did he want? Until he figured that out, he had no right to say anything to that vibrant, sexy woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

  For the first time in months, Ben wished he could get completely and totally shitfaced. Instead, he shoved it away and trudged back upstairs to bury himself in work—he had pages and pages of pain in the ass edits from Artie to incorporate. Not the fun, sex-filled day he had expected but better than drinking himself into a hole.