Shine Your Love on Me

by Jean C. Joachim

  The food was ready fast. They sat down at the dining room table, watching the storm pelt the beach and blur the view. Pres wolfed down his toast and pushed his eggs around his plate with his fork.

  “Eat. Go on,” Brooke encouraged.

  “I will. I will.” He gazed out the window, his brow knitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Then don’t do anything. You’re waiting for them to get back to you, right?”

  “That’s what Max said.”

  “So sit back, take some time off, or continue writing. Don’t fret about it.”

  “My dad’s gotta stop messing with my life. I’m thirty years old. He treats me like I’m six.”

  Pres washed the dishes while Brooke curled up on the sofa with the pugs. Freddy pushed between Ginger and Brooke while Buddy was at the other end. Pres soon joined them. He drew her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. Buddy cuddled up on the other side, using Pres’s thigh as a pillow. Brooke kissed Pres’s palm and held it to her cheek.

  “When this deal falls through, I’m going to go work for Carpenter Investments.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. I can’t fight it anymore. If I can’t make it as a writer, I have to do something. I need to earn a living, not accept charity from my father.”

  “Buying your script wasn’t charity.”

  “Same thing. Time to face the fact I can’t cut it.”

  “Don’t say that! This deal is still pending.”

  Pres sighed. “Not for long. Max shopped that script everywhere.”

  “Don’t give up yet.”

  “I’m not. I’m being realistic. If this deal falls through, I’m done. Dad wins.”

  Brooke stared at her hands.

  “You’ll get your corporate boyfriend. Maybe then I’ll have money to make an honest woman of you.” What are you saying?

  “Me? What corporate boyfriend?”

  “The one you’ve always wanted. Like that guy, Lloyd, was it? I’ll be like him.”

  She shivered. “That’s not good.”

  “Would you turn down a corporate man with buckets of money, a huge apartment on Park Avenue, hot and cold running maids?”

  “Who said I wanted that?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you?” Preston, what are you doing? Leave her alone.

  “When did this become about me. Don’t leave writing and blame it on me.”

  “I’m not. I’m just saying, one thing I won’t lose is you. In fact, you’ll be happier because I’ll be richer.”

  “Don’t make this about me. I like you the way you are. I never said you should become corporate.”

  “But if I had been, you’d’ve slept with me sooner, wouldn’t you?”

  She sat up and faced him. “This is bullshit. You’re making me the bad guy. I didn’t do anything but love you the way you are. I never said I wanted you to be corporate. I can’t stand Lloyd and his ass-kissing ways.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “This is news.”

  Brooke pushed to her feet. “Give up. Go crawling back to your father because you don’t have the guts to tough it out or believe in yourself. Do whatever the hell you want, but don’t blame it on me.”

  He reached for her, but she pushed away. She was out the door, running toward the beach before he could stand. He took off after her, but she had a good head start. The rain had become a fine mist. Pres could hardly see more than twenty feet across the Sound.

  Even though he was panting, he caught up with her. He saw her struggle to hold back tears. You did that. You made her cry. Jerk. He wanted to comfort her.

  “You’re right,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not about you. You’re right. I have to believe in myself. I have to try and keep trying until…until I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  Brooke threw her arms around him and kissed him. He held her fast and deepened the kiss.

  “I love you, Brooke. You believe in me.”

  “I do, but it’s you who has to believe in you.” The wind picked up and a sudden chill in the air made her shiver.

  “You’re cold. Let’s go.” He rubbed her arms then led her back to the house. He brought the quilt down from the bedroom and wrapped her up. With a bowl of microwave popcorn in one hand and the movie, You’ve Got Mail in the other, he settled down on the sofa with her.

  “Let’s forget everything,” she said, offering the snack to him.

  “This weekend is about us. I’ll put this in, and we can relax.” Brooke munched while Pres set up the film. When he returned, she snuggled into him. Refusing to let worry enter his mind, he focused on the story unfolding on the screen and the beautiful woman curled up next to him.

  * * * *

  The weather cleared, but remained cool. Brooke and Pres packed up and headed home around six Sunday night. They stopped in the city for dinner before Pres dropped the car at his parents’ garage.

  Instead of leaving, he walked around the corner and hopped in the elevator to their floor. The door was never locked so he walked right in. His mom and dad were having coffee in the dining room.

  “Preston, how nice to see you,” his mother, Carolyn, said.

  “Coffee, son?” Jonathan Carpenter pushed away from the table.

  “No, thanks. Just finished dinner.”

  “Dining with your new girl tonight?” Carolyn raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  “We’re not engaged…yet, mom. Back off.”

  “Sit down, sit down. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Pres sat where he could easily face his father. “I have something to say. Please do me the favor of shutting up until I’m finished.” The way his parents straightened up, you’d have thought he’d slapped them across the face.

  “I found out who bought my screenplay.” He stopped to watch Jonathan’s expression. While his face seemed frozen, a telltale red creeping up his neck gave him away. “That’s right, Dad. I know. I know it was you who bought it.”

  “Now, Pres—”

  “Did I just ask you to shut the hell up?” His voice rose as he anticipated some half-assed explanation from his dad, justifying the dirty deed. His father clammed up. “Good. Yes, you bought it. You selfishly went ahead and meddled in my life. You did something unthinkable. You led my agent to believe I was bankable.”

  He snatched up his mother’s full glass of water and took a gulp. His parents sat motionless.

  “But it’s all based on a lie. No producer was interested in my screenplay. It was only my father and his underhanded way of trying to get me to forget being a writer.” He took another gulp. “And it almost worked. I was so mad today when I figured it out, I was ready to quit.”

  Jonathan smiled. But before he could utter a word, Pres slammed his palm on the table. The dishes and silverware jumped and clattered, startling his parents. His father retreated into silence again. “I asked for the courtesy to finish before you start trying to convince me I’m wrong. Get this. Your plan backfired.”

  “Backfired?”

  “Jonathan, shut up,” hissed his wife.

  “That’s right.” Pres couldn’t keep the smug smile off his face. “Backfired. If I hadn’t made a sale, the two producers now looking at my work probably would’ve slammed the door in my agent’s face. When he said he’d made a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar deal for me, doors opened. On the basis of that one sale to you, he was able to get two producers interested.”

  Pres took another drink. “I flew to California to meet with them. They’re considering buying two of my pilots. Whether I got there honestly or not, my work is now deemed professional. That’s enough for me. I’m never going to stop writing. Never going to stop pursuing what I love. And if I don’t get either of these sales, then I’ll get another one. I’ll do whatever I have to to make it.”

  Pres had never bested his father before now. Jonathan sat quietly, staring at his son. Carolyn did the same. “I’m never going into business with you, Dad. So stop trying
to manipulate me, stop trying to coerce me, dupe me, trick me. Stay the fuck out of my life.”

  For the first time, he saw his father’s eyes water. Pres was startled. He was prepared for anger, hollering, unrelenting argument, and coercion from the man, but not emotion. Was that regret he saw flicker in the old man’s eyes? Never did he expect that. Pres was speechless.

  Jonathan cleared his throat. “May I speak now?”

  Pres nodded.

  “Let me say—I hope congratulations will be in order for you soon, son. That I hope to be watching television and see your name on the screen. That’s excellent news for you. Of course, you are correct. I did exactly as you said.” There was a gasp from Pres’s mother. “Your mother didn’t know. She’s an innocent party. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not sorry, either. Especially seeing the result.” He stopped to take a deep breath.

  Pres saw him struggling for emotional control, and it hit the younger man right in the gut.

  “Please don’t judge too harshly an old man who only wants his son to follow in his footsteps, to enjoy the same financial success and the freedom and pleasure that brings.”

  A blanket of silence fell on the room. Pres had railed against his father’s control for as long as he could remember. Nothing he ever did seemed to be good enough. And Jonathan had worked mad hours, not around for basketball games or soccer tournaments. He had hated what his dad did for a living and had resented the older man for trying to push him into the same trap.

  But he’d never seen it from this perspective. His father had never spoken so openly before.

  Jonathan rose from his chair. He walked over and extended his hand to Pres. “Friends?”

  The sting in Pres’s eyes was too great. Tears broke through. Pres hugged his dad, who returned the affection. It was brief, but the first they had shared since Pres had been a little boy.

  “With your convictions, Preston, I’m sure you’ll make it. I’m proud of you, son.”

  Hearing words he’d longed to hear but never had from his dad, emotion choked Pres, keeping talk at bay. He nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Jonathan pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed his own, and then handed it to his son. Pres laughed. Then his father and his mother joined in.

  “Stay for a drink?” his mother asked.

  “Sure.”

  Carolyn pushed to her feet and went to the liquor cabinet. “Drambuie?”

  “Sure.”

  “Rocks?”

  “Straight up, Mom.”

  Jonathan Carpenter put his arm around his son’s shoulders, even though he had to reach up to do so, and walked him over to the table. “Tell me, Pres, what are these pilots about?”

  “Well, Dad, one’s a police drama…”

  * * * *

  Brooke opened the door, and the pugs ran inside. Ruth pushed up from the sofa and greeted the dogs, who jumped up to lick her face. Harry, sitting beside Ruth, rose. There was another man in the living room, too. Brooke raised her eyebrows.

  “Have a good weekend, despite the rain?”

  “It was good to get away. Who’s this?” She nodded toward the attractive gentleman sitting on the loveseat.

  “This is my grandson, Mike Lupin,” Harry said. “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Brooke extended her hand, and Mike shook it.

  “I thought you should talk to him about your dumbass employer. Seems to me like he needs suing.”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  Mike pulled a card from his breast pocket and handed it to her. “When you want to talk, call me. In the meantime, are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

  Brooke blushed. “I’m sorry, but I’m seeing someone…exclusively.”

  Ruth’s eyes lit up. “Yippee!”

  Ignoring her grandmother, Brooke continued, “I think we should meet. I’d like to get this guy into court for what he did. He ruined my life, my career.”

  Mike pulled out a pocket calendar, and he and Brooke conferred on dates and times.

  Harry took Ruth aside. “She’s really serious about that writer guy? Pres?”

  “Yep. Couldn’t be happier.”

  “You think he’s better than my grandson?” Harry puffed himself up.

  “Harry Lupin! This isn’t a competition. Pres got there first. He won her over. And it wasn’t easy. She resisted him for the longest time.”

  “That means he deserves to win? In my day, the best man won.”

  “In your day, dinosaur’s roamed the Earth. Leave it alone. The poor kid is finally happy.”

  “Okay, okay. But Mike is the better man.”

  “Pfft.” Ruth made a face and moved toward the bedroom. “Brooke, I’m kinda tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay, Nan.” She finished up with Mike then he and Harry left.

  The pugs trotted after Ruth. They missed her. Brooke smiled. She made a cup of tea and pulled out her recipe cards to prepare for the upcoming Friday Night Dinner and a Movie. This would be her first week doing one on Saturday night, too. Interest in attending had gotten competitive. People now signed up in the lobby of Ruth’s building. The fee had grown to ten dollars, and Brooke was actually making a small profit.

  Two nights in a row. She chewed her lip, searching for the right main dish. Then, she checked her inventory of old movies. Time to get more up-to-date. She made a note to ask Pres for his recommendations. She searched Academy Award lists for the sixties and seventies. What’s Up, Doc? Barbra Streisand screwball comedy. Perfect!

  It was midnight before she finished two tentative menus and had narrowed the choice of films to five. She yawned, leaning back and gazing out the window at the stars. Her weekend with Pres had started out like a fantasy come true. Then, the harsh reality of Sunday had brought her down. Still, in the car on the drive back to the City, she had sensed they were closer than ever because they had shared some unhappy time.

  She had never seen that side of Pres. He always appeared so even. She knew he resented his dad, but hadn’t thought about why. Now, she had a clear picture. She loved him more after he had spilled his guts. Even though he’d lost his temper, it didn’t scare her. She wanted to know him, every facet of him, good and bad. Her heart went out to him. He worked so hard to succeed. She wanted that for him more than anything.

  Would I have rebelled against my parents if they had been around? Am I rebelling against them now? Maybe. Maybe not. My path is winding in a different direction. Maybe that’s okay.

  The next morning, Brooke got started preparing for the weekend of meals and movies. By eleven o’clock, all the slots were filled on the sign-up sheet, and two older women were arguing out on the street about who had gotten there first. Brooke was pumped. It’s great to be in demand. Buoyed up by love and purpose, she strode to the grocery store then Zabar’s and The Petite Sweet before coming home, loaded down with heavy bags.

  At three, she met Pres with the dogs, and they headed for the park.

  “Have to make this quick,” he said.

  “Oh?” They fell into stride together.

  “I’m back to writing. I lost a couple of days, but I’m ready to rock now.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had it out with my dad.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah. He admitted buying the script. Cleared the air. He says he supports me now.”

  “That’s great.”

  “But only because I made it clear I was never going to do what he wanted.”

  She stopped to hug Pres. “I’m proud of you. You stood your ground.”

  He grinned at her and blushed. “Thanks.”

  The dogs barked, resenting the interruption of their walk. They pulled to get to the Great Lawn.

  “Aren’t very empathetic, are they?” Brooke asked.

  “They’re determined to get on with it.”

  “Those little puggies. Certainly have a mind of their own.”

  He laughed. “Let’s go.”
/>   Conversation centered around his plot ideas and her recipes. He was amazed that she’d sold out two nights so far in advance. She was impressed he’d plotted out four, consecutive pilots in his cop series, just in case he got the call. They held hands on the way home and kissed at the door to her building.

  “What about Saturday night?” he asked.

  “I’m doing a dinner and a movie, we can’t go out.”

  “Will you stay with me afterward?”

  “I’ll be pretty tired.”

  “If you’re not tired, stay. Let’s do something on Sunday.”

  “Can you take the time off?”

  “To be with you? Sure.”

  Happiness flowed through Brooke. Is this crazy, or a new life for me?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Strength and conviction filled Pres, providing the motivation he needed to outline plot ideas for his police pilot. Pots of coffee and Beethoven kept him going day after day as he sat at his computer and typed. Break times his thoughts turned to Brooke.

  Convinced he’d never been truly in love before, he smiled every time he recalled her soft skin and sweet demeanor. She was his lifeline, his steel girder, supporting his dreams, a woman he could talk to. What started out as lust had become infatuation. That had morphed to desire mixed with liking. But after the way she understood him, it blossomed into full-fledged love. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, and it wasn’t all about sex.

  So, when he got the call, he didn’t stop to think. He assumed his good fortune would include Brooke, because she was part of his life, his being. At first, he was annoyed his cell was interrupting him, right in the middle of madly typing plot twists for program number five. Grumbling, he yanked open the phone and greeted the caller gruffly.

  “Congratulations, Pres.”

  “Max?”

  “Yeah, buddy. Congratulations.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Get to it. I’m busy.”

  “Gunther Quill, from East/West Productions, made an offer for your pilot.”