Finding Mr. Right Now

by Meg Benjamin

  Paul took a deep breath. “Could I have that in writing?”

  Sid stared at him. “What?”

  “I want it in writing that I will never have to write another show for Fairstein. Ever.”

  Sid seemed beyond speech for a moment. A vein jumped in his forehead. “They’ll pay you extra,” he muttered finally. “You can probably get double your salary.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. “Nope, not even for that. You can tell the press I’ve been bounced from the show. Which should get you some nice coverage and restore what little integrity this whole thing ever had. Lots of luck, everybody.”

  He shouldered his duffel and headed for the parking lot, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind him as he walked out the door.

  “Dewitt?” Sid called.

  He half-turned, sighing. “Yeah?”

  Sid walked closer, lowering his voice. He ran his hand through his hair again. “Look, tell Monica it was just business. It wasn’t personal.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “And it wasn’t my idea. I’m sorry for the way it all turned out.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “The pictures. The whole thing with Celebrity News.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Just business.”

  Paul blew out a breath. “You’re saying it was you? You sold Faisal’s shots? And the pictures at the hot springs?”

  Sid nodded slowly. “Like I said, it wasn’t my idea.”

  Paul stood frozen for a moment, then he grinned unwillingly. It actually made sense in a demented kind of way. “Glenn’s idea, right?”

  Sid nodded again. “It was supposed to be great publicity, leading up to this blockbuster episode with you and Ronnie. He downloaded the shots Faisal did in town, and then he had me follow you at the hot springs.”

  Paul was briefly cheered by the idea of Sid sitting out in the rain while he and Monica made love in the gypsy wagon. “But how did you know about me and Monica?”

  Sid gave him a dry smile. “Trust me—everybody in the production company knew about you and Monica. Except maybe Brendan.”

  After a moment, Paul shook his head. “Oh well. Give my best to Cathe Marx. I doubt I’ll be talking to her again. Ever.”

  “I’ll do that. I only wish I could figure out some way to make her stop talking to me.” Sid shrugged. “See you around.”

  “It’s possible.” Paul headed toward his car. All of a sudden, he had a very good idea where Monica might have ended up. And finding Monica now took precedence over everything else.

  Monica thought the Blarney Stone seemed amazingly jaunty that night. Several copies of Celebrity News had been passed around. Someone had even torn the pictures out of the magazine and stapled them to the wall at the far side of the bar. Ted claimed it gave the room a touch of class.

  She’d even signed a couple of copies of the magazine. After all, the pictures were clearly her, and at least the ones from Salt Box actually were attractive. They looked a little like something from a tourist brochure. No one could deny that Faisal did good work.

  Monica herself was in a surprisingly good mood, considering that she’d lost the job she’d had when she’d arrived in Colorado, along with her good name and her apparent boyfriend.

  Paul still hadn’t called. But she decided she didn’t care. She was starting a new life in Salt Box, working for Richard Sonnenfeld, who was paying her a fat salary along with a decent medical plan, although he was being a bastard about dental. What was one boyfriend, more or less?

  Of course that one boyfriend was Paul, who’d turned out to matter a lot more than she’d ever thought he would. She knew his leaving would hurt eventually, once the adrenaline and beer wore off. But maybe she could put it off for the rest of the evening.

  Or maybe not.

  She saw him the minute he walked in, although she wasn’t sure anybody else did. He looked like a man who hadn’t gotten much sleep over the past few days. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair mussed, his clothes wrinkled. Either he’d passed into that zone beyond tired, or he was half shit-faced.

  He paused just inside the door for a jaw-cracking yawn, which pretty much settled the matter. Then he saw her.

  Monica had always assumed the whole room-stood-still business was just a movie cliché—it had certainly never happened to her before. But it happened now. The noise in the room disappeared and there were only the two of them, staring at one another.

  It took her a moment to realize the noise in the room really had disappeared because everybody was watching them to see what would happen next.

  What actually happened was that he strolled across the room, leaned on the bar beside her, and said, “Hey, Monica.”

  Well, damn. As romantic greetings went, that wasn’t much. But at least the silent room thing had been really cool. She turned back to her beer. “Hi. When did you get back?”

  He glanced around at the magazine shots stapled to the wall. “This afternoon. I take it you saw Celebrity News.”

  “Oh yeah. We’ve had a regular little party here. Faisal’s shots made Salt Box look like tourist heaven.” She tried a smile, but she wasn’t sure it worked all that well.

  Ted dropped a bowl of spiced nuts in front of her. Apparently, food was his all-purpose soother of wounds. “Hi, Paul.”

  Paul nodded at him. “Nice décor.”

  “We like it.” Ted gave him a meaningful smile and headed back toward the other end of the bar.

  “You gonna sit down at the bar or you gonna take her outside? I’d vote for outside, but that’s just my opinion.” Dick’s voice cut through the crowd noise like a knife. He gave Paul the ice blue look that usually foreshadowed a coming attack.

  “I’ll take her outside.” Paul turned to look at her again, his eyes suddenly dark. “If she’ll come, that is.”

  Monica shrugged with a nonchalance she wasn’t even close to feeling and slid off her barstool. “Why not?”

  “Why not indeed?” he muttered, pushing a path through the crowd of hikers and bikers who’d suddenly filled the room. A rock climber with biceps like small foothills called for a bucket of beers and everyone seemed to promptly forget about them.

  Paul pulled her along to the edge of the front porch, then stopped. “Would you like to sit or walk?”

  “Walk,” she said flatly. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she had to sit and stare at him.

  He took her hand, sliding his fingers between hers, and led her slowly down the sidewalk in the general direction of the Praeger House. “Okay, first of all, I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

  “For what exactly? I mean which of your sins is this particular apology supposed to cover?” She thought about smiling but decided not to risk it.

  He ran his other hand through his hair, tangling the curls in front. “Oh, take your pick. Flying off without helping you. Setting you up to be a tabloid sensation. Getting you fired. Leaving you to take all of this on yourself.”

  “Did you get the contract?” she interrupted.

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

  “Good. It would have been really annoying to go through all this and not have you get anything out of it.”

  He frowned. “I’m looking for forgiveness here.”

  “I’m thinking about it.” She let her mouth curve up in a slight smile. “You could’ve called, you know.”

  He nodded. “I know. But my phone went dead because I didn’t charge it before I left, and then I was in meetings for five hours straight, and then I decided I’d rather just talk to you in person. I mean, I’ve got some things to say if you’re ready to hear them.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. How did you set me up to be a tabloid sensation?”

  He sighed. “I used to date the editor of Celebrity News. She’s the one who got me the job at Fairstein. And she’s been after me for inside information about the show ever since we started shooting. I think this whole thing was partly revenge because I wouldn’t pass anything along to he
r.”

  She lost the smile. For a moment, she considered pulling her hand away from his, but it felt like it would take a major effort since he might hang on. “How long ago?”

  “How long ago what?” He looked faintly confused.

  She kept her gaze resolutely ahead. “How long ago did you date her?”

  “A year? Maybe more like eighteen months.” He shrugged. “I didn’t exactly keep track. It wasn’t like we were going steady.”

  Monica grimaced. “Hell, no wonder she wanted revenge.”

  He shook his head. “Trust me, this had nothing to do with Cathe being jealous. She’s just pissed because I wouldn’t give her any dirt on the show.” He turned down another street, then cut across to the Praeger House drive.

  Monica debated some follow-up questions, but decided she really didn’t give a damn. “I’m actually not fired, or at least I haven’t been yet. Although Sid made it pretty clear that I would be as soon as Artie got around to it.”

  He grimaced. “Sid would.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning Sid is the one who released the pictures to Celebrity News.”

  Monica stopped walking to stare at him. “How do you know that? Are you sure?”

  “I know that because he told me he did. He also said to tell you he was sorry, and it wasn’t his idea.”

  Monica shook her head. “If it wasn’t his idea, whose idea was it?”

  “Glenn’s, as it turns out. He thought it would be a good publicity stunt for the show. Anyway, I’m guessing you might still have a job if you want it.”

  They reached the end of the drive, where the carriage lamps cast golden circles of light at the entrance to the hotel. Monica mounted the steps to the front porch. After a moment, Paul followed.

  “Well, about that,” she said, coming to a stop near one of the wicker couches they’d used before for far more pleasant purposes. “I mean about the whole job thing. It may not matter whether I have a job with Fairstein or not. I mean, I’ve been thinking I might like to stay around here for a while instead of going back to L.A. anyway.”

  “Here?” His forehead furrowed. “You mean Salt Box?”

  She nodded. “It’s a nice town. I like it.”

  “Yeah, but…” He paused, then began again. “What exactly would you do around here?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the Praeger House needs a new maid. Or I’ll bet Ted could use another waitress at the Blarney Stone.”

  “You want to be a hotel maid?” He sank down on the creaking wicker couch, pulling her down beside him. “Have you thought this through? You’re talking about a considerable lifestyle change here.”

  “Well, that’s just one employment possibility I’ve been considering. I mean, if I didn’t want to be a maid at the Praeger House, I could always be an assistant to a legendary producer who doesn’t want to have to read scripts or supervise any productions he isn’t personally taken with but who wants to have somebody keep track of all the projects his company is considering.” She gave him a bright smile. “That’s another possibility.”

  Paul closed his eyes. “Dick.”

  She nodded. “Only he’s not such a dick after all. I think working for him would be a lot more interesting than working for Fairstein, assuming I don’t strangle him during the first week. But I’ve managed to hold off so far so it’s looking good.”

  He stared out into the darkness. “Well, what do you know? I guess I didn’t need to come galloping over here to rescue you after all.”

  “Not so much.” She leaned against his shoulder, feeling the warmth through the thin sleeve of her T-shirt. “But thanks anyway.”

  He reached his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him so that her head tucked into the curve of his throat. They sat for a moment, listening to the silence around them and the distant sound of music from one of the bars.

  “So what happens now?” she asked finally. “Are you heading back to California?”

  He was silent for another moment, then sighed. “I’m not sure anymore. I had some plans about the two of us heading back to L.A. together. I figured we’d spend time hanging out. You could check out my place, or I could look at yours. We could think about maybe…being together.”

  She sat silent for a long moment. Being together. That covered a lot of area, of course. “Well, I’ll have to go back to L.A. sometime to pack up my stuff and bring it back here. But I need to find a place to live in Salt Box first.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe you could help me look.”

  He nodded. “Maybe I could. I’ve been around up here before.” He closed his eyes, leaning his head against hers, his body relaxing slowly.

  “How many hours did you sleep during the past few days?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I caught a couple of hours on the plane. Before that, not much. I was trying to get everything finished so I could get back to you.”

  She sat for a moment longer, cuddled against the warmth of his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have a room here.”

  He shook his head again. “I headed out to look for you first.”

  “They may not have one. This is still the high season.”

  He groaned. “Okay, I’ll sleep in the rental car.”

  “No you won’t.” She stood up, extending her hand to pull him up after her. “I’ve got a queen-size bed in my room. Not all that spacious, but the mattress is good.”

  “Fair enough.” He put his arm around her shoulders again, leaning his head against hers. “The thing is…” He paused for so long she turned to look at him.

  “The thing is?”

  “The thing is I think I’m probably in love with you,” he said quickly. “I mean I know that’s not exactly the most romantic thing I’ve ever said in my life, but I’m pretty much wasted right now. I’ll try saying it again tomorrow when I’m awake. Hold the thought.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest for a moment. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for take two.” She started walking again, hanging on as she did. She had a feeling he’d fall asleep on his feet if she let him. “And just for the record, I love you too.”

  He half-stumbled, then caught himself, looking down at her again. “You know, El Capitan’s based in San Francisco. They don’t exactly give a crap where I live—they certainly wouldn’t care if I wasn’t in L.A.” He gave another jaw-cracking yawn.

  “Really?” She let him lean against her as they stepped inside the door.

  “So I could work in Colorado as easily as California. My folks would be really happy about that.”

  She nodded slowly. “Right. So you’re thinking Denver? Colorado Springs.”

  “Very funny,” he mumbled. “Can we save the witty repartee until I’m awake?”

  “Sure.” She guided him toward the elevator. “The room is up in the eaves, by the way. Just don’t sit up fast tomorrow.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  The elevator door opened and he stumbled inside, smiling down at her a little groggily. “You realize this place is going to be under three feet of snow in a couple of months.”

  She shrugged. “So? I figure you know how to build a fire. You look like a former Boy Scout to me.”

  The elevator door slid closed and he stared down at her. “Lady, I think it’s safe to say I’ve never felt less like a Boy Scout in my life.”

  “Good.” She stood on her tiptoes, clasping her hands behind his neck to pull his mouth down to hers. “I’ve never been less in need of one.”

  The elevator crept slowly upward, but Monica didn’t care. She figured they’d make good use of their time. And at least sometime tomorrow morning, he’d be wide awake.

  Epilogue

  The coffee shop was almost as crowded as it had been on Paul’s last visit, which was a little surprising since they were at least two hours later than he had been last time. In L.A. it would be time for brunch. In Salt Box it was time for the twenty-f
our-hour restaurant.

  Dick was coming out as they reached the door—he gave Paul a long look. “Sticking around?”

  “Thought I might.” He smiled more easily than he felt, but he was damned if he’d let Dick Sonnenfeld oversee his love life.

  Dick’s gray eyebrows arched up. He didn’t smile back. “Looking for a job?”

  “Got one.” He kept his smile in place.

  Dick nodded slowly. “El Capitan. I heard.”

  Paul glanced down at Monica, then back again. He could have sworn she hadn’t had time to tell Dick anything.

  Dick’s lips moved into a faintly smug grin. “I own twenty percent of El Capitan. Good investment, or it was up to now.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t screw up.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Paul said between his teeth.

  Dick gave them both a faint nod, then headed back up the street with his coffee in one hand and a lunch sack in the other.

  “Gee,” Monica murmured, “we’re both working for the same guy again. Fancy that.”

  “Yeah, fancy.” He headed inside toward the line with the pre-made sandwiches. BLT seemed appropriate for either breakfast or lunch, whichever they decided this was.

  Monica picked up a yogurt parfait and followed him onto the deck. “So do we look for houses today or screw around?” Her lips curved up. “So to speak.”

  “I vote for number two, but I’m easy.” He gave her an answering smile. “As you know only too well.”

  He found an umbrella table at the side, overlooking the tumbling river. “What are you looking for—apartment, condo, cabin? You can probably find any or all of those around here.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sort of new at this. I’ve never lived in the mountains before.”

  “Main thing is to be somewhere where they’ll plow the roads regularly. Mountaintop aeries are really great in theory, but they’re hell to get out of after a few feet of snow.”

  “Right.” She glanced down the street. “Is that Faisal?”

  Paul stared back down the street himself. Faisal was standing a few feet up the block, his camera trained on the mountainside as several paragliders floated lazily toward the bottom.