by Adele Buck
Freddie couldn’t suppress the little gasp that thoughts of him kissing her everywhere produced. He chuckled and she thumped his chest with a fist that felt small and inconsequential. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, tenderly kissing the knuckles.
“Patience, Fred. I think this is worth it.”
“So. Susan seems like the same nightmare she always was,” James said as he settled across from her in a restaurant booth a few blocks from her apartment. They had punted on the museum, opting for Thai food and a head-clearing walk. James didn’t know if he was glad or furious that Freddie’s cat had essentially cock blocked them. His body wanted her.
His brain knew that if he wanted the relationship to work, the long game was essential.
And the long game meant waiting. Even though now that the pain in his head and his leg had worn off he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin. And Freddie looked like she could spit nails.
“Susan.” Freddie shook her head as if to clear it. “Yes and no. She’s a lot quieter. Fewer tantrums. She may actually be mellowing.”
“Really?” James considered his menu. Something hot to eat seemed appropriate. Like really hot. Atomic hot. Maybe discomfort would distract him from his other discomfort.
The one sitting across from him.
He wondered if she was suffering half as badly as he was. From the little sound she made when he had talked about kissing her all over, it seemed like she was. Somehow that made him feel better. As long as they were experiencing more or less the same things, they were still in it together.
But how he wanted to kiss her all over. To put his tongue on her, feel her thighs shake around his ears, to taste her release as her back arched and she cried out…
Dammit.
He cleared his throat and looked at the menu again. What had the most stars next to it? What was going to be the most likely to provide a distracting counterirritant? His eyes scanned the laminated paper.
Panang curry. Done.
“Candace probably has something to do with it, though,” Freddie said.
What? “Candace?” James blinked and put down his menu, realizing that as his thoughts had wandered, Freddie had stuck to the conversation he started. “Oh. The adhesive redhead.”
Freddie started to laugh, her shoulders shaking, the menu she had been considering discarded, her hands covering her eyes.
“What?” James fought the urge to laugh along with her.
“Adhesive. That’s one word for Candace, for sure.” Freddie ran her fingers under her eyes, collecting the little moisture that had gathered there during her laughing fit, then picked up her menu again. “She’s a piece of work, that one. And she rides Susan like a rented mule.”
James blinked again. “She does?” His impression of the woman was that she was a world-class ditz. Susan wasn’t necessarily the sharpest tool in the box, but she was cunning and could be vicious. Or at least narcissistic. Sometimes it amounted to the same thing.
“Yeah. Basically she drums out a constant message that Susan’s old and past it. You know. Your basic actress kryptonite.”
“And Susan’s not firing back? That doesn’t sound like her.”
“Well, her resume has been a little thin over the last couple of years. I think she’s worried about her career. Michael definitely knows it’s going on, but he’s not going to do anything. He knows what she’s like normally. I think he likes her a little scared. It’s sadistic of him, but it keeps her in check.”
The waiter came to take their orders and James mulled over what Freddie had said. Not that he really gave a crap what happened to Susan. His former co-star was the last person he wanted to think about. But she was a factor in Freddie’s life now.
“So are you saying that today was the first time she was like the old Susan?”
James’s words stopped Freddie in the act of picking up her water glass. She held it suspended in front of her as she stared, dumbfounded, at him.
“Um, I guess. Like I said, she’s been pretty quiet, hasn’t tried to mix it up with me or anyone else. She even deigned to recognize me before you came on the scene, though we didn’t exactly have an old home week about it.” Getting Freddie’s name wrong—probably intentionally—had been one of Susan’s signature micro-aggressions when they worked with her before. Freddie hadn’t expected the actress to recognize her.
“Huh.” James’ face grew pensive and he rubbed his fingertips over his mouth. Distracted by thoughts of his mouth on her, Freddie missed the next words that came out of it.
“Um. Sorry, what?” she said
James grinned as if he knew why she had been so distracted. Dammit. He certainly didn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping his lust in check. Freddie’s cheeks burned and she nearly kicked him under the table.
“I’m just wondering what broke the dam. Why is she going back to her old shenanigans?”
“Probably your gorgeous mug.” Freddie stuck her tongue out for good measure and James laughed. “Seriously. She was oiling all over you that summer before you made it clear that you were with me. And she seems to think that you’re responsible for her missing out on the extended gig when we moved the production here.”
“What?” James’ mouth actually dropped open and for once, it didn’t induce Freddie to fantasize. Recovering his composure with apparent effort, he said, “The woman’s delusional. She signed her own death warrant on that job more than once with the way she behaved.”
Freddie shrugged. “She’s a narcissist. That’s what they do. They project. Nothing is ever their fault. According to her, you were probably the one sniping at everyone, not her. Unless I miss my guess.”
“Sounds like you know something about the matter.”
“Yeah, well.” Freddie picked up her menu again and pretended to study it so she didn’t have to look James in the eye. “I had a granny who wasn’t the sweet, cookie-baking type. More like the ‘everything is about me’ type. My brothers and I were told from kindergarten onward that we were the ones who had to be the grownups.” Freddie put the menu down and studied the table as if her life depended on her being able to describe the fake wood grain from memory.
James leaned forward, capturing one of her hands, which had been rolling the corner of a paper napkin, fidgeting. “Yikes.”
Freddie shrugged and the urge to grip his hand more tightly competed with a desire to flee. “What are you going to do? She wasn’t going to change. The rest of us had to deal.”
James’s hand squeezed hers, and it was as if the pressure made moisture collect in her eyes. Blinking, she lifted her head and looked straight at him.
“I don’t know why I’m getting all emotional about this. She’s been gone for years.”
Without letting go of her hand, James came around the table and slid into the banquette next to her, something he hadn’t done since that disastrous morning in the diner. “Hey.” One arm went around her shoulders and Freddie fought the urge to shake him off. His sudden solicitousness was threatening to make her break down crying.
“Don’t make too much of it. She was a lot harder on my mom than she was on us.” And a lot less hard on Freddie’s brothers, boys being more important in her eyes. But Freddie wasn’t going to get into that with James. That would just mean more sympathy and the waterworks really would start.
One of his hands squeezed her shoulder, pulling her body tight against his side. Despite her emotional state, she thrummed with awareness. She let her head drop to lean against his body, soaking up the heat and strength that he radiated.
Rubbing her shoulder, James smiled slightly as he felt her relax into him. Freddie’s stubborn independence could go too far at times and he was glad that she was letting herself rely on him now. But her revelations about her grandmother worried him. He wished more than ever she hadn’t taken this job.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Yeah.” Freddie straightened and he resisted
the urge to tug her back to him. He had learned that he couldn’t fight Freddie’s obstinacy head on. He had to support her, help her. Let her make mistakes if that’s what she needed to do.
That didn’t mean it was easy.
The waiter arrived and set plates in front of them. He glanced sideways at Freddie, who was picking up utensils and poking at her food in a way that didn’t bode well for her appetite. Nudging her with his elbow, he said, “Hey. You don’t exactly seem okay.”
Freddie took in a deep breath and let it out in an explosive sigh. “No, but I will be.”
“You sure about that? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“It’s just… everything, you know?”
Concern squeezed his chest. “What everything?”
“Well, for one, your new fan club. What is that going to mean for me?”
James took a bite of his curry, stalling for time. Yow. Definitely hot. The spiciness mingled with the heat of shame rising in him as he realized he hadn’t thought much about how this might affect her. Only him. But of course she would get dragged into it somehow. That stupid gossip journalist poking her nose into his love life wouldn’t be the last and he had a sense he could only shield Freddie for so long, he was sure.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I hardly know what it’s going to mean for me. Maybe it will blow over.”
Freddie rolled her eyes and the side of her foot connected with his under the table. “Right.”
“People get famous and then get obscure again. It happens.”
Putting her fork down, Freddie twisted to look at him squarely. “Dude. Your network television show that is starting to get media buzz is about to air. I don’t think you’re going to magically become less famous as a result. Also, what about your career?”
James shrugged, “Okay, fine. Fair enough. All I’m saying is I don’t know what’s going to happen or how this is going to play out. It’s new for me, too. This situation doesn’t come with an owner’s manual.”
Freddie started eating again, her face thoughtful. James watched her, waiting for her to say something. When she continued to be silent, worry washed over him in a cold wave.
“What’s up? You thinking of bailing on me because of this?”
Taking a sip of water before she responded, Freddie finally said, “No.”
James wasn’t sure he believed it.
Freddie ate without tasting her food and she could feel concern radiating off of James as if it was an electrical field.
Her potential role in this whole “James is now getting famous” thing hadn’t occurred to her at first. But something about it had burrowed into the back of her brain until she realized that in the interview he had given—the one she hadn’t seen yet—he had had to draw boundaries around his personal life. How long could or would he do that?
Did she even want him to?
Freddie didn’t consider herself a jealous person, but a fierce sort of possessive feeling rose up in her when she thought of people asking James if he was available. Every cell in her body screamed, No! She wanted to snarl and snap at anyone who expressed interest.
But what were they to each other, really, with the take-it-slow plan in place? If he answered some journalist honestly now, what would he say? She reminded herself about their last kiss, his expressed desire to do more than that, but what did that really mean except they had always had physical chemistry?
Freddie wanted to ask the questions. But she was afraid of the answers.
“Hey.” His elbow nudged her. She resisted the urge to sigh and focused on her food, forking a bite into her mouth and chewing.
“Fred.”
Damn, the man was relentless. Freddie lifted her eyes as far as his mouth. His usual lurking smile was absent. Concerned, her gaze flew to meet his eyes and she almost choked at what she saw there. Worry. Care. She swallowed, her throat tight.
“What?” Her voice was a croak.
“You’re seriously on board for this?” The question seemed difficult for him to ask, as if he was afraid of her answer, and something in Freddie thawed.
“What—the fame thing?”
“Yeah.” His lower teeth worried his top lip, uncertainty making his eyes soft.
Maybe he’s as lost as I am in all this.
“I think so.” She put her fork down and rubbed her eyes, scrunching up her nose as she thought. “I mean… seriously? I’m not crazy about the fame thing. I’ve never wanted to be famous. I’m a stage manager, for crying out loud. We’re the definition of ‘invisible.’ And I like it that way.”
James bit his lip, but didn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.
“But that journalist asking you if you were available…the picture with the two girls on the subway…”
“Did it bother you?”
His question pulled a bark of sarcastic laughter out of her. “Bother me? It made me want to cut a bitch. Or several bitches. I don’t care how many. Wait—maybe that’s a mistake. Can you make a bunch of bitches out of a single bitch if you cut them just right? Are they like earthworms?” Realizing how much she had given away, her jaw tightened. “Um, asking for a friend.”
James stared at her for a few long seconds. Then his eyes crinkled and his beautiful mouth stretched wide. He put his fork down, laughing helplessly and wrapping one strong arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. Crushed against his chest, Freddie finally relaxed a little bit. The future might be a big unknown, but there was history too. Good history. They weren’t building on no foundation at all.
She just hoped that foundation was solid enough to take whatever was coming next.
Chapter 9
“That’s a wrap.” The episode’s director turned in his canvas chair to say something to the cameraman and James shrugged to try to ease the tension from his shoulders, twisting his head from side to side.
“Brutal scene,” said a deep voice behind him. Alexander Fox was an older actor who played James’ character’s boss. Alexander had been a heartthrob in his twenties, the star of a television medical drama. James liked him—the man had a steady temperament and good work ethic. He had an avuncular way of teasing Grace West, the star of the show, that made her laugh and seem to forget that she was carrying an entire prime time network show on her young shoulders.
“Yeah. Brutal scene plus lots of takes equals tiring day,” James said.
“That’s the kind of math that warrants a drink. You want to join me?”
His eyebrows lifting, James nodded. “That sounds great, thanks.” The older man had been friendly, but not particularly familiar, and the invitation surprised James.
“Great. Go get changed and I’ll meet you at your trailer,” Alexander said.
James strode back to his trailer, changing out of his costume and into his street clothes and washing his face clean of the day’s makeup. Stepping out of the door, he saw that Alexander was even faster than he had been. He was scrolling through something on his phone with the same crooked smile that had caused women to swoon thirty years before. Turning the device to James, he showed a photograph of a little girl, her wispy hair in a spiky ponytail on top of her head.
“Cute kid,” James said.
“Yeah. Granddaughter. Becky. She’s a pistol. I swear, my son sends me pictures of her just to rip my heart out when I’m on location and can’t drop by just any time.”
“That’s rough, I guess.” A strange pang went through James, imagining kids.
“Anyway.” Alexander pocketed the phone and turned north. “There’s a bar a couple blocks away that I used to go to when I first lived here,” Alexander said. “If it still exists, that is.”
James fell into step beside him as he set out with a long stride.
“When did you live in New York?” James asked.
“Late eighties,” Alexander said. “Before Times Square became a playground, when my hair was still dark, the Earth was young, and dinosaurs roamed.” He ran a hand throug
h his thick, silver mane and quirked a sideways grin at James.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” James said, rubbing his palm over his shaved scalp, and Alexander pointed a finger at him, blue eyes twinkling.
“A hit, a palpable hit.”
James pointed back. “Shakespeare. Nice.”
“I have my moments of culture. I even did Shakespeare in the Park back in the day.” He heaved an exaggerated, martyred sigh. “For my sins.” They reached a scarred wooden door. “Ah. Still here. This will be interesting.” Pulling the door open, he held it for James, then followed him inside, shoving his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the gloomy interior with evident satisfaction. “Excellent. Hasn’t changed a bit.”
James followed Alexander to the bar. A basketball game was playing silently on a television suspended over the serried rows of bottles. A few patrons were scattered around the interior at booths and stools. A lone bartender, who had been watching the game with his arms crossed over his chest, turned and offered a minimal smile to James and Alexander as they approached and took seats at the bar.
“What can I get for you?” he asked, slapping flimsy cocktail napkins down in front of both men.
“Jameson’s. Neat.” Alexander turned to look at James and lifted his eyebrows. “You?”
“Um. Sounds good. Same.”
The bartender filled their order with rapid, efficient motions, placing the glasses of whiskey in front of Alexander and James with a decisive thud.
“To youth and fame. The two most fleeting things in the universe.” Alexander picked up his glass, tapped it against James’s, and took a sip. Bemused, James picked up his own drink and followed suit.
“What brought this on?” James asked.
Alexander squinted sideways at James and pointed the index finger of the hand holding the glass at him. Despite the theatricality of the gesture, James had to admit it was effective. Classic old-school Hollywood tough guy. “I see a lot of me in you. Well, me about thirty years ago.” Alexander waved his free hand around the darkened bar. “This place may not have changed, but I sure have. I’ve learned a lot over the years as well. Want some advice?”