by Gigi Blume
Later that evening, Mr. Perry from Highbury Pictures called with a better offer than I could have imagined. He wanted to make sure no one else got a chance to pick up Field of Hearts, even going so far as to approve the project without consulting the studio’s greenlight committee. That kind of power was rare these days.
I was on such a high, my first instinct was to tell Emma. She was just that person for me. The one I shared everything with. So much for Sting’s wise words.
It wasn’t news to deliver over the phone. I wanted to see her face, maybe go out to celebrate. I drove through the rain to her house and when I arrived, I ran a thumb over the grooves of the key Rosario had given me, deciding if I should take the liberty or knock like a gentleman. I chose the latter.
“We’re greenlit.” I rushed in when she answered. I was exhilarated to see her. Floating on a cloud.
“What? Already?” Emma closed the door, and we just stood in the foyer with goofy grins on our faces.
I nodded and held out my arms. “Yeah, ‘cause we blew their brains. I got a call an hour ago.”
She flew to me and on instinct, I gathered her in my arms and lifted her off her feet. It was the most natural thing in the world, twirling her around like we were our characters in Field of Hearts. George and Penelope were so happy to be together. Happy the war was over. But this was more real than anything. Truer than pretending. I was done pretending. Perhaps I’d been too afraid before. But all at once, that fear escaped me, and all I could see was Emma before me, wrapped in the embrace of our shared joy. Our lips met in the slightest of touches—a mere extension of the innocent displays of affection we had always shared. Well, all except the hot and heavy stage kisses which didn’t count. This kiss was chaste and modest and very well could have meant nothing more than all our previous encounters. But her lips were soft and delicate, and I found myself weakened by their tempting sweetness. It was an exploration. A soft caress of my lips to hers—asking permission. Are we really doing this? We’re not pretending anymore?
By the way her breath hitched, and her body gave way to me, I was pretty sure this was the real deal. And she was into it.
I took her into me with gentle kisses that could only be described as the most ardent love. A low moan resonated in her chest, and I noted she tasted faintly of red wine.
My control was rapidly slipping. I bloody wanted this woman with all my being. An electric charge flashed through me as deft fingers reached around my torso, clinging to the fabric of my shirt. Heat covered my skin and although every inch of her soft form pressed into me, it wasn’t close enough. It would never be close enough. She was generous and wanton, warm and lively. She was everything. Everything! An accumulation of the years of distant admiration, discreet longing, and devoted intimacy. A mutual fondness turned to heat, desire and… complete unconditional love. I could no longer contain the intensity of my feelings.
She was here, surrendering herself to me, to the ‘us’ we could be if we dared to dream. And whatever might become of our friendship would have to yield to the transports of our present delight. We could work it out. No more fear.
I wanted more. More of her heart. More of her smiles. More fun times. More reading, eating, watching movies. More quiet afternoons doing nothing at all.
My dearest Emma. And if there was anything true, sincere, or pure in my coming to her house tonight, it was the resolute and steadfast love I carried like one of those Olympic torch guys. Now the flame ignited hotter and fiercer in response to the alarming proximity of her perfect form. Her tiny movements. Her fevered breath.
“Emma?” A voice sounded from somewhere far, far away. It was a male voice, but it didn’t register at first because all the blood in my brain was re-directed elsewhere.
“Hey, Emma…”
She abruptly broke away from me. What was happening? The voice got nearer.
“Do you have any hypoallergenic shampoo?” The voice slowly phased into my conscious brain. I knew that voice. I knew it very well and as soon as the warmth of Emma cooled from my lips, the fireworks inside me lurched into something far more explosive.
Frank Churchill, adorned in nothing more than a paltry bath towel about his waist, descended the stairs with an aloof, cavalier swagger. He swaggered like Jagger.
His bare chest glistened with beads of moisture—not like I was a guy who noticed glistening man-chest, but he was right there, dripping all over the floor, unsatisfied with the choice of hair care products.
Tosser.
Emma, still flushed from our kiss, cleared her throat and ran the palms of her hands over her skirt to eliminate any evidence of our liaison.
Why was this man in her house and what was with the towel? Did he hear me come in and was claiming his territory? My imagination didn’t have to work too hard to reach a conclusion. All at once, the blood returned to my head, and I almost blacked out.
“Hey. Jaxson, my man.” The tosser was speaking to me now. I dug through the avalanche in my brain to find a way to excuse myself as quickly as possible. I needed to get out of there, but my feet were cemented in place. That sick unease in my gut was turning into something akin to an irrational rage I didn’t think I could control much longer. I wanted to punch Frank’s arrogant face. His right hand was busy holding the towel in place, giving me the advantage. I could take him.
I then noticed two wine glasses on the bar. Two. I still could taste it from Emma’s lips. Where else had those lips been tonight? Emma hardly ever drank. Was that why she kissed me? Because she lost her inhibitions? This was all wrong.
“There might be something in the linen closet at the top of the stairs. Look in there.” Emma’s gaze remained fixed on me while she spoke to Frank. Gauging my reaction perhaps. It was as though if one of us looked away, the other might vanish.
“Well, hey, nice to see you again, Jax.” Frank spun around and took one glance over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs.
Yeah, you made your point, mate. Now the floor’s all wet.
“Sorry.” Emma glanced over to make sure Frank was gone.
If you love her, set her free.
“It’s fine. Listen, I just stopped by to tell you the good news and to let you know I’ll be in Oz for a few weeks.”
Her face fell.
“You going to see your parents?”
“Yeah.” That mix tape got me thinking about Mum. How I missed her. I’d hoped to take Emma with me but now…
“What about the movie?”
“I’ll be back in time for pre-production.”
I offered her a quick, sad nod and turned to go.
“Wait, Jax.”
I stopped but didn’t turn back to see her. I was afraid what I’d do if she asked me to stay.
“What was this?” She meant the kiss. I had the same burning question.
“It was goodbye.”
Ouch. That hurt me more than it could ever hurt her. Like a stab right in the heart. I opened the front door and walked out onto her stoop as the rain trickled off the awning and sprayed in my direction. Now who had a glistening man-chest? Okay, soggy t-shirt was more like it.
Emma’s words stopped me. “You mean goodbye until we start filming. I’ll see you when you get back from Australia. Or we can FaceTime. You can text me photos of the crappy airplane food.”
So much for my dramatic exit. I considered saying something classically cheeky like, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” but I was just a droopy wet mess. When I turned back to reply, she was a vision from heaven, all angelic with a warm glow behind her hair. And it occurred to me then—she would never let me go. As long as she held on to a shred of my affection, she could never be happy with Frank.
Set her free.
“I have a confession to make. A secret I’ve kept for years, and I need to tell you now.” Surely, she’d hold a grudge once I told her the truth. She’d be free of me.
“Do you want to come back in, then?”
“No. It’ll make it harder f
or me to make a run for it once you swing the cast-iron skillet.”
She laughed and leaned against the threshold, hugging herself from the chill.
“Okay. What’s this secret, then?”
I cleared my throat like that would help. It didn’t.
“When you moved to Los Angeles six years ago, your mum and dad were afraid to see you go. They wanted you to stay in London.”
“Yeah, I know. But I was an adult and had my Aunt Stella to keep an eye on me.”
“Yes, but Stella spent half her time in New York back then. Your mum, she has a rather large imagination and has probably seen Evita too many times. She was afraid once you got to Hollywood, you’d end up on some casting couch. She made me promise to look out for you.”
“I figured as much.”
“Emma, she made me promise. If any man got near you, I had to intervene. She’d call me once a week to make sure of it. And she was obsessed—always following the fan pages.”
“She is a little bit psycho about the fan pages.”
Yup. Maybe a little.
“Why do you think that Gordon guy and Tom Davies and what’s his name? The rapper.”
“Trey?
“Yeah, Trey. He was a real winner. Why do you suppose they lost interest?”
“I just thought they ghosted because they couldn’t deal with my awesomeness or something. I kinda didn’t think much about it, really. You were always there for me.”
“Exactly.”
Ding. Her eyes went wide, and an O formed on her mouth.
“You mean all these years… guys never… because you… sock-blocked all my dates?”
“I don’t think that’s how the expression goes.”
“Yeah, it does. It comes from old-time mobsters putting socks in people’s mouths.” She gasped. “You’re not packing heat, are you?”
“Ummm…”
“Because if you are… not gonna lie. That’s kinda hot.”
“I’m not packing heat.” Not in the way she meant, anyway. “Emma, I understand if you can’t forgive me, but I want you to know I’ll never do it again. I just want you to be happy.”
Even if her choice was Frank. She took a moment to let that absorb.
“No socks?”
I crossed my heart. “No socks.”
She smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? It’ll just take a minute to find my cast-iron skillet. Or a wood spoon.”
“No, I better go.”
“Okay.” Her smile turned into a frown, and she waved as I turned back toward my car. Now I could make my dramatic exit.
Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.
29
Mad World
Emma
I had a sly suspicion Jaxson kept finding excuses to snog. I mean, come on. A ‘goodbye’ kiss? Okay, mate. I could play along. After all, kissing Jax was a fun activity. I’d be down for an all-nighter if he was up to the challenge. We were colouring outside the lines in our friendship colouring book, here—but I was totally onboard with that.
But there he was telling me all sorts of crazy while a curtain of rain poured behind him like a backdrop for lonely people—like Eleanor Rigby. As the words rushed from his lips, I silently admitted to myself how I’d hardly been surprised. All under the orchestration of my mother.
Something deep inside me felt a rush of adventure with the idea of Jaxson cocking a shotgun to scare off would-be suitors. Extra points if he wore chaps. A certain thrill washed through me—wondering if he sometimes acted on his own will so he could keep me all to himself. It made me feel weirdly feminine in an old-fashioned Outback sort of way. But as Jax confessed these things to me, I could see the regret on his features—his face wet from the splattering rain. Or could it be tears?
He looked like a gloomy puppy dog as he turned and disappeared into the darkness. It broke my heart to see him leave. I didn’t like it one bit.
I slunk down against the archway into the living room and slouched into a sorry pile of woe on the floor.
“Where’s Jaxson? I showered as fast as I could.”
Oh, yeah. Frank was here. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Did he really need a fancy shampoo? He was worse than my mother. Lucky for him, she’d left some weird-smelling stuff behind.
Frank looked ridiculous in my purple sweatpants. They were the only pair I had big enough for him.
“He had a plane to catch,” I lamented.
“Ah, snap. Did you tell him?”
“No.”
He ran his fingers through his damp hair. “He won’t be happy.”
I supposed not. Then again, it wasn’t the end of the world. Actresses got out of their contracts all the time when they had an excuse like Jennifer did. I had to admit—her news shocked me speechless. I was especially touched Frank brought her over to tell me the news in person. I guess those text and voice messages I’d sent softened her to me. Unfortunately, she puked all over herself and Frank when she smelled the red wine I brought out to celebrate. Prego nose and all that. Vomit was all over her hair—hence, shampoo.
“How’s Jennifer feeling?” I asked, deflecting the subject away from Jaxson. That just bummed me out.
“She’s better now.” Frank sat on the floor next to me. “Thanks for the organic shampoo. Chemicals make her morning sickness worse.”
So Jennifer was the one after my dear mother’s chemical-free heart. I wondered if she ate kale too.
“She can keep it.”
“Thanks. She’s resting in the spare room if you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine. Feel free to stay the night. Harriet takes that room sometimes.”
Oh no! Harriet. With all the commotion, I’d almost forgotten about her. She was about to have her heart crushed for the second time in a month. Poor thing. I wondered how hard she’d fallen for Frank and if she at least suspected he was going out with Jennifer. I certainly had no clue until they showed up at my doorstep.
They explained it all to me (pre throw-up of course) and gave some lame excuse why they had to keep their relationship secret. All these secrets made me dizzy.
“I still can’t believe Jennifer’s jerk of a manager made her have a fake affair with Dixon.”
“I know. I didn’t want to say this in front of her, but I was so jealous. We fought about it constantly. And I’m sorry for dragging you into it.”
“No harm no foul.”
“I was sure you were on to us.” His lip curled into a boyish grin. “And I knew you’d play along without getting uptight and all.”
“I’m the opposite of uptight.”
Jaxson might have gotten the wrong idea, though. Was that why he left and took a piece of me with him? We were supposed to go to Australia together. At least that was my plan when I’d made the bet with Stella. A bet I so miserably lost. “Anyway, you better go back upstairs to your baby mama.”
He beamed. I could tell he would make an awesome dad.
“Actually, she’s asking for a peanut butter and cheddar sandwich.”
“Mmmm. Sounds yummy.” I took his hands, and we helped each other up. “Let’s all have one.”
As we made our sandwiches, my thoughts kept turning to Harriet. How Elton walked all over her, and I vowed not to push any more fellows her way. How when she told me she had a new love interest, I’d warned her not to act on it unless she was certain he felt the same. Surely Harriet was clever enough to realize Frank wasn’t the guy for her. Then again, love makes people irrational. I only hoped she’d take it well.
I paid her a visit the very next morning, hoping to deliver the news before Frank and Jennifer went public with the news all over the interwebs. She was unusually chipper, making me a cup of tea while I sat in her tiny kitchen. I realized then I’d never seen the inside of her apartment. It was cute, all decorated boho style with mismatched furnishings and sarongs draped over almost every surface for a splash of colour. Even her teacups were all mismatchy, each one with its own artsy character.<
br />
I decided to just get the words out. Quick and a little bit stingy. Like waxing. Her reaction was… surprising. She pressed her lips together and raised her brows, more like I’d just told her my shoes were knock-offs rather than delivering her bitter tidings.
“Hmmm.” She inclined her head in thought and smirked a little. “Let’s see if there’s any gossip about it on Twitter.”
“Wait.” I held her hand back from reaching for her mobile. “Are you sure you want to see that?”
“Why wouldn’t I want to see?” Her grin grew devilish. “How juicy is it?”
Blimey. She’d gone bonkers.
“Harriet, I know this is hard to hear right now, and it’s probably kind of cheesy, but this too will pass.”
“Okaaay.”
“And I’ll be here for you for as long as it takes to get over Frank.”
“Get over Frank?” She scrunched her nose.
“Well, yeah.”
A bubble of giggles overtook her. “Do you think I like Frank like… that? Oh, my.” She tried to contain herself by biting her lips but failed. “I hope I have better taste in men by now than to go for… Frank Churchill.” His name erupted from her lips on a wave of laughter. What on earth?