Midnight Encounters

by Elle Kennedy

  He almost flinched, expecting to see sorrow—and maybe a bit of anger—in his mother’s eyes, but she surprised him. Looking serious, she crossed her arms over her apron and said, “Tell the truth already, Benjamin. Tell them about Gretchen and your father.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I’d never do anything to embarrass you, Mom.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “You’re embarrassing me now, for God’s sake! Everyone in town thinks my son goes to bed with women twice his age. The other day, Susan pulled me aside in the drugstore and suggested you go into therapy.”

  Ben couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re lying.”

  “I certainly am not! Call Susan yourself. I’m sure she has a list of therapists written up.”

  “So you honestly don’t care if I tell the world Dad was a bigamist and a thief?”

  “Of course not.” Her aristocratic features softened. “Ben, I’ve come to terms with what your father did. In fact, I came to terms with it a long time ago. You don’t need to protect me from it.”

  “What about the money?”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t feel right keeping it,” he confessed.

  “Then give it away.” His mother shrugged. “There are a lot of deserving charities out there, and if Gretchen’s money is that much of a burden for you, donate it.”

  Ben reached for his glass again, draining it. As usual, his mother was nothing if not frank. She’d always been frank. Always been the strongest woman he’d ever known, too, which made him wonder why he’d ever believed she’d be embarrassed or ashamed if the truth about his connection to Gretchen came out.

  “Now, about this Maggie,” Miranda continued, strolling back to the stove to pluck one cookie from the tray. She nibbled on the edge of the cookie, her eyes narrowed. “I assume you’ll do everything you can to get her back?”

  A smile played on his lips. “You assume right.”

  “Good.” With a brisk nod, she finished chewing and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “Before I give you a cookie, Benjamin, you’ve got to tell me one thing.”

  “Sure.”

  “Does Maggie have any tattoos?”

  His smile widened into a full-blown grin. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t.”

  “Thank the lord!” Miranda made a tsking sound with her tongue. “At least one of you has some good sense.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days after she’d sent Ben away, Maggie still hadn’t mastered the art of getting off the living room couch and changing out of her ratty old sweats. Tough. She didn’t feel like getting up, or brushing her hair, or pretending that she was anything but what she currently felt—miserable.

  It’s not like she had a job to go to, anyway. No school either, since her first exam wasn’t until next week. And though most of the reporters had abandoned their stakeout of the Broger Center, a few overly ambitious ones still lingered, making her feel uneasy about going back. Sooner or later she’d call Gloria and talk about that permanent position.

  “Jeez, Maggie, did you rob a bank?” came her roommate’s incredulous cry.

  Maggie twisted her head in time to see Summer walk through the front door, looking tanned, healthy and seriously confused. In comparison, Maggie felt like a big mess with her tangled hair and wrinkled clothing. A big, pathetic mess.

  “Yes, Summer, I robbed a bank,” she said dryly.

  After staring wide-eyed at her disheveled appearance, Summer dropped the bright red suitcase she held in her hands and marched toward the couch. “Seriously, why are there reporters standing outside our building? I heard one of them quizzing the security guard about you. Are you in trouble?”

  “I guess you could say that.” She released a sigh that drained her entire chest of oxygen. “I did something stupid.”

  “Oh God, do I want to know?”

  “I fell in love with a movie star.”

  Summer’s stunned silence didn’t come as any surprise. Hell, she’d been pretty damn stunned herself when she’d first figured it out. After Ben left, she’d been understandably upset. She’d lost her job, her position at the center, her dream of a successful career. And yet when she’d gone to bed alone that first evening, something shocking happened.

  Lying there in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, she’d come to a realization that left any chance of falling asleep absolutely impossible.

  She’d realized that the ache in her heart, the empty feeling in her stomach, that unbearable weight bearing down on her chest, had nothing to do with losing her job.

  And everything to do with losing Ben.

  “How long have I been gone for?” Summer said, blinking wildly. “In a week and a half you managed to fall in love with a movie star? Is this a joke?”

  “No, it’s true.”

  Summer motioned for her to move over, and then flopped down next to her on the couch. “Okay, spill.”

  “Remember my stranger?”

  “Of course.”

  “Turns out he’s Ben Barrett, the celebrity I was asking you about at the Olive, where I’m no longer employed, by the way.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Try me.”

  “Just remember, you asked for it.” In a shaky voice, Maggie recapped all the events of the past week and a half.

  “Holy shit,” Summer breathed when she finished. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Her hand trembled as she waved it dismissively. “You didn’t cause any of this.”

  Summer opened her mouth to reply, but the ring of the telephone cut her off. Shooting her roommate a pleading look, Maggie handed her the cordless phone.

  “Hello?” Summer said into the receiver. She paused, then handed the phone back. “It’s for you.”

  A tiny pang of hope tugged at her insides, but she willed it away. It wouldn’t be Ben. She’d asked him to leave. He hadn’t called since and he wouldn’t call now.

  She was right.

  “Maggie, it’s Tony.”

  The weight returned to her chest, heavier this time, stifling. “Hi, Tony.”

  “I’ve got good news, babe. I’ll be in the city tomorrow night.”

  He’d be in the city? She almost laughed out loud, realizing how things had changed so astronomically since the last time she’d spoken to—or thought about—Tony. A few weeks ago she’d have jumped up and down with excitement at the sound of his voice, at the idea of meeting up with Tony and going to bed with him. Now, it was the last thing she wanted.

  How could she just forget about everything that happened and go back the way she was in the pre-Ben days? How could she ever settle for casual sex when she’d experienced something deeper?

  “That’s great,” she finally answered, her tone hardly enthusiastic.

  “Don’t sound so thrilled about it,” he teased.

  “I’m sorry. I just…I’ve met someone.” Next to her, Summer’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

  There was a brief silence. “You’re kidding me,” Tony finally said with a laugh.

  “It’s not funny, you know.”

  “I’m not making fun of you, hon. I’m just stunned. What happened to the Maggie I meet three times a year?”

  “Two times,” she corrected.

  Tony sounded perplexed. “Is it serious?”

  She drew in a breath. “Yeah. I think so. I’m sorry, Tony.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize. We had a good run, don’t ya think?”

  “It was great,” she said, and she meant it. It had been great, the casual trysts with Tony. But she didn’t want great anymore. She wanted incredible. She wanted body-numbing. Toe-curling. Heart-thumping.

  She wanted Ben.

  Feeling her eyes well up with unwelcome tears, she said a quick goodbye and hung up, swiping at her damp lashes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Damn it. She was sick of crying.

  Lifting her chin, she ran her hands through her messy hair a
nd released a groan. “This is why I never wanted anything serious. Feeling miserable sucks.”

  Summer stared at her. “You’re a different person. How the hell did this happen?”

  She managed a faint smile. “Shocking, huh?”

  “No, I’m serious, Mags.” Summer rubbed her temples. “You just broke it off with Tony. Tony, for God’s sake! The guy you can’t wait to see each time he comes to visit.”

  “I guess Two-Time Tony isn’t enough anymore,” she finally admitted. “Ben…well, he made me realize something.”

  “You’ve already fallen for the guy,” Summer teased. “What more could you have realized?”

  “That I don’t want to be alone.”

  Instantly the anvil pressing down on her ribcage lifted. Saying the words out loud was difficult but cathartic because they were so undeniably true. The past couple days without Ben had been horrible. Miserable and horrible and excruciatingly lonely.

  The loneliness was what finally got to her. For so long she’d worked her ass off to make something of herself. She’d wanted her life to mean something, she’d wanted to matter, if only to the kids she worked with, and that’s what always drove her. Saving money, getting a college degree, finding a meaningful job. But what happened afterwards? What happened when she went home at night, alone? When she woke up every morning, alone? When the only person she was able to share her dreams, thoughts and feelings with was a roommate who’d soon be building her own life with the man she loved?

  So she would have a career, so she’d spend her afternoons doing something meaningful, but what was the point if she didn’t have anyone to share it with?

  “I miss him,” she finally admitted. “I miss talking to him, and joking around with him. I miss kissing him. Hell, I even miss listening to him sing along to the Beach Boys.”

  A knowing smile curved Summer’s mouth. “It’s a pretty amazing feeling, isn’t it? Being in love?” She paused. “Listen, I know this probably isn’t the time to tell you this, but…Tygue and I are getting married.”

  For a moment, all of Maggie’s problems whisked out of her tired brain. “Really?”

  Summer blushed prettily. “He proposed on the last night of our trip. We’re thinking a Christmas wedding in Jamaica.”

  “I’m happy for you, Summer.”

  “Thanks.” She paused again. “Why don’t you call him?”

  “Tygue? I can just congratulate him in person.”

  “Not Tygue. Ben.”

  “I can’t call him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I asked him to leave.”

  “So ask him to come back.”

  Maggie swallowed. “It’s not that simple. Look, even if I do tell him how I feel, the media won’t stop harassing us. And as long as reporters are interested in me, Gloria won’t let me work at the center.”

  Summer’s expression softened. “Then you need to ask yourself this—what’s more important to you, your job or the man you love?”

  “C’mon, Summer, don’t make this about me having to choose.”

  “What if that’s what it comes down to?”

  Maggie grew silent. What if it did come to that? She wasn’t sure what she’d do if that happened. She wanted to be with Ben, but she wasn’t ready to give up everything she’d worked so hard for either.

  And what if she did decide Ben was worth being hounded by the paparazzi, worth risking her job for? If they ended up breaking up someday, she’d be left with nothing. She’d be no better than her mother, a woman who’d left her responsibilities on a sidewalk in Queens for a man and a relationship that—knowing her mother’s flakiness—probably hadn’t even worked out.

  Did her mom regret leaving her? It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was the question that always kept her in line, always urged her to make something of herself.

  Because if she did get Ben back, and if it didn’t end up working out, the last thing she wanted was to be left with regrets.

  “I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she finally blurted, too confused to think. “Tell me about your trip. How did the steel drum performance go? Did you get along with Tygue’s family?”

  As if sensing Maggie had officially dropped the subject of love and Ben Barrett, Summer finally sighed. Then she smiled. “Actually, his family loved me. And everyone at the reception gave me a standing ovation after I finished my song.”

  “Now that I’ve got to see to believe.”

  “Don’t you worry, Doubting Maggie. Luckily for you, Tygue got it all on video…”

  “Ben, have a seat,” Alan Goodrich said after the two men had entered the spacious living room of Goodrich’s ten-bedroom mansion in Beverly Hills.

  Ben assumed a relaxed demeanor and sank onto the plush black leather sofa situated in front of a forbidding stone fireplace. He’d visited the Goodrich home only once before, when Gretchen first contacted him six months ago, but the luxurious surroundings still made him a little uncomfortable. Hell, being in Alan’s presence made him uncomfortable. The man was one of the most esteemed directors in the business, recipient of two Oscars, not to mention a list of nominations and critic nods as long as the Nile.

  He still wasn’t sure why Alan wanted to meet with him, but he hoped it didn’t have to do with Gretchen.

  Of course it has to do with Gretchen, his brain argued. Why else did he ask you to come?

  “I have two matters to discuss with you,” Alan announced.

  “Okay,” Ben said, slightly unnerved.

  With his big, beefy body, a head of white hair and piercing green eyes, Alan Goodrich was nothing if not intimidating. Lowering his body into a leather recliner, Alan folded his hands in his lap. “First, you should know that my wife’s estate has been settled. Since the will was uncontested, you should receive a check very soon.”

  Ben swallowed. “About that…I don’t feel comfortable keeping Gretchen’s money, Mr. Goodrich.”

  “Call me, Alan.”

  “Okay. Alan. Well, I’ve decided to donate the money to charity.” When Goodrich didn’t object, Ben went on. “I also wanted to ask you something. I’d like to give a statement to the press, about Gretchen’s connection to my father.”

  Alan grew silent.

  “That is, if you don’t mind,” he added quickly.

  “Actually, I think it’s a fine idea.” Goodrich’s strong, somewhat harsh features softened. “Gretchen would’ve hated it if she knew your inheritance caused a media circus. She really did feel awful about what your father did to you and your mother. I don’t think she would’ve ever written you into her will if she knew the kind of negative attention you’d receive.”

  “I know.”

  “So clear it up, son. It’s about time the press cut you some slack.”

  “Thanks, Alan.”

  Goodrich gave a brisk nod. “Now, the second matter at hand. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m currently working on a war epic.”

  “I’d heard, yes.”

  “I’ve just approved the screenplay, and we’re scouting locations and beginning to cast as we speak.”

  Ben crossed his ankles together, suddenly remembering the words Maggie had said to him in the Bahamas. Nobody’s going to give it to you. If you want something, you go after it.

  He wasn’t sure where Goodrich was heading or why he’d mentioned his latest film, but Ben knew he couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip through his fingers. Maggie was right. He couldn’t sit around and wait for a meaty role to fall into his lap. If he wanted it, he needed to go out and get it.

  “About your film…” he ventured quietly. “I was actually going to ask you if you’d let me read for it.”

  Goodrich chuckled. “Ben—”

  He tried not to bristle at the director’s laughter and hurried on. “I’m not asking for a leading role, Alan. I’ll read for any part you want, as small as you want.”

  “Ben—”
r />   “Just give me a shot.”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Alan said, chuckling again. “If you had let me finish, you would have heard me offering you one of the supporting roles.”

  His jaw fell open despite his attempt to keep it shut. “Pardon me?”

  Alan offered a faint smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve told you before how much I enjoy your screen performances.”

  “Yeah, but I thought…” he trailed off.

  “You thought I was bullshitting?” Alan finished, his smile widening. “I wasn’t. You truly are a fine actor, son. And the moment I finished reading the script, I knew I wanted you to be in the film.”

  Before Ben could answer, a mechanical rendition of a Beethoven symphony broke out. With an apologetic look, Goodrich reached into the inner pocket of the navy-blue blazer he wore and extracted a cell phone. “I need to take this.”

  As the director stood up and exited the room, Ben rubbed his forehead, still a little stunned. Alan Goodrich had just offered him a role in his new movie? Sure, there was bound to be action in the war epic, the gunfire and explosions he’d grown used to, but there would also be depth to it. Not to mention the respect and prestige working with a director of Alan’s caliber provided. Just having his name attached to an Alan Goodrich project would certainly make the critics take him seriously, even if he was Bad Boy Ben Barrett.

  Hell, with all that recognition, maybe the media would finally drop the alliteration-heavy nickname and see him as simply Ben Barrett, actor.

  “I’m going to have to cut this meeting short,” came Goodrich’s rueful voice.

  Ben turned to see the director standing in the doorway, still holding his cell phone. Getting to his feet, he walked toward Alan and extended his hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”

  Alan gave his hand a firm shake. “I’ll be in touch about the film. We’ll probably start shooting at the end of the summer. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Ben left the Goodrich estate feeling like he was walking on air. During the past half hour an enormous weight had lifted off his chest, the weight of discontent and frustration over a career that had strayed off in a direction Ben had never wanted. But it was back on track again, and soon the other pieces of his life would fall back into place.