Bill groaned.
Jimmie leaned closer. “So, is she a five?”
Bill returned his gaze to her, gave his head a slow shake. “She’s more than a number, Jimmie. I share a past with her.”
“ELLIE ROCKWELL.”
Standing at the food table in the backstage tent quaffing a blueberry muffin, she froze. Even with her back to him, she’d know that voice anywhere. Swallowing her bite, she set down the muffin and turned.
A shiver passed through her.
Bill was even hotter up close.
His skin, naturally mocha, was darker from the sun. His full, natural hair looked like a deliciously dark aura. Stubble coarsened his jaw, making her think he’d probably rolled out of bed and come straight here for today’s audition without shaving. She shouldn’t have thought about him rolling out of bed, because she started wondering if he was one of those men who slept in his shorts or pajama bottoms.
Or naked.
She sucked in a shaky breath. He’s only said my name and I already have him naked in bed.
A hint of a smile raised a corner of his mouth. She hadn’t noticed before that he sported a soul patch, neatly trimmed, underneath his full bottom lip.
“Ellie Rockwell, right?”
“Bill Romero,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I saw you in the audience.”
“I thought you noticed me.” He looked her up and down. “You’ve…changed.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down to the colorful tattoo that trailed from underneath his sleeve down to his elbow. Appeared to be the tail of something.
“It’s a dragon,” he explained.
Her gaze traveled back up the green and burnished gold scales that disappeared underneath his sleeve.
“The rest,” he murmured, “goes up my arm. One claw’s on my back, and its head falls across my chest.”
She stared at his chest, imagining the head of the beast permanently inked on his molded pec.
“A fire-breathing, ice-breathing or acid-spitting dragon?”
“Fire.” He looked surprised. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
Being a good glam goth chick, she knew her dragon basics, but no way she’d admit that. Usually her attitude was if somebody didn’t like her style, tough. But this was different. This was Bill Romero. He’d obviously come backstage to see the beach babe Ellie, and no way she’d let on he’d fallen for a look that was the antithesis of the real her. This was Cinderella at the ball time. The prince was flirting with her, and she was going to run with it.
“I think I saw some of those dragons when I got my Queen of Evil tattoo,” she lied.
Bill made a murmur of approval. “Now that’s a tattoo I’d like to hear more about.” He glanced over her shoulder at the half-eaten muffin. “Looks like I interrupted your snack?”
She made a dismissive gesture toward it. “I’d skipped breakfast, so…”
“I skipped breakfast, too.” His gaze held hers for a moment. “If I didn’t have to get back, I’d suggest we grab a bite. Catch up.”
Get back? She flashed back to yesterday when he’d asked if that was her car. He hadn’t been dressed up either day…could he be making money parking cars? She wouldn’t ask, didn’t want to embarrass him. What had happened to his dreams?
“Last we saw each other,” she said nonchalantly, “you were leaving for film school.”
“Yeah, went to New York University.” He cocked that half smile again. “Surprised you remember.”
She shrugged as though, oh, sure, just one of those things that popped up from some distant memory instead of something she’d thought about a lot these past seventeen years. Everything about that night he’d told her he was moving away was burned indelibly into her brain. The moon had been full, yellow and waxy in a smoggy sky. Lavender scented the air. Down the block a radio blasted a popular Ice-T rap song.
She waited for Bill to say more, but nothing. Had he come back to L.A., armed with his degree, only to find nobody wanted to hire another starry-eyed wannabe? She’d seen a lot of people lose their dreams in the city of dreams. Actresses who thought they’d be the next Meryl Streep, writers who thought they’d be the next Eszterhas, directors who thought they’d be the next Scorsese. All of them waiting for their big breaks while serving tables or working on construction sites or…
Parking cars.
She dropped her gaze, caught the splatter of brown on his shirt. “Spill something?”
He looked down, back up with a sheepish smile. “Coffee. Actually, I took a break from my casting duties to see if I can get it out. My buddy’s covering for me.”
She blinked. “Casting duties?”
“Yeah.” He raked a hand through his thick, full hair. “I’m just helping out, for today only.”
“Part-time job?”
“More like a favor.”
So things hadn’t gone well. She’d get off the topic, help him save face. “I’d suggest dabbing that with soda water. If you can’t find that, cold water.” She smiled. “I run a coffee shop so I deal with stuff like this all the time.”
“Coffee shop, eh? I’ll definitely take your advice, then.” But he didn’t do a thing except stand there and stare at her. Was her bad-girl blonde makeover working?
“I should be getting back,” he murmured.
“Sure.” Do something! Invite him to the beach house, ask him out for another cup of coffee to make up for the one he sloshed, ask his zodiac sign, something. “Nice seeing you.” Good one, El. Your big moment and you wuss out.
“Nice seeing you, too.” He started walking away, paused. “Going to the festival later?”
“I’m entering some of the events. My girlfriends and I want to win the grand prize. You can enter as a group, you know, so that’s what we’re doing.” I’m babbling. “Except for this audition. Not a group thing, obviously. We figured after I was done over as a beach babe…” Not good. Overbabble.
“Done over?”
She smiled shakily. “Girl talk for getting fixed up.” She’d never lied this much. “I probably wouldn’t have auditioned if they hadn’t made me do it.” At least that was the truth.
He looked her down, back up, making a zillion goose pimples skitter across her skin.
“I’m an idiot,” he mumbled. He hit the palm of his hand against his forehead. “I got so caught up seeing you again, I forgot to tell you something.” He smiled warmly. “It’s a good thing your girlfriends talked you into auditioning, because Ellie Rockwell, you’re hired.”
She blinked. “I am?”
He nodded.
“You get to pick people?”
“Just for today. See Peter, the casting assistant who’s sitting in the front row, and tell him I said you’re hired. He’ll explain how you’re paid, where to report, stuff like that.”
“Great. Thanks.”
They stared at each other for another long moment.
“I need to get out there,” Bill finally said.
“Right. You don’t want to blow this opportunity.”
He frowned.
She gestured lamely toward the audience out there. “You know, doing this casting gig you’re doing as a favor could lead to another job.”
He looked surprised, then sputtered a laugh. “I already have a job on Sin on the Beach. I’m the first assistant director.”
Her body felt as though a shock wave had passed through it. Not unlike how she’d felt years ago at a high-decibel, sensory-overload Marilyn Manson concert. Bill wasn’t some dreamy-eyed wannabe, he was the first assistant director. Of Sin on the Beach. A Big Man on the Set. He probably had bikini-clad chicky-babes hanging all over him 24/7.
So what if he came backstage to tell her she was hired, tell her he remembered her, there was no way such a hotshot would want anything more to do with an extra.
Bill scrubbed his knuckle over his chin. “A lot of those festival competitions require two people to compet
e.”
She nodded.
“Might be a little awkward to enter some of those with your girlfriends…unless you’re into that sort of thing.”
It took her a moment to get his drift.
“You think I’m—Oh, no.” She laughed at the thought of her being lesbo with Candy or Sara. “Not that they aren’t attractive and fascinating women, but I’m not into that. Anyway, they both appear to have guys they’re entering the contests with.”
“And you don’t?”
“No.”
“How terrible.” He gave her a look that made her kneecaps go soft.
“Yes,” she murmured, “downright horrible.”
He grinned, glanced at his watch. “After auditions, I’ll have the rest of the day off. Meet me backstage, same spot, at two o’clock and I’ll be your partner.”
It took a moment for the adrenaline rush to subside before she remembered how to nod yes. Partner. That had to be on par with “date,” right?
She was having a date with Bill Romero.
Bill take-my-heart-and-do-me-all-night-long Romero.
As long as she got home before her carriage turned into a pumpkin, and her bikini into her glam goth T-shirt, this could be a fairy-tale date to die for.
“Two it is,” she whispered.
3
ELLIE WAS TOO PUNCTUAL for her own good. Not that being on time was a bad thing, but it was when you were overly anxious to see the guy of your childhood dreams, who happened to not be punctual. Backstage again at the food table, she nibbled on grapes and hoped she looked okay in her red bikini, fishnet cover-up, retro polka-dot wedgies and over-the-shoulder mini brocade purse. When she’d left the beach house, she’d felt fine, but after passing dozens of girls in Easter-egg color bikinis and nondescript sandals, she was starting to wonder if she looked too over-the-top.
That she, a glam goth diva, was actually fretting about looking over-the-top suddenly made her laugh. Back at her apartment, her entire wardrobe was a swirl of purple, black and red satins and laces. This beach babe makeover was frying her brain. Next she’d be buying frosted pink lipstick, eating granola and saying “dude.”
“Hey, how’s my Ellie?” said a familiar, deep voice. Bill.
Her heart thumped a wanton, pagan beat.
My Ellie. She lost the ability to speak for a moment. “Great.” My Bill.
He looked effing incredible. That mocha skin, those brown eyes, that windblown black ’ fro—colors so rich and dark, they made her insides quiver.
Maybe it was because of the canvas tent, but the light seemed pale and ephemeral. Summer heat shimmered in the air, hot and intangible. And in the midst of it all stood Bill, like a chocolatey, rough-edged hip-hop prince. Wild on the outside, in control on the inside.
The moment was broken when a girl, who looked to be around nineteen, bounded up and tapped Bill on the arm. She wore short-shorts, a halter top, her shiny blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Daisy Mae’s long-lost twin, no doubt.
The girl looked up at Bill with round liquid-blue eyes and smiled.
“Curtiss is having some problems with the boom mike for tomorrow morning’s shoot,” she said in a baby-doll voice. “He wanted me to tell you he’s picking up a new one today as backup.”
“Thanks.” Bill nodded, turned his attention back to Ellie.
But Daisy Baby-Doll didn’t leave. “I’m the new PA. Name’s Phoebe.”
Bill looked at her. “Hi, Phoebe.”
“Actually, my name’s Diane, but that’s so boring, so a few years ago I started calling myself Phoebe, and now everybody remembers me!”
Ellie had a feeling she knew why.
“Well, Phoebe,” said Bill, “nice meeting you—”
“If you ever need anything…” she said, her voice trailing off.
Like it was so hard to guess what that anything might be. To stop herself from saying something she might regret, Ellie stuffed a grape into her mouth.
Of course, women had always loved Bill, and he’d loved his share back. She had many memories watching him from her living room window while he laughed and flirted with the girls on the block. Even back then, he had that certain something that attracted the opposite sex in droves. Call it confidence, charm or being blessed with more than his share of pheromones, but the guy had it.
Bill glanced at Ellie, back to Phoebe. “Look, I’m taking a meeting here….”
Taking a meeting? This wasn’t a date? Ellie shoved another grape in her mouth.
Phoebe rolled back her shoulders, which made her breasts stick out even more, and plastered on a smile. “Well, Bill, see you around the set.”
She’d barely bounced away before a tall, preppie-looking guy sidled up to Bill. “Man, you should be bottled.”
“Behave.” Bill turned to Ellie. “This is my main man, Jimmie,” he said. “We met on our first day at NYU. I was the tough guy from East L.A. Jimmie was the class act from Connecticut. I decided to like him anyway.”
She smiled while swallowing the grape, which felt like a chunk of lead going down her throat. “Nice to meet you, Jimmie.”
“This is Ellie Belle,” said Bill. He slung his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “He taught me how to order wine, and I taught him how to siphon gas.”
But she was still back at Ellie Belle. Nobody had called her that in years. It had been her dad’s nickname for her, one her mom had occasionally used after her dad left, but nobody had used it since. Not even Matt. Had Bill overheard one of her parents and, all these years later, remembered?
Jimmie extended his hand, which she took. “And after that eloquent introduction, let me say it’s very nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” They shook hands.
“Heard you two were next-door neighbors years ago.”
“That’s right.”
“No offense, but you sure don’t look like someone from the hood.”
“Well, we don’t normally wear bikinis with fishnet cover-ups there.”
Jimmie looked surprised, then laughed. “I, uh, didn’t mean that.”
“Sorry, I knew what you meant.” She’d heard comments like that plenty of times, mostly from people who’d rarely, if ever, been to the hood. She used to take offense, then realized what mattered more than a person’s question was the intention behind it. Jimmie, despite his Brooks Brothers appearance and precise diction, had a sincere streak.
“Actually, when my mom and her mother moved there in the late fifties, there were families in that neighborhood straight out of Father Knows Best. The melting pot started getting stirred more during the seventies.” She’d skip over what everyone knew—that the area grew economically depressed, gangs arrived, street crime mushroomed and that’s when things could get dicey if you didn’t already have your friends and community in place, which the Rockwells did. “The hood’s changing for the better these days, though.”
Bill made a disgruntled noise.
“It’s true. Homes are being renovated, new businesses are moving in—”
“C’mon, Ellie, nobody really cares about our old stomping ground. The powers that be wrote off that part of L.A. a long time ago. I, for one, will never go back.”
“Can’t turn your back on your roots,” Jimmie said to Bill. “Don’t you still have family there?”
“Those who stayed deserved what they got.”
Ellie bit the inside of her lip. She didn’t like hearing his negativity, but she had to remember how Bill, like Matt, had taken on the role of man of the house at an early age. Except Bill had had four younger siblings, which hadn’t been easy.
Jimmie, obviously picking up on the heavy vibes, changed the subject. “Those are some shoes.” He nudged his head toward her feet.
“They’re retro sling back wedgies,” she said, tipping the toe of red-and-white polka-dot sandals this way, then that. “Got them at Sinister Shoes.”
Bill gave her a funny look. “Sinister Shoes?”
“I’ve he
ard of that place,” said Jimmie. “It’s down on Melrose. All the goths go there to shop.”
“Goths.” Bill shook his head. “Elvira’s cool, but I don’t get that whole vampire thing. They all seem depressed or something.”
Her insides shrank a little. Made her feel like a fake and a liar pretending not to be one of those into that whole vampire thing. It was really about loving the darkness, the mystery in life, but she didn’t want to explain.
All she wanted was this day, this experience with Bill, and for that she was willing to pretend she was somebody she wasn’t.
She angled her leg, showing off. “These shoes are really more of a retro pinup look,” she said a little too gaily. “Similar to what Betty Grable wore in those World War II posters.”
Bill and Jimmie stared at her.
“Betty Grable?” Bill finally said. “She was a movie star way before your time.”
“I’ve always loved the Golden Age of Hollywood, even as a little kid. I sometimes envision the stars like Audrey Hepburn, Veronica Lake, Betty Grable when I design some of my clothes.” When they looked at her black fishnet cover-up over her red bikini, she added drolly, “These aren’t my designs. I bought them at Target.”
A grin sauntered across Bill’s lips. “You did a lot of sewing as a kid, didn’t you? I think my mom said something about it once.”
She nodded, feeling a little giddy that he’d remembered something else about her as a child. Maybe she’d been more memorable than she’d given herself credit for.
“Hollywood’s Golden Era is one of my favorites,” he continued. “It spawned dozens of classic westerns, comedies and thrillers. Plus, it was the birthplace of film noir.”
“Watch out, Bill,” Jimmie teased, “your cinematic-nerd side’s showing.” He glanced at his flashy gold watch. “Gotta split. Told Bev I’d take her to the festival, play some of those games. She’s hot about trying to win some grand prize cabin.”
“Beach bungalow,” corrected Ellie.
Jimmie nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I guess the winner gets a free rental there for the next two years.”
“Ten,” she corrected again. She hadn’t realized she’d been so into it until this moment. Sure, she’d been willing to be Team Java Mammas with the girls, but she hadn’t been personally driven to win anything other than the audition until this moment. Had to be the thought of hanging out with Bill for the rest of the afternoon, doing fun, wild things in some of those hot games.
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