“You said you don’t mean to be,” she said quietly, “but you are.”
He frowned. “Don’t mean to be what?”
“An asshole.”
As she walked away, he felt the world pull back, the sounds of machinery and people on the set reduced to a low buzz, like a fly in another room. Even the crashing surf seemed remote, as though it’d chosen another shore.
It wasn’t her words. He’d been called worse. Crazy enough, it wasn’t even the job. There’d be problems, he’d be on the line, things would be fixed. Or not.
It was realizing he’d finally committed himself to something more than just him. Something better, bigger. Yet within minutes, he’d managed to slam the door and isolate himself again.
Jimmie was right. He’d made himself number one for so long, he hadn’t realized what a small, lonely place it really was.
11
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Ellie was reliving the last few days. She’d gone from glam goth to beach babe, acted and nearly been fired on a national television show….
And called the man of her dreams an asshole.
To his face.
While others were present.
Wow. Was she having fun or what?
She stopped, squiggled a pattern in the wet sand with her toe, his words replaying in her head. I can’t waste my time on an extra…. Go, leave! She’d spent the first part of her walk furious and hurt that he’d thought she was a waste of time, feeling totally justified in her response.
Now she was blaming herself for approaching him in the first place. Peter had lectured the extras about no cell phones on the set, then the cameras were rolling, she’d belatedly realized she was holding hers, and tried to position herself so it wouldn’t be seen. She’d never forget the sickening feeling when she heard the familiar “Walk on the Wild Side” ringtone jangling, realizing it was her cell….
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
She deserved to be chewed out, maybe even fired, but Bill had stood up for her. She should have left it there, but, no, she got it into her head she needed to apologize in person, which actually went okay, and would have remained okay if some anxious part of her hadn’t decided she had to know if their date tonight was still on.
So she’d stood there—while he was being crowded with people, problems, phone calls—acting all goofy and nervous and not speaking up and he’d gotten frustrated and…
“Hey!” called out a female voice. “Gotta match?”
She looked over at a group of teens sitting and lying on multicolored beach towels, laughing and talking, a radio playing a soulful Jack Johnson tune. They looked to be fifteen, sixteen tops, most drinking from bottles in paper bags.
A girl, shiny brown hair to her waist, waved what appeared to be an unlit cigarette at Ellie.
“Got a match?”
“Sorry, no,” she called back.
That’s when she noticed they’d parked themselves right in front of one of the numerous No Smoking, No Drinking signs that dotted this part of the beach.
She smiled, remembering her own teenage rebellion. Except, instead of bikinis and hanging at the beach, she’d worn black and put glitter into her hair. Her glam rock phase that eventually became glam goth. Looking back, she sometimes wondered if it was an escape from her growing responsibilities at home, being an adult to her mother’s child.
After chores and homework, she’d lounge in her bedroom, smoking clove cigarettes, listening to David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Lou Reed. To say she was besotted with Lou Reed was an understatement. He epitomized New York, the place Bill had gone, which was the be-all and end-all for her young heart. She’d even stenciled the lyrics to one of Reed’s songs on her wall, painting the last words of the chorus—“swoop, swoop, rock, rock”—in fluorescent paint on her ceiling. The song itself was a moving tribute to a long-lost lover, yet it ended with those light, silly words—“swoop, swoop, rock, rock”—which to her had meant that no matter what happened, life was good.
Whenever she’d had a bad day, or was going through a tough time, or just needed to remember that everything would work out, she’d lie on her bed and look up at those words, and feel better.
All of which baffled her mother, and immensely amused her brother, Matt.
Matt!
That’s who she needed to talk to. He knew her better than anybody. He’d known Bill in the hood, had chatted with him last night at the Hot Shot booth. Matt could give her advice on this mess she’d gotten herself into.
“What’s up, El?” he answered a moment later.
“I think I screwed up. No, I know I did. It’s bad.”
“Oh.”
Like most guys, Matt was pretty much clueless how to respond to a woman broaching an emotional topic. Like a computer, he needed to first process the data before formulating an answer.
“It’s about Bill Romero.”
“Okay.”
“As you know, he and I are—” were? “—romantically close.” She looked out at the surfers on their boards, bobbing in the ocean, waiting for a wave. Oh, if only life were so simple. “It’s a temporary thing, of course.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
Oh, right. He and Candy were doing that sensible-sex thing. Usually, Ellie would take this opportunity to play matchmaker, persuade him Candy was the best thing to ever shake up his world…But, for a change, she needed to put her problems first.
“Okay, here goes.” She blew out a nervous breath. “There’s a French woman named Vi who wants a more serious relationship with Bill.”
“French, eh?”
“You don’t have to sound so gleeful. Anyway, that’s in limbo.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’ll be discussing their potential when she gets back from Europe in a few weeks.”
He made an ominous-sounding grunt.
“However, my more immediate problem is—” she squeezed shut her eyes “—I called him an asshole.”
“Were you drinking?”
Her eyes flew open. “No!”
“Did you have a reason to call him that?”
“At the time, I thought so. Now…I’m not so sure.”
“Wow.” Pause. “You called him that to his face?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, envisioning it again. “Actually, I didn’t call him an asshole outright. It was more of a virtual name-calling thing.”
“Have you spoken since then?”
“No.”
Another ominous grunt.
“I should add that right before the asshole part, I’d accidentally brought the entire production to a screeching halt.”
“What happened?”
“I took my cell onto the set, after I’d been told not to, and it rang in the middle of a big scene.”
“Oh.”
“After that, I was almost fired, but Bill stood up for me.”
“Then, something happened and you called him an asshole?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to…”
“You know me. You know Bill. Plus you’re a guy. Tell me the truth. Do you think I’ve blown it with Bill?”
“Yes.”
“Jeez, couldn’t you have paused a little, made me think you needed to think it over first?”
“Sorry, sis. Look, I know you feel bad, but analytically speaking, what is he besides a childhood crush? You have your coffee shop, your friends and family, that alter-life as the mistress of the damned…what does it matter if he stays or if he goes?”
“I’m better than this,” she said softly.
“In a way, yeah. On the other hand, maybe he’s worth it?”
She took a deep breath of the salt-infused air. When she blew it out, she imagined all her cloudy, confused thoughts being expelled with it. She’d been so caught up in what Bill had meant to her as a girl, did she even know what he meant to her as a woman?
She did.
His strength, passion, striving for success appealed
to her because those were the traits she most loved about the hood. It wasn’t that others didn’t have those, it was that, for too many, those characteristics had been turned inside out. She’d been thinking about what she could do to change that. They were small ideas, but everything began with a small step.
Fundamentally Bill was, in the best way, the heart of the community. Although he didn’t realize it.
And until this moment, she hadn’t realized she wanted to return there with him. Problem was, that would never happen.
“Thanks, Matt. I’ll be going now.”
“El, you sound so sad. Is there something I can do to make you feel better?”
“No, it’s okay. I should be going now—”
“Wait!”
She paused. “What?”
“‘Swoop, swoop, rock, rock.’”
She blinked back sudden emotion. “Matthew Rockwell,” she murmured, “you’re the coolest bro in the world.”
AN HOUR LATER, Ellie sat at one of the stools in the kitchen, halfheartedly doodling clothes designs in her sketch pad. Upon returning to the beach house, she’d rummaged through her bag, panicked she’d forgotten to pack her favorite old Lou Reed T-shirt, which had been washed so many times it felt like a soft binky against her skin. She’d literally yelped with joy when she found it.
Wearing it, unfortunately, just wasn’t the same as gazing up at “Swoop, swoop, rock, rock.”
“El, what’s up?” Candy traipsed in, tossed a bag onto the counter and picked up a piece of leftover rugelach.
“Sketching, making coffee.”
“Coffee?” Candy laughed. “Hon, I know you miss Dark Gothic Roast, but it’s eighty-something degrees outside! It’s lemonade time, girl.”
Ellie felt the glue holding her together start to crack. Making coffee had seemed a good way to stay busy, avoid the pity party route. But of all the crazy things, the word lemonade threatened to undo her.
“Bill and I—” she cleared her suddenly dry throat “—drank lemonades yesterday.”
Candy’s eyes filled with concern. “El? What happened?”
Ellie set down her pen. “I almost got fired from Sin on the Beach.”
“No,” Candy murmured.
Fluttering her hands in a no-big-deal gesture, she slid off the stool. “I’m going to get some coffee.”
Candy followed. “El, this is a vacation, not a job. You can’t get fired, and even if they threatened to, tell them you quit because you have better things to do, like hit the surf, catch some rays, have fun in the sun!”
“I prefer fun under the moon, but I get your drift.”
“Did something happen with Bill?
Ellie poured a cup, raised the steaming mug midair and paused. “You’re right. It’s too hot to drink coffee.” She poured the brew down the sink. “Is it too early to have a cocktail?”
“For you, no. For me, yes. I want to be sober when I go networking with Matt.”
“Networking?”
Candy picked at the piece of rugelach, avoiding Ellie’s eyes. “No big deal. I’m just helping him loosen up.”
The front door suddenly swung open.
“Hey, Team Java Mammas!” Sara walked in, smiling, looking relaxed. “I’m not staying long. Just a quick in-and-out to pick up some stuff before I go surfing.”
Candy raised an eyebrow. “Quick in-and-out?”
Sara wagged a finger. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun teasing you,” said Candy. “Going surfing with Drew?”
Sara nodded, her gaze drifting to Ellie. “Hey, how’s our movie star?”
“She almost got fired,” Candy said quietly.
Sara frowned. “What happened?”
“My cell phone went off. Brought the entire production to a screaming halt.” Ellie headed for the kitchen cabinets. “Did we bring anything gooey, loaded with sugar? I know, chocolate. I definitely need chocolate.”
“There are more Bomb Pops in the freezer,” offered Candy.
“Close enough.” She headed to the fridge at the back of the kitchen.
Sarah called out after her, “How’re you and—”
The question cut off abruptly. No doubt Sara had just caught Candy’s frantic don’t-ask signals.
“It’s okay, we can say the Bill-word,” Ellie answered, returning with a pop and settling back onto her seat. She’d been debating whether to share this with the girls, but oh well…
“By the way, there’s a French woman named Vi, short for Viaduct or something like that, in the wings.” The sound of sucked-in breaths nearly drowned out the sound of distant waves. “Their relationship is in limbo—that means on hold—and they’ll be reviewing it when she gets back from her European vacation.” She started peeling off the wrapper.
“A French woman,” muttered Candy.
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“But,” said Sara, “their relationship is on hold.”
“True.” Like she had any room to complain, she who’d initiated the at-midnight-our-relationship-turns-into-a-pumpkin decree. Whatever she and Bill did, if they even got together to do it again, would be over way before Vi jet-setted in for the international liaison symposium.
She tugged off the last of the wrapper. “Supposedly we have a date tonight at seven.” Their hot one-nighter that ended at twelve straight up. At some point, she’d thought that cutoff point was a logical way to protect the heart, which now seemed plain dumb. Who in their right mind even used the words logic and heart in the same sentence?
“That’s good, right?” Sara looked at Candy, who shrugged.
“Well, after our tension-filled goodbye on the set…” After Matt, she’d decided not to share the asshole story with anyone else. “I’m not so sure our date’s still on.”
“Why the tension?” Sara looked so sad, Ellie almost wanted to comfort her.
“Because my rising sign doesn’t like his moon?” She tossed the wrapper into the trash, missed. “Win some, lose some,” she muttered. She licked the pop.
Candy gave Sara a look. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“I know, but I’ll worry about it the rest of the day if I don’t know!” Sara turned to Ellie. “Tell me this much. Did you and Bill talk after that?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should call him.”
“Or,” chimed in Candy, “have Matt call. He knew Bill, right?”
“Don’t know his cell number, and even if I did, wouldn’t call. Wouldn’t want Matt to, either.” Ellie licked her pop for a moment, thinking about Bill. “That guy,” she finally said, lowering her pop, “can be really critical, domineering, opinionated.”
“Love them alpha boys,” murmured Candy with a smile, which dropped instantly when she caught the looks on Ellie’s and Sara’s faces. “Sorry.”
“Seems to me,” Sara said, “those traits are excellent, if not necessary, for a directing career. Maybe he’s trying so hard, it’s bringing out his worst…but maybe also his best?”
Bill’s face materialized in Ellie’s mind, his brown eyes sparking with interest as he listened to something she said, as though nothing else in the world mattered. She loved his laugh. Deep, rich, full of enjoyment. She remembered how protected she’d felt on the Ferris wheel, the heady thrill of kissing at the top of the world, how with him she felt safe to open up, be sexually adventurous. And that wicked little soul patch…oh, mama.
In her childhood fantasies, she’d wanted him to be the first man she’d make love with. She’d grown up, there’d been other men, but deep down, that fantasy had never died. It was as though, through all these years, she’d been waiting for Bill. That their chance meeting this week was some kind of destiny.
She looked at Candy and Sara, smiling at their eager we-gotta-know-what-you’re-thinking look on their faces.
Ellie took a lick, smiled. “Sara, you’re right on. I was thinking about what was best about him as I walked home. He’s a pas
sionate, strong, successful guy. He’s also funny, smart, really listens to what you have to say, has a great body—” she fanned her face with the pop, making them laugh “—and way too much sex appeal for his own good.”
“So,” said Sara, “what are you going to do?”
Ellie thought for a moment.
“Girls,” she finally said, gesturing with the pop, “Ellie the caretaker is going to take care of herself. So I’m going to do what any smart woman should do with a man like that.” She wriggled her eyebrows. “Jump his bones.”
12
“SIGNIN’ UP for Good Vibrations?” With a sleepy grin, the guy brushed back his long hair.
“Yes…” She squinted at his name tag, nearly lost in his bright tie-dyed shirt. “Tommy.” She set the plastic bag, which held her stilettos, onto the table. Until she performed, she’d wear thongs.
“Name?” He poised his pen on the sign-up sheet.
“El—Queen of Evil.”
After he wrote it down, he stared at her hair.
“It’s a crown,” she muttered, pulling up one of her fishnet gloves. Between learning burlesque moves, dyeing her hair black again, and getting dressed, there’d been no time to shop for a costume crown, so she’d made one out of aluminum foil.
“Your face,” Tommy continued, “reminds me of a porcelain doll my mom had. White face, dark eyes, red lips. Pretty, like you.”
“Thanks.” She looked around for Bill. What would she see in his face? Acceptance? Amusement? Disgust?
“Performing as a single or couple?”
“Single. Maybe couple.”
Tommy fidgeted with his pen for a moment. “I’m not supposed to do this, but I’ll write you down as both, just in case.”
“Okay.”
After he finished writing, he set down the pen. “Okay, here’s the part where I point out where the changing room is—” he pointed to a curtained-off changing area on the far side of the stage “—and I tell you the rules.” He started reciting in a monotone. “No alcoholic beverages in the act, no X-rated movements, gestures or words, no…”
She’d already read them. Pretending to listen, she checked out the crowd. Most wore bikinis and swim trunks—spectators, she guessed, with a few who’d signed up on a whim. Some, like her, had obviously prepared. Like the couple in matching red T-shirts, holding identical back massagers. Or the surfer-dude, with Good Vibes painted onto his T-shirt, practicing on his harmonica. The guy pouring water into glasses arranged on a table didn’t seem to fit, but the woman in the silver bodysuit, which seemed to vibrate with her every move, was definitely a contender.
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