Not that I had any desire to act, but I still looked up at Howard with narrowed eyes, simply because I didn’t want anyone to get the idea that I needed to be protected from wolves. I’d received my share of poor reviews and vicious character attacks for no reason other than the fact that I’d written a book. Some people were just mean. Thankfully, the number of wonderful readers exceeded the nasty ones by a landslide.
“Trust me,” Howard said in response to my glare.
“Oh, I trust that you know what you’re doing. But for the record, I had no intention of auditioning. The lady up front did that, so obviously she recognized that I might be right for the part. I have no desire to act, but I’m certainly not a helpless sheep that needs protecting.”
The circle erupted in laughter, and for the first time, I saw a crinkle in Howard’s flawless exterior.
Howard waved off the group. “Let’s get going. We have a long day ahead of us.” The group scattered, and Howard peered down at me, looking as though he might fuss at me. “Let’s get some coffee.”
Surprised, I didn’t even notice at first when Howard took my hand and led me to the courtyard adjacent the theater. It was cool outside, but not quite as blustery as the day I’d arrived. The sunny day made it feel closer to seventy than the fifty-three degrees I’d read on the dashboard of the Town Car.
Howard stopped at a buffet table set with every type of breakfast breads and pastries I could think of, as well as bowls of fresh fruit, cheeses and spreads, and several varieties of mini quiches. Three tall chrome urns sat at the end of the table with labels identifying different flavors and roasts of coffee. Howard filled two paper cups with the dark roast, grabbed several creamers and sugar packets, then walked toward a cast-iron table at the far end of the courtyard, away from the street.
Murmurs echoed across the stone patio.
That’s him, a high-pitched voice squealed. That’s Howard Edwards.
Who’s the woman? another female voice asked in an almost secretive tone, as though she and her friends had discovered some juicy Hollywood secret.
That’s the author, the owner of the high-pitched tone offered. Jana something.
Embers. That’s Jana Embers, a lisping voice offered. I wasn’t quite sure if it was male or female, but I couldn’t help but smile. At least a few people recognized me.
Howard tore open two sugars and two creamers, his eyes never leaving his cup.
I mimicked his actions, but my eyes darted back and forth between Howard and the people on the other side of the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the courtyard.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” I whispered.
Continuing to stir his coffee, Howard looked up. “Of course I hear them,” he mumbled. “I always hear them. It never stops. I think I hear them in my sleep.”
“If it bothers you, why did you come outside?” I asked.
“Because it’s what they expect, and I wanted to be alone with you.”
I ignored his second answer, since technically we weren’t alone, which made me think again that he was using me to start rumors. Thinking back to his comment yesterday about the women he escorted to award shows, though, I asked, “Do you always do what people expect?”
One side of Howard’s mouth turned up. “Not always.”
How could he make one short statement sound so seductive? The man was frustrating and sexy at the same time.
“Not that we’re really alone, but why did you want to be alone with me?” I threw the question at him without concern of his answer. If he was upset about me snapping at him in front of his crew, he’d have to get over it. I wasn’t one of his employees. And the last thing I wanted was his team to think that I wanted a leading role, and was willing to do God-knows-what to get it.
Howard shrugged. “How did you sleep last night? Everything okay with Adrian?”
Surprised by the change in subject, I tilted my head. “I slept fine, and I don’t know if everything is okay with Adrian. I didn’t talk to him.” Which was true. Sort of. Technically, we hadn’t talked; we’d texted. I probably would have failed that question on a lie-detector test, though. “What business is it of yours?”
Howard shook his head and smiled softly. “It’s none of my business, Jana. You just seemed upset, so I wondered if I was keeping you from your life.”
His smile and comment had been so disarming that I almost felt bad for snapping. Almost. Howard wasn’t stupid. I had to remember that he hadn’t gotten to where he was by being nice.
“Well, I guess that this movie is part of my life now. It was — is — my dream,” I added to let him know that I appreciated him.
Howard reached across the table, resting his fingers against my hand that was clutching the coffee cup. “So you’ll stick around for at least the two weeks we scheduled, then?”
I nodded. “Those were the arrangements that I made.”
“And this … Adrian. Won’t he miss you?”
Nervous at once, I rubbed my hand over my mouth. “What are you trying to ask me, Howard?”
His eyes narrowing ever so slightly, he said, “Are you in a relationship, Jana?”
Well, that was blunt. Finally.
I thought back to his comment in the email he’d sent me … Can’t have our world-famous single woman … Was he serious? Had my relationship status been part of our contract? Certainly Connie wouldn’t have allowed that, especially since she has always hounded me to go out and meet people.
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to answer his direct question. Even if I did answer him, I wasn’t sure how to answer truthfully so I sat back and crossed my arms. “Again, I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.” I really wasn’t in a relationship, but just the fact that Howard thought he had any say in my love-life ticked me off.
Howard leaned forward. “It’s not my business, but I’d like it to be.”
Even though I wanted to scream, I kept my voice low. No way would I give him what he wanted: free press. “Well, sorry, Howard. I’m one woman you can’t buy. You bought the rights to my book, not me. I’ll see who I want, when I want.”
A crinkle formed between his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t understand why I was so angry. Probably because he was used to women bowing at his feet. Ignoring his confused look, I stood, then swiftly left the table.
The nerve. Men. Every last one of them wanted something, even H.E.II himself.
Chapter 33 – Relationship Status
The day had dragged on. For some reason, even after my outburst, Howard insisted that I stay with him the entire day.
Constantly, he asked for my opinions, pointed out standard movie protocol, and made innocuous inquiries about my life.
For lunch, he’d suggested that we eat in the courtyard again. Apparently, most of his team wasn’t accustomed to the cooler weather, so they’d remained inside the theater, in a large room set up at all times with food and drinks.
Over lunch, Howard’s interview of me got more personal. The hardest questions, of course, were about my son and father. Although I’d shot Howard down the last couple of times he’d asked about my personal relationships, I would have welcomed more queries about Adrian and Dick over my son and father.
Not that my son and I didn’t get along; we did. We just didn’t have one of those Hallmark-worthy relationships. He came home a few times a month, kissed me on the cheek, thanked me for doing his laundry, then met up with his old friends who still lived in the area. I was lucky if he even came home some nights. He would show up eventually, raid my fridge, then head back to UCF.
My father was another uncomfortable subject. Not that we didn’t have a great relationship; we did. After I’d grown up. In fact, our relationship had been great after I married Dick. When I was a child, we’d barely spoken to each other. I spent the majority of my time with whatever woman he was living with. Then, when his partying lifestyle had finally caught up with him, I lost him to a massive heart attack.
Howard listened in
tently. “And your mom …”
“Are you writing a book, Howard?”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“If I wanted my life story in a book, I’d write it myself.”
“I’m not writing a book, Jana. Tell me about your mother.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I want to know who you are.”
I shook my head. “You want to know more about your investment, you mean.”
“That too.” He pushed his empty plate to the side and rested his arms on the table. “Talk to me.”
“My mom died of an overdose. The authorities tracked down my father from my birth certificate. End of story.”
Howard dipped his head. “I’m truly sorry, Jana. And not to upset you, but that’s not the end of the story. You’re here. You’re who you are because of your life, all of it. Even horrible parents.”
“I never knew my mom. I was barely a toddler when she died. All I know is that she was a druggie. Thankfully, it seems that she started doing drugs after she had me, though, which sort of makes me feel guilty. My guess is that she became a topless dancer, then a prostitute, in order to support me.”
“Oh, Jana, your life really is a story.”
“No, it’s not. Many women have had it a lot worse than I have. I have my health, a healthy and good son, my cousin is my best friend, and I make a decent living. My life has turned out pretty damn well if you ask me. I have no complaints.”
Howard reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You’re a remarkable woman, Ms. Embers. And I think that’s exactly what makes your story a great one.”
“Not on your life, Howard. Besides … who would play me?”
“I’d have to find another unknown actress who fits your attributes, and I’m already having a hard enough time now.”
Wanting to get back to business, I thought of a question that had been gnawing away at my brain. “Speaking of that. I have a question for you.”
Howard sat back in his chair, pulling his leg up and propping his ankle on his knee. His listening stance, I suspected. “Ask away.”
“Why didn’t you invest in a superstar to play the lead role in You Don’t Need a Man? Are you afraid that the movie will bomb?”
Howard flashed a sideways smile. “First of all, I don’t make bombs; all my movies are blockbusters. But I have a very good reason. Tell me … what’s the first thing that pops into your head when I say, Pretty Woman?”
“Julia Roberts,” I said without a second’s hesitation.
“Harry Potter?”
“J.K. Rowling,” I responded.
“Twilight?”
“Stephenie Meyer.” I was good at this game.
“The Shining?”
“Jack Nicholson, of course.”
Howard smiled. “Did you hear that, Jana?”
“Umm …” I thought about the movies he’d mentioned and my answers. And then it hit me. I didn’t know who wrote Pretty Woman, or if it was ever even a book. It was a song, of course, but even Roy Orbison or Van Halen hadn’t been the first thing to pop into my head. But I knew who wrote The Shining. “Oh …”
“Exactly,” Howard said in reply to my simple one-word answer. “Why didn’t you say Stephen King? He’s a famous author, one of the biggest. And even though many of his books have been adapted into movies, some of them with big stars, Jack Nicholson stands out as the star of The Shining, doesn’t he?”
“Without a doubt.”
Howard rested his chin on his fists and stared into my eyes. “I’m going to make some unknown actress a superstar, but unless she does something else, she’ll be a one-hit-wonder. But you, Jana, the world is going to know that you wrote a bestselling book that was adapted into a blockbuster movie.”
***
After following Howard back inside, I needed to get away for a few minutes, so I made my way to the ladies’ room, hoping his crew would be back to work now that he was sitting in his seat.
I stared into the large mirror in the private bathroom, which had been used by thousands of superstars in the hundred-some years that the theater had been around.
“I don’t want to be a superstar,” I said to my reflection. “I’m just me. I just want to write. I don’t want anyone to recognize me as I walk down the street.” It had been nice that the women outside the gates had recognized me earlier, but that was here. I wouldn’t want that to happen at the grocery store, at the gym. “What have I gotten myself into?”
The room started to spin, so I sat down on one of the cushioned stools in front of the mirror.
I suddenly wanted to go home. My life wasn’t much, but it was my life. I didn’t want the world to know the things I’d told Howard. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me or worse, think that I felt sorry for myself.
I wanted Adrian. He never asked for more than I could give. We just … were.
What was my relationship status with Adrian? What were we exactly? Why had I told Howard those things about my life?
The time I’d spent with Adrian had been comfortable, fun, loving, simple. I’d never felt pressured. Maybe the reason he never asked deep questions about me was because I’d never asked deep questions about him, and he knew if he started, he would have had to tell me he was married before the divorce went through. Was that the reason he’d said that we couldn’t take our relationship to the next level, because even though he was getting a divorce, he’d wanted to keep his marriage vows? That was commendable, I realized.
But why hadn’t I asked if Adrian had ever been married? That was a normal question to ask a thirty-five-year-old man. I mean, really … Why hadn’t I found it odd that a man in his mid-thirties, with apparently nothing wrong with him, including looks, and who was a doctor to boot, wasn’t in a relationship? Now that I thought back, I think I was trying to protect myself from having to talk about the things I’d told Howard. Asking deep questions usually opened you up to deep questions. I’d just been so excited that Adrian enjoyed the same things I did that I never wanted to bring up the bad stuff — in either of our lives. It had been easier just to build walls around myself, never allowing anyone to get inside of my head.
I thought back to all the questions Howard asked about me, starting with the most important question, which he really asked more than once: Are you in a relationship?
He’d insinuated it by asking if I wanted or needed to return the call last night. He’d emphasized the fact that Adrian was a man, even though he’d hoped Adrian was my cousin, and then finally today, he’d asked me outright, since apparently I was too dense to hear him the first few times.
Was Howard Edwards interested in me, the writer? How my life could embarrass him or HELL Pictures? Or was he interested in a personal relationship with me?
Oh, God. That would be worse press than playing the starring role in my own book.
Impossible. I was wrong. Howard dated supermodels. He had no interest in me.
I thought back to the question I’d asked him earlier: Do you always do what people expect?
His answer and sexy smile had said more than his two words: Not always.
Again, no; I was wrong. I was reading way too much into Howard’s comments. I would just return to the theater, offer suggestions when asked, and then go back to my room — alone. In two weeks I’d be back home. To my life … to Adrian if I could be certain that he’d never lie to me again. I wanted to take our relationship to the next level, learn everything there was to know about him.
If not … The idea of not seeing Adrian again sent a pang of longing through me. I had to be a realist, though, as much as the idea hurt. If we couldn’t work out our relationship … When I returned home it’d be Thanksgiving week, and then the holidays with my family would fill up my days enough until the new year that I wouldn’t have time to think about all the things that had gone wrong with my personal relationships.
I sat straighter, steeling myself. If Adrian and I couldn’t work things out, next year, I’d s
tart a clean slate, the way I did five years ago. My arm would be healed enough that I could get back to the fun stuff in my life, so I’d stop thinking about what I was missing as a single woman. I needed to practice what I preached: “You Don’t Need a Man, Jana,” I said to the mirror.
Keep telling yourself that, cuz, Angela’s words resounded through my head, as though she were sitting beside me.
Chapter 34 – A Steep Incline
As the previous day, when Howard was done, he was done. He simply stood and said to the crew in the theater, “Same time tomorrow.” Howard then wrapped his arm around my waist and directed me out a side door adjacent to the stage. “Let’s get out of here.”
As much as I wanted to fuss, I didn’t want to make a scene, drawing even more attention to his arm around me.
Howard approached a sparkling white Audi with nothing but S5 written on the back. “We’re taking my car tonight.”
I cocked my head. “A convertible? In Pennsylvania?”
He held open the passenger door. “A 333-horsepower, supercharged V6 with all-wheel-drive convertible. Not many convertibles come with all-wheel-drive, but this one does. And believe it or not, there are more beautiful days in Pittsburgh to drive a convertible than there are in Florida.”
I ran my hands over the soft tan leather and sleek curve of the dashboard. I’d almost forgotten that I was supposed to be heading back to my hotel in the back of a Town Car, not sitting in the front seat of a car that looked like a cockpit in a private jet.
When Howard turned the key, the console soared to life. Even the navigation system looked like something I’d imagine seeing in a high-performance aircraft, not something with wheels that remained on the pavement. Gadgets, I reminded myself.
Howard pulled out of the parallel parking spot, then flicked his gaze to me. “Are you afraid of heights?”
“No, not anymore. But —”
“Good,” he said before I could finish telling him that I really thought Brent should be the one to take me back to my hotel room. “I think you’ll like this. It’ll give you something to add to your Pinterest board.”
Some Lucky Woman Page 23