The Soulmate Edition

by Elizabeth Bemis

  Everything she did, she did with efficiency. Her wallet doubled as her phone case, and when she flipped it open to grab her I.D., I saw a couple of credit cards tucked neatly in the descending pockets as well as her Hertz, Delta, and Marriott Rewards Loyalty cards.

  She slid off her shoes, pulled her laptop from her bag, and tucked everything neatly into two bins. She was through the x-ray machine and had gathered and reorganized all her things before I could even blink.

  “You travel a lot,” I said, more as a statement than a question after I’d passed through the gauntlet of security.

  “I have since I was a kid,” she said, waiting as I managed to take three times as long to reassemble everything in my bags. “Mom spent a lot of time on location as I was growing up, and until recently, I travelled heavily for work. Less so in the last year.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m no longer the low man on the totem pole,” she said. “I now have an assistant who usually does the preliminary travelling. I usually get to stay in L.A., and coordinate from the comfort of my office, then show up just for press junkets and big events.”

  I frowned. “But now here I am, dragging you out again,” I said.

  To my surprise, she didn’t stiffen or—God forbid—apologize. Instead she seemed to give my statement far more consideration than it merited. I was ready to change the subject, when she fixed me with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps.

  “You aren’t dragging me anywhere, Jack,” she said, and the sound of her saying my name sent another shockwave of awareness through me. “For one, I’m dragging you—this tour was my idea. Even if you hadn’t asked, I would have wanted to organize it, to make sure it all came together.”

  I watched her, letting a grin tug up the edge of my mouth. “And for two?”

  “For two, let’s just say I’m beginning to rethink my stance on travel…” She winked—honest to God winked—and gave a short, husky chuckle. “There’s just something about a man in an Iowa Corn hat…”

  I laughed and gestured to the moving walkway. “For you, Ruth Miller, I’d travel to the ends of the earth. Or even Iowa, if it came to that,” I said, and to my own intense surprise…I meant it.

  Chapter Six: Ruth

  Chantal Green was even more intimidating in person than she had been on screen, which was difficult, given that my first impression was fortified by dry-ice smoke, mood music and strobe lighting effects.

  She stalked in, wearing a heavy leather jacket with the Sex Machina logo embroidered across the back, jeans that looked like they’d been custom molded to her perfect body, and heavy motorcycle boots that made her presence known as she stepped across the floor. She had a pair of leather gloves tucked into her back pocket, and enough attitude for three people.

  Looking at her, I wished, and not for the first time, that I could be a technicolor force of nature, instead of just… vaguely beige and awkward.

  I tucked an unruly curl behind my ear and tightened my grip on my clipboard, before stepping up to her.

  Chantal blinked at me, and I launched right in. “Chantal Green? Hi, I’m Ruth. Let’s get you ready to go—” I looked up at the super-helpful owner of the bakery where we were filming, La Boulangerie. “Oh, Luc, more coffees all around?”

  He nodded in reply.

  “Thanks.”

  I turned back toward the seating area where the cameras were set up. We hadn’t really gotten enough tape on the Toni Salvatore apology. I wasn’t making that mistake this time. Especially since Jack told me he had a surprise for Chantal that would go a long way toward making him seemed well-redeemed. I wondered again what kind of surprise, and wished he’d been willing to tell me in advance. Instead I’d been stuck of dreaming of picnics in Iowa cornfields, which was doing nobody any favors.

  “Go,” I heard Luc say to Chantal. “I’ll be right back.” Do they know one another?

  She said something in return, though I didn’t catch it, and then I heard her boots echo across the floor as she followed me.

  Luc was back shortly “Café?” he said in an adorable French accent. I knew it was part of his schtick. I’d spoken with him several times as we set this meeting up and without an audience, he sounded as American as I did.

  The crew didn’t seem to care about his accent one way or another. They dove on his tray of coffees, like men in the desert diving toward an oasis. Luc held back one of the cups and stepped across the room to Chantal, who sat opposite Jack.

  Chantal looked every bit as confident as Jack, and I envied her that, probably even more than I envied her boots. Though they were pretty awesome boots.

  “Chantal, you look fantastic, really,” Jack said. I tried to keep the annoyance off my face.

  Why was I so hacked? Just because he flirted at the barbecue and called me his… date? I shook my head. I was acting like I’d never dated anyone ever. I’d dated. Granted, I tended to end up with CPAs and I.T. nerds rather than movie stars who’d debuted fairly high on People’s Sexiest Men Alive list, but still. I wasn’t a complete dating novice.

  I sighed. No matter what, we’d always have Iowa.

  Biting my lip to stay my laughter, I watched Chantal settle more deeply into her seat. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  I nodded to the crew we’d hired to film the interview.

  Jack started off with a slightly nervous smile. It probably seemed practiced to Chantal, but I truly believed that he meant it. “You probably were the start of everything,” he said to Chantal. “Me getting away with things, anyway. Without you, I would have been stopped in my tracks before I even got out of high school.”

  “Oh, please.” Chantal’s expression telegraphed her skepticism. “You were Teflon since you were two years old. Getting away with things was what you did. That day at Hassel’s, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  Jack frowned. “Wrong place, wrong time, you mean. Breaking into the old man’s garage to take his Ferrari for a joyride wasn’t exactly our smartest move. He called 911 before we even got the locks cut. If you hadn’t shown up before the cops did…” He shook his head. “That would’ve been bad. Instead…they found you. With your head so deep under the hood I thought you were going to fall in.”

  There was a thread of affection in his tone.

  Chantal leaned back in her seat, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “You weren’t the only one who wanted to take a look at that car. I never saw an engine like it before—or since, you want to know the truth. Sweetest piece of machinery I’d ever come that close to. The fact that it landed me in jail for five days until Hassel took pity on me was just a bad stretch of luck.”

  “Five days,” Jack groaned. “While we just had to stay hidden in the shadows until the cops grabbed you, then sneak out the back. We got out of there scot free, but you missed a ton of school. And then they expelled you for no good reason.”

  Chantal’s barked a quick laugh. “Oh, they had plenty of reasons. This was merely their first opportunity.” She sipped from her cup of coffee. “They made the most of it.”

  “Well, I’d like to make it up to you.”

  “And I’ve already told you, I don’t need a payoff after all these years.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” Jack spoke with genuine earnestness now, almost awkward as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a greeting-card-sized envelope that he handed to Chantal.

  This must be the big surprise. I wondered what it was.

  “What is this?” Chantal asked, then blinked as she read and then re-read whatever was in the card in front of her. “Oh, my God, Jack. Twenty thousand dollars?”

  Jack actually blushed. “It’s for the Trips for Kids bike rally. I’m happy to do it,” he said gruffly, then paused a moment before he continued. “I didn’t know it at the time, but you didn’t have the easiest home life, am I right?”

  Chantal was clearly distracted by his gift. Her answer seemed distracted, anyway, but d
istracted was good, in this case, distracted was real. I leaned forward, watching Chantal’s face. Jack had been right—this was going to make for really good tape.

  “That would be no,” she said, looking up to meet Jack’s eyes. “Dad left early, Mom didn’t want to deal with me after all the…” she shrugged. “Well, I was trouble.”

  I started to feel a lot more sympathy for her. And a lot more impressed by what she’d accomplished.

  “Yeah, I figured that explained your interest in the rally.” Jack smiled, again waving awkwardly at the card. “I also figured I could help with that.”

  Chantal looked from the card to Jack, then straightened slowly in her seat. “You’re going to ruin my rep, Cooper.” But she was smiling, too.

  “So long as those kids don’t turn out like you, I figure we’ll be okay,” he said with a wink.

  Chantal snorted, but she didn’t let go of the card. Still, a moment later she was firmly back in professional promotion mode. “I didn’t do so bad. Hassel’s Ferrari was the one of the first fully customized cars I had a chance to really look at, and now I make it a living. Sex Machina lets me do what I love, and the open road is always right there, waiting for me. There are worse things than working on some of the best bikes in the business, knowing that at any moment I can take off and head halfway around the country. It’s a good life.”

  Listening as the two of them continued speaking, I was reminded about how unreasonable I’d thought the idea of Jack as Fairy Godmother and yet, here he was… Bippity Boppity Boo.

  “Are you going to our high school class reunion next week?” Jack asked.

  Chantal snorted. “That would be no. Even if I wasn’t on the road at motorcycle rallies for the next two months, there’s no one there I need to reconnect with,” she said, then looked at him curiously. “You?”

  Jack nodded. “’Fraid so,” he said. “I have someone I need to talk to.”

  Chapter Seven: Jack

  Ruth would probably kill me—or at least want to. I knew this for a fact, even as I quietly slipped out of the hotel room adjoining hers. Still, I felt like the first contact I had with Peyton Locke needed to not involve any cameras or excess audience.

  I hadn’t spoken to Peyton since the day of high school graduation, and I had a feeling that was deliberate on her part. More than being concerned that Peyton might cause a scene, or that my surprise arrival at the reunion might cause a high level of drama, I was mostly worried that Ruth would see for herself of what kind of jerk I had been and it would affect how she felt about me.

  Ruth. I had to accept that I cared more about her opinion of me than I did for the average studio publicist, and I didn’t quite know what to do with that.

  I came up behind Peyton, Nick Kolanowski, and Maria whose-last-name-I-couldn’t-remember, but who was lofting a big bottle of Riunite. She seemed… less than sober. “Maria, maybe you should ease up on the Lambrusco,” Peyton said carefully.

  Maria caught sight of me at that point, and her eyes widened in comical surprise. “You’re right. Absolutely. Here, you take it.” She shoved the open bottle at Peyton. “I want you to have it.”

  Peyton and Nick exchanged a look and I recognized that he was still one hundred percent in love with her. Of course, based on their body language, she still had no idea whatsoever.

  “Peyton. I was hoping you’d be here,” I said, interrupting but not really caring. I just wanted this over with.

  An angry scowl crossed Nick’s face as he and Peyton shared yet another look. Then, finally, she moved.

  Slowly, she turned to face me and a million memories played in the movie screen of my mind. Movie nights on the couch in her parents’ den. Football games with her beside me. I really had cared for her a great deal, I realized now. Hell, I’d realized it then, I think. I’d just wanted to become an actor more. I searched for the right words, but they failed me. The entire gymnasium seemed to have gone dead silent.

  Her gaze met mine. My only warning of danger was the subtle lift of her chin, and then, with her thumb over the lip of the bottle of Riunite, she shook it vigorously. Less than three seconds later, she’d created a soda-stream of sweet red wine—and she aimed it directly at me.

  I stumbled back as the flow hit me square in the face.

  Then, before I could react in anyway besides stunned shock, she and her Molotov cocktail of sticky sweet vino scampered out the door.

  I looked up at Nick, and the look on his face could only be described as satisfied.

  Momentarily dumbfounded, Maria thrust a paper towel at me and I tried to blot the wine off my face and out of my hair. “Um…sorry?” she said, and to her credit, she really did look sorry. It really was too bad I couldn’t remember her name.

  The quiet of the room was broken by a sudden din of chatter from former classmates who gathered around. Several people pushed their way closer. There were times when it was a little tedious to be famous, even when I was in my hometown.

  “Hi, everyone,” I said with a wave.

  Nick turned and pushed his way out of the melée, undoubtedly off to find Peyton. I stayed and tried to answer the questions peppered at me from all sides.

  After a long while, Nick returned, still looking angry. I caught his eye and mouthed Help! He, of course, appeared unmoved.

  “You have some nerve, showing up out of the blue like this,” Maria said now. Maria hadn’t been a founding member of the Jack Cooper fan club, even in high school. Figured she’d be one of the reunion organizers. “You never RSVP’d, and that’s just rude.”

  “Sorry. It was a last-minute decision,” I told her as I continued to dab with the paper towel. “Might be regretting it about now.”

  “No! We’re glad you came!” A woman who might have been Julie from the yearbook committee tugged at my arm. “And of course he couldn’t Rsvp, Maria. Then the paparazzi would have known and he would have been mobbed.”

  What I wouldn’t give for a mob of photographers right now. How much less painful that would be. This wasn’t going as I’d hoped. And I had a feeling that Ruth was going to hang me up by my ears after this. I should text her to let her know where I was, at least. I dug my phone out of the back pocket of my slacks, which were still soaked with crappy red wine.

  Oh hell.

  My phone was not as “life proof” as advertised. There was one little dime-sized circle of visible screen. The rest was black and completely unresponsive.

  “Okay, everyone, give the man some space,” Maria called. “I’m sure Jack will want to catch up with each and every one of you for a long personal chat, right, Jack?”

  I couldn’t help the wince that crossed my face, but I schooled my mouth into a smile after a short moment. “Sure thing. It’s great to be back. Can’t wait to talk to everyone. First I have to get cleaned up, though.” Again, I looked at Nick. Please, I mouthed.

  Finally, and with obvious reluctance, he shrugged. He slung an arm around my shoulders—and steered us out of the gymnasium.

  “Let’s go to the teachers’ lounge. More privacy there,” Nick said.

  “Works for me. Jesus, I had no idea what I was getting into.”

  Nick opened the door to the teacher’s lounge showed me to the bathroom, handing me a pile of paper towels. I pulled my shirt off and Nick took that as his cue to exit stage left.

  “Thanks, man,” I called through the door. “Ah…you happen to have any spare shirts out there?”

  “No, but Beth always leaves her apron here. She teaches Home Ec.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Nick handed me a red apron which read, “I make cupcakes, what’s your superpower?”

  “What are you doing here, Jack? Last I heard, you were hitting it big in Hollywood.”

  I came out of the restroom, tying the apron around my waist. “I needed to talk to you.”

  Nick lifted his eyebrows. “You came back to Everton to talk? To me?”

  “Not just you, but I guess you’re first. I’m
adjusting to circumstances. Can we sit? Is there anything to drink back here? I tried wringing out my shirt, but I only got about a teaspoon of alcohol out of it.” I was kidding of course. Though I probably wouldn’t have turned down a beer at that moment.

  Nick grinned reluctantly. “We can’t have alcohol back here. How do you feel about Go-Gurt?”

  I slumped into one of the armchairs. “I guess that’s about how this day is going. Bring on the Go-Gurt. Thanks.”

  Nick grabbed one from the fridge and tossed it to me. He crossed the room and plopped down on the couch across from me. “Okay, enough fooling around. What’s this all about? Why are you here? What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “Peyton.”

  Nick tensed. “Peyton? I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

  “Yeah. I got that. I didn’t know she was still so pissed at me.”

  He gave me an incredulous look. “You walked out on her right before her Valedictorian speech.”

  “I know, but we weren’t…I mean, we never even slept together. It’s not like we were…” I shrugged. And it was, after all, ten years ago. “Look, this is between me and Peyton. I’m trying to make amends. You’ve heard of the twelve-step program? It’s like that. I’m on kind of a redemption tour. I’m trying to make things right with all the women I’ve hurt.”

  “How long is that list?” Nick asked dryly.

  “Not as long as you obviously think.” I sighed. “I’m pretty straight up in my relationships. I don’t lie, I don’t mislead. But there are a few things I do feel bad about, and what happened with Peyton is one of them.”

  “So write her a letter. Why’d you have to ambush her at a reunion?”

  “Where’s the catharsis in a letter?”

  “Catharsis?”

  “It’s a term in drama. It means the release of deep emotion.”

  Nick dug his hands into his hair. “I know what catharsis is,” he growled. “I teach here, you know.”

  “Seriously? Right on, dude. You always were the smartest one around, you and Peyton. And you’re friends now, right? You’re here together, I saw you come in. You can talk to her. Get her to meet with me. Tell her she can throw more wine at me if she wants. Hey—I bet that was cathartic right there. Maybe now she’ll want to talk, now that she got that out of her system. It’s up to you, man.”