"Now you're going to see why they call it soaring," Ty said, turning the glider toward a darker area. Suddenly, her stomach lurched; they were buoyed up as though raised by an invisible palm.
"What was that?" she yelped.
"Thermals. That's what soaring is all about. The tow just gets you started, you can ride the thermals as long as there's sun."
He brought the glider around in a lazy arc, nudging it toward the foothills of the Tehatchapis.
"This is wonderful!"
"Like Hoyt said, 'it's the next best thing to having wings.'"
It was amazing to her that this floating sensation was driven by nothing more than warmth, than nature itself. She felt free in a way she never had in her whole life. The land was spread out below, the mountains like a rumpled coverlet, the desert fading into sky at the horizon. It was like the dreams she'd had of soaring along. She remembered a poem she'd heard once, about slipping the surly bonds of earth to fly. The ground seemed a forgotten place; this was where she belonged.
Ty rapped on the canopy and pointed off the left wing. And there, riding the thermal with them, was a hawk, its tail a flash of red. It looked at them. She'd swear it looked directly at them, curious and unafraid, then banked and was gone.
Trish gazed out then at space and openness and air. He'd given this to her, she realized suddenly. He'd given her this extraordinary experience, all because of something she'd laughingly said on a beach. He'd known her well enough to realize what it meant.
And Ty caught the knife-edge thermal from the ridge of a sheer cliff, sending them up ever higher.
Together.
* * *
The solid ground under her feet didn't seem real. It felt like a temporary stopping-over place until she could go up again. Immediately, she understood why Hoyt might live in this godforsaken desert town, do whatever he had to do to keep flying.
"I love it! I love it! I love it!" she said exultantly, throwing her arms around Ty's neck. "That's the best thing anyone's ever done for me."
"Just taking you flying? That's too bad." He kissed her fingertips. "You deserve more."
"No one could give me more than you just did." Sun, moon and stars, it was everything she'd dreamed of. "We flew with the birds." Her laugh held pure joy. "You're wonderful. I love it. I love—" she stopped, suddenly afraid of what she was going to say next. It was as though thousand-watt stadium lighting had just come on, showing her what had been there all along.
Showing her that while she'd been so smugly congratulating herself on keeping her heart to herself, it had long since been firmly his.
* * *
15
« ^ »
Ty sat in his studio, prepping one of the paper collages he used for canvases. He meticulously folded sheets into small squares, then nailed each into place on the backing board. Once he'd covered it with gesso, he'd project on his base a level photographic image, and then he'd come in with paint.
He glanced up and found Trish staring at him from the door to his studio. She jumped guiltily.
"Hey," he said. "No fair standing so far away. Come on over."
"I have to go hit the grocery and the art supply store," she said. "Did you need anything besides what's on your list?"
He considered. "Eternal adoration?"
She gave a shaky laugh. "I don't know that that's covered in your contract." Her smile vanished too quickly.
Ty studied her. "Are you okay?
"Yeah, sure. Why shouldn't I be?"
It was a good question and one he couldn't answer. He remembered soaring with her, the exuberant expression on her face when they'd landed. But somehow, on the way home, things had turned awkward. She'd retreated into silence, and that night she'd gone home to her own house. She'd made excuses about making changes to her script, but it was clear that she wanted to be alone.
Stop letting it get to you, he told himself. Leave it alone. Backing off made sense, anyway. It had always been his M.O., at least before Trish. Maybe it had all just gotten too intense too quickly. Maybe what she wanted was to ease off the one-on-one time.
"I was thinking we could go out to dinner somewhere tonight for a change," he said casually. "Get out of the house."
Trish's shoulders tightened. "I thought I'd go home tonight," she said.
He suppressed the urge to remind her of the night before. "How about after?" he said, even as he told himself to let it go.
"Well, no, I…"
Watching her flounder gave him no comfort at all. "Some other time, then," he said briefly, trying to push away the frustration. "Did you get the script copied?"
"I did." She hesitated. "Are you sure you want to show it to people? I mean, I don't want you doing it just to help me out."
"You already said that and I told you, I want Michael." He came to press a kiss on her and pulled her against him. For an instant, she softened. "Relax, it's not like I'm going to expect you to put out if we make your movie."
A week before, she'd have given a bawdy response, like as not. Instead, she just sighed, but held on to him as though he were a lifeline.
"Trish," Ty said softly. "You know I care about you, right?" Don't push it. He bit back the words that had come too easily to him in the past.
Trish didn't say anything for a moment, then raised her head and looked at him. "And I care about you." She brushed her mouth against his.
He couldn't keep himself from taking it deeper, into warmth and softness. He'd never considered himself a needy person, and suddenly he felt as though he was trying to hold water in his fists. He ended the kiss, even though he thirsted for more. "Okay." He slapped her on the behind. "Drive safely."
But his eyes, when he sat down at his worktable, were troubled.
* * *
Trish stood in the art supply store staring at the tubes of acrylic paints. Funny how everyone always associated colors with emotions. Seeing red, pea green with envy, black-hearted, blue. There wasn't a color for the roiling nerves she felt. There wasn't a color for feeling as though she was a crash-test dummy just seconds from getting slammed into a wall. How in God's name could she have let herself fall in love with Ty Ramsay?
How could she have thought for a moment that she wouldn't?
All the days and nights she'd told herself she had it handled, as though knowing her heart was going to be broken was enough. Had there ever really been a point when she could have walked away unscathed, she wondered, or had she just been lying to herself the whole time?
Now, all she could feel was panicked. It was going to end; she'd always known it was going to end.
The difference was, now it was actually happening.
* * *
Ty projected the picture of Trish's face onto the canvas and stared at it as though looking would help him understand what she needed, what she wanted. What was it beneath the elusive loveliness? What was the answer to the riddle of Trish?
The tone sounded that indicated someone was driving through the front gate. Too soon for Trish to be back, he reminded himself, but he was already making, plans. It was time to talk, really talk. He'd tell her how he felt, not settle for doing it halfway.
This time, he'd do it.
It wasn't Trish's silver Hyundai he saw when he looked out the front window, though, but Charlie's red Prius.
Ty leaned against the front doorjamb and watched his friend approach.
"What brings you out here?"
"I was visiting a buddy up the canyon. Thought I'd stop in and see if you were out of rehearsals yet."
"Finished last week. We start shooting interiors Monday." A solid month of dawn-to-dusk filming, foregoing daylight to immerse himself in a fantasy world. And after that, night shoots on the streets of L.A., swapping his schedule for that of a vampire.
Thanks to Trish's work, it was the most nuanced role he'd had to date. Why then did he catch himself focusing on the script he wished he were shooting? Why was it he just kept brooding?
Charlie ambl
ed up onto the porch, a satchel slung over his shoulder. "Got any coffee, compadre?"
Ty grinned. "Mi java es su java."
"Gracias, amigo." He followed Ty into the kitchen. "So how's Dark Touch doing? You weren't too thrilled last time we talked."
Ty poured coffee into a mug and handed it to him. "It's all taken care of now."
Charlie sniffed appreciatively and took a sip. "What happened with the script? Did they bring in another writer?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact." Ty poured a cup for himself.
"Who?"
"My new assistant, Trish."
Charlie started to take another drink, then lowered his mug. "Trish? Wasn't that the name of the woman you met a couple of weeks ago?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Didn't realize you'd promoted her," Charlie said slowly. "How'd she get involved with Dark Touch, anyway? You didn't pull one of those high-maintenance star things, did you? Because as a director and your friend I'd have to slap you upside the head."
"Relax, it didn't play that way. She was working on some office stuff here and we got walking through the script and she just started coming through with this great material."
"Dale's letting some amateur from nowhere rewrite his script?" Charlie asked skeptically. "Or is there something I don't know and she's a guild member?"
"Jeez, you'd think you were a guild member yourself." The snap of annoyance was quick and sharp. "No, Dale's not having Trish do a rewrite. I showed him the first set of lines and he liked them, which wasn't hard because the old dialog sucked wind. She did more and he liked that, too. She's just focusing on the trouble spots, adding a little English to the characters in a couple of places. It's not a rewrite."
Charlie let a little chuckle escape.
"What?" Ty asked.
Charlie shook his head. "Nothing. Let's go out on the deck."
Ty slid the screen door closed behind them and dropped down into one of the Adirondack chairs. The warm spell was continuing, and his short-sleeved cotton shirt felt right. "So, to what do I owe this honor, besides your buddy up the canyon?"
Charlie sat down next to him. "I figured I'd swing by and see how the meeting with Tate went. That was yesterday, right?"
"Yeah. All my Mondays should start so well. He says we should get a couple of projects together and set up a meeting with him."
"Underwriter?"
Ty shook his head. "He's not about to do full funding—made lots of references to my asking price—but I think we could get him to come up with a chunk of it."
"Chunks work for me," Charlie said, "I'll take chunks."
"You want chunks, we need scripts."
Charlie considered. "I've got that script I told you about. It's good. Most of the other stuff I've been looking at in the past coupla' days is mediocre, at best. The optioned one is a cut above, though. Memoirs of a Geisha meets Elmore Leonard."
"You're joking."
"Actually, yes. It's an adaptation of The Piano Tuner. In fact, I just so happen to have it here." He pulled it out of his satchel.
"Well, do tell. How about that for a coincidence?"
Charlie smiled broadly. "How about."
"Well, don't worry about the second script. I've actually stumbled across a property that's good, really good," Ty said.
"Oh, yeah?" Charlie sat up. "Give me a rundown."
"Small, sensitive film, sort of Party of Five meets Mystic River meets John Gotti. South Boston. Older sister raises sibs, and when she's ready to get a life finds romance with a neighborhood guy."
"And the Gotti part?"
"Neighborhood guy has skirted the edge of the law and his brother is a mobster who's a fugitive from the FBI. Maybe the neighborhood guy's covering up for little brother and maybe he's not. It's not played for the crime-suspense part, though, it's more a character study. Heroine's got trust and confidence issues and finds out first time out of the gate that her heartthrob is maybe a bad guy. Meanwhile, he's got to choose between family and love, because he really does love this woman."
Charlie looked at him with interest. "And would the neighborhood guy be played by anyone I know?"
"Triumph the Insult Comic Dog."
"My guess."
"It's a good script, Charlie," Ty said, all joking gone. "It's a movie we should make. Take a look at it."
Charlie studied him. "So who wrote it?"
"Someone cheap."
"And that would be?"
"What does it matter?"
"Call it intuition. Who is it?" Charlie asked, more insistent now.
Ty let out a breath. "Trish."
"Trish." Charlie nodded, pursing his lips. "You mean your new assistant, Trish."
"Yeah. It's a good script, maybe even great," Ty added, thinking of the last version he'd read.
"Great, huh? This is getting better all the time. And her rewrites on Dark Touch are great, too."
Ty's jaw tightened. "You didn't see the original version. Dale wouldn't have bought into her changes if he hadn't agreed."
"He wouldn't, say, do it to keep his high-priced box-office stud happy, right?"
"Nobody asked him to." An edge entered Ty's voice. "All I did was show it to him and he decided the rest. Dale doesn't put himself out to suck up to people. If he says something's good, it's because it is."
Charlie was shaking his head. "Man, you are nothing if not predictable."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What, I've got to spell it out for you? I mean, Christ, how many times do you have to go through this? You're working with her, you fall for her. You fall for her, you want to make her world perfect for when you're gone by setting her up in business. Rinse and repeat."
Ty's expression hardened. "The only reason you're still sitting there is because we go back too far for me to punch you."
"Save your energy and punch yourself. Maybe it'll knock some sense into you. Can you honestly tell me that falling for someone you're working on a script with is that much different than falling for your costar?"
"This is totally different. And what's it your business, anyway?"
"What's it…" Charlie slammed down his fist. "If you saw me drunk and trying to get into a car and drive, would you try to stop me? I was around for rounds one, two and three, remember? The parts where you were feeling like crap, remember those?" He subsided. "Just tell me you haven't proposed to her yet. She hasn't started picking out china patterns so you'll have stuff to throw at each other, has she?"
"No." The day's misgivings suddenly took shape. "I think she's getting ready to bail."
Charlie looked at him more closely. "Really? Is that what optioning this script is all about?"
"No," Ty blazed. "The script stands on its own. Dammit, just read it, you'll see."
"But getting the script made into a movie doesn't hurt, right?"
"Hell, I don't know." Frustration clawed at him. "She's the most amazing woman I've ever known, and the most guarded. I mean, she's smart, sexy, funny, talented. I can talk with her, you know? And yet I can't get her to open up, I can't get her to trust me."
"You got to admit, your track record doesn't inspire a whole lot of confidence. Maybe that's it."
"Maybe. There's some stuff I know about from her past, but it's like she's held on to it, instead of working through it. And I'm trying to understand, but there's a point where I start wondering if I'm not just being a putz by hanging around and hoping that she'll let me in." He lapsed into silence, staring moodily out at the canyon.
"Well, I've got to hand it to you," Charlie said conversationally. "Every other relationship you've been in, you've never stuck when the going got tough. When the make-believe ended, you were always gone."
"Thank you, Doctor."
Charlie shook his head. "You're missing my point. It sounds like you're actually trying to work with this one. I don't know if it'll get you anywhere, but you're at least trying to move in the right direction."
"Whatever that is." And how could
they go anywhere when Trish was dead set against it? Ty leaned back in his chair and looked up at the sky. "I mean, I thought we were getting somewhere a couple of days ago, I really did. I took her gliding and you should have seen her face. It was like she'd found God or something. But now all of a sudden she's acting like she's got one foot out the door again."
"One foot out the door how?"
"Distant. Won't meet my eyes."
"She seeing someone else?"
Ty shook his head. Whatever was between them, it wasn't another man. "She hasn't had the chance. I'm not sure, maybe I just need to wait her out. But she keeps pulling back. I don't think she would play me, but then I wonder. And it makes me feel like a sucker."
"Yeah."
"It could be that waiting's not going to do it," he said, finally facing his biggest fear. "It could be that this is just how she is and I'm getting caught up in the idea that I can fix it and fix her. Maybe I can't. Maybe she's not fixable. I shouldn't even want to. You said it yourself, I don't hang around when the going gets tough. Next thing you know, maybe I'm sick of it all, I'm sick of her, and I just want it over."
There was a noise from within the house. Ty whipped his head around to see the outline of a figure through the screen.
Trish.
"Shit." He vaulted to his feet and yanked open the screen. "Trish?"
The front door was flung open and in a flash of sunlight, she vaulted through it.
Toward her car.
"Trish!" He ran across the parking apron. "Where are you going?"
She turned at her car door to face him. "Gee, I don't know. How about anywhere that's not here?" Her face was pale, except where two spots of color flashed on her cheeks.
"What did you hear?"
"All I needed to. Just a little chat with your buddy, huh?"
"You and I are the ones who should be talking."
"And I think we've done all the talking we need to," she retorted, glaring at him. "You know, if you wanted all of this over, Ty, all you had to do was say it. You want me gone, I'm gone."
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