Beautiful Mess

by Herrick, John

  Del could relate to that. Once again, he reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it in his as they resumed strolling. The sun had set, and shades of indigo began to settle in their midst. Without warmth from the sunshine, the sand felt cool against their flesh. A lone seagull squawked in the distance.

  They had known each other for such a short time. He couldn’t have started falling in love with her, could he? Yet, in the moments they spent apart, he discovered he missed her.

  Even now, his heart seemed to yearn for her. He’d never experienced that sensation with a woman.

  “So what were your younger years like, Del Corwyn?”

  Del grinned at the pleasant memories. “I started working when I was eighteen years old and never stopped. We’re talking the late fifties, early sixties. I consider those years the final breaths of Hollywood’s golden era. I did a lot of film work, met a lot of famous folks.”

  “I do remember watching you when I was younger. You worked with your share of memorable individuals.”

  “Of course. Katherine Hepburn, Marlon Brando, Marilyn Monroe—”

  “You worked with Marilyn Monroe? I saw many of her movies, but I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “Early in my career. Nothing impressive, I assure you. Before I spoke a word on camera, the studio assigned me to her as an errand boy on the set of The Prince and the Showgirl.” Del shrugged. “I was a kid. She and I became friends, though.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Close friends, as a matter of fact.”

  Felicia lodged her tongue against the inside of her cheek and shot him an astute look. “For some reason, I can’t picture that about you—a close friendship with Marilyn Monroe, I mean.”

  Del responded to her teasing by feigning shock. “And why is that?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you strike me as a man who tends to keep intimacy at bay. That’s not to say you aren’t the romantic type…”

  “But?”

  “But you also have a reputation for being a lifelong bachelor by choice. I tend to wonder if the desire for commitment exists at all beneath those layers.”

  “Maybe I just haven’t found the right woman,” Del hinted.

  “Maybe so.” Moments of silence passed before Felicia spoke again. “Such a sad situation.”

  “My love life?”

  “Marilyn Monroe. It breaks my heart to hear of troubled souls who can’t find hope, who can’t find a way out of whatever predicament they’re in.”

  Del considered the remark. “She was well known, yet truly known by only a few.”

  “A deep person?”

  He nodded. “And plagued with insecurity. She craved for her peers to accept her as a serious artist. Imagine the paradox she dwelt in: an entire persona built around her sexuality. But she was a savvy marketer. She constructed that image and knew how to perpetuate it. Yet, at the same time, she longed for people to look past that facade, to know her as the opposite of the persona she had boxed herself into.”

  “The secrets people hide inside.”

  “She was smarter than anyone realized. And more talented than anyone was aware of.”

  “How so?”

  Could he trust Felicia? Despite his love for publicity, but he wasn’t one to show his hand. Still, a part of him wanted to share this moment with her.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  CHAPTER 29

  “WHAT KIND of secret?”

  “A good secret. One that will come to light in due time, but for now, you can’t utter a syllable about it.”

  “I’m a minister. If I do one thing well, it’s to take someone’s confidence to the grave.”

  Del pivoted toward her, took her other hand in his, and their eyes locked.

  “I’m about to make history, Felicia.”

  “More than you have already?”

  “Marilyn Monroe wrote a screenplay.”

  “That’s one piece of trivia I’ve never heard.”

  ”No one has heard about it. But it’s true. She wrote a screenplay, never told a soul about it, and put it into my care in 1962—five months before she died. She asked me to reveal it in due time. It was the last favor she ever asked of me.”

  Felicia’s eyes grew wide in astonishment. She appeared as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t locate the words. Finally, she found her voice.

  “You’ve kept this secret for more than half a century, Del!”

  “I’d forgotten about it until a few days ago. As you know, I’m selling my house, and I was feeling sentimental. I went through some old boxes I hadn’t opened in who knows how long, and there it was. A script written by Marilyn Monroe, attached to a letter she’d signed by her own hand. I didn’t give it much thought when she gave it to me. After all, she was still alive. She was an icon, but not immortalized. Just another popular actress at the time. When she passed away, I was heartbroken, couldn’t even think about that script. After a few years, I’d forgotten I had possession of it.”

  “And she gave you authority to take the next step with it?”

  “In full.”

  Felicia pondered for a moment. “Her script would reignite your career, as well.”

  “Yes, it would”

  “Would you welcome that chance?”

  Del hesitated to answer. He had grown so accustomed to keeping his guard up. But something about Felicia made him want to relax his defenses.

  “I’ve dreamed of a comeback. You see, it isn’t just a career or fame to me; it’s something special. I’ve known so many others who have faded or, even worse, died too soon. Marilyn died too soon. But she always cared for me, took me under her wing.” Del shook his head in what would have been disbelief had he not known better. “Even after her death, she’s looking out for me.”

  “How so?”

  “She had low points in her career like all of us. Maybe one reason she put her script in my care was because she knew I’d hit a point where I’d need a trump card.”

  Felicia stopped walking. “A trump card?”

  “Absolutely. Like you said, it would reignite my career. Can you imagine how much attention this will draw?” When he noticed Felicia furrow her brow, he added, “Don’t misunderstand me. I would rather have my friend alive. But if Marilyn had the opportunity for a career resurgence, she would seize it. She would want me to take that opportunity, too.”

  “And this is how you need to accomplish it?”

  “At my age, opportunities are few and far between.”

  Felicia pursed her lips and studied him. When puzzlement didn’t drain from her expression, Del grew concerned. Granted, he didn’t have the most stellar level of integrity she could find in a man. Del had his shortcomings. But for a reason he couldn’t ascertain, he didn’t want to look at Felicia and find disappointment in her eyes.

  “It’s a game, Felicia. I didn’t write the rules of this industry; I play by them,” Del explained. “You’re looking at me like I stole sunflower seeds from a bird feeder and snacked on them myself.”

  Felicia appeared perplexed. In spite of the reservations she seemed to harbor, though, she hadn’t released his hand. Del took that as a promising sign.

  They continued to meander in silence, listening to the tides recede and saltwater fizzle upon the shore. As twilight deepened, they reversed course and headed back in the direction of Del’s car.

  Del’s mind wandered to the weeks that lay ahead. Arnie had arranged for an expert to verify Marilyn’s thumbprints and would have the proof in hand soon. At that point, the momentum would augment. The longer the wheels remained in motion, the harder it would be for Del—or anybody else—to stop them. Marilyn had crowned him a kingmaker.

  Felicia’s voice startled him.

  “What if it doesn’t work out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your comeback. What if it doesn’t happen the way you expect it to?”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

 
Felicia shrugged and cast her stare at their feet as she pondered. “Things happen. Life happens. People change.”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Del volleyed with a smirk.

  “I’m sorry, Del, I didn’t mean it that way. Yes, it could pan out the precise way you envision it, and no one would be more thrilled for you than I. But you have a Plan B, right?”

  “A Plan B?”

  “Life seldom unfolds, verbatim, the way we expect it to. You’ve alluded to that yourself,” Felicia replied. “Have you thought about how you might adapt if life takes you along a different course?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “But suppose it does. What would you do?” She gave him a playful nudge. “Humor me.”

  Del tried to imagine a scenario in which his prospects could fail or wind up short. His mind retreated to the recent years of his life, month after month, maintaining his own image of relevance and having precious little to show for it. He hated the thought of enduring the rest of his life in such an empty way.

  “I’d keep pressing on, figure something out,” he answered, though he felt ridiculous with his naked response. “I’ve never been one to concoct a Plan B, as you call it. Isn’t Plan B a clever way to anticipate defeat?”

  “It doesn’t need to be. It resides in your perspective. A Plan B can offer its share of fulfillment, though at first glance, it might not look as shiny or exciting.” She turned her head toward him. “Sometimes Plan B turns out ten times better than your original desire.”

  “Spoken from experience?”

  “I’ve thanked God many times that He gave me my Plan B instead.” She rested her head upon his shoulder. “In hindsight, that is.”

  Moonlight cast a milky glow upon Felicia’s silhouette and piqued Del’s fascination. The woman was gorgeous.

  As they walked, the scent of honeycomb from her hair intermingled with the salty aroma of the Pacific. Goose bumps rippled along Del’s arms, and he wondered if Felicia felt the same way. He wrapped his arm around her waist and, to his delight, she melted into him.

  Del nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head and they walked in silence.

  When had he last enjoyed such simplicity?

  CHAPTER 30

  TRISTAN BELIEVED a drive-thru window would add efficiency to the process of the coffee shop around the corner and wondered why they didn’t add one. Then again, plenty of folks appeared willing to park their cars and wait several minutes in line to place their orders.

  He couldn’t help the critique. He saw opportunities everywhere. And if he had the means to take advantage of a few, he would. Why not increase revenue when opportunity stood in front of you waiting to order a café Americano with soy milk?

  He tucked the arm of his sunglasses into his shirt and waited. Most days, Tristan grabbed his drink and ran. But today, maybe he would linger and soak up the ambience.

  When his coffee was ready, he picked it up at the far end of the counter and wandered to one corner of the dining area, where a couple of cozy chairs were arranged.

  A young woman occupied one chair. Dressed in a baseball cap with a raven ponytail sticking through the back, she kept to herself as she sipped her drink, staring straight ahead.

  As Tristan set his cup on the coffee table and backed himself into the seat, the chair rubbed against the tile floor and rendered a sudden, loud squeak, which startled the young woman. Wherever her thoughts were, her focus must have been intense.

  “Sorry to startle you,” Tristan said. “Is this seat taken?”

  She gave him a quick glance, then returned to her focus to her cup. She seemed nervous to have someone—anyone—nearby, but perhaps it was Tristan’s imagination.

  “Feel free to take it,” she replied. “I’m getting ready to leave anyway.”

  She possessed a natural beauty, the kind you don’t notice at first glimpse, one which grows on you and overtakes you.

  Tristan didn’t want her to leave.

  “Please don’t head out on my account.”

  She gave him another peek, longer this time, and her features softened. “Well, I wasn’t ready to leave quite yet.”

  Why did it seem as though Tristan had met her in the past? She looked familiar.

  “Have I seen you here before?” he asked.

  “Probably not. I don’t come here often.”

  He gave her another sideways perusal. Maybe she was in film or television, a B-lister from years ago. It wasn’t unusual to run into those people here and there. He never made a big deal of it.

  Based on how she kept to herself, Tristan figured she preferred her privacy, so he grabbed his coffee and rose from his seat. “I barged into your quiet corner here. I’ll let you have your space.”

  As he turned, he felt a tug upon his shirt tail. When he spun around, Nora blushed, which told Tristan she had reacted before thinking. After attempting to avoid his eyes once more, she peered into them, her gaze darting from left to right, perhaps sizing up whether she could trust him. Her shoulders relaxed.

  “Please stay,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

  Tristan hesitated. He almost felt guilty. “Are you sure?”

  “I could use some company.”

  And with that, Tristan settled into the chair once again. He was between romantic relationships and didn’t spot a wedding band on this woman’s finger.

  There! She did it again! It struck him as self-conscious, the way she sneaked peeks over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed them speaking. Should he worry? Tristan didn’t detect any vibes that concerned him, yet this quirk of hers seemed odd. Borderline obsessive—nervous, as if the FBI had waltzed through the door five minutes earlier and handcuffed a guy.

  “I’m Tristan.” He held out his hand.

  She offered a curious smile, which caused him to wonder if his initial attraction to her might be mutual. Her lips curled into a twist; she appeared to find the handshake cute.

  She hesitated, as though to weigh her simple response, then took his hand and replied, “Nora.”

  “Nora? I don’t hear that name much. One of those classics.”

  “It was my grandmother’s name.” She sipped her coffee and continued to size him up. Her arms and shoulders relaxed. “What do you do for a living, Tristan?”

  “I’m an entrepreneur.” Indeed, he considered himself such. He’d invented his own style of wellness coaching. And to his knowledge, he was the first in the area to accomplish this as an online-exclusive endeavor.

  His answer appeared to pique her curiosity. She leaned forward and furrowed her brow. “Shouldn’t you be in an office somewhere instead of hanging around a coffee shop in the middle of the morning?”

  “I conduct all my work online, so my time is flexible. All hours of day or night.”

  “And you enjoy it?”

  “Pays the bills,” Tristan shrugged. He didn’t view it beyond making a living, though it seemed to help people improve their lives, which, to him, affirmed it as an honest career. Did he have all the answers? No. Then again, he didn’t need to. People will do what they’re going to do; he helped them cut through the crap on the way to their destination.

  They spoke in hushed tones. Tristan couldn’t figure why, but he followed her lead, and their conversation felt natural nonetheless.

  “What type of business is it?”

  “You could call it online sales.”

  “What do you sell?”

  Tristan tapped the lid on his coffee cup. He’d had this conversation on countless occasions. “Whatever the customer needs. People need a particular improvement, and I provide the service that gets them the information they need to make that adjustment.”

  All true. Whenever anyone asked about Tristan’s profession, he kept the description vague. Not to hide what he did, but to protect his alias. The flipside of conducting coaching online was that he didn’t know who was on the other side. What if a client was a psychopath who would hunt him down if he phrased somethi
ng wrong? Time to change the subject.

  “What do you do, Nora?”

  There! She did that weird self-conscious thing again, glancing over her shoulder! She looked like she wanted to trust him but needed to overcome an obstacle first.

  Then he recognized her.

  CHAPTER 31

  “HOLD ON.” Before he could stop himself, he whispered, “You’re Nora Jumelle, aren’t you!”

  The tentative way she stroked her ponytail and avoided his stare told him everything he needed to know. He wished he hadn’t blurted it out. Celebrities didn’t matter much to him. They were ordinary people. At least he’d spoken at a volume only the two of them could hear.

  “You probably don’t get many chances to be yourself,” he noted.

  “I’ve had surprising success in this shop. From time to time, I hit on a quiet, normal place like this. Most people are cool, but on occasion, somebody will recognize me and start to get pushy. If it gets out of hand, I have to move on and find someplace else. I keep a mental checklist.” She said with a shrug and offered him a trusting smile. Her shoulders eased. “This place is a bit of a drive for me, but it’s worth it.”

  “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Tristan winked. He tried to imagine the suffocation you must experience when your privacy vanishes. Does it feel like the walls of life are closing in around you? “When was the last time you could go to a public place without being recognized?” he asked.

  “A couple of years ago. Nobody knew who I was until Faces became a hit. At that point, my world changed overnight.”

  “Was it difficult to adapt?”

  Nora weighed her answer. “I’m still adapting. Every day.”

  “Fame isn’t a natural fit for you?”

  “I thought it would be. Then it emerged in my life.”

  “Don’t you enjoy it?”

  “Fame and I have a love-hate relationship,” she replied with a smoky chuckle, swirling her beverage. “You’re easy to talk to. Your demeanor—you have a way of putting a woman at ease.”

  “Call it a job requirement in my field. Besides, celebrities aren’t a big deal to me. You’re an individual, right? Not an object.”