by Mary Blayney
He’s already getting ticked off at the coming press onslaught, even though it isn’t his problem anymore, she thought. “Yes, well, Ben and I decided we’re going to have a very small wedding. On the beach in Mexico. I hope you’ll come. I’m sure Mother will want Marta to attend. It’s going to be in two weeks, on the 14th.”
“Two weeks?”
“Yes.” Molly smiled her best screen–star smile. “Will you come? And bring Shar, of course.”
“Molly?”
She turned. Ben Delmonico, fiancé and major movie star, stood at the edge of the patio. “Ben! You’re early.”
“Hey baby, so did you tell your homeboy there the good news?” Ben’s sandals, hand–made in Italy, squeaked as he walked toward them. “Yo, Morales. I’ll let you be the first civilian to congratulate me on marrying the hottest actress on the planet.”
Molly turned back to Cruz. His eyes had darkened and the tendons in his neck were tensed against the soft cotton of his shirt.
“I just invited him to our wedding, Ben.” She grabbed Cruz’s hand. “Please say you’re coming. You love Cabo, if I remember right.”
“I’ll let you know, Molly.” Cruz dropped her hand so he could extend his to Ben. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Ben put his arm around Molly’s shoulders. “So did you miss me, gorgeous?”
“I did. How was Rome?” She fought against the disconcerted feeling she always had when Ben appeared in a private space that had belonged to her before she was an actress.
He wasn’t as tall as he seemed in the movies, though in person he was even more handsome. At this moment, on a hot summer day, she felt like a little kid, hallucinating a movie star had stepped down from the screen to pay a visit. “So, you got an earlier flight? I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of hours.”
“Yes. Jeff Lovey gave me a lift on Searchlight’s charter. I was happy to leave early.”
“Wow, not me. I love Rome in the summer.”
“No you don’t. It’s hot and smells of un–bathed Europeans. And it’s too crowded to walk, and impossible to get around by car. I had a moron for a driver. He didn’t speak any English. Artie’s girl sucks at booking travel. I’m going to tell him to fire her if she fucks up again.”
“Artie isn’t ever going to fire Ginny.” Molly stepped out of his embrace and twisted her engagement ring. She shot a look at Cruz, who was staring down at Cleo.
“I’ll get my people to do your tickets from now on, Ben. They’re better at it than Ginny.” She turned to ask Cruz if he’d stay for dinner, but Ben pulled her against him and kissed her hard on the mouth.
He smelled like French cigarettes and hair product.
Her heart beat wildly. It was a distractingly passionate kiss, but when she opened her eyes, all she noticed was that Cruz was no longer standing on the patio.
“Come inside with me,” Ben said. “I need to pay homage to your mother. I’m betting she isn’t as happy as you are that I’m marrying you.”
“Don’t say that. She was very excited when I told her.”
“Really? Did you know you blush when you don’t tell the truth, Molly girl?” He touched her cheek. “And you’re red as a cherry right now.”
Molly moved his hand from her face. “It’s hot out here. As for Mom, she’s jumped right into the wedding planning as soon as we got home. She’s already called a florist in Cabo and reserved rooms at the Pueblo Bonita under her name.” Molly laced her arm through Ben’s, glancing around again to see where Cruz had disappeared to.
“Was Cruz happy for you?”
“Of course. But he’s already worried about the media. He always hates it, primarily for my mother’s sake, when we’re besieged.”
Ben held the door open. “Cruz Morales, guard dog. I’m sure you’re going to miss that once we get married, having him around as the muscle.”
Molly jerked to a stop. “Why wouldn’t Cruz be around after we’re married? He and I have been friends for twenty years. That isn’t going to change.”
“No? Oh, I just assumed. You know, that I’d be the guy looking out for your welfare now.”
Ben’s voice had an edge.
Well, what a surprise, Molly thought. Ben Delmonico is worried about another man? “Let’s not fight about Cruz. Okay? He’s part of my family, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, I know that. And we’re not fighting, baby. Just learning new things about each other.” He brushed another kiss on her cheek and took her hand. “You look spectacular. Before I forget, I gave Artie the go–ahead for us to sit down with Vanity Fair next month. Big, splashy dual interview. Liebowitz is doing the photos. I’m telling you, Molly, you’re on the verge of being number one female at the box office. And if Traitor doesn’t win you an Oscar, I’m quitting acting.”
“Ben, you’re sweet, but don’t talk about Oscars. That’s bad luck, right?”
“You’re done with bad luck now that you’ve got me, beautiful.” He kissed her again. “Let’s go see mommy dearest. Despite what you say, I’ve still got some wooing to do with that one.”
Ben grinned a shark smile, white teeth dazzling in the LA sunshine.
Molly followed him, but not before looking back at the patio one more time. Cleo stood in the shade looking lonely, as if she, too, wished Cruz was still there.
Chapter Three
Bethesda, Maryland
July 31, 2010 8:20 p.m.
How’s he doing?” Anne Sullivan asked, her voice bright.
The nurse at the reception desk, the redheaded Sara, Anne’s husband’s favorite, smiled wide. “Good. He’s good, Mrs. S. Had a bit of a rough time about an hour after dinner, but he’s good now.”
“You think he can keep down some applesauce?” Anne looked at the small container she’d brought from home. It was still warm from the pan. She’d left out the cinnamon this time, which stung her husband’s mouth, but she’d kept the lemon juice. Harry didn’t like his applesauce too sweet.
“It’s fine to give him anything he says he wants.”
“Thanks, Sara. I’ll be here for the rest of the night.”
“Great. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
Anne nodded and walked down the softly lit hallway. Harry was in the last room on the left. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was eight–twenty. She’d been gone three hours, but it felt like a week.
She stepped into the room. Harry lay in bed, his eyes closed. Anne inhaled at the sight of his familiar shape lying motionless under the sheets and blankets. Her composure wavered and she immediately brought the pep talk into her mind that she’d repeated a hundred times these past few months.
Be cheerful. Be hopeful. Be his faith.
Her youngest son had told her this. Even if Dad doesn’t think he can beat the cancer, he’ll see that you have faith, and that’s got to help, right?
Anne put her things down and took off her jacket. Sara had pulled the shades closed against the darkening sky, but Anne opened them and cracked the window. It was summer, but mild tonight, not humid as usual in Maryland, and Harry liked to feel the breeze when he slept.
She sat beside the bed and lay her hand on Harry’s arm. He’d lost more than a third of his body weight, but his forearm was still solid and muscled, covered with fine black hair and a few freckles. His big hand was relaxed against the blue–and–yellow quilt she’d brought from home.
His eyes remained closed, but his skin was warm. He was breathing.
She exhaled in relief. “Harry. Harry. Harry, I know you’re fifteen years older than little old me, but you’re sleeping too early tonight, aren’t you?”
After a moment, his eyelids opened and he turned slowly toward her. It took him a few seconds, but he smiled and reached his hand out. “Hey, pretty lady.”
“I brought you applesauce.”
“Home made?”
“Would I dare bring you anything else?” She opened the container. “Can I feed you or do you want to handle it?”
He looked at it longingly but pursed his top lip over his teeth and shook his head. “I’ll wait a little bit. Just catch me up on what you did at home. Did you call the boys?”
The sores in his mouth must be worse. Anne glanced at the IV bag. She was an RN and could replace it herself, but she didn’t want to tread on Sara’s toes. It was almost empty. The hospice nurses were amazingly vigilant about keeping their patients hydrated and comfortable. But if Sara didn’t come in the next ten minutes, she’d go ask for more saline.
“Yes.” She met Harry’s glance. “Harry Jr. sends his love. He’ll be here this weekend. Eric said he’ll visit next week and for you to plan to lose again at chess. You two are too competitive.”
“I’ll win again. That boy can’t think offensively. Just defensively. He’s like you. Puts things off until they reach a crisis.”
“I don’t do that.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. He’d lost his hair from the chemo, but his eyebrows had grown back black and silky. “Yes, you do. Which reminds me, have you called Kirk?”
Kirk was Kirk Stephenson. Their attorney.
“No. But I will. Tomorrow. I promise.” Anne’s heart raced as she squeezed the lid onto the plastic container. “How you feeling?”
“I’m fine. And I’m not trying to bully you, Anne, but Kirk needs those papers co–signed before…” Harry’s voice piddled away.
“Harry.”
“I wasn’t going to say ‘before I die’. Although I would like you to sign the damn trust documents before I do, whenever the hell that will be.” He winked, undercutting the seriousness of his tone. “Come on, we should have done this trust thing years ago. Just because you’re only 48 years old doesn’t mean you shouldn’t plan for the future, too.”
“I said I’ll call Kirk tomorrow, and I will.” She worried the tears burning at the back of her eyes would fall, but they didn’t. She put the applesauce on the tray. “Harry Jr. said he’s met someone, by the way. It sounds pretty serious.”
“Yeah? The boy’s twenty. How serious can it be?”
“Well, that’s true.” Anne smiled, thankful for the thousandth time Harry showed no distaste for news of their youngest son’s romantic life. “This new guy is a stock broker. Derivatives. I don’t even know what derivatives are, do you?”
“No. I’m 63. A savings bond kind of guy.” Harry smiled. “Who else did you talk to? Heard back from your sister?”
“No. But her last letter said her unit has been deployed to Turkey.” Her older sister, Susan, was career military. Ten years older than Anne, they seldom saw each other. “She doesn’t email. I’m sure we’ll hear something soon. As long as she’s not in Afghanistan.”
Anne had written to what was left of her very small family at Christmas, to tell them about Harry’s cancer. It suddenly occurred to her that wasn’t the kind of thing she should have sent with a holiday card.
She hated always second guessing herself. Harry told her not to do it, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
“Do you want to watch a movie? I’ve got some new DVDs.” Anne reached into the bag beside her and pulled out a couple.
Harry was easy to watch movies with. He loved the same films she did, what he called ‘chick flicks’. Mr. Macho wasn’t afraid of his feminine side, as Eric always said. “How about The Hangover? Harry Jr. said it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Or Meryl Streep in Julie and Julia. She plays Julia Child.”
Harry frowned. “Really? Wasn’t Julia Child about six foot five? I think Streep’s kind of petite to try and pull that off.”
“She’s got BIG talent.”
Harry smiled. “Whichever one you want, Annie.” He yawned and tried to scoot up in the bed, but struggled with the effort. Anne helped him with the pillows, then put the DVD in and sat beside him on the bed.
“You hold the remote, Harry. You always say I put the volume up too loud.”
“You do.” He hit play and put his arm around her.
She leaned her head against his chest. Be cheerful. Be hopeful. Be his faith.
Anne glanced at the IV bag just as Sara glided in and changed it without saying a word.
A couple of the tears unshed a few minutes ago tumbled down Anne’s face, but she wiped them away furtively, hoping Harry didn’t notice.
He didn’t say anything, just squeezed her closer to him and turned up the volume.
Chapter Four
Santa Barbara
August 6, 2010
The century–old Biltmore in Santa Barbara, now the five–star Four Seasons, was Molly’s favorite hotel in the world. Nestled below the Santa Ynez Mountains, with a view of the Pacific from almost every room, she’d stayed there many times and each had been a wonderful occasion. Her dad and mom had brought her and three friends for her thirteenth birthday dinner and an overnight stay, and she’d attended numerous dinner parties, friends’ weddings, and even an assignation or two with Cruz before she was famous.
But as she nervously surveyed the small banquet room that management had tucked her party of thirty away in, Molly thought it might have been wiser to have her engagement party at her mother’s place, up the hillside in Montecito. Though there were no gates at that house, like in Los Angeles, the press were less likely to swarm an event at a private home, especially if there were cops at the end of a blocked–off street.
“God, how can you look this exquisite and be real?” Ben wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Green is your color. It makes your eyes sparkle like a goddess.”
Molly smiled and nestled against her fiancé. He wore a white dinner jacket and had loosened his black tie, and looked every inch the movie star.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She inhaled the pricey sandalwood scent he had custom blended in Paris. “And you smell good enough to eat, except I’m too full to take another bite of anything.”
“The meal was decent for a hotel.” Ben sat in the chair closest to the French doors, leading out to a large patio strung with fairy lights that cast a foggy glow. “I’ve had better salmon in a New York deli, but hey, you can’t beat California wine.” He pulled Molly onto his lap and rubbed his smooth face against her neck. “My mother and your mother seem to be having a pleasant time together.”
“Yes, they do.”
“I wonder which one of them our children will favor? Your mother looks like a dowager countess while mine looks like a bouncer, even with that fancy dress on.”
Despite herself, Molly laughed. Ben’s mother did have a ‘don’t mess with me’ look about her, even in her elegant silk gown. “Children? I expect they’ll look like us, a combination of us.” Molly cleared her throat, uncomfortable with this topic, and let her mind wander as Ben began scrolling through his text messages.
She watched their two families mingling at the table in the corner. Her mother and Ben’s, along with Ben’s sister, Jennifer, and Molly’s brother Jason and his girlfriend. Everyone seemed relaxed, although Norma’s artificial, ‘I’m being charming because I was brought up well’ smile worried her. Ben’s sister arrived this morning along with two uninvited New York friends. She had not reacted well to Norma’s offer to have their dinners catered in their rooms.
“That girl’s rude and more than a bit presumptuous of our hospitality,” Norma had announced to Molly in the limo on the way over. ”I worked for an hour on the table seating chart.”
Molly had laughed, hoping to diffuse the tension. “You know the old saying, you can’t choose your in–laws.”
Norma and Mr. Garcia had exchanged eye rolls, and Molly had thanked all the good karma she’d earned that Ben was at the hotel with his presumptuous family and not in the back seat with them.
But the night had gone well. Her mother’s best friend, Sissy Meggison from Mobile, Alabama, had shown up with her husband, as had Molly’s Aunt Lil, her father’s sister, both favorites of hers. They ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed her ring and her vintage Givenchy cocktail dress, and pronounced her fianc�
� the most handsome man in the world.
Marta and Mr. Garcia were in attendance as guests and did not look at all comfortable in their roles, but Mr. Garcia’s wife, Iris, was a saving grace, grand and elegant and not at all cowed by being in the room with three movie stars. Ben had invited Rob Lowe, his costar in the latest Jack Temple movie, and since Rob and his wife lived close by they had made an appearance.
The only people who had not shown up were Cruz and Shar. Marta had been evasive when Norma asked her if they were coming, and Norma had bestowed on Molly a look that said, “Well, what did you expect?”
Molly told herself to just keep smiling. Thank god for all my theatrical training, she thought more than once.
Cruz not showing up was just what she’d expected, but it still stung. She wanted things to be easy between her and Cruz. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly chilled, and glanced at Ben’s watch. It was ten thirty.
“What time are you leaving for the airport?” she whispered. A light shimmered brightly and suddenly went off outside, catching her attention. She squinted but saw nothing amiss. One of the patio lights must have burned out.
“In a few minutes. The jet’s scheduled for midnight. I’ll be in New York until tomorrow, then London until the thirteenth. Then it’s Hello, Cabo San Lucas! Get ready for your first fuck as a married lady.” Ben closed his phone and nipped at her bare shoulder.
“That’s so romantic, Mr. Movie Idol.” Molly let her irritation show in her voice. Ben had been discreet in public until their engagement, but the last few days he’d adopted a coarser manner of speaking about their intimate life she hated.
“Sorry, Miss Delicate Sensibility. I don’t have a script writer feeding me lines tonight. But don’t doubt the feeling, sweetheart.”
“I don’t. But you need to keep your voice down. My mother asked everyone not to bring their phones, but just as you chose not to follow orders, someone else might be furtively recording us. You wouldn’t want a recording of us up on Vine or twitter, would you?”