by Tara Wylde
“It’s strange,” I tell her. “Even though I know he’s from around here, I have a hard time picturing him actually living here, of knowing people, having local friends.”
“Well it’s been a long time since he lived here,” Bea points out. “And honestly, if he hadn’t gone on to become a movie star, most of us probably would have forgotten about him.”
“Did you go to school with him?” I ask her, intrigued by what she might tell me.
Bea shakes her head, causing her dangling silver star earrings to ring. “Nope. I was out of school before he started. But once he started showing up in movies, I heard about him.” She shoots a side eye at Lindsay. “Remember how everyone claimed they were his best friend while he lived here, Linds?”
“Yep, and most of them were lying. A few of the people who really had been his friend, like Christian, called them on out on their BS.” Lindsay frowns. “The one thing that no one talks about out loud, but spends a ton of time speculating about in the privacy of their homes, is why he left town. One day he was here and the next day he was gone. No one heard anything about him until he popped up in a commercial for fizzy water.”
The front door’s buzzer rings, causing Lindsay to curse. “I knew I should have hung out the closed sign and left that damned door closed. If that’s a customer, I’ll wring their neck.” She removes her food-stained apron and marches out of the kitchen.
Bea shoots me a sly glance. “So, tell me. Is Ryan Jakes as good a kisser in real life as he is in the movies?” She transfers a dripping chicken breast to a baking pan and swoons theatrically. “Puh-lease tell me he is!”
I roll my eyes. “You and Lindsay are two of the nosiest people I know. And since when did you start paying attention to the way Ryan kisses? I thought you were all gaga over Chris Hemsworth?”
Bea smiles and shrugs. “There’s plenty of room in my fantasies for both of them.”
I laugh. The sound startles me. How long has it been since I felt relaxed enough to really enjoy myself, to have fun? “I’ve missed this.”
“What?” Bea asks.
“This kind of thing.” I stab the short skewer through a slice of green pepper. “Working with my hands. Talking to other women. You know what I’m talking about, right?”
“I think I do.” Bea slides the pan of marinated chicken into one of Lindsay’s enormous commercial ovens. “You know, there’s a way that you could get more girl time. Make it a regular part of your life.”
“How’s that?” I impale a piece of carrot.
“You could quit your job at the medical office and start working for Lindsay.”
“Give up my cushy office job so I can spend all of my nights and weekends behind a stove? I’m not sure that sounds like such a great exchange.”
“You might have a point, but you’d get to spend all those nights with me and Lindsay. Plus, you wouldn’t be working for the she-bitch from hell, Suzie Collins.” Bea shudders the way she always does when Suzie’s name is mentioned.
“Suzie’s not so bad. She’s just really stressed.”
Bea gapes at me. “’How can you say that? Not after the way that she’s dumped this entire wedding thing on you…” She slams the over door closed with more force than necessary.
I glance around the kitchen, taking in its state of organized chaos. “All of this is for Suzie’s wedding, so you’re working for her too.”
“Not the same thing,” Bea retorts. “And at least I get to go to the thing, well the reception at any rate, and everyone knows that’s the best part. Has Suzie bothered to invite you to this matrimonial disaster?”
“Well, no,” I reluctantly admit. It’s starting to feel like I’m the only person in the entire town who isn’t going to the wedding. “But that’s okay. While you’re schlepping drinks and appetizers to wedding guests, I’m going to be home, curled up with a good book.”
“I’d be more impressed if you told me you were planning on spending the time with Ryan Jakes, in bed, naked and burning up the sheets,” Bea says.
Just as I open my mouth to respond, Lindsay walks back into the kitchen. She shoots me a puzzled look. “Luce, you’ve got a visitor.”
Lucy
“What do you mean, I have a visitor? Aside from the two of you, the only other person who knows I’m here is Suzie.”
I suppose she might be out front, but since I haven’t heard her shrill voice and she hasn’t shoved her way into the kitchen, it seems unlikely that she’s here. Plus—I glance at my watch—she’s supposed to be at the church right now, putting on her wedding gown and sipping champagne cocktails with her bridesmaids.
Lindsay shrugs and pulls a giant container of mayonnaise out of the refrigerator. “Might as well go out and see for yourself.”
Feeling a peculiar mix of curiosity and trepidation, I wash my hands and remove my food-splashed apron before walking out of the kitchen and into the small room that Lindsay uses when she’s making arrangements with clients.
A tall, thin woman is at the front of the room, right next to massive picture windows that look out into the street. She’s dragged a table over to the spot. I watch as she sets a fancy vanity mirror in the center of the table.
Not only do I have no idea what she’s doing, but I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen this woman in my life.
“Hi. I’m um … Lucy Higgins. Lindsay said you’re here to see me.”
The woman turns and for the first time I get a look at her angular face. She’s dressed completely normally, in a pair of designer jeans and loose-fitting blouse, but her make-up… She’s wearing more mascara and rouge then an Egyptian queen.
“Hi, Lucy. I’m Stephanie. I’m here at Ryan’s request. He wants me to do your makeup.”
“He what?”
“Wants me to do your makeup,” Stephanie patiently repeats. She pats a chair. “Why don’t you sit down so we can get started?”
I eye the chair and the giant toolbox that’s on the floor beside it. Margo’s words at the hospital, the ones about needing to be more polished if I was going to pass as Ryan’s girlfriend, come flooding back.
“Are you sure this is Ryan’s idea, and not Margo’s?”
Stephanie drums her long fingernails, which are covered in bright gold polish, against the chair and considers the question.
“Margo was there, but I’m pretty sure it was Ryan’s idea. Now come on, sit down so we can get started. There’s not much time.”
I start to move but hesitate and eye Stephanie’s mascara-lined cat eyes, the heavy layer of glittery eyeshadow, and her painted lips.
“Er … Exactly what do you have in mind?” A part of me understands why Ryan and Margo want me to be more polished than my normal state of being, but I really don’t want to look like Cleopatra’s younger sister either.
Stephanie laughs, her white, slightly crooked teeth gleaming. It’s a full-bellied sound that actually helps ease some of my trepidation. “Relax. I promise I won’t do this to you. I did all of this for an upcoming movie.” She gestures to her face. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be beautiful, but in a completely conventional way. I’ll take your natural beauty and just…amplify it. Cross my heart.”
Not seeing any other choice. I sit down on the chair.
Stephanie opens the toolbox on the floor, revealing the contents. I gape at it. Aside from the occasional trip into Sephora’s, I’ve never seen so much makeup in one place.
Stephanie pulls up another chair and positions it in front of the one I’m sitting in. “Shoes off.”
I blink. “My shoes. But I thought you were doing my face.”
“I am, but Ryan thought a mani-pedi would also be a good idea. So I figure I’ll start with your toes and work my way up.”
Feeling weirdly self-conscious about the idea of her seeing my toes, I tug my sneakers and socks off and prop them on the chair seat. She whips out an emery board and pulls my right foot close.
“So,” I say, “you’re an actor like
Ryan.”
Stephanie lets out another belly laugh. She’s such a lean woman, it’s hard to believe her body can produce such a large noise. “God no. I hate having my photo taken. I can’t even imagine having to parade in front of a camera all day, and there’s no way I can memorize lines. I’m a makeup artist. I’ve been hired to head up the makeup department for an upcoming historical documentary on Egypt, and I was trying out some techniques on myself.”
“I see.” At least she has the personality and bone structure to pull the look off. If I tried something like that, I’d look like a clown. “Are you here to prep Ryan for the video he’s doing for Fletcher’s Hospital?”
It makes sense. Ryan will want to look his best when he goes on camera and I can’t see him having the little blue-haired ladies who run the cosmetic department at the Glamour Pod smear foundation on his face.
“Yes and no,” Stephanie says.
I kink a brow at her.
“His original plan was to do his own makeup for that. But when he decided to fly me over for your makeover, we talked about the possibility of doing something for the kids while I’m here. It should be fun. There. Lovely.” She sets the emery board down and admires my newly shaped toenails. “Now, what color polish do you want?”
I wiggle my toes. The last time they were painted was when I was in high school. If I remember correctly, I’d painted green and purple stripes on them, though I don’t quite recall why.
“I don’t know,” I finally tell Stephanie. “What color would you do?”
“Oh, sweetie, you really don’t want to know. I’m a brighter is better kind of chick, and somehow I don’t think you’re a hot yellow kind of girl.” She sorts through a tidy row of polishes and finally pulls one out of her kit. “Here we go, burgundy. It’s kind of sexy and mysterious, but also neutral enough for you to wear with any type of outfit. We’ll use the same color on your fingers.”
I watch as she expertly coats the ends of my toes with the dark polish.
“When did you get into town?” I ask.
“About an hour ago. Ryan had me flown into the cutest little airport that’s about fifteen minutes from here. There were actually cows grazing within sight of the runway.” She shakes her head. “Cows. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Munsfield Airport?” Calling it an airport is a stretch. It’s just really a runway and a few hangers. It’s primarily used by crop dusters, and the odd recreational plane. “But that’s a private airport. It’s nowhere near big enough for a commercial jet.”
“Which is one of the reasons Ryan hired a private plane for me.” Stephanie finishes painting my last toenail and turns her attention to my short, chewed-up nails.
“He hired a private plane,” I repeat. “To fly you from Green Bay to here?”
Stephanie shakes her head. “He hired a private plane to fly me from Los Angeles to here. And arranged to have a rental car waiting when it landed.”
“But that’s insane.” I can’t even begin to imagine how much it must have cost him.
“No,” Stephanie says mildly. “That’s Ryan.” She shoots me a look. “And don’t start thinking that it means he’s like some actors who spend money like there’s no end to it, only to wake up one day and find out they’re bankrupt. Ryan might get primarily supporting character roles, but he’s very good at his job, and those supporting roles are almost always against some of Hollywood’s biggest stars. And his paycheck is nearly as big as theirs.”
I can’t think of a single response.
“The difference between Ryan and so many others is that not only is he willing to do a lot of stuff for himself, but he actually is a normal guy – keeps his feet on the ground. And he’s careful with his money. He’s loaded. I mean seriously loaded. There have been some movies where he’s actually made more than the actors who play the lead. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that lately, he’s pulling in a few million for each role.”
“I can’t imagine making a million dollars, much less more,” I say, talking more to myself than to Stephanie as I try to contemplate having that kind of money in my bank account.
Stephani shoots me a wry glance. “You and me both. The part that really scares me is how fast they blow through the money. Most actors, they have to act full time because if they don’t, they’ll have to declare bankruptcy. And some of the highest paid ones who always seem to have a new movie out every single week, have less money in their accounts than you and I. But Ryan’s different. Not only does he manage to convince the studios to pay for all of his expenses while he’s filming, but he’s also careful with his money. And he makes it work for him. He’s a whiz at investing. If you have any extra money laying around, even if it’s just a few hundred, ask him what to do with it. He did some investing for me, and wow. I can just about afford a new car, free and clear, with what the money earned. If his money is doing the same thing, he must be a billionaire a couple times over by now.”
Stephanie is silent for a second.
“And even though he’s careful with his money, he can also be generous. Each year, he gives quite a bit to charity and he’s always happy to spend on his friends.”
“I’m not interested in him because of his money,” I tell her, worried that she thinks I’m some kind of gold digger.
“I didn’t think you were,” Stephanie says calmly. She’s quiet for a moment before her eyes find mine. “I saw Ryan’s face when he was telling me about you. He really likes you.”
I snort. “I doubt it.”
“But you’re dating?”
Oops. Kinda forgot about that.
“Yeah,” I hurriedly confirm, “but it’s nothing serious. Just a fling.”
Stephanie sits back in her chair and studies me with sober eyes. “I hope not.”
“What? There’s nothing wrong with a fling.” Even in this little town, where people still hold tight to conservative values, two adults can enjoy one another’s company without having to embark on a lifetime commitment. And Stephanie lives in California, where dating is quite liberal.
“No, there’s not,” Stephanie agrees, “but when I talked to Ryan, he seemed pretty enamored with you. I got the impression that he’s pretty taken with you.”
I don’t point out that he’s an actor, trained in the art of making people believe anything he wants them to believe.
“He’s also a friend. Actually, he’s more than that, he’s one of my favorite people. He’s a good guy who deserves to fall in love with a wonderful woman.” Stephanie’s eyes narrow as she pulls a cotton ball out of a plastic Ziploc bag. “And, even though I know this probably makes me sound like a terrible person, I’ll hurt any woman who breaks his heart.”
Ryan
It’s funny. A little over twenty-four hours ago, when I returned to Patina Falls for the first time since leaving after my high school graduation, the place felt strange. The traffic moved too quickly, people spoke too slowly, and everything felt too condensed.
And now, I’ve already adjusted to its unique rhythms. And even though I can’t stop being surprised by how much some things have changed, the town feels familiar again, like home.
Now, there’s a thought that creeps me out. I don’t want to be comfortable in Patina Falls. I left it for a reason and I’ll be leaving it again.
I spent the better part of the day hanging out with Christian . Originally, we were supposed to work on the organ donation promotional campaign, but somehow it turned into catching up on old times. Since he works in the hospital, Christian stayed in touch with the people we went to school with, and even knew about the ones who’d left town, since he periodically ran into their parents. I had a good time listening to his stories and on a few occasions, even caught myself wishing I’d been around to experience some of the stuff firsthand.
But, as much as I enjoyed hanging out and catching up, I’d spent the entire time thinking about Lucy, wondering what she was doing, wishing she was sitting beside me.
Last nig
ht, I hadn’t been able to sleep, I was so busy thinking about her.
I don’t have any trouble finding the building that houses the caterers Suzie said she was using for the wedding. The place she promised I’d find Lucy, though she never did really explain why Lucy was there.
I parallel park in front of the building and wander in.
I push the door open into a wall of scent. Chicken, red meat, cookies, grease, flour, spices, and more, all rolled together into an exotic perfume. My stomach rumbles in response, reminding me that the only thing I’ve eaten today is a small bag of Fritos.
“Ryan.” Stephanie turns away from the table where she’s packing up her assortment of cosmetics and beams at me. “Right on time.”
I cross the distance between us in three long strides and wrap her in a warm hug. “Have you ever known me to miss a cue?” I drop a kiss on her forehead.
“Not once,” she confirms.
“Where is everybody?”
“Lindsay and Bea, the two women who are handling the catering for your other friend’s wedding, loaded everything up in their cute little van and headed to the hotel to set up.” Stephanie returns to her cosmetics, carefully placing each vial and box in a specific place. “And Lucy is in Lindsay’s office, changing into one of the dresses I brought. She’s supposed to lock up when we leave.”
“Did she like having you fuss over her?”
Stephanie wrinkles her nose. “The world is made up of two kinds of women. One group is like me: we wear makeup like armor, convinced that it has some sort of magical property that gives us super strength and makes us tougher than we really are. Lucy falls into the second group, which consists of people who don’t mind makeup, but who don’t need a shield when they’re facing the world.”
Okay. Interesting. I’ve been friends with Stephanie for several years, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard her assign psychological importance to the paints and powders she plasters on people’s faces.