The doorbell began to ring and new people seemed to arrive every ten minutes all night long. The crowd varied from young to old as Clare’s friends and neighbors stopped by to sip some Christmas cheer and graze at her buffet.
Clare, all nerves at first, settled into the spirit of the party. She introduced Erica to everyone as Gunther’s girlfriend. The young woman was bombarded with questions about Hollywood, acting, and Gunther. Glances over at him confirmed he was enjoying himself as he refreshed drinks and chatted with the guests. A few lively discussions about the merit of some films over others brought raised voices, but no one got out of hand.
Then, Hank Littleton arrived. He came with the expected gift, a rescued pug dog, about seven years old and twenty-five pounds. “He’s just your size, Clare. I hope he’ll be a good companion and keep you safe.” Hank kissed her under the mistletoe, and she blushed.
Gunther was on the spot the second the lip lock was over. He pulled Hank aside. “What are you intentions toward my mother?”
“Intentions?”
“Stop beating around the bush. You know what I mean.”
“Do you mean am I going to make an honest woman of her?”
Gunther nodded.
“Don’t ask me, ask her. I’ve proposed to her a dozen times. She always turns me down.” Hank chuckled. “You’re sniffing at the wrong end of the dog, son.”
Clare sashayed over, slipping her arm around Hank’s slim waist. “Is my son giving you the third degree?”
“You’d better tell him you’re an independent woman before he knocks my block off.”
“He’s protective, but he’ll adjust.” She patted Gunther’s cheek. “I’m going to name the pug Capra, after my favorite director.” That broke the tension. Everyone laughed.
Guests didn’t start leaving until nine o’clock. Clare settled down with a glass of mulled wine, flanked by her boyfriend on one side and her son on the other.
At ten o’clock, Erica’s phone dinged. She opened it. Who could possibly be calling me at this hour? She was still connected to Max Webster and a service that measured box office receipts. Her eyes widened as she read the numbers coming in from all over the country for Hustle and Dance plus an update from Max Webster on advance sales for Sway.
Erica excused herself and retrieved Gunther’s laptop. She input in the Christmas Eve movie ticket sales, an important predictor of success or failure, into an Excel spreadsheet. Top one-hundred markets first.
By ten-thirty, the last reveler had left. Even Hank finally made his farewells. Gunther shook the older man’s hand, though he didn’t look too happy. Then, he came looking for her.
Erica turned and looked up at him, beaming. “Receipts for tonight’s movie sales were booming in the Midwest, South, and West.”
“Let me see.” He sat down beside her. They went over all the figures, comparing them to earlier weeks and projecting final receipts. The numbers were good. Holiday ticket sales for Sway were also strong. Gunther was clearly elated. He sent a brief text to Max Webster. Then, he poured champagne for Erica and himself. Clare had already gone to bed.
“It looks like East West Productions is gonna fly,” Gunther said, sitting back, a smile of satisfaction spread across his face.
“Here’s to continued success.” Erica raised her glass to his.
The nonstop activity of the day, coupled with the exciting news, wore them out. The lovers toddled off to bed, barely huddled together under the covers before they fell asleep, tucked together like two nesting figures.
* * * *
Christmas Day found Erica and Gunther exhausted. Clare woke them early for a breakfast of eggs and leftover ham. They planned to attend church at eleven. After rushing through their food, they settled down in front of the tree. Although she didn’t expect to receive anything, Erica had brought gifts for Gunther and Clare. The entire trip had been Erica’s gift.
“Gunther was always Santa, in charge of distributing the presents.” Clare nodded at her son.
He delivered the first package to his mother with a smile. She opened it to reveal a beautifully framed photo of their entire family. The picture was old, but still in good condition. Clare teared up when she saw it and gave her son a hug.
One by one, presents brought surprises, sighs, and smiles. Erica had bought Gunther a beautiful red, plaid flannel shirt. She had bought Clare a soft, wool, hand-knit shawl in deep violet for the cold winter nights. Clare surprised the younger woman with a lovely white, scooped-neck blouse trimmed in lace. She gave Gunther his father’s gold wristwatch and a set of sterling silver cufflinks to wear with his tuxedo.
“I’m sorry, Erica. I wasn’t expecting you…” Gunther began.
She held up her hand. “Please. Don’t worry about it. No problem.”
“But there’s something under the tree for Erica from you, Gunther.” Clare handed her a simply wrapped package.
He paled. “I sent that ahead, but…”
“Please, it’s okay. Here.” She handed the small, wrapped box to him.
“Taking a gift back on Christmas?” Clare’s eyebrows shot up. “Gunther! What are you thinking?”
“Mom’s right. I bought this for you. You should have it.” He returned the rectangular package to Erica.
She blushed, but opened it slowly and carefully. “A gun isn’t going to go off when I open this, is it?”
“Nice!” Gunther said, shaking his head.
The gift stole her breath away. Inside, nestled in a bed of black velvet, was a diamond tennis bracelet. No one has ever given me anything like this before. “I can’t accept this. It must have cost a fortune.”
“Keep it. He can afford it,” Clare said, folding Erica’s fingers around the box. “Try it on.”
“Please, take it back, Gunther. It’s really not…necessary and now…” Her voice faded as she thrust the glittery bauble toward him.
“Keep it,” was his gruff response.
“Try it on. If you don’t like the way it looks on you, you can give it back.” Clare’s eyes twinkled.
Erica’s fingers shook a little, causing her to drop it several times before Gunther picked it up and clicked the catch into place. The bracelet was a perfect fit. Clare gasped. “It’s beautiful on you. You must keep it.” Erica looked at Clare then at Gunther.
“Ma’s right. Keep it.”
She clasped the jewels to her chest then hesitated before giving Gunther a quick kiss. “Thank you. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever had.” Her heart fluttered. Don’t forget he meant it when he bought it, but he doesn’t mean it now. Her smile melted away. Something to remember him by.
Suddenly, it was ten-thirty, and they had to scurry to make it to church on time. Clare was greeted by her many friends, some with a “howdy” and some with simply a wave. Erica was envious for a moment at the number of folks who cared about Clare.
Her family troubles embarrassed Erica. In high school, she had discovered it was safer to stay aloof rather than try to get close to people. Her father’s inability to hang onto money forced her to work as a waitress at the local diner, not leaving her much time for a social life.
Erica had blossomed early, physically. She had been breathtaking at fifteen. The boys in her class had fallen all over themselves to get a date with her, sparking jealousy in most of the girls in her class. She hadn’t dated, but she did have some boys as friends she’d hang out with during lunch and free time at school.
When her stepbrother and sister came along, Erica was in charge of watching them when she was home. Having no respect for her stepmother, who was as irresponsible as her father, Erica pitied her step-siblings and tried to take care of them as best she could. They were grateful and adored her. When she went off to college on scholarship, there had been a tearful parting. Erica had worried about the children, but was powerless to help them, outside of sending them money.
She chuckled to herself over the not-so-subtle looks and raised eyebrows when she walked in wi
th Gunther. He gave a polite nod to Clare’s friends, renewing their acquaintance, but didn’t crack a smile.
“That’s quite a looker, you got there, Quill,” Barney MacMahon said.
Gunther flashed a tight smile in reply and kept walking. When Erica slowed down to talk to the man, Gunther took her hand and pulled her along to a seat next to him. After the service, the crowd dispersed quickly.
“Hank invited us over for Christmas dinner.”
“I have work, Ma.”
“Work?”
“We got some figures last night. Erica and I have to finish projections. I’m assuming you’re helping me?” He turned to Erica for corroboration. She nodded.
“Gunther, it’s Christmas!” Clare said.
“But tomorrow’s a work day. I want to have these waiting for my partners tomorrow morning.”
Clare let out a breath and frowned. “You just don’t like Hank.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Then you do like him?”
“Do you want me to lie to you, Ma?”
“You don’t even know him.” Clare crossed her arms over her chest.
Erica kept silent, amused to see mother and son go head-to-head. She’s just like him!
“You don’t need me, Ma. Go. Be with him. I’m sure you’d rather, anyway. I’ve gotta get this done.”
He pulled into the driveway and screeched to a halt. Clare stiffened her jaw then exited the car. She stomped into the house. Gunther followed, talking loudly and gesturing.
“If you don’t come, you’re on your own for dinner,” Clare sniffed as she headed for the stairs.
Gunther ran his fingers through his hair. “She can be such a pain in the ass. Her way or the highway.”
“Reminds me of someone I know,” Erica said, filling the coffee pot with water.
“Who, me? I’m nothing like her.”
Erica burst out laughing. “You’re exactly like her. Only she’s nicer than you are.”
Gunther shot her an angry look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Just telling the truth…” She knew that as soon as the words left her mouth, she was in trouble.
“Truth? You wouldn’t know the truth if it spit in your face!” he roared.
“Are we going to do this…again?” Her voice rose.
Before Gunther could hurl another insult, Clare reappeared. “You two are worse than toddlers throwing temper tantrums. Cut it out! Why can’t you get along?”
Gunther and Erica quieted down. The only sound was the hot coffee dripping into the carafe.
“If you keep this up, you can both leave tomorrow. You once loved each other. You must have gotten along then. Please, remember. Do it again! This is my holiday, and I want it to be pleasant. Gunther, you will come to Hank’s house, and you will be pleasant!”
The lovers glanced at each other and nodded.
Gunther broke the silence first. “I’ll go, out of respect for you. But I don’t have to like it.”
“Hank’s serving a big spread. At least you’ll eat well.”
“Come on, let’s do those numbers first.” He took Erica’s hand, and they disappeared into the den.
The dinner at Hank’s started out awkward, but after a few martinis, Gunther warmed up. He and Hank sang carols at the piano. Clare put her arm around Erica and introduced her to everyone as Gunther’s “special friend.” She basked in the glow of Clare’s warmth.
Hank’s party was the icebreaker necessary to stop the hostility between Gunther and Erica. Gunther never said they were back together. Nevertheless, they functioned as a couple, during the day and at night as well, for the remainder of their stay in Maine.
Even the excitement of resuming shooting on her first movie didn’t keep Erica from crying when it was time to leave. She had grown fond of Clare. And leaving Gunther was harder than she expected. Gunther returned to Los Angeles while Erica returned to Florida. With a heavy heart, she watched his plane takeoff from Kennedy Airport in New York. She wondered how Gunther was handling the takeoff without her.
“Probably fine. Some stewardess will hold his hand.” She grimaced. He was so adept at finding women to warm his bed. Will I be replaced? Once on board her flight, Erica heaved a sigh, touched her tennis bracelet, and studied her lines before falling into a restless sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Erica wasn’t surprised to see Gunther show up on the set three weeks later. She expected to be fired. This would give him the ultimate joy. Retribution. Firing me a second time. But she understood. She’d been sick, throwing up, missing her scenes. Not once, but on several occasions.
She had figured out what the problem was and determined to keep it a secret. Desperately trying to figure out what to do, she distanced herself from everyone. One nosy reporter kept asking her if she had some infectious disease. Not unless you consider pregnancy a disease.
Pregnant and alone. She gave a snort. What else could happen to me? She’d chided herself a hundred times for having unprotected sex with Gunther. But in the middle of the night, she lay in bed and fantasized about having Gunther’s child. She dreamt of them together, raising the baby. A smile pulled at her lips. I wonder if he or she will be as stubborn as Gunther and Clare. She thought about Clare. Will she be happy or ashamed?
Knowing looks from some of the other producers when Erica showed up late, pale as a ghost, clued her in that her secret might have already been figured out. She dreaded appearing in the tabloids.
Career not even off the ground, and already I’m scandal material.
She continued to study her lines and tried to determine what time of the day would be the best for her to perform. After the first week, she seemed to settle into a routine. By eleven o’clock, her nausea had passed, not to return until around four in the afternoon.
The producers shuffled the schedule, to complaints from some of the primadonna performers. They whined that they wanted to sleep late too, instead of getting up at five to get to makeup. Jealousy ran rampant. Erica was chilled by the cold attitude of some of her co-stars. Worry about being replaced, coupled with the queasiness, made her lose weight. Costumes had to be taken in, delaying production even more.
So they’ve called in the big guns to either talk to me or fire me. I can’t do anything to prevent it, so be prepared to get canned.
Rumors about Gunther’s impending arrival flew through the set like wisps of smoke. Some wanted to meet him, others were afraid of him. None knew of her past relationship with him, and she wanted it kept that way.
She munched soda crackers while watching her co-star, Cliff Townsend, do a scene with the female lead. At the break, someone whispered and the set went quiet. She turned.
There stood Gunther, larger than life, dressed to kill, and sexy as hell. His red shirt was open enough to reveal some chest hair, his leather jacket was slung over his shoulder, and his tight jeans hugged his thighs. Her heart leaped. She wanted to touch him. A flutter in her belly kicked up her pulse. I could jump his bones right now if he wasn’t here to can me.
“Erica, could I see you a minute?” He motioned her to follow him.
“Sure,” she said, her mouth as dry as old newspaper. Her heart beat so loud she was sure others could hear it. All the shitty jobs I’ve had, I never got fired. Now, I have my dream job, and I’m going to lose it. Tears filled her eyes. She pushed to her feet and followed along behind him to the producers’ trailer.
Gunther opened the door and motioned to the two men inside. “Guys, could we have a couple of minutes, please?”
They gave her pity looks as they left. Gunther sat down on one side of the table. She perched opposite him. Her stomach rumbled. She prayed not to lose her lunch in front of him.
“I know I’m costing a bundle, being sick all the time. I’ll make it up now. I’m feeling better,” she began. He raised his hand, and she fell silent for a few moments.
“Please don’t fire me.” She hadn’t intended to beg, but the
words poured from her before she could check them. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Gunther handed her his handkerchief. “I’m not here to fire you.”
“You’re not?” She wiped her eyes and nose.
“I’m here to propose to you. Erica, will you marry me?”
Does your hearing go when you’re pregnant? She blinked and stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me. Marry me.”
“Really? Wait. You know I’m pregnant?”
He nodded.
“How?”
He tossed a newspaper clipping on the table. “Ma sent this to me. I don’t usually read the rags unless I’m looking for something specific.”
What supporting player on the set of Gunther Quill’s latest movie is too sick to perform? Is it malaria or is she expecting?
The article went on, but Erica stopped reading. “So, you’re asking because I’m pregnant.”
“No, yes, sort of.”
She shot him a quizzical stare.
“I love you, Erica. But you know that.”
“I do?”
“Don’t interrupt. I do. And this pregnancy is wonderful. I’ve always wanted children. You’ll be a great mom.”
She stood up. “A pity marriage? No!”
“Come on. Don’t do this by yourself. I want you to be my wife.”
“Like Elsa was going to be your wife?”
“A real wife this time. I’m in love with you. Don’t you believe me?”
She shook her head.
“Do you still love me?”
“That doesn’t make any difference. I’ve made enough mistakes in my life without adding a bad marriage to the list.”
“It won’t be a bad marriage. We’ll be great together. And with junior…”
“Junior?” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you even know it’s yours?”
She could not have stunned him more if she had hit him in the head with a sledge hammer.
“Of course, it’s mine. It is, isn’t it?” His brow furrowed.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I’ll bet he didn’t expect that.
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