by Nikki Steele
At the restaurant I took a table near the back, facing the door. I was early, so I picked up a magazine and ordered a diet soda and salad, though I hardly felt like eating. The place wasn’t big, so there was little chance of anyone witnessing our encounter. It would be good for Archer too, now that he was being scrutinized over that ugly headline.
Oh, no. What if he didn’t want to show his face here because of the rumors? What if he was in hiding? If that had happened, then Janus had already won. I waited, fingers tapping, for longer than I cared to admit, my salad appearing then disappearing from my table. I hadn’t touched it.
Finally, I stood up. This was a waste of time; he wasn’t coming, and it was likely my fault. Much like everything else.
I was gathering my things when I heard a loud engine squeal to a stop outside the restaurant windows. A top-of-the-line Aston Martin had pulled up at the curb—the type that oozed sex and money. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the door open, and its driver emerge. Archer.
The pit of my stomach fell away, a million butterflies suddenly tumbling about inside me. I fought back the urge to run out to him. It was going to be alright. I’d tell Archer about Janus, and it was going to be alright.
But then I frowned. He was laughing, and talking to someone. He didn’t look broken hearted. In fact, he looked quite the opposite.
I realized why when the car’s other occupant emerged. Chrystal Holmes, darling of the young Hollywood scene, beloved of critics and fans alike, and according to Mom’s gossip magazines, Archer’s ex-girlfriend.
Or perhaps, not-so-ex. Archer extended his elbow. She took it as they walked toward the restaurant. The butterflies in my stomach grew cold and stiff, faltering in their flight as an icy chill ran through me. Archer said something cute to Chrystal, and she turned and laughed, a hand touching his shoulder playfully. The butterflies inside me fell and shattered against the lead now in my stomach, their wings turned to ice.
They were dating? But he was mine! He’d made love to me in the rainforest. He’d made love to me at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. I was the one who had helped him distribute food. I was the one he had shared his secret spot to.
But he wasn’t mine. I’d lost every chance of being with him, thanks to those videos.
I opened a magazine—ironically, one with a picture of Chrystal on the cover and held it in front of my face, so only my eyes peered over the top. She was as beautiful off set as on—tall and blonde with a body that in another life, I would have killed for. She flicked her hair, the whole thing happening in slow motion, and a guy across the street walked into a pole. She made a tee shirt and jeans look fabulous.
I’d never be that girl, not if I lived to be a hundred. I’d told Archer once that I wasn’t in his league. This was the kind of woman who was. Just… couldn’t he have waited a little longer to move on? What did it say about how much I meant if he’d rebounded so quickly?
Then another thought occurred to me. This appointment had been set long before news of the video hit. A shiver ran down my spine. It was clear I was the only person living in torment. Heck, by now he probably didn’t even care about the true story behind the supposed video. If you have enough money, you can bounce back. It wouldn’t take him long to recover. He was already well on his way.
I waited until they were seated, their heads in their menus, before I slipped away from my table and hurried out the door. He wouldn’t notice me—next to a woman like Chrystal, why would he?
Chapter 5
No matter how old I was, there was always one person that I could run to whenever things were bad. I climbed back into my small, crappy car and drove bleary eyed toward Mom’s house.
I couldn’t tell Mom the whole truth, obviously—about the blackmail, and the debt I owed, and that she might have to move out soon. I couldn’t even tell her about Archer being a skeeving, womanizing so-and-so—she was infatuated with the man.
I frowned, ruminating on that last thought. All the good things he’d done. All the wonderful gestures—the flowers, booking out that cinema for Mom, the tape sitting right this very minute in my handbag.
And then I’d told him that we shouldn’t see each other, and he hadn’t called once, in all the hours since?
True, I couldn’t have told him anything more—someone close to him was selling us out, and I couldn’t tip them off that I knew about them—but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least try and call me. That didn’t mean he had to tell Christian he never wanted to see me again. That didn’t mean he had to go and reconnect with the ex-girlfriend half a day later.
And what was with telling Christian that he didn’t want to see me, anyway? Why hadn’t he had the guts to tell me himself? It was like, ever since last night, Archer was an entirely different man. Not the strong, honest, considerate man I’d known previously, but someone else.
Something was going on. Archer had changed, and I knew I should care about that. But I just didn’t have the strength to deal with it anymore. It would be so much easier to give Janus the tape. It would be so much easier to just get on with the rest of my life. Archer wouldn’t care—he obviously had other things on his mind. Why should I?
Let him have his little romantic lunch date—he was doing what was best for him, it was time I did the same for Mom and me. I would give the tape to Janus, first thing on Monday morning.
Mom didn’t ask questions when she saw me walk in with red, blotchy eyes, and a rash reaching above the neck of my blouse. She just patted me on the hand, told me where the egg noodles were, and then went to select a movie to put on the DVR.
God bless Mom—I loved her so much.
I walked into the kitchen to fix myself a bowl of buttered noodles—my favorite childhood treat. By the time they were cooked, a full stick of creamy butter soaking slowly through them, my eyes were a little less red.
I flopped down onto the sofa; Mom looked at me with concern. At least she still pictured Archer on a pedestal. She thought he farted rainbows. He was all she’d talked about, last night, giddy as a schoolgirl whenever his name came up in conversation. I guess that’s what a super considerate private screening of your favorite movie at Grauman's Chinese Theatre bought you. One might almost call it sweet.
“…Josie?”
“Huh? Oh, so sorry Mom, what were you saying?”
“I said, you’re in a fine mood today. Feel like talking?”
“Can we just watch a movie, please?”
Mom raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. An old black and white Warner Bros. logo appeared on the TV to the sound of trumpets, then the opening titles of our movie faded in over a map of Africa. Casablanca. How appropriate—a romance about secret documents that ultimately drove two lovers apart. I settled back to watch.
The movie centered around Rick, the owner of an American nightclub in Casablanca, coming into possession of letters which would allow passage for two people through Nazi occupied Europe. The buyers of the documents were an old flame of his… and her new husband.
By the end of the movie, tears were streaming down my cheeks—Rick loved Ilsa so much that he was willing to put her on a plane with her husband, instead of himself. ‘If you don't get in that plane you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.’
‘But what about us?’
‘We'll always have Paris…’
‘... I said I would never leave you.’
‘And you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going, you can't follow… Now—here's looking at you kid.’
Mom sighed as the closing credits rolled. “What a man. He gave up everything for her. Gives you hope in humanity, don’t you think—true love?”
“Life’s not always like the movies, Mom,” I said softly.
She was silent for a while, then pushed herself heavily off the couch and moved to sit beside me. Her joints popped softly as she sat back down, hand patting me on the knee. “Is everything okay with you and Archer?”<
br />
I shifted uncomfortably. “What makes you think we’d have a problem? He’s my boss, Mom. That’s it.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. “It doesn’t take Basil Rathbone to see there’s something between you two. I noticed the way he looked at you the other night. And I also noticed the way you came bouncing in here the last time I saw you, hair all askew and a huge grin on your face; a nun escaped the convent.”
“Mom!”
“Hush child—listen to me. Whatever’s going on, know these two things.” She held up a finger. “First, I’ll always be here for you. You don’t have to talk to an old woman, but you do have to know you can, if you want to.”
I nodded, tears springing suddenly to my eyes. She took a deep breath, and then held up a second finger. “Second. True love exists, but it ain’t easy. You’ve got to fight for it.”
“Mom-”
She cut me off. “No. I said listen to me. Sit there and be quiet for once,” she said fondly. “Hollywood makes it all seem so simple. The truth is, it’s a lot more complicated than two hours of celluloid can ever be. But it does exist.” She smiled. “You and Archer—don’t give up so quickly on him, okay?”
Tears were flowing down my cheeks. “Why not Mom? It’s over. Over even before it began.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t, and you know why? I’ve seen that look in his eyes before.” She reached out, gently, to squeeze my cheek.
I took her hand. “What look Mom? Where have you seen it?”
She smiled as tears began to roll down her cheeks, too. “Before he passed, your father used to look at me just the same way.”
* * *
I closed the door softly as I exited. Mom had fallen asleep on the couch during the third movie, and I’d left here there, snoring gently, a knitted blanket tucked up around her shoulders. It was funny the way mothers and daughters switched places as they got older. Now I was the one tucking her into bed and she was the small, frail one.
There was nothing wrong with her mind, however. She’d known something was wrong, and she’d known what it was about, too. Sharp as a tack, my mother, though perhaps showing up red eyed to gorge on buttered noodles might be considered, as an action, less than covert.
Did she have a point, though, about Archer? Surely it couldn’t be as simple as Mom made it sound—she’d seen something in his eyes, and knew, just knew that we were meant to be together.
Before last night, I might have been inclined to believe her. But Archer hadn’t called, and he’d even gone so far as to say he didn’t want to see me again. That had to mean it was over, didn’t it? It had to mean I could give Janus the tape.
Because if Archer didn’t love me, there was no reason I should keep it. What did I care if Janus won, in the long run? What did I care if Archer’s documentary failed, and his evidence was destroyed? He’d even said I could do it! As long as I protected myself, right? That was the main thing.
Rick hadn’t thought that way, in Casablanca. He’d started off like that, at the beginning of the movie. But in the end, he’d chosen a different path—decided that his love for Ilsa meant more to him than saving his own skin. He’d decided to look after her, instead of himself. Here's looking at you kid.
In that movie, true love took a different form. It wasn’t about whether the love was reciprocated. It was about the pure, unadulterated act of loving someone, in and of itself. Ilsa flew away with someone else, and Rick was happier for it, because he knew it made her happy.
Wasn’t that, in a way, what Archer had done for me when he’d given me the tape? I knew the tape meant a lot to him—it was the star witness in his case, so important that he’d made backups, and carried the original on him at all times.
Yet, he’d given it all up instantly, because he knew it would make me happy—without a thought, and without a worry, he’d pushed the original into my hands. ‘You’re more important than a hundred audio recordings. I want you to have it, if it makes you happy.’
In that moment, he’d been Rick, and I’d been Ilsa. And with his actions, he’d proven everything I should ever need him to prove. Should I really be upset that after he thought I’d betrayed him he would want to move on—be happy with someone else? I’m sure if the movie kept rolling after the credits had ended, Rick would not have stayed single for the rest of his life, either.
If I gave that tape to Janus, I probably would get my debt wiped. I was small fry, in the scheme of things. Janus would want to get me out of the picture.
But somehow, I think I’d always known that the same wouldn’t be true of Archer. He’d tried to take Janus down, and they wouldn’t like that, not at all. To my way of thinking, giving Janus the tape might solve my problems, but it would only make Archer’s worse. He’d have lost any leverage he ever had over the evil company, and they’d still be around and operating, able to make his life hell.
It was like Rick, deciding whether to keep the letters or give them to the Nazis—I had a choice too. I could decide that Archer meant nothing to me, and look after myself. Or I could decide that even if he didn’t feel the same, I could honor the feelings I did have.
And suddenly, I realized that I’d never really had a choice at all. Not when it came to Archer. If I didn’t follow my heart, I’d regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of my life.
I might mean nothing to Archer, but Archer meant the world to me. The only question left was, what to do about it?
Chapter 6
Once I got home from Mom’s, I sat down with a cup of tea and a notepad to think the situation through rationally. By the time I was finished, a few things were clear:
One: I had a tape that incriminated Janus.
Two: Janus had two tapes that incriminated Archer and I.
I paused, toying with an idea. What if I just gave the tape I had to the police?
I shook my head, dismissing the notion. Janus wasn’t a nice company, but they were a wealthy one. They’d be able to delay things for at least long enough to ruin Archer.
My pencil dipped to the page once more. After a moment’s thought, I wrote:
Three: There is someone else involved.
I chewed on my pencil as I thought about that. Whoever they were, they were clever. While they remained unexposed, Janus would always have the upper hand. They might do other things to Archer, or even try to steal the tape I had.
What I really needed to do was find out who they were. That, and somehow reclaim my personal photos, destroy those sex tapes and wipe the mortgage on my mother’s house. Once all that was done, Archer would be safe, and I could take the tape to the police.
I sighed. Nothing to it Josie! You should have this all wrapped up by the end of the day—time to break out the cigarettes.
No—don’t give in to despair. Even Ben-Hur was filmed one day at a time. I’d need to do this in small steps too.
I started to formulate a plan.
* * *
I wouldn’t be able to do this alone. I’d need Archer, to be able to draw Janus’ spy out. But with Archer not wanting to talk to me, I’d need to enlist more help, too.
I worked through different scenarios, ideas and possible contacts all day Sunday. By Monday morning, I was ready to start making phone calls.
One of the first I made was to Christian. He agreed to meet me for coffee at a café off the studio lot.
“What’s with all the cloak and dagger?” he asked when he arrived, squeezing his lanky frame into the seat opposite me. The café was on the other side of town—it had been a long drive for us both to get there.
I took off my sunglasses. “I didn’t want to meet where anyone might see,” I explained.
He frowned. “Is everything okay Josie? You’re not in some sort of trouble, are you?”
I sighed. I didn’t like the thought of telling someone else, but Christian was now my only lifeline to Archer. If I wanted this to work, I was going to have to take some risks. “Can you keep a s
ecret?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
“The sex scandal… it’s about Archer … and myself.”
Christian’s eyes widened. “Get out of here! You’re a prostitute!”
I screwed up my face. “No, of course not. But we… um… we might have had relations a couple of times.”
“Woo-ee,” he said, wide eyed. “Well I never…”
I cleared my throat. “Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to drag you into this, but I need help and I don’t know who else to turn to. Can you help me?”
“If I can, of course.”
“Someone’s got a hold of some security footage, or something. I don’t know. But I need to see Archer, and explain what happened.”
Christian rubbed the back of his neck, pulling a face. “He doesn’t want to see you Josie.”
“I know. That’s why I need you. Can you help?”
He grimaced. “I don’t know—he was very specific in his directions.”
My face fell. “I know.” I reached out and grabbed Christian’s hands. “But he’s got it all wrong. I know he’s dating this other woman now, but I can’t help thinking that if I kiss him again, maybe it will make him remember what we had.”
“Just as long as the kiss doesn’t turn into something more!” Christian gave a short, sharp bark of laughter.
I rolled my eyes. “Can you imagine, caught on camera again? A kiss would be bad enough. No, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“How?”
“If I meet him on a set, do you think you could disable the security cameras in the building?”
Christian shrugged. “Sure. But, Josie…” He fiddled with something in his pocket for a moment, then leaned in. “Maybe you should just let sleeping dogs lie,” he whispered. He looked around furtively. “You’re… you’re a good girl, Josie. If these guys are blackmailing you, just give them what they want. I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you’ve already been.”