Maybe he shouldn't have come to her house. But where else was he going to go to tear things apart and beat them to a pulp? This was his job for the next few weeks as far as anyone knew—he hadn't told a soul about his doing the show and playing Sam. It was all too weird.
And the whole situation was making him feel guilty. He used to have so much fun with Katie, Matteo, and Ella watching Wendy on Ups and Downs. And now he was actually working with her every day—and he hadn't said a word to the kids. How could he? If he tried to explain what he was doing and why, he would at some point have to reveal what a complete wreck of a human being he had become since he lost them. He would not do that.
God, he needed to pound something with a sledgehammer for about an hour.
Or maybe he could just use the solitude to find some sort of equilibrium.
Arlen barked out a gruff laugh. Yeah, like that was going to happen. He slipped his hammer into his tool belt and climbed down the ladder. He walked around to the back of the house where he took off his tool belt, work boots, and socks. Without even a second of hesitation, he dove into Lola's pool.
It was hard doing laps in wet clothes, but he managed ten before dragging himself out of the pool. Damn, he was tired. So tired.
He stood up dripping wet, raised his arms above his head, closed his eyes, and stretched. Stretched his tendons to the limit, trying to push the day's tightness out of his muscles. When he eased up and opened his eyes, he saw Lola staring at him.
“Arlen?”
He stood there and didn't say anything.
“What are you doing in my pool?”
“Fixing the roof.”
She shook her head. “In the pool?”
“I got hot up on the roof and jumped in the pool to cool down.”
“Are you kidding?” She looked at his tool belt and boots a few feet off to the right. “You're an actor on the show. You don't have to work on my house any more.”
“You hired me to work on your house. That's how we met. Remember?”
“It's just that—” Lola began, “I thought you'd quit working here once the show went into production.”
Arlen sat on a lounge chair to start tugging on his socks and boots. “I'm not an actor, Lola. Working on houses isn't my filler between gigs. This is what I do.” He stood up and buckled his tool belt around his hips. “You hired me to do repairs around the place, and now that the pilot is in production, I'm betting you can keep that promise about never being home.”
Lola blew out a frustrated sigh. “It would be easier if we kept our relationship professional.”
“This is professional,” Arlen said. “My profession.”
“I can't figure you out.”
“Don't try.” Arlen headed out to the driveway. “I'm finished here for today.”
“Arlen—”
“I'm doing the show, Lola. So quit trying to get in my head.” He wrenched open the truck door.
Raising her chin, Lola put her hands on her hips. “I don't get it. Why are you here if you hate me so much?”
Arlen would have ignored the question if her voice hadn't trembled just a little. “I don't hate you, Lola.” The words were barely past his lips when he realized that she probably made her voice sound tremulous on purpose.
“But you haven't forgiven me.”
Arlen said nothing.
“Then why are you helping me?” she demanded.
Arlen shut the door and faced her. “Because I wanted something once. More than anything. And I didn't get it.”
Lola stepped back.
He took a deep breath. “I didn't want someone else to feel that way. Not if I could prevent it.”
“I see,” she said quietly.
“I hope you do,” Arlen said. Then he got in his truck and left.
Chapter 33
LOLA
When I try to slip the key into the front door lock I realize I'm shaking. After some more rattling, I finally crash through to my front foyer and then I just stand there. The silence of the house presses in on me, making my inner ears ache.
What have I done?
I head straight up the stairs and dive onto my bed.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Oh, no. Something bad happened to Arlen. My whole body feels cold as I let it all sink in. Arlen looks so damn haunted because he IS haunted. What on earth had he wanted so badly? Could it have been college? Did he not get into MIT or something and his life as a rocket scientist dwindled into that of a handyman? No, it wasn't that. Didn't he tell me he'd gone to Columbia?
Was it a woman? His wife? Had he wanted her to choose him but she left him for another man, her other husband? Taking the kids and Arlen's whole life with her? Or was it some other woman he lost once, leading him into a bad marriage that ended quickly?
My scalp starts to feel all hot and prickly. It must have been something pretty cataclysmic to provoke him to help the likes of me when he can't stand me. And I'm using it. I've been using Arlen's pain as my own personal ace in the hole.
I am such a bitch. Because I knew it all the time. Was it only two weeks ago that I sat eating dinner with Arlen on the patio, realizing that he must have some heartbreak I could use? Jesus! Why is it only hitting me now? Something has really destroyed Arlen and from the get-go, all I could think about was how I could USE his pain. WHAT is wrong with me? Since the moment I found out he wasn't actually an actor, I KNEW all the torment I saw in those eyes of his was real. Real. But I just used it for Sam.
Of course Arlen hates me.
A bleakness sweeps through me as I remember the Saturday morning in his kitchen. I asked him if he knew what it was like to want something so badly and yet after all your work and love, someone else could take it away with just a snap of the fingers. Who had snapped at Arlen and ripped his life apart? What the hell had they taken away? Was it his kids?
No. I don't want to know. What if I find out and I start writing it into the show? Oh, good lord, that is totally something I would do.
Good God. I have to protect Arlen. From me.
Chapter 34
LOLA
If tomorrow weren't the last day of the pilot shoot, I swear I wouldn't be on Arlen's porch at 11 p.m. with rewrites. I know better. I do.
I'm still trying to find the cojones to knock when Arlen opens the door, sees the pages in my hand, and ushers me inside. Swallowing, I walk across the threshold as Nick and Nora come bounding at me.
“Hey, guys,” I say. In the warm light of living room lamps, I notice the braided rug at my feet and how coppery wood frames every doorway in sight. I feel as if I've drifted into a scene from The Waltons or Fly Away Home. Arlen shuts the front door behind me, and I smile at the faint rattle of its glass panels covered in sheers. I look down at the script and feel all disjointed.
“What's wrong?” Arlen notices my furrowed brow.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking off the feeling of nostalgia for nothing I ever knew. “We were at it late tonight, doing some rewrites for tomorrow's shoot. So, here.” I thrust the pages at him. “I thought we could go over them together, see if you have any questions or anything.”
“Come on in,” he says. “Want a bottle of water or anything? A beer?”
“A bottle of water, please.”
Arlen disappears into the kitchen and returns a few seconds later. He hands me a cold bottle of water before he flops onto the couch and starts reading. I take a seat in a nearby armchair, gripping my water. He's in his usual jeans and T-shirt, but he looks totally different with no shoes on. He wears white socks, and they look thick and comfy.
“No,” he says then, standing up. “No questions. We don't need to go over this.”
I look up to his face and get myself caught in his eyes. “No?” I ask softly, barely knowing what I'm saying.
Arlen's jaw tightens. “Not you, too.”
“Huh?” I ask. “What? Not me too what?”
Arlen shakes his head and stalks across the living room, putt
ing distance between us. “Stop looking at me like that. It's bad enough I have to deal with Wendy all day. And now you, too?”
“What?!” I bolt up from the chair. “You're comparing me to Wendy?”
“Why the hell not? I'm the leading man in her show. I'm the leading man in your show. And you both act like I'm your goddamned personal boy-toy.”
“I do not!”
But the stare he levels at me cuts through all my mendacity. I sink back into the chair. “I don't think you're my boy-toy,” I say quietly. “I don't want you to be my boy-toy. It's just … the other day at my house, I realized for the first time, really understood it like never before, that you're Arlen. Arlen Black. With a life totally separate from Sam's.”
“So before you thought I was some damn statue you brought to life.” He walks to the window and stares out at the darkness.
“Arlen—”
He whips around. “Am I SERIOUSLY supposed to be impressed that you finally figured out that I'm an actual person?”Arlen stares at me, something like controlled fury practically leaping off him.
But I hold my ground. “All this time I've been telling myself it's Sam. Sam Sam Sam that I care about. Every time I think about you, I tell myself Sam Sam Sam. But the other night, it was just you.” I'm looking right into his eyes and I don't look away. “And I still cared.”
Arlen looks down, brows creased, as if he's thinking about it. Then he looks back up at me. “Which one of us were you kissing on your patio? Me or Sam?” But his voice has such a sting to it that I know he doesn't actually expect me to answer him. He just wants to keep driving in the nails of what a bitch I've been.
I huff out a breath. “I just wish you could believe me that I wasn't trying to seduce you into doing the show. Everything I was starting to feel for you, it had nothing to do with my trying to get you on the show.”
“Will you STOP saying that like it's some kind of defense!”
“But if you would just—”
“What, Lola? Believe you? If I would just believe you? I do believe you!”
My mouth drops open. “Then why—”
“Lola, do you have any idea what you're saying? That all the lies had nothing to do with the sexual attraction and your acting on it? And that's supposed to make it better?”
“Of course it's supposed to make it better.”
“It doesn't.”
“Why not?” I am pretty sure I sound desperate. I stand up and move toward him. “Arlen, why not?”
He moves back away from me. “Because it's the story of my life and it SUCKS. I'm not like that, Lola. I don't live like that. I would never be all secretly deceitful with someone and then go and get all intimate with them. Lola, come on. Would you put up with someone who treated you like that? For even a second?”
My heart is beating fast fast fast but my breathing is so damn slow I think I'm going to pass out. “Put up with me? Is it that awful to be around me?”
“You lied to me and tried to manipulate me into doing what you wanted despite everything I said.”
“But you still helped me.”
“But I'm not going to sleep with you.”
I look down. I notice the bottle of water I'm still clutching. “I know. And I can't sleep with you, either. It would kill my reputation as a showrunner. Sleeping with my rookie leading man.”
Arlen's eyes practically bug out of his head. “Then why the hell did you come over here at eleven at night to tell me about how much you care about the real me? Why didn't you just walk away when I said I was fine with the rewrites?”
“Because.” And I actually stop to think. Why am I so drawn to Arlen when I know that he can never be mine? “I just wish you didn't resent me so much,” I say. “I wish there were some camaraderie between us.”
Arlen stares at me, nodding. “So … you want me to like you, even though you have no intention of ever liking me back all that much because it would be too risky to your career. Huh.”
“You're twisting my words!”
“No, I'm pretty much repeating them. And I guess it hurts to hear what a bitch you are when it's blasted back in your face.”
“No, this is all wrong. I must be explaining myself really badly. I know I should never have feelings for you and I'm under all this pressure and I'm sure these feelings aren't real. You know, like Helsinki Syndrome.”
“You mean Stockholm Syndrome? That's when you fall in love with your kidnapper.”
“Munchhausen Syndrome?”
“That's the one where you kill your kids to get attention.”
“Whatever! It's some kind of syndrome, like when mental patients fall for their psychiatrists.”
“Well, you as a mental patient is starting to make sense.”
“I'm serious, Arlen. I honestly want us to get along and all this other stuff will fade.”
Arlen moves closer to me. “Will it?”
I gasp, as if he's just whipped off my skirt in front of everybody. I step back, feeling totally exposed by the sudden heat sparking between us.
“Damn it, Lola. There's been something between us since that first kiss on the first day. But both of us have our reasons for backing off. Your career would suffer. And I don't like it that you're a liar and a tease who would just make me more and more unhappy the closer you got. So let's just both STAY BACK.”
“I make you unhappy?”
“Can you deliver?” he asks quietly. “On even one of the things you feel for me?”
My throat knots up and I can't speak. I shake my head, my eyes glistening.
“Okay,” Arlen says, walking to the front door and opening it. “See you tomorrow on set.”
I'm barely over the threshold before Arlen closes the door behind me and I hear the snap of the lock.
Deliver.
Can I deliver? My whole life, the one thing I've never been able to do is deliver. Not emotionally. Not when it comes to the other people in my personal life. Especially not when it comes to the people I care about. Those people I want to care about me. The more I want it, the less I can deliver.
Chapter 35
ARLEN
As Arlen sat on the couch going over lines, Ray slammed into the trailer.
“What the fuck?” they yelled at the same time.
“Exactly,” Ray said, stalking toward him.
“What?” Arlen asked, dropping the script and standing.
With one hand, Ray pushed Arlen down to the couch.
“Hey!”
“YOU COMPARED HER TO WENDY?!”
“What did she tell you?” Arlen barked, seriously pissed off that Lola was repeating their conversation. Because she sure as hell wouldn't relay everything, which meant she was just going around spinning excerpts to her advantage.
Ray pulled back. “Jesus, Arlen. What has you so spooked? What happened between you two?”
Arlen took a deep breath. Get a grip. “Nothing happened,” he told Ray. “Was she complaining about me?”
“No!” Ray looked disgusted at the thought. “Lola's not like everyone else in Hollywood. She never complains about people she works with. Ever. But I knew something was different today.”
“Different? Right. Lola's never different.”
“Today, she is. She's always so plugged-in to everybody, and being around her is like listening to the constant hum of an air conditioner. But today, with you, nothing. It was like the power'd been cut. So I asked her what was up. And she said, 'He compared me to Wendy.'”
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
“Well. That's missing a hell of a lot of context.”
“Context?!” Ray shot back. “Unless the context was that they both have vaginas, then there is NO context that would justify a crack like that. And you SHOULD NOT be talking about your boss's vagina!”
“Will you shut up?” Arlen said in a harsh whisper. “And I was not talking about her vagina!”
“Then what?” Ray demanded.
Arlen sw
allowed. “Just that I … uh, doubt her sincerity.”
“Her sincerity? Towards you? Arlen, do you have any idea how lucky you are? There is nobody in this business since Stephen J. Cannell who takes better care of the actors she writes for. Nobody.”
Arlen waited a few seconds to let the air settle. “Things got complicated with Lola before I was an actor she was writing for.” He looked at Ray. “You saw us.”
Ray stepped back, his eyebrows raised. “Oh,” he said, and collapsed into a chair. “That.”
“Not just that.”
Ray looked at him for a few seconds. Then he sat forward, pulling himself toward Arlen. “No matter what she did, Arlen, or what you think she did, or what she didn't do, at her core, she's a good, solid person.”
“Yeah? Well, I'm not so concerned with the core. I care more about the outside part I see and deal with every day.”
Ray sighed. “We're all flawed.”
“We are. And our relationships with people depend on what flaws we can put up with, and which ones we can't. Or won't.”
“But Lola's worth it.”
Arlen looked at Ray. Suddenly, he just felt so sick and tired of people who knew nothing about him giving him unasked-for guidance on how to live his life and make decisions.
“You're just saying that,” Arlen said, “because she isn't giving you a hard time about Tom.”
“What?” A look of perfectly fabricated perplexity dented Ray's porcelain features.
Arlen speared him with a look. “You and Tom Glenn.”
Ray looked away. “Lola knows.” He nodded. “I was an idiot to think she might not. What did she tell you?”
Queen of the Universe (In Love in the Limelight Book 2) Page 10