by Julia London
“You may spray on me whatever you wish,” he said, slowly lowering his arms, and took a tentative step forward and casually reached for the gun, took it from her, and turned it around, pointing at the tent. He brought it up to his shoulder as if he meant to fire it, looked through the site, pulled the trigger—and of course nothing happened. He laughed and lowered it. “This is useless,” he proclaimed.
“I should hope so. It’s a prop.”
“Prop? What is prop?” he asked, handing the gun back to her.
“An inanimate object used on a movie set,” she said, and cocked her head to one side. “What did you say you did around here, again?”
“I did not say. But now that you have expressed such keen interest, I shall tell you. I am the person with lights,” he said, and gestured heavenward.
“Lights?”
“Yes, lights. The things that hang down from the sky while you make the movies.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Which film are you working on?”
Adolfo smiled. “Which film? Many, many films. And which film are you?”
“War of the Soccer Moms.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “A very fine film. You are the star, no?”
She laughed roundly. “No.”
“No? How is this possible?” he asked, and touched her chin with his fingers, admiring her face. “You must be the star.”
“Believe me, I have asked myself the same question many times. Why aren’t I the star?” she joked heavenward, flinging her arms wide.
Adolfo clucked his tongue, dropped his hand, and looked away. But then he shifted a sparkling brown gaze to her from the corner of his eye. “I should very much like to give you wine.”
Leah laughed.
“I mean this. I should like to give you wine and learn your name.”
“My name,” she said, smiling up at him, “is Leah.”
“Leah,” he said on a long sigh. “The name is nectar for my lips.”
She couldn’t help but laugh again. “But I can’t have wine with you, I’m afraid.”
Adolfo frowned and demanded, “Why? Why, why, why, Leah? I adore you, I seek you out, and yet you barely give me a name by which to call you. Do you find me repulsive?”
“Not at all,” she said with a smile. “But I don’t know you, Adolfo. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”
“But how shall you ever know me if you do not let me give you wine?” he protested.
“I don’t know,” she said with a cheerful shrug. “Maybe I’ll see you doing the light thing when production starts,” she said, drawing an invisible light thing in the sky before picking up her gun. “I’d love to stay and chat, but this uniform is really hot, and I’ve got shoes to buy.”
“Hasta luego, Leah. I shall whisper your name to the stars,” he said, gesturing poetically to the clear blue sky. And he smiled so warmly that she actually felt her skin tingle a bit. She waved at him, and slinging her fake gun over her shoulder, she walked on, laughing skyward when she heard him begin to sing her name to the stars.
Subject: My First Movie Premiere
From: Leah Kleinschmidt
To: Lucy Frederick
Time: 7:15 pm
So guess where I’m going. Okay, okay, you can tell from the heading. Can you believe it? It’s the premiere of The Hero, and you will not believe the dress I am wearing. It’s turquoise blue, and I found these really fabulous CFM shoes (you will NOT believe where) that are almost the exact same shade. Isn’t that cool?
Subject: Re: My First Movie Premiere
From: Lucy Frederick
To: Leah Kleinschmidt
Time: 10:20 pm
Okay, start with where you got the shoes, then at least tell me how you are managing an actual movie premiere (and isn’t Ewan McGregor in that movie? I LOVE LOVE LOVE him!). And when you get through telling me all that, then maybe you can explain why you can suddenly decide on a color for your stupid movie premiere dress, but you can’t seem to help ME settle on a color for the bridesmaids’ dresses! Speaking of bridesmaids, when I take into account my cousins, and my friends from Holyoke, and a couple of women I work with, who I cannot leave out, that gives me 10 bridesmaids, including you. What do you think? Is that enough?
Oh yeah, BTW, just in case you think I’m an idiot, I am not. I know that because you are skirting around the central question of HOW you are going to the premiere, it can only mean one thing: Michael. Leah, have you lost your mind? How can you not see that you are setting yourself up for a huge fall?
Subject: Re: Re: My First Movie Premiere
From: Leah Kleinschmidt
To: Lucy Frederick
Time: 8:21 pm
Thanks for understanding. Did I tell you he says he loves me? Don’t bother writing back to tell me how crazy I am because I already know it. Anyway, I have to go. I told Brad I’d go with him for pizza to celebrate his getting a commercial today. It’s regional, but it will definitely pay his share of the rent, and frankly, I was beginning to sweat that. Check you later, L.
P.S. I was just kidding about the turquoise. I am fine with whatever color you choose.
Chapter Sixteen
MICHAEL was growing increasingly exasperated. Budget woes and problems with the location where they would be shooting, and even bigger woes getting visas for the Italians to do some extreme hiking in the Peruvian Andes, were keeping him from boot camp and Leah.
He and the rest of the guys worked late into Wednesday night, so he never saw her around camp that day. But he called her on his way home.
She picked up on the third ring, and her sleep-heavy voice said, “Hello?”
“Leah,” he said, sighing into the phone. “Did I wake you?”
“No. Maybe a little,” she admitted groggily. “What are you doing?”
“I just finished up with the Peru thing,” he said. “I’m sorry I missed you today.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” she said through a yawn. “I was pretty busy learning how to avoid getting hit by paint. And might I add, that paint hurts.”
He smiled into the phone. “I know. Go back to sleep, baby. I just wanted to say hi. Are you ready for the premiere Friday?”
“Are you kidding?”
“I’ll pick you up around six.”
“Okay. Bye, Michael,” she said sleepily, and hung up.
He clicked off the phone, tossed it into the passenger seat, and drove up Santa Monica Boulevard, remembering one night in New York when he’d come home late from work to find her snoozing away on his couch. She had let herself in, obviously intending to surprise him by donning some of the sexiest lingerie he had ever seen. But she had fallen asleep waiting for him, and by the time he came home, she was laying half on and half off the couch. One foot was missing a stiletto, and the gauzy little teddy had twisted around her body, leaving several delicious parts of her uncovered.
Personally, he’d never seen a sexier woman in his life.
Thursday, he at least got to have lunch with her and then worked with her team during paintball training. Thursday night, Leah trotted off to acting class, and Michael was going to turn in early, but Jack called him, begging him to come along on another date with Lindsey and her friend Ariel.
“You’re kidding,” Michael said flatly. “What is this, middle school?”
“I don’t know. Look, just do it, will you? Lindsey is taking it slow.”
“Tell her to take it slow with someone else,” Michael said irritably.
“Mike, I really like this woman. Come on. It’s the last time, I promise.”
With a weary sigh, Michael agreed.
On Friday, one of the Starlets broke her leg during the paintball training. The poor girl just tripped and fell and broke her leg. He spent the rest of the day at the hospital, on the phone with OSHA and studio people who were not very happy (
particularly with the over-bloated budget situation), and then with the casting agent, trying to find a quick replacement for Soccer Mom #8. They lost an afternoon, which prompted an all-call for Saturday morning to make up for lost time.
Michael barely made it home in time to change for the premiere.
He arrived at Leah’s house in a stretch limo promptly at six. He stepped out, walked to Leah’s door, and hoped like hell that Brad didn’t answer.
Of course Brad answered. But at least the dude was fully clothed this time, dressed in dirty jeans and a dirtier T-shirt that said Rock On across the chest. “Dude,” Brad said, his eyes widening at the sight of Michael in what was a very expensive tux, purchased a couple of years ago for occasions such as this. “Nice threads.”
“Thank you. Is Leah here?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. He stepped back and shouted “Leah!” as he motioned for Michael to come in.
This had the feel of prom night, Michael thought uneasily. He stepped into the foyer, glanced around the house. Someone had picked things up a little. There was a pile of clothes on the end of a worn couch, and the peacock had been moved to stand below the massive TV. It had lost the boxer shorts and was wearing an L.A. Clippers hat. The kitchen table was stacked high with papers and a couple of scripts.
“You want something to drink?” Brad asked.
“No, but thank you,” Michael responded, and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Suit yourself,” Brad said, and padded across to a cabinet on a windowless wall. He squatted down, opened the doors, and surveyed a litter of liquor bottles, finally selecting Smirnoff vodka.
Brad stood up, turned around and gave Michael the once over. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Michael Raney.” He extended his hand to Brad, who padded across the floor and took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip.
“I’ve been wondering about you,” Brad said.
“Oh?”
“You don’t know much about cars, do you?”
“I don’t?”
“There wasn’t anything wrong with her distributor cap.”
Michael almost laughed. “You’re right. I’m not big on cars.”
Brad nodded, took the vodka to the kitchen, got a small glass, and then adjourned a full three feet away, onto the couch. “Wanna watch some baseball?”
“Ah . . . well no, we’ve got to be some place.” He glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway, then back at Brad. “Are you sure she heard you?”
“She heard me.”
And as if to confirm it, Michael heard the click of her heels on the hardwood floor. He turned around, his heart skipped a beat.
Leah looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing an ass-tight turquoise dress, the color of it reflected in her eyes. Her hair was pulled back and done up in a very artistic coif at the nape of her neck with thick strands of blonde curling in and out, making it look like an elaborate love knot. She was wearing teardrop crystal earrings, and her shoes, glittering with turquoise rhinestones, were just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He must have been staring, dumbstruck, because Leah started to laugh. “You remember me? Leah Klein? Your date for the evening?”
“He’s speechless,” Brad helpfully pointed out.
Leah beamed a smile at Brad that Michael wanted all to himself. “You’re beautiful,” he said low, dragging that smile to him. “More beautiful than ever.”
“Really?” she asked, and twirled around for him. “Do you like it?”
He glanced at the dress again—the plunging neck and back line, the sheath of a skirt, the long, shapely legs beneath that. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I like it a lot.”
“I really owe your friend Beverly. She wouldn’t even let me pay her.”
He certainly hoped not, as he had paid Beverly handsomely for the privilege of putting Leah in her dress.
“She even lent me these,” she said, flicking one of the earrings with her finger. “So are we ready?”
Was she kidding? Michael couldn’t wait to get her out of that dump of a house, to put her somewhere where the world could admire her as she deserved to be admired, and immediately moved to her side, his hand possessively on her waist.
Leah grabbed a small silver bag from a console near the door and looked over her shoulder at Brad. “Bye, Brad. Be sure and tell Alice how fabulous I look.”
“You bet,” Brad responded without taking his eyes off the TV.
Leah shifted a sparkling gaze up to Michael, who opened the door, guided Leah through it.
She stopped on the porch and gave a squeal of delight. “A limo?” she gasped, twirling around to Michael.
“Of course. Nothing but the best for you, baby.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “I feel like Cinderella,” she said wistfully, and then grabbed his hand, pulled him toward the car. “Let’s go!” she said eagerly.
Inside the limo, Leah took in the various bottles on the mini bar, the console TV, and the velvet seats. “This is so damn cool,” she said excitedly.
“Have you been in a limo?”
“Yes—exactly twice, the same number of times I’ve been a bridesmaid. But those limos had blue shag carpet and cheap scotch. This,” she said, reaching for the bar and lifting up a small bottle of Grey Goose vodka, “is really uptown.”
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, shifting forward.
“I think I would,” Leah said brightly. “Something to settle my nerves.”
“Don’t be nervous,” he said as he got a glass, some ice, and mixed her a vodka tonic, just like they’d never been apart. He handed her the drink. “All eyes will be on Vincent Vittorio and Ewan McGregor. Kids like us will be a bunch of background noise. It’ll be fun to watch.”
“It’s already fun—I don’t have many opportunities to wear a dress like this. Actually,” she said, looking down at the dress, “I’d say I’ve had zero opportunities to wear a dress like this.”
“You should wear dresses like that every day,” Michael said sincerely. “You should have the best of everything. I never thought you would be even more beautiful to me than you already are, but Leah, I’m absolutely breathless.” And he meant it. She looked like a star in that dress. Her carriage, her smile—everything about her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, red carpets and dresses like that are a normal part of your life.”
“Oh stop,” she said with a roll of her eyes, then quickly slanted him another look. “You really think so?”
“I think so.”
Her cheeks turned a very appealing shade of pink, and she looked down. “Well hey, you look pretty good, too, Raney. Some men are born to wear tuxedos, and you are definitely one of them. The photographers will think you are one of the stars.”
He laughed. “I don’t think so. And anyway, men are meant to fade to black when women appear, and that’s just as well by me,” he said. “I’d much rather do the admiring than be the admired.”
“Then you should have been born with a different face.” She abruptly reached up, laid her palm against his cheek. A kiss wouldn’t have felt as tender as the touch of her hand. He covered her hand with his own, moved his head, kissed her palm.
Leah laughed and held up her drink, offering him a sip, holding it to his lips. He took a sip, then settled back, her hand still in his. She was changing, the hurt and anger peeling off, a little at a time. Everything felt right in the back of that limo, like this was where he was supposed to be—here, with her.
The press was out in force in front of Mann’s Village Theatre, as was the crowd, held back by police barriers. There was a bit of a wait as they queued in line with other limos, but Leah spent the time straining to see who was there, calling out the names to Michael. There was enough star power—A-list actors, directors, and movie moguls were all over the red carpet, speaking to the fans lucky enough to have snagged a position right behind the barricades.
When Michael’s limo pulled up at the entrance, a
nd the driver opened the door, he stepped out first, reached down, and caught Leah’s hand to help her out.
She paused in front of the open door to straighten her dress, but then gave him a huge smile, and together they walked down the red carpet, into the premiere, Michael whispering in her ear who several people were, Leah smiling and waving when any member of the press—fearful of missing anyone important—would call out to her to smile.
When they at last made their way into the theater, they settled down just behind Ewan McGregor, which made Leah giddy with excitement. The movie was an epic hero’s journey, complete with swords and horses and spectacular special effects. What Michael remembered was filming during an unusually cold fall in Poland, where the ground was always muddy and the stunts always impossible to perfect. But when the lights came up and the crowd applauded wildly—of course they did, they were all movie people— Michael felt a sense of accomplishment, like he always did when they finished a film. He supposed he had found his true calling.
They were leaving the theater for a studio reception at a nearby restaurant when Michael felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. “Damn,” he muttered.
“What is it?” Leah asked him, her eyes shining brightly.
Michael just smiled and shook his head. “Cell phone. I’ll turn it off.” When Leah happily turned around to do more stargazing, Michael slipped the phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Rex.
That was weird. He hardly ever spoke to Rex anymore. He figured Rex wanted to know what his little chat with Leah had done for Michael. He turned off his cell and put it back in his pocket. He’d give his old friend a call later and fill him in, but right now, there was nothing or no one who was going to interrupt his evening with Leah.
At the reception, Leah seemed to take wings. She moved gracefully around the room, talking and laughing to whomever struck up a conversation, and frankly, it seemed to Michael like there was a long line of guys waiting to do just that. He could hardly blame them—in his eyes, Leah was far more beautiful than Maria del Torro, the costar on The Hero.