by Julia London
Oh, but she was jealous, and insanely so. As jealous as Marissa Pendergrast, the wallflower in sixth grade, had been when Leah had the audacity to hold hands with the round-headed kid named Zach. Zach had sweaty hands and thick lips, but there is no accounting for the way a heart leans, because Marissa had loved Zach and had been so incensed by Leah’s actions that she’d pulled a wad of hair from Leah’s head.
Leah was jealous on that scale, Marissa-jealous, wanting to pull a wad of hair from someone’s head. What right did she have? None. Just like he had no right to be jealous. But she especially had no right, because she had moved on, had told Michael she wasn’t hanging around to watch all the women fawn over him. I am thinking of dating other people, had been her famous last words.
How stupid could one woman possibly be? Of course, Leah wasn’t certain what she was supposed to have said, because clearly, the man was not to be trusted. But she was pretty sure I am thinking of dating other people had been the absolute wrong thing to say, seeing as how she was having all these feelings whirling around in a friggin’ blender inside her. She did not want to be jealous, but she was. She didn’t want to see him, but the day felt so empty if she didn’t see him. And she damn sure didn’t want to want him, but she did, with every fiber of her body, with every smile, with every look, with every touch.
It was because her feelings were in such turmoil that she was very surprised and even relieved when she saw Adolfo sauntering through the crowd toward her, holding a bouquet of mountain wildflowers, tied together with a shoe string. When he finally reached her, he bowed, extended the flowers. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.”
“Adolfo!” she exclaimed, taking the flowers. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“You will forgive my impatience, si?” he purred with a warm, easy smile. “I could not wait so many weeks for your return.”
“Oh,” Leah said, grinning ridiculously as she admired the small, handpicked bouquet. “But I will see you Tuesday when we start filming.”
“Days, weeks, they are the same when you are gone,” he said. “Too long.”
She could feel her grin broaden. “The flowers are beautiful. But how did you know where to find me?”
He winked and said, “The crew, they always know where to find the beauties.”
Leah laughed.
“It warms my heart to see your smile,” he said. “I shall buy you a drink, si?” he asked, looking at her near-empty wineglass. “I shall bring you a Spanish wine that will make you sing.”
“Please, no, I’m tone deaf. It’s best that I not sing.”
“But a good Spanish wine will give you new ears,” he said, gesturing toward his head. “You will wait for me here, no?”
Like she could possibly shoehorn herself out of the packed bar. Like she’d even want to. “I’ll wait,” she said, and smiled back.
Okay, she was seriously going to have to reassess, she thought as he moved to the bar. Adolfo was wearing black slacks and a cool blue silk blouse. His black hair, slicked back, brushed over his collar. He was a very nice-looking man. Very nice. Okay, not as nice-looking as Michael—please, like anyone could compare—but he was pretty damn close.
Close enough that her spirits were picking up as Adolfo turned from the bar and headed back, still wearing that charming smile, holding two glasses in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.
A whole bottle. She really wasn’t that much of a drinker.
“Wow,” she said, laughing a little. “That’s a whole bottle.”
“A bottle yes, a bottle of fine Spanish wine for the most beautiful woman in all of the mountains and beyond.”
“Applause, applause, Adolfo,” she said. “Your lines are improving all the time. I’m even beginning to believe them . . .” She glanced at the bottle, then squinted at the label. “But that isn’t a Spanish wine, it’s a California wine.”
“Spain, California. It is all the same,” he said, pouring a glass for her. “Now. The time for lines is gone,” he said, handing her the glass and pouring another for himself. He set the bottle aside, then lifted his glass, touched it to Leah’s. “Now is the time for honest amor.”
The timbre of his voice sent a very delicious signal to her groin, and Leah blushed and looked at her glass. “Well, at the very least, it is time for wine,” she said, and tasted the wine he had given her. “Excellent,” she said.
“Of course it is excellent!” he said, sounding a little miffed, and took a rather big swig of wine himself. “Pity we are not in Spain now,” he said, shifting closer, propping his arm against the wall beside her head. “For the Spaniards, we are lovers of fine wine, fine food, and fine women,” he said. “You have the amazing eyes,” he murmured.
There was the blush again. “Thank you. You have amazing cologne.”
Adolfo chuckled and glanced at the wineglass she was holding. “Drink it, mi amor, drink it all, for wine is the elixir of life.”
“And all this time I thought it was merely a complement to beef,” she quipped. But she drank. Adolfo watched approvingly, and when she had sipped a couple of times, he tipped the bottle into her glass, pouring in a little more. “Drink, drink,” he urged her again. “Let us celebrate the night, for the moon is full, and there is love in the air.”
The wine was definitely making her feel mellow. “Did you learn to speak English from Broadway musicals?” she asked as she sipped from the replenished glass.
“Ah, Broadway,” he said longingly. “I have spent many hours on Broadway.”
“You have? Lighting?” she asked.
“What?” He seemed confused for a moment, then laughed. “Si, si, of course,” he said, and began to tell Leah about the period of time he’d spent in the United States, working on Broadway and taking in as many Broadway shows as possible, because he was mesmerized by them. How funny, she thought, that she never ran across him when she was working on Broadway. Oh well. New York was a big city.
“What fascinates you?” she asked.
“The costumes, the singing. The joy.”
“How about your parents? Do they ever come?”
Adolfo clucked his tongue. “They are gone,” he said, and told her about a young boy, growing up in Madrid, longing to come to America, and how, as an adult, after his parents had passed away, he had come to the United States to pursue a career in filmmaking.
“One day I shall direct a great movie,” he predicted.
“Welcome to the club,” she said, clinking her glass to his.
Adolfo’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “You, too?”
“In a way. I want to star in movies, not direct them. But look around, Adolfo Rafael. Almost everyone in this bar wants a piece of the pie.”
“Ah, but you are the only one of them who could be a star,” he said, signaling the waitress. “Tell me your story, Leah. Tell me how you come to Hollywood, like me.”
“Well—”
He stopped her with a finger. “Un momento,” he muttered, turning to the waitress who had appeared and ordering another bottle of wine. Leah looked at her glass—it was half-full, and she was already feeling very light-headed. She couldn’t possibly drink any more. But Adolfo turned back to her, all smiles, and before she could admit as much, he said, “Come and tell me now of your life.”
“Oh. That,” she said, rubbing her forehead a moment. “It’s really not very interesting. I grew up in Connecticut. I studied acting, worked on Broadway, like you. And then I met this guy in New York,” she said, and glanced up at Adolfo. “You know . . . that guy.”
“Oh,” he said breezily, “The bastard.”
“Right, him,” Leah agreed. “When he and I broke up—I mean, we didn’t actually break up, but it was more like . . . well, okay, he dumped me,” she admitted, and put her hand to her head again. She was feeling very woozy all of a sudden.
“And then?” Adolfo asked.
And then . . . there was so much. A shining career, a high-powered agent promising
her fame and success. The huge crash and burn.
“And then I really didn’t want to be in New York anymore. So I moved to L.A.” That was all she could force herself to say. She smiled up at him; his face, she noticed, had softened. Or her vision had blurred. “Have you managed to find enough work?” she asked.
He nodded.
“That’s great. What films?”
The question seemed to take him aback. “Films, Here and there. Many films,” he said again, then sipped from his glass.
Why was he acting so weird about it? Life came so much easier to men in Hollywood that she assumed he’d worked on dozens of films. Even Brad, who really wasn’t that talented, had way more roles than she did. Granted, none of them were good roles—who wanted to be an extra Trojan in a cast of a thousand Trojans, for god’s sake? But nevertheless, Brad still had more opportunities than Leah had been able to scrounge up. And now Frances, her agent, was telling her she was almost too old to work.
Leah was beginning to feel too old for anything, and for some insane reason, an image of Michael popped into her head—sitting around a campfire, cute and perky Ariel on one side, and pretty, younger-than-Leah Jill on the other side. Neither woman had come out tonight, so in all probability, they were sitting exactly where she imagined them. Great. She hoped the three of them had a marvelous time together.
“No, no, what is this frown?” Adolfo asked, and tenderly touched two fingers to the corner of her mouth. “What has made you sad?”
Leah shook her head. “I’m not sad, I was just . . . just thinking of how long I have been in L.A.”
“How long?”
She snorted, drank more wine, then shook her head. “A lifetime, pal. A thirty-four-year lifetime.” She laughed at her own lame joke and drank more wine, and noticed, a little groggily, how Adolfo’s eyes sparkled mischievously when he laughed, which he was doing right at that moment as he looked down at her, and how his lips seemed so full and kissable.
Kisses. She liked kissing, she thought, and propped her head, which was suddenly feeling very heavy, on her fist. She liked kissing a lot, but she would rather be kissing Michael than Adolfo. Not that there was anything wrong with Adolfo, no—lots of women would be killing themselves to kiss him. And she might kiss him, but really she preferred—
“Hey!”
Trudy’s face was suddenly looming large in front of Leah’s, startling her out of her wits and almost off her stool.
“What’s the matter? You look drunk,” Trudy announced to all of Washington State.
“I’m not drunk,” Leah said. Only . . . her head did feel a whole lot fuzzier than it had just a moment ago.
“Okay, so who is your friend?” Trudy asked, smiled at a smiling Adolfo. “He’s really cute.”
“Thank you,” Adolfo said with a bow.
“Oooh, and he has an accent,” Trudy gushed. “Could this be Adolfo? The Adolfo?”
A camera lens suddenly appeared over Trudy’s shoulder, and it caught Leah off guard. Adolfo, too, apparently. He suddenly stood up and turned away.
“Excuse me,” he said with a wink to Leah, and walked in the direction of the men’s room.
“But wait! I didn’t get to meet him,” Trudy pouted, plopping down on the stool Adolfo had vacated. “Girl, Adolfo is hot.”
Leah moved to one side, away from the camera. “What is with this camera?” she demanded jabbing a thumb in the guy’s direction. “Does he have to film us?”
“What? Oh! That’s Chuck,” Trudy happily shouted to be heard over the din. “Don’t worry. He’ll make us look good. Right, Chuck?”
A man’s head appeared above the camera, and he smiled a little leeringly at Trudy. “If you ask me nicely, baby,” he drawled, and pointed his camera right at Trudy, who struck a kittenish pose and smiled seductively for a moment before turning her attention back to Leah.
“So that’s the guy, huh?” she asked again.
“Yes, that’s him, the lighting guy.”
“I didn’t know they were here,” Trudy said, her brow furrowing a little. Until she realized the camera was still on her, at which point she instantly smiled, corrected her posture, and sucked in her gut “Well, whatever,” she said, tapping Leah’s arm. “You’re so not fair. Two hunks in one gig!”
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Leah insisted, her head in her hands now. “It’s not what you think.”
“Right, whatever,” Trudy said cheerfully, and stood up. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—” She turned to the camera and in an imitation of Groucho Marx, added, “which pretty much gives you license to do whatever you want to do.” She laughed, looked at Leah, and her smile faded. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Leah said, although her head felt as if it weighed one hundred pounds. “Just too much wine, I think.”
“Don’t drink too much. You won’t want to miss out on all the fun, right?” She laughed, and Chuck laughed with her. “Okay, girl, talk to you later. I’m going to take my camera around and show some of the Serious Actresses who I caught. They’ll die. Are you ready, Chuck?” she asked, smiling at the camera.
“I’ll follow you wherever you want to go, baby,” Chuck growled.
“Well, now, that opens up a whole new world of possibilities,” Trudy responded as the two of them went off.
As Leah watched her friend’s figure turn watery, she decided that she’d definitely had too much to drink and needed to go outside for some air. This was weird. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she wasn’t a teetotaler, either—she could usually hold her own. Maybe she was feeling so thick because she had drunk on an empty stomach. When Michael came back—oops, Adolfo came back—she’d suggest some food.
But when Adolfo came back, she found herself thinking about what he’d be like in bed instead of food. He was really sexy in that Spanish-pirate sort of way. He had nice, thick hands, which led to juicier, lascivious thoughts. But they were only thoughts—no matter that Adolfo was handsome and really smelled so good, and had those hands—she couldn’t any more fall into bed with him than she could drink another glass of wine. She really couldn’t fall into bed with any guy except one, and she’d probably spend the next five years trying to get over him again.
The thought sobered her a little, and she glanced down . . . and realized she had, indeed, drunk another glass of wine. How was that possible? What did that make, four glasses? No wonder her head felt like a bowling ball and her legs were so damn rubbery—
“Mi amor, you are funny in the face,” Adolfo said suddenly, and leaned forward, cupping her face with his hand.
“Really?” she asked weakly. “I am feeling a little mushy inside.”
“Mushy?”
She made a face and wiggled her fingers. “Mushy,” she muttered, and felt, all at once, very flushed.
Adolfo was instantly on his feet. “Come then, you must take cold mountain air to be less mushy.”
“Do you think?” she asked uncertainly. “Maybe if I just ate something—”
“Yes, of course, you must eat. But first, you must walk. Come, then.”
“Okay,” she said meekly. “Just let me find my feet.”
That proved easier said than done, because her limbs felt so fluid. But she finally managed to put them down one after the other with Adolfo’s help. He put his arm securely around her waist, held her tightly against his side, and led her outside, doing the walking for them both on the two occasions her feet refused to cooperate.
As they passed through a sea of nameless, swimming faces, Leah thought she should tell Trudy she’d be right back, but with a very sickly feeling burgeoning inside her, she just let Adolfo lead her out.
In the parking lot, the cold mountain air did indeed feel wonderful on her flushed skin, but it didn’t make her feel any better inside, and if anything, she felt even fuzzier. She was only vaguely aware of Adolfo talking to her, asking her how she felt, if she could walk, if she could look at him. On the inside, however, Leah w
as panicking—she knew she’d had too much to drink, but she didn’t think she’d had so much to be so suddenly incoherent and unable to move her limbs. Something felt seriously wrong with her body. This didn’t feel like a drunk, this felt like a coma.
She felt the slide toward oblivion and could do nothing to stop it. The last thing she remembered was Adolfo’s smiling face before her. “You will be fine, mi amor. I will look after you as if you were my own.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE next thing Leah knew, it was daylight. At least she thought it was—it was hard to make out what was behind the yellowed and torn roll-up blind on the window. But whatever it was, she was slowly coming to the realization that not only was she absent from camp, she was in a strange, lumpy bed with musty sheets in a room that looked like it was built in the Stone Age.
How she had landed here was something that was not coming to her very quickly. Her first thought was Michael, but then she remembered that they were not exactly close at the moment.
She moved to sit up, but her heavy head was pounding, and she could only manage pushing up to her elbows to have a look around.
It was a cabin, a run-down, cluttered cabin bedroom. The paint on the walls and ceiling was peeling. The bedspread was threadbare chenille, and the sheets smelled of mothballs and Ben-Gay. There was a small vanity dresser with a tarnished mirror, the top of it stacked with papers and books and a couple of bottles that looked like Milk of Magnesia.
Great. She was in some granny’s cabin.
With a moan, Leah closed her eyes. Her night out with the gang had left her feeling like her head was physically detached from her body. Her vision was blurred, and her mouth felt like a truck had run through it.
Wherever she was, she had to get out of here.
Leah blinked several times to clear her vision and sat up, and only then did she realize she was wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Well, if it wasn’t clear what she’d done before, it certainly was now. But honestly, couldn’t he at least have taken her to a nice hotel room or somewhere other than his granny’s bedroom?