Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two)

by Miranda MacLeod

  “Sorry?” Cecily had a sinking feeling that by a night on the town, Josh did not mean a bubble bath, a paperback novel, and a glass of red wine—which, despite a jolt of excitement about the contract, was frankly all she had the energy for tonight.

  “The studio wants to do something special for you guys, so they’ve arranged a private tasting menu at Castagna’s tonight.”

  “For the whole cast?” Cecily was suitably impressed. Castagna’s was the most exclusive restaurant in Portland. It was across the river—and well outside of Cecily’s more modest brew-pub per diem budget—so she’d never been, but if the studio was willing to pay for an evening out for all ten of the show’s regular cast members at the most expensive place in town, that was a pretty big deal.

  “Well…” Josh hesitated. “Not the whole cast. Just, uh, you, Bailey, and Brad. Oh, and Phinn’s going, too, I think.”

  “Oh. Well that’s very generous, but it’s hardly necessary.” It struck Cecily as a little odd to single out just three actors from their strong ensemble cast. “Maybe another time would be—”

  “Better get ready. The car will pick you up at seven.” Josh gave her a look that made it clear that this was not the time to argue.

  She was the only passenger in the car, which was not the regular studio van but a shiny black town car more suited to a night out. It was a Thursday night and through the windows of the restaurant, Cecily could see that the dining room was packed. But as she approached the front door, a maitre d’ appeared and whisked her around the corner to an outdoor seating area that was set up in the garden beside the building. Bailey, Phinn, and Brad were already seated. Bailey waved as Cecily drew near.

  Brad jumped up and pulled out the empty seat beside him with a flourish. “Here you are, Ms. DuPont.”

  His muscles flexed and Cecily blushed, suddenly reminded of when Frankie had asked if they were as big as they looked on the screen. She’d have to report back next time she saw her that, indeed, they were. “What a gentleman! I haven’t seen such good manners since I left Louisiana.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I grew up in Texas, myself.”

  Cecily nodded. “Well, that explains it. But please, you can call me Cecily.”

  “Oh, yes ma’am. I’ll try to remember to do that.”

  Cecily grinned, fully aware that there was no way this sweet southern boy would ever be able to bring himself to call her by her first name. His parents had raised him to respect his elders, and lordy did she feel like an elder every time he called her ma’am. She thought again of Rachel’s theory about a budding romantic arc between their characters and could barely stop herself from falling out of her chair laughing.

  Though part of her still wished she could be relaxing at home, she had to admit that the divine smells wafting from inside were rapidly changing her mind. It was a mild enough night that the heat lamps on each side of the table kept the space feeling cozy, and though a long phone conversation with Rorie while soaking in the tub would’ve been her first choice—or, even better, a long soak with Rorie like she planned to do next week back in her little house in Orange County—she could think of a lot worse ways to spend the evening.

  “Well, this is an unexpected treat tonight, isn’t it?” She looked around the table with a smile.

  “Not completely unexpected,” Bailey replied. “The studio counts on the buzz generated by stars being seen doing star things. It’s not unusual for them to set this stuff up so we can look glamorous to the adoring public.”

  Cecily considered this for a moment. It was part of a star's job description that had never occurred to her before. “If they’re hoping for PR, why did they hide us back here instead of putting us in the middle of the room inside?”

  “Oh, we’re not hidden,” Bailey said with a laugh, and both Phinn and Brad nodded in agreement. “In fact, this is probably the best view. See those little flashes of light through the bushes over there?” Bailey gestured to the street beyond the garden. “Paparazzi.”

  Cecily looked in surprise to where she pointed. “Really? But I’ve never noticed them around town before. I must not be recognizable enough on my own for them to bother.”

  Bailey took Phinn’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Trust me, we know all about paparazzi. And now that the first episodes of the show are starting to air, people will know who you are soon enough. There’s a lot of buzz about you right now. Why else would the execs decide you should come out with us tonight?”

  Cecily looked from the two of them to Brad, who was nodding in agreement. “I don’t know about that.” People will know who I am. The thought echoed in her head, making her feel both thrilled and just a bit uneasy. Her companions were much savvier than her when it came to fame, but that side of it hadn’t occurred to her before. She loved the idea of entertaining an audience in the comfort of their homes, but wasn’t sold on having strangers recognize her on the streets. She pushed the thought from her mind. She was just a supporting actor, not the type anyone would pay too much attention to. “They were probably just being nice by letting me tag along.”

  “Honey,” Bailey said, “they’re studio executives. They don’t do nice without a reason.”

  Cecily looked warily in the direction of another flash. “You don’t mind that people are watching us, and taking pictures while we eat?”

  Brad shrugged. “It freaked me out in the beginning, too, Ms. DuPont. But you learn to ignore it.”

  Cecily started to laugh. “Ignore it? I’m not sure if I can. Maybe when the food comes it’ll distract me. Do we need to order?”

  “No, it’s a tasting menu, so it’s all selected by the chef.” Bailey handed Cecily a sheet of thick paper. “Here’s a list of what they’re serving.”

  Cecily took the sheet and squinted hard, but the words failed to come into focus. She started to extend her arm farther from her face when she remembered the new reading glasses Rachel had delivered to her that afternoon. She reached into her purse and pulled them out, but they slid from her fingers and clattered to the ground beneath the table. “Oh, damn! I dropped my glasses.” She ducked her head beneath the tablecloth to find them.

  “I’ve got ‘em!” Brad dove under the table at the same time, their heads colliding.

  “Ouch!” Cecily reemerged, rubbing the injured spot on the side of her head.

  Brad straightened up as well, holding the top of his forehead with one hand and Cecily’s glasses with the other. “Here you go. How’s your head?”

  “It hurts!” She took the glasses from his hand and started to laugh. “You’ve got a hard head.”

  “Sorry about that.” He brushed a strand of Cecily’s hair from her face and peered at the side of her head. “It’s kind of red under your hair. I think there might be a lump. Should I get some ice?”

  “No, I’ll be okay.” Cecily patted the hand that he was still holding to her head. “It’s really my fault for getting old. Look at me! Sitting at the table with the three of you, I look like your chaperon on prom night!”

  They laughed and chatted amiably as the waiter brought them plate after plate of food to taste. Each one was small and at first Cecily feared she wouldn’t get enough to eat, but by the end of the evening she was so full that she could do little more than sit and stare contentedly into the night. She could still make out the occasional flash of light from across the road but with a full belly and after several glasses of wine, she was surprised to find it didn’t bother her as much as it had when the evening started. Apparently, it wasn't as difficult to get used to as she'd thought.

  “So, who’s up for a club?” Bailey looked with excitement from face to face.

  Phinn and Brad seemed game, but Cecily shook her head. “Not for me. I should’ve been in bed hours ago. I have an early morning call time.”

  “That’s been changed.” Brad pulled out his phone and checked his calendar. “Yeah, see? It’s not until nine. We’re in the same scenes together tomorrow.”

  “Oh, are we? Ag
ain?” Cecily pulled out her phone to check the schedule and frowned as she saw three missed calls from Rorie. That’s right. She said she’d call tonight. She dismissed the alert with a twinge of guilt, and opened her calendar instead. It confirmed what Brad had said. “Okay, well you kids have fun. I’m going home and going to sleep.”

  As she sat in the town car on the way home, Cecily looked again at the missed calls on her phone. They’d all come earlier in the evening during dinner, and she hadn’t left a message or tried calling again for a few hours. No email or texts, either. She looked at the time and was shocked to see it was well after midnight. She sighed. It was too late to call now. If it had been an emergency, Rorie would’ve left a message, right? If I call now, I’ll only wake her up…

  Whatever it was, surely it could wait until morning.

  Chapter 14

  As the first shrill ring echoed through her sleepy skull, Rorie cringed. She’d placed the call without bothering to check the time. A quick peek at her watch told her it was after eight, so at least catching Cecily sleeping was one thing she didn’t have to worry about.

  “Rorie!” Cecily’s voice crackled through the phone, a sure sign she was near the studio where the cellphone coverage was iffy at best. “Sweetheart, thank you so much for the flowers.”

  “Glad you like them. Did you have a happy birthday?” It wasn’t the reason for her call, but it might be best to ease into it with a few pleasantries before breaking the news.

  “It was okay. It would’ve been better if you were here.”

  “Yeah, well…” I wasn’t exactly welcome, was I? The truth was, Rorie had contemplated flying to Portland anyway. She missed Cecily so much that she was almost willing to stay in hiding all weekend just to see her. Almost. It had taken every ounce of pride not to give in to the temptation. “So, you’re definitely still coming home next week? No last minute changes?” Rorie tried to keep the panic from her voice. You need to get back here. Now.

  “Why, is there something wrong? Is it something about your mother?”

  Rorie searched her tired brain in confusion. My mother? That was the furthest thing from her mind. “No. I still haven’t decided if I’m going to contact her.” As if I need another complication right now.

  “Then is it something with Tyler? Because you sounded—” The sound of a garbled voice interrupted. “Shit, I have to go. They’re ready for me in makeup.”

  Damn it, Cecily, this is important! Rorie drew in a deep breath to calm down. Getting angry wouldn't help matters. “It’s okay. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll call you tonight and we can discuss it then. I love you.”

  “Love—” The call hung up before she could hear the rest.

  Rorie stared at the phone’s darkened screen. Nothing to worry about? She let her breath out slowly through pursed lips. She shifted her gaze to the pile of duffel bags on the floor, then swept slowly upward until she looked directly into Tyler’s fear-filled eyes. The hell it’s not!

  “Your mother was busy. I’ll talk to her about this tonight. You can put your things in the guest house for now.” She dropped the key into his hand and watched silently as he picked up the bags and carried them out the sliding door and across the yard to the little house in back.

  Damn it. She knew something like this was going to happen. From the day she helped Tyler move into the dorms, she’d had a feeling that his roommate was going to be a problem. Jeff was probably a nice kid, one of those charming slackers that everyone loves at a party, but a disaster when it came to staying out of trouble. There’d been a spot inspection of their room last night while both the boys were out, and—surprise, surprise—they’d turned up contraband.

  The dormitory’s zero-tolerance policy on drugs meant that Tyler and Jeff were out on the street the next morning. Jeff had gone home to his parents’ house in Bel-Air while Tyler had caught a cab to Rorie’s house. Finding him on her doorstep before she’d had her first cup of coffee this morning was not how she’d expected to start her day. Tyler swore it was only pot that they’d found, and that none of it was his. You know what? Cecily’s gonna sort this one out. Rorie had done her part by taking him in, but drug possession and getting evicted? This was so far out of her skill set, it wasn’t funny.

  This is why I never felt the urge to be a mother.

  Tyler shuffled back into the house, his expression contrite as he stared at his shoes and avoided eye contact. Rorie felt sorry for him. He had to have been terrified coming over here this morning to ask for help from someone who was nearly a stranger to him. They hadn’t seen each other since moving day. She’d meant to have him over, but it felt awkward and she’d wanted to wait to have Cecily there as a buffer. With the prospect of him as a house guest for who-knows-how-long, Rorie regretted that decision more than a little.

  She fixed her eyes on Tyler’s bowed head. I warned you this could happen, she thought. “There’s some cereal in the pantry. Bowls next to the sink,” she said instead. “When’s your first class this morning?”

  “Ten,” he mumbled, shaking frosted flakes of cereal into a bowl.

  It’s only two miles. I should make him walk. “I can give you a ride, if you want.” Even as she said it, she couldn’t help but think that if she had done this at his age, there was no way her father would’ve given her a ride. She would’ve had to walk it twice, just to teach her some discipline. Of course, when she was Tyler’s age, she hadn’t spoken to her father in six months and had been sleeping on a friend’s couch ever since the night he’d caught her making out with a girl from school in the back of his pickup truck. So, maybe Pop’s not the best source for parenting tips. Cecily would give him a ride.

  By the time Rorie left the UCLA campus and maneuvered her way to the freeway, it was well after ten-thirty. She’d already told work that she needed to take a personal day, and while she’d planned just to go in late, as she approached the entrance ramp to head north to the studio, she changed her mind and drove south toward Orange County instead. She needed to clear her head.

  As she parked in front of Cecily’s bungalow an hour later, the drooping flower baskets on the porch and the overstuffed mailbox greeted her reproachfully. Without Cecily here as an incentive, she hadn’t made the long trip down the coast as often as she probably should have to keep an eye on the empty house. She tossed the mail onto the already teetering pile on the kitchen table, cracked open a few windows to let in some fresh air, then opened the back door and surveyed the yard with a sinking feeling.

  The garden Cecily had planted before she left looked as brown and crisp as if someone had blasted it with a blowtorch. While the flower baskets in front might perk up with some water, nothing could bring the tomato and zucchini plants back from the grave. It was a depressing sight. Rorie approached the garden box and, rolling up her sleeves, began to pull the dead vegetation from the hard, dry ground. Once the plot was returned to bare earth and the evidence of the plant massacre carefully stowed away in the trash bin, Rorie’s spirits lifted. At least when Cecily returned home in a few days, she wouldn’t have to witness the carnage first hand.

  Back in the house, Rorie went to the master bathroom to wash the dirt from her hands. As the warm water splashed over her fingers, the bubbles from the lavender scented hand soap tickled her nose and brought back delectable memories of the hours she and Cecily had spent together in this room. Just a few days to go. But she wanted her now, wanted to hear her voice. With one eye fixed on the tub, she pulled out her phone, her head afloat in visions of filling it while they talked and soaking her tension away. She grinned to herself. Maybe she could get Cecily to say something naughty to her over the phone. Just the sound of her girlfriend’s embarrassed laughter at the suggestion would be well worth the asking.

  Then she remembered they had other, less pleasant things they needed to discuss first, and it killed the mood. Deflated, Rorie left the bathroom and headed toward her car, but not before swiping the bottle of bubble bath from the edge of the tub
. She would use it at home tonight. Maybe by then Cecily would be somewhere that she could pick up her phone, and they could figure out what to do about Tyler. Maybe they could talk about their own situation, too, and how much longer this could go on.

  But when she tried to get a hold of her that night, Cecily didn’t answer. She waited up well past midnight, but Cecily never returned her call. Even after she’d turned off the lamp, she stared at her nightstand in the dark, waiting for a blinking light that would tell her that at least Cecily had sent a text. But the phone remained unchanged. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She’d never dreamed it would be this hard for her and Cecily to connect, and the distance between them was slowly shredding her heart to bits.

  “Oh, you poor thing. I am so sorry!”

  Rorie looked up in confusion as Rhonda plopped herself down in the empty chair in her office. “Sorry about what?” She hadn’t mentioned the situation with Tyler to anyone, so it couldn’t be that. After missing work yesterday, this morning’s design meeting had heaped even more onto her already full plate, but that was hardly newsworthy enough for her friend to make a special trip from the makeup trailer to offer her condolences.

  Rhonda gasped, wide-eyed. “I guess you haven’t seen this, then.” She tossed a folded paper onto Rorie’s desk.

  Rorie wrinkled her nose when she saw the logo of a trashy supermarket tabloid. “Great Scott!” she exclaimed in exaggerated horror. “Did someone discover Bigfoot before me? You’re right. I’m devastated.”

  Rhonda shot her an exasperated look and flipped the paper over, revealing the headline “Hollywood Hunk Caught Canoodling Cougar Co-star!” in giant, bold print. Rorie’s mouth dropped open as her eyes focused on the accompanying grainy black and white photo. The sight of Brad Perris lovingly caressing the face of her girlfriend sent a jolt of shock through her body. She flipped through the newsprint pages, tearing the edges in her haste, until she came to a two page spread of additional photos from what had every appearance of being a romantic date. According to the captions under the photos, they’d been taken the night before at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Portland.