by Diane Moody
Julie poured coffee in two mugs. “What does he do?”
“Bides his time until there’s an opening in the Oval Office.”
“He’s in politics?” She set the mugs on the table and carefully slid one toward him.
“No, I’m just kidding. But everyone’s always told him he should run for president. And that dates all the way back to high school.”
“So he’s not in politics?”
“With Mitch, everything is political. But no, he’s actually a vice president at an international marketing company headquartered in New York.
Julie poured some cream in her coffee after offering some to Matt. “You said you all grew up in Texas. Arlington, was it?”
“That’s right. Ever been there?”
“No, but I’ve heard it’s a great place to live.”
“Well sure, but of course it’s no Braxton.”
“Of course.”
His genuine smile seemed to warm his whole face. Julie set her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, content just to be with him.
Matt took a sip of coffee. “How was your day?”
“My day?”
“Yes, your day. Not a hard question.”
“Oh. Right.” She leaned back, wrapping her hands around the mug. “Actually, it was rather odd.”
“How so?”
Julie paused, wondering how much to say without upsetting him. Again. He was so paranoid about her intruding on his investigation. Better to keep it to myself and outsmart him? Then she looked into those eyes, filled with interest and concern . . . and possibly a hint of attraction? The thought pleased her more than she expected.
No. He needs to know. It’s too important.
“Well, let’s see. First, I had a rather unusual meeting with Donella this morning. She’d barely arrived at the office before asking Georgia to cover for me at the reception desk.”
“What was the meeting about?”
“I suppose it wasn’t really a meeting, per se; she just called me into her office to speak to me in private. And of all things, she wanted to apologize to me.”
“Apologize? What for?”
Oops. She realized too late that she was taking the conversation back to the night she’d gone snooping at Donella’s. “Uh, well . . . okay, she wanted to thank me for the cookies I gave her the night after we’d all heard about Mr. Lanham’s death.”
“That would be the night you stole a deposit slip from her purse.”
Julie traced the edge of her mug in circles, her eyes locked on the motion. “Yeaaah. That would be the night.”
Matt said nothing, narrowing his eyes as he’d done before. Thankfully, she decided it was less of a glare this time and more of a subtle warning. Or so she hoped.
“Go on.”
“It was actually rather sad. She went on at length about how she didn’t like me when I was first hired because she thought I was just another one of Mr. Lanham’s bimbos . . . as if ?”
“Well, you do have that blonde thing going for you.”
“Hey!”
He smiled again. “I meant that as a compliment.”
“Sure you did.”
“Back up a minute. Donella thought you were just another one of Mr. Lanham’s bimbos. Inferring there had been many others before you?”
“Hey, don’t include me! I am not, nor have I ever been a bimbo.”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to infer that you were. But tell me, did she expound on these other women? She didn’t tell me much about that in my interrogation with her. Did she mention any names? Or what relationship they had with Lanham?”
“No, not really. Though I’m pretty sure some of them might have been the girls he always invited on his yacht.”
Matt snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about those girls. When we were on the water tower last night, you started to tell me about them before we . . . got distracted.”
Julie remembered the moment when Matt took her into his arms and kissed her. She couldn’t help grinning as the familiar blush crept across his face and warmed his cheeks. “Distracted, huh? Is that what you city boys call it?”
He scratched behind his ear. “Staying on topic here . . . by the pictures on Mr. Lanham’s office walls, I’d say most of these girls look like they might work at Hooters or somewhere like that?”
“Right. Or even your Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.”
“Got it.”
“You know the type.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Though some would use the term ‘bimbos’ to describe them.”
“Well, there you go.”
“So when Mr. Lanham hired you, Donella thought you were one of his bimbos, and for that reason she didn’t like you?”
“Exactly.”
“Go on. What else did she say?”
“I assured her I was certainly not one of his bimbos, and let her know I had set him straight the first time he placed a hand on my knee.”
“When did he do that?”
“Oh, early on. I think it was after the first commercial I did as the Lanham’s Girl. He was really pleased with how the commercial came out, and wanted to thank me.”
“And he thought he could do that by placing his hand on your knee. Interesting fellow. How exactly did you set him straight?”
She leveled a gaze at him. “I’ll be honest. I was tempted to ad lib that scene in Legally Blonde when Reese Witherspoon’s professor-boss makes a move on her. When she realizes what he’s doing, she—” Julie caught herself.
“She what?”
“Um, let’s just say she tells him what she thinks of him in rather colorful language, if you will, then makes an exit.”
Matt smiled. “What did you say to Lanham?”
“I told him the next time he tried something like that, I would file a sexual harassment complaint and wouldn’t hesitate to round up all those other girls I’d seen him with and invite them to join me.”
“What did he say to that?”
Julie snickered. “He laughed! But not in a bad way. He said I was the first one who’d ever rebuffed his advances, and that he actually admired the fact that I stood on my convictions. Can you imagine? And right then and there, he promised he’d behave himself around me. And he did. He treated me with respect from that day on.”
“Good for you. That took guts.”
“No kidding. And the crazy thing is, I’ve been able to use that whole scenario with him as a motivation for roles I’ve had on stage. I just walk myself back through it, and it always puts me in the right place, mentally.”
“Proving yet again that the world’s a stage for Julie Parker.”
“But of course. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter 11
“Hey, do you want more coffee?”
“Sure.” He handed her his empty mug. “What else did Donella talk to you about this morning?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, filling their mugs then suggesting they go sit on the sofa. She propped her feet on the coffee table then continued. “Where was I? Oh—her apology. Here’s the thing, Matt. When Donella was saying all that, I realized she has no friends, no one she’s close to. She stumbled all over herself trying to explain how she’s not a joiner, not one to buddy around. That sort of thing. But I got the distinct impression she was, I don’t know, reaching out to me or something. Asking me to be her friend without actually asking, of course.”
“Of course.” A trace of a smile lit his eyes as he took another sip of coffee.
“I knew she was still distraught over Peter’s death, so I assured her she could count on me, and to let me know if there was anything she needed.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, but when I got back to the reception area, Mr. Smithe was there waiting for me. Georgia was standing behind him doing all kinds of bizarre antics. It was just like that scene in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off when the principal is on the phone making a bunch of snarky threats,
thinking he’s talking to Ferris. But then his secretary finds out it’s not Ferris, because Ferris was on the other line—”
“—and she thinks it actually is the girlfriend’s father the principal is talking to, which of course, it wasn’t because it was Ferris’s buddy Cameron pretending to be the girlfriend’s father.”
Julie laughed as she set her mug on the coffee table. “And that’s when his secretary, played by Edie McGlurg—who I absolutely adore—starts jumping up and down.” Julie stood up, animating the part. “She’s waving frantically trying to get the principal’s attention—‘ED! ED! FERRIS BUELLER’S ON THE OTHER LINE!’”
Matt laughed with her. “I love that movie. It’s such a classic.”
Julie flopped back onto the sofa. “Me too. Gevin and I watch it at least once a year. Of course, we have a sanitized version.”
“Of course.”
She smiled back at him. “Of course.”
“Sanitized, huh? Interesting concept for an aspiring actress—I mean, actor.”
“You’re learning.”
“So tell me. When you get signed to do a movie or a television role, how will you handle scripts like that with so much obscenity? Ferris Bueller is hilarious, but it’s got a PG-13 for a reason. Most of what comes out of Hollywood these days is pretty rough. I heard the other day that one of this year’s biggest box-office hits has more than 500 f-bombs in the film.”
“I heard about that. It’s ridiculous.” Julie groaned, sinking back into the cushions. “You think that’s bad? They say the book it was based on used that particular word 706 times. Some kind of record. What really irks me is why that’s considered “creative” in books or films. If I handed in a script in my writing class using the same word or phrase that often, I’d flunk. It’s lazy writing and lazy scripting. Not to mention vulgar. Why do you think the powers-that-be in the entertainment industry purposefully drag us all down into that gutter? What’s the point?”
“Beats me, but it’s intentional. Maybe it’s part of the whole ‘dumbing-down’ riptide in our culture.”
Julie smiled. “Listen to you! The whole ‘riptide’ in our culture. Why, Matt Bryson, you sound positively professorial.”
“Professorial, eh? Cute. Very cute. But you still haven’t answered my question. What will you do when you’re offered roles that compromise your beliefs? Refuse the part? Can you get some kind of no-swearing or no-nudity clause in your contract?”
Julie smirked. “Thankfully there are still a few decent movies out there without all of that. But yes, it’s a deal-breaker for me. I can’t ask God to bless my career if I throw Him under the bus the first chance I get and take a part that’s filled with obscenity. Or even worse, using the name of Jesus as a form of swearing.”
Matt turned to face her, his knee angled between them, his back against the sofa’s armrest. “Good for you. First Peter Lanham, then Hollywood . . . who knows what extraordinary adventures await someone like you with such strong morals.”
Julie gently squeezed his denim-covered knee. “Thanks, Matt.”
With over-animated eye gestures, Matt’s eyes darted back and forth between her hand on his knee and her eyes.
“Oh!” She snatched her hand back, giggling. “Sorry! Pardon my hypocrisy.”
“I’m kidding!” He reached for her hand. “Just couldn’t resist the chance to pull a Julie on you.”
“I get it. I may be slow, but I get it.” She relaxed as Matt wove their fingers together and placed their hands back on his knee.
“There now. All better,” he said. “But let’s back up. Before you launched into your reprisal from Ferris Bueller, you were telling me about finding Mr. Smithe at your desk.”
“Oh, right. He wasn’t just sitting at my desk; he’d obviously gone through it and everything on it.”
“Why would he do that?”
Uh oh. I did it again. Oh, to be able to reel my blabbering words back in! How can I explain this without giving away the fact I’m still sleuthing on my own?
“Julie?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m not usually so ADD, but for some reason my mind keeps running away from me tonight.” She winced, hearing her own voice play-acting the dumb blonde. “I think Smithe was . . . he seemed to be on the rampage this morning, and I suppose it was my turn on his hit list.”
“What did he say to you?”
She avoided eye-contact, winging it as she tried to figure out how to tell him. “He was furious, actually, and even threatened to fire me at one point! Which, thankfully, he didn’t. At least not yet.”
“Fire you? On what grounds?”
“Well, see, like I said, he’d gone through my desk, and he told me . . .”
“Told you what?”
I hate this. If I tell him, he’ll get all crazy about me impeding his precious investigation again. But I can’t stand lying to him. Look at that face, all cute and kind and trusting . . .
“Hello? Anyone in there?”
She huffed in resignation. “Okay, fine. But promise you won’t get mad and stomp out of here.”
“What? Why would I—”
“Promise me, Matt.”
“Fine. I promise I won’t stomp out of here.”
“Or get mad.”
“Or get mad—no, I take that back. I can’t make that promise if I don’t know what it is. Tell me what happened.”
She debated. Finally, “I don’t exactly know why he decided to go through my desk, but the fact is he found something. I’d made some notes.”
“What kind of notes?”
Julie picked at a piece of imaginary lint from her sleeve. “Well, see, it was mostly just a few things I’d . . . noticed . . . on the, uh—”
“Spit it out. What were your notes about?”
“All right, all right.” With her eyes locked on a spot on the carpet and her foot bouncing in triple-time, she told him. “I copied some notes off your notes from Mr. Lanham’s computer.” She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed loudly for effect as she waited for his reaction. He would blow any moment. She was sure of it.
Finally, she stole a peek in his direction and found his face frozen. Eyes wide open, mouth gaping like the Grand Canyon; he didn’t move a muscle. Then came a series of rapid blinks as his mouth tried to form words that wouldn’t come.
“I knew you’d be mad,” she whispered.
He stretched his neck this way, then that, popping it in both directions. Still, not a word.
She grabbed a throw pillow and buried her face in it. “I knew this would happen. I shouldn’t have told you. I didn’t want to tell you, but . . .” She dropped the pillow and the words exploded in a mighty rush. “But then you looked at me with those sweet, adorable puppy eyes, and I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to lie! I really like you, Matt. More than you probably know, and I mean, how can we start a relationship if we’re not 100 percent honest with each other? What possible chance would we have if we began our relationship on nothing but deception and lies? Because I don’t know about you, but the way I see it, the world has enough deception and lies, so the very least we can do is be truthful and forthcoming and completely transparent, or else we’ll just be like all the rest of this rotten, repulsive old world and all the other despicable jerks on the—”
“STOP!” he shouted, his hands raised.
Julie shrieked, springing off the sofa. “Don’t yell at me! Matt, you scared me half to death!”
He stood, his hands outstretched toward her, his fingers curling in like two bear claws searching for something to tear apart.
She backed away from him, her heart racing. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m so sorry!”
He stared at her for a minute more then looked around the room, for what she had no idea. He raked his stiffened fingers through his hair then began pacing in a wide circle around the room. After his third pass, he stopped in front of her, this time raising both index fingers in a brief surrender before dropping them.
“Julie, I’m
. . . speechless. I don’t . . . I can’t begin to . . . how could you possibly—”
“I’m so sorry, Matt,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “I am. I’m truly sorry.”
He stared at her again, this time his chest caving when he released all that pent-up frustration in one long, drawn-out sigh. His eyes were on her, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
Probably wondering how to cut me up in little pieces and carry me out in suitcases like Raymond Burr. She gulped.
“I promised not to stomp out of here, and I won’t,” he began, speaking with obvious restraint. “But I need to cool off before I say or do something I’ll regret.” He started for the door. “I’m going to go take a walk. And once I calm down, I’ll come back and we’ll talk.”
“Please don’t go, Matt.”
He opened the door. “I said I’ll be back.”
“Then let me come with you.”
“No—no, I think it’s best I go alone.” He stepped out onto the landing then started down the stairs.
“Don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I just need not to be with you right now.”
Chapter 12
Julie spent the next half hour kicking herself for opening her big mouth. She finally calmed down after opening her Bible to the book of Psalms, praying she’d find solace in the words of the psalmist. David knew a thing or two about blowing it. Big time. And yet the Bible says the Lord referred to him as “a man after God’s own heart.” In comparison, her faux pas was nothing. Still, she’d really blown it this time, thinking she’d show Matt and Berkowitz a thing or two by solving the mystery of Lanham’s death. And why? To prove once again that she wasn’t some dumb blonde? Will I never learn?
In the process of putting herself on a self-made stage and trying to star in the lead role in this investigation, she’d crossed the line. She’d gone against Matt’s directives—again—and angered him to the point he couldn’t even be in the same room with her.
She’d just taken a deep breath to maintain her composure when she heard his knock on the door. Julie uttered a silent prayer for wisdom before answering it.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”