Twisted Arrangement 2

by Mora Early

  Ransler was already nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I did hear that. But frankly, and pardon me for saying so, that’s part of what worries me. Most producers aren’t nearly as involved as you are. And since my concerns are about you...” He tipped his beer bottle in Josh’s direction. “You can see how it raises problems with me signing on.”

  Josh gritted his teeth. “With all due respect, Mr. Ransler, the rumors you’ve heard about me are just that. Rumors. Not all of them are true. In fact, I’d wager the majority aren’t. But if you come work for me, you can see that for yourself.”

  Ransler’s lips twitched. One dark eyebrow rose a little. “You think I’m basing my concerns solely on what others tell me? You must not think very highly of me, Mr. Owens.”

  “Please, call me Josh.” He leaned back in his chair and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. Even in the shade under the tent it was quite warm. “Look, Mr. Ransler, I have no clue what you’re basing your decisions on because until now you haven’t even been willing to speak to me. I was under the impression you’d agreed to meet with me after the charity ball, but since then I’ve been given every excuse in the book.”

  “Fair enough. I did say I would meet with you after your ball, and here we are.” Ransler drained the last of his beer. “Look, I know you can’t make this film without my name on the dotted line. Arnold Purefoy has made no bones about the fact that he’ll pull his money. But I have to be honest with you, Josh. I just don’t see it working out. We’re two very different people and I don’t think I can compromise on this.”

  Anger and resentment bubbled up in Josh’s throat. He swallowed them down. He was angry with Arnold Purefoy, for making his jittery stipulations public knowledge. He was angry with Lolly Tate for being such a petulant ex and spreading nasty rumors. And he resented having to beg William Ransler to sign onto a project he should be jumping all over, because he thought Josh was some sort of boogieman.

  “William, I appreciate your honesty. But I just don’t understand what it is about my character you find so objectionable. I’ve never cheated on my taxes. I donate to charity all the time. I treat my cast and crew with respect and see they have whatever they need. I care about the artistic integrity of my films. You’re not going to find another Hollywood producer that can say all that honestly.” Josh tried to relax his grip on the beer bottle. He was worried it would shatter in his hand.

  As he watched, Ransler’s eyes moved over his shoulder and a grin like a sunbeam broke out across his face. Josh shifted in his seat so he could see who was coming. He’d never seen a man look so joyful before.

  The woman gliding toward them was tall, maybe six feet. Her orange-red hair hung in a long braid down her back, swinging side to side with her swishing gait. Her round face was sprinkled judiciously with freckles. They covered her cheeks and her long, thin nose completely. Her wide mouth curved upward, and Josh could see a glint of laughter in her soft brown eyes even from a distance.

  She wasn’t a gorgeous woman, though her dusty blue jeans and bright purple tank top showed off her full figure well, but she carried herself with a graceful confidence. And William Ransler was gazing at her as if Venus herself had just stepped down from her clamshell.

  Josh barely recognized her. 17 years ago, an up-and-coming William Ransler had done a film called Down the Plains. It was a cowboy flick that had bombed at the box office, much to the surprise to the investors. But the bigger shock to the Hollywood system had been the lead actor’s sudden marriage to a young lady no one had ever heard of, a girl who lived in the town Down the Plains had shot in.

  Maisie Buchanan was a rancher’s daughter, going to the nearby community college for animal husbandry. She hadn’t even worked on the film. After the wedding, the couple had bought a ranch in Northern California and Ransler’s wife had rarely been seen in Hollywood. If he brought a date to an award show or event, it was usually his eldest daughter.

  “There she is,” William murmured with relish. He held out his hand, palm up, and she slid hers into it, twining their fingers. William tugged her down beside him, running her braid through his free hand. “Josh, this is Maisie Ransler. My wife. Maisie, this is Josh Owens.”

  “The producer?” Maisie’s thin brows curved upward. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Josh gave her a crooked grin. “Seems like many people have. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Ransler.” He extended his hand and Maisie shook it briskly. Her hand was big, almost as big as his, and warm. She squeezed.

  “Call me, Maisie, please.” She drew back her hand and rested her chin on it, dancing eyes fixed on Josh’s face. “You’re trying to talk Willie into joining your movie, huh?”

  “I am. And you should call me Josh.” He liked Maisie Ransler immediately. She had a kind face and her friendliness practically radiated off her like heat waves.

  “Well, good luck, Josh. He’s awful picky these days.” She rubbed her nose briefly against William’s cheek and then pressed a quick kiss there. “I just came by for a kiss. I’m going to go help Norman with those spring squash. Want me to get us a few for dinner?”

  William brushed her lips with his own. “If you want. We can throw ‘em on the grill with the steaks.”

  Maisie unfolded herself from the seat and touched William’s cheek gently. “Sounds like a plan. You boys play nice, now.” She lifted her laughing gaze to Josh’s. “Josh, don’t you let him talk himself out of this one. I’m counting on you.”

  She raised a hand in farewell and sashayed away. Josh and Ransler both watched her go. When Josh shifted his gaze to the other man, William was scowling. Josh’s lips twitched. “It seems even your lovely wife thinks you should take the job, William. So, tell me, what’s the hold up? Honestly?”

  William Ransler leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his face within inches of Josh’s. “I worship that woman.”

  Josh shot a quick look to where Maisie Ransler strode away from them. She moved with a casual elegance, her hips swinging as she waved and called to people, still laughing, a smile on her wide mouth. It was the kind of view of a woman walking away that a man could enjoy. “I can see why.”

  Ransler’s dark brows snapped down so hard they collided just above his nose. “That right there is my problem with you, Owens. The way you treat women. It’s despicable.”

  Josh’s mouth dropped open. The way he treated women? This had to be Lolly’s doing. “Look, William. I apologize if you took any offense. Your wife seems like a wonderful, warm, caring woman. That’s all I meant.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I swear”

  “Right. Because ‘warm’ and ‘caring’ are the qualities you appreciate most in a woman.” Ransler snorted. “I’ve watched you at an endless parade of premieres and banquets, Owens, and you know what? You have an endless parade of girls too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with the same one twice.”

  Josh couldn’t argue with that. Aside from his brief “relationship” with Lolly Tate, the last time he’d been seriously involved with someone had been his college girlfriend. Ransler was lucky. It wasn’t quite so easy to find someone and maintain more than superficial relationship with them in Hollywood. But he could hardly say that now. He was on the verge of really losing Ransler, and with him two years of hard work. He’d let down all the people he’d promised to come through for.

  “My fiancé values her privacy too.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through. All Josh knew was that William Ransler was sitting here with his smug expression and his perfect marriage, calling him a womanizer, and it pissed him off. But he couldn’t alienate the man and sacrifice all his work just for the sake of his own wounded pride. So he lied.

  Ransler’s mouth dropped open. “You’re engaged?” Josh mentally scrambled for a response. How was he supposed to save himself from this blunder?

  “We’re keeping it very, very hush. My fiancé isn’t in the business and prefers to keep it that way.” He was praying silently that Ransler wouldn’t pry. Wh
at would he say if the man asked for a name or details about this supposed fiancé?

  William Ransler crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “You want me to believe that you - the poster boy for the playboy lifestyle - have a serious, long term, loving relationship with a regular, everyday woman and she’s agreed to marry you?”

  Josh gritted his teeth. “You needn’t sound so surprised. Despite what you may think, I actually am quite fond of women.” At Ransler’s raised eyebrow, he clarified. “This one in particular.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “What?” Josh’s fingers tightened reflexively on his beer bottle. He raised it to his lips, draining the last few sips, buying himself some time. Ransler chuckled, ready to call his bluff.

  “Your lovely fiancé. What’s her name?”

  Josh’s guts churned. Two years of his life about to go down the drain. Hundreds of people out of work. All because William Ransler bought into the tabloid’s portrayal of Josh as a Love-’Em-And-Leave-’Em type. Again, his mouth popped open and words poured out without the permission of his conscious mind. “Emma.”

  William blinked in surprise. Josh dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to keep the shock from his own face. Where had that come from? Emma? Well, he reasoned, he did find the quiet but efficient party promoter attractive. And he had just left her office. It made sense her name would jump to his tongue so quickly. He could hardly tell Ransler his fiancé’s name was ‘Madame Butterfly’, though she was the other woman who came immediately to his mind.

  Ransler stood and knocked his knuckles against the table. “I’ll tell you what, Josh. You have Emma call my assistant. She and I can have a little chat. Then we’ll see. Otherwise, don’t bother trying to get in touch with me again.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Josh’s beer bottle tipped. It was empty, but the hollow clink of the glass made him flinch. Ransler shook his head.

  “I’m really not. Goodbye, Mr. Owens. And congratulations.” He flashed Josh his famous grin and strolled away.

  Chapter 4 ~ Good Mud & the Felon

  Emma tripped over a pair of muddy sneakers lying right in front of her door. She caught herself before she fell, barely. She set the bag of groceries she was carrying on the counter and bent to pick the shoes up, placing them gingerly on the mat beside the door. The mat she kept specifically to put muddy shoes on. Clearly her little brother was still too injured to move and extra two inches to the left when taking off his sneakers.

  “Todd?”

  The TV was on in her postage stamp-sized living room, but there was no sign of her brother. She turned off the TV and cocked her head. Now that the blaring commercials were silenced, she could hear the shower running. Emma shrugged out of her coat and turned back toward the coatrack in the kitchen. The sound of Todd’s voice stopped her.

  Her brother’s words were muffled, but he was definitely talking to someone. Heat stung Emma’s cheeks. Did he have a girl in her house? Beyond her slight embarrassment at possibly walking in on a romantic encounter, she felt concerned. She was pretty sure he shouldn’t be attempting to do that yet. Especially not any sort of fancy in-the-shower maneuvers.

  But the tone of his voice wasn’t seductive. He sounded... placating. Emma knew that tone well. Todd used it on her constantly. She dropped her coat on the back of the couch and slunk closer to the bathroom door. She cracked her knuckles nervously before pressing her ear to the cool wood.

  “... gonna fix it. It’s just going to take some time. I’m still recuperating!” Todd paused, but Emma didn’t hear another voice responding. She bit her lip. He had to be on the phone. But while in the shower? Todd gave an aggrieved sigh.

  “I promised, didn’t I? What has you so bent out of shape?”

  She heard the faucet turn on for just a moment and then the click of the cabinet over the toilet. What was he doing in there? Not taking a shower, even though it was running, and talking on the phone at the same time? Emma pressed harder against the door.

  “And what did you tell this Ben-something?” Todd’s voice had dropped from jovial placating mode to a serious concerned tone. A moment later though, he laughed. The sound was sharper than his usual jovial chuckle. “Carla? Oh wow. No, don’t worry about it. Probably a new boyfriend or something. Just let me know if he comes by again. Listen man, I have to go. Em’s going to be home any minute and I need to get this cleaned up. But I swear I’ll be by the shop to help with the buggy. Thursday at the latest. Cool?”

  Emma had begun to relax at the sound of her younger brother’s carefree laughter, but the bit about cleaning something up before she got home stiffened her spine again. She twisted the knob and pushed open the bathroom door just as Todd was setting his phone down on the toilet.

  Todd was wearing a pair of blue boxer shorts with jet planes on them. His state of undress didn’t bother her. She’d changed his diapers, after all. The wide-eyed look of guilt on his face and the mud-caked outfit hanging in the running shower were a bit disturbing, however.

  “Todd, what’s going on?”

  He tried to block her view of the shower and tub by spreading his arms out in welcome. His smile was too wide. “Ems! You’re home early.”

  Emma ducked under his arm and gasped when she saw her bathtub. It was nearly half full with dark, reddish-brown mud. One of her window screens was wedged in sideways, apparently serving as a filter for the mucky mess. Thin brown water ran through the fine mesh and down the drain. The shower’s spray was aimed at the shirt and pants hanging from a coatrack that stood in the middle of the tub, its base sunk in the pile of clay. The water washed the mud from the clothes and the screen prevented the mud from slipping down the drain.

  “Ems--”

  “Todd, what is going on here?”

  He stretched his arm past her and turned off the shower. “Some of the guys were out mud-buggin’--”

  “You were not riding a dune buggy again!” Emma knew what mud-bugging was. She’d seen a show about it on the Travel channel. Basically the whole point was to get as filthy as possible while riding your dune buggy around. She supposed she was lucky Todd hadn’t tracked mud all the way through her house.

  “I wasn’t riding, I promise, Ems. Just watching. Anyway, some of the guys found this new place to go mud-buggin’. A couple of them brought their girlfriends along. And Tammy, she’s Russ’ latest girl, was complaining about getting mud all over her face.”

  Emma sank down onto the closed toilet lid. “I’m assuming this story has a point?”

  Todd flicked water at her. “This other girl, I don’t know her name, she says how Tammy should be grateful because the rich ladies in LA pay top dollar to get mud on their faces.” He grinned at her, as if he’d just imparted the wisdom of the ages.

  “So, you decided to bring it home and give it a bath?” She rubbed her temple. A headache had flared to life there the minute she’d heard Todd utter the words ‘Em’s going to be home any minute.’

  “I was already pretty coated in it, but I made sure it was nice and thick before I came back. Now I’m just rinsing it out of my clothes. And once the water drains out, I can have it analyzed by a cosmetician or whatever!” He scooped up some of the thick mud on his fingers and held it out to her. “Go on, feel it, Ems.”

  Emma held up her hands and leaned away. “No thanks. I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely mud. But why are you having it analyzed?”

  The look he gave her was one she was pretty sure younger siblings earned the rights to at birth. It was the ‘My god, I clearly got the brains in the family’ look. “To sell to the spas, Ems. They’re not just going to buy a barrel of random mud from some guy.”

  “No.” Emma chuckled, staring at the pile of muck in the bottom of her shower. “Why would they?”

  “Exactly. But if I’ve got, like, lab reports that say it’s good mud? Then we’re golden. We’ll rake in the cash and we won’t have to worry about anything. No jobs, no guys snooping around, nothing.”

/>   Emma’s brow furrowed. “What guys snooping around?” She recalled the portion of the conversation she’d overheard and grabbed Todd’s wrist. Cold fingers of dread brushed against her belly from inside. “Who is Carla and what did Ben-something want to know about her?”

  He yanked his wrist out of her grip and rubbed it. “Carla’s just a... friend. Or she was, back when I was riding rodeo. Some guy came around Jimmy’s shop asking about her. That’s all. He’s probably an ex looking for her. Or a bail bondsmen.”

  “Carla sounds like a real peach. But I think maybe we should find out more about this guy. It worries me that someone is asking about you right after we... you know...” She wriggled her fingers. “Josh Owens.”

  “We did magic on Josh Owens?” Todd snorted. Emma narrowed her eyes, but before she could reprimand him, Todd touched her cheek gently. “Don’t sweat it, Ems. I told Jimmy to let me know if he comes by again. But I doubt he will. Carla was pretty wild. I’m sure it was some crap about her. Not me. Not us. Okay?”