Don't Tell the Moon

by LILY TEEGARDIN

  Scala hit a button on his cell phone and after a very brief and animated conversation in Italian, smiled at Ian. “She will be here very soon. She is quite excited, as you will see. Just be forewarned. Sophia is one of a kind.”

  “I’m absolutely delighted that she will join us.” Ian refreshed his own smile, injecting a good dose of enthusiasm.

  “I have to say that I am grateful for your timely appearance,” Scala said, his eyes now narrow. “She has made this engagement to Alex Fleming and I just don’t understand the attraction on either part. Physically, yes, they are both very beautiful people, but their characters are so different.” He shrugged, hands held out to the sides. “She is dramatic and capricious, where Fleming is the consummate professional. To my mind, they don’t make such a good match. Perhaps she will rethink her choices if she spends time with other interesting people.”

  “Father!” The raven haired woman approached their table in a flourish of drama, now turning her eyes to Ian. “Mr. Donnelly, I have waited a lifetime to meet you, but until this day you have successfully eluded me.”

  Scala turned toward Ian with a ‘now-you-see-what-I-mean’ expression on his face.

  Ian rose, took her hand, and planted a kiss above her ringed fingers. “Well, my dear, that was a very bad mistake on my part and I mean to correct it today.” He pulled back a chair for her and collected himself for what he thought might be his best performance yet to date.

  It’s Showtime! he murmured in his head.

  “Your father tells me that you are engaged,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t help but express my sadness at this revelation,” He glanced at her in mock sorrow, then added a flirtatious grin.

  He had ordered her a gin and tonic and listened to her stories with a rapt expression, ever since Scala had left them, and now he thought the time had ripened for his plan of action.

  “Yes,” she said, her long lashes suddenly dropping to her cheeks. “But it is not as happy an engagement as I had expected. I suppose that is what I have to look forward to as I go through life with an artist. It will be my cross to bear.”

  Bravo! He applauded in his head. Florence Nightingale and Joan of Arc, all in the same stunningly bad performance!

  “Ah, an artist?” he asked casually. “I don’t want to be too personal, but do I know him?”

  “Of course,” she answered with wide eyed wonder. “You are friends, I’m certain. I’m surprised that he hasn’t shared it with you. It is Alex Fleming.”

  “Oh… dear.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and then as if in an attempt to cover his words, he smiled broadly. “Alex? Yes, of course. We are… friends, in a manner of speaking.”

  “That does not sound very friendly,” she countered.

  “Oh, no, it’s just that… no never mind. It isn’t any of my business.”

  “Please, Mr. Donnelly…”

  “Ian,” he touched her arm.

  “Ian,” she responded with a smile.“But if there is something I should know that might affect my future, it would be cruel to keep it from me, no?”

  Ian bit his lip, his brow furrowed in mock indecision.

  “My dear girl, I should… no, it’s such a personal thing. I don’t really feel…”

  “But Ian - would you let a helpless woman walk into danger without some counsel?” She blinked her eyes rapidly.

  Oh, Bloody Betty on a Broomstick, he murmured the childhood phrase in his mind, and rubbed his eyes. You are as helpless as an asp.

  “Well, since you put it that way, how could I possibly sleep a wink now without giving you a word of warning?”

  Don’t go over the top, Donnelly. Save the ham for the bean soup, he told himself.

  “Warning?” She gave a sharp turn of her head and looked to one side, as if expecting someone to be lurking in the shadows. “That word has a ring of danger, does it not?”

  “Ah, sweet Sophia.” He took her face in his hands. “I don’t mean to imply that. It’s just that your eyes are so full of innocence and bright anticipation for a happy future; it hurts me to bring the clouds.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is he gay? You can say it. It will go no further.”

  “Gay?” For a moment he thought that this might in fact be a delicious way to solve Sara’s problems, as well as having a bit of his own fun with Fleming, but dismissed the thought. “No, Sophia. He isn’t gay. He is a… a gambler. A terrible illness.”

  “A gambler?” She let out a throaty laugh. “But what does that matter? He is very rich from the Beekeeper films. He can afford to gamble whatever he wishes.”

  “Ah, one would think.” Ian closed his eyes and nodded, as if in agreement. “But when the illness overcomes one’s better judgment, is there really enough money in the entire world?”

  Sophia was suddenly lost in thought.

  “Talk to me.” Ian picked up her hand.

  “No, I was just thinking, I went once to his home. It isn’t very grand for a serious star,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip.

  “Not as grand as the three other homes he lost to his obsession.” Ian sucked in a sigh and let it out raggedly between his teeth. “But the part that hurts me the most is the strain that it has put on our friendship.”

  “How so?”

  “I gave him money, you see, to keep his current shabby little apartment. He promised me that he would give up his habit, wouldn’t lose this home as well… but of course, I was just being naïve. I fear that soon he will be on the streets.”

  “Oh, surely, it can’t be that critical…”

  He banged his hand on the table. “It’s not him, Sophia. It’s the illness. But I refuse to be his enabler any longer!”

  Oh Donnelly, one more outburst like that and you will deserve the tomatoes they toss at you.

  “Perhaps he was trying to let me know this in a gentle way,” she said, looking at him with suddenly clear eyes. “I know that you will find this difficult to believe, but I thought that he has been trying to let me go because of another woman. He’s told me stories of this woman, but when I met her, I did not believe it to be true.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, very curious to her answer.

  “Because she is an American.” Sophia shuddered, as if this were explanation enough.

  Ian held the outburst of laughter in his chest, clearing his throat instead.

  “So what do you intend to do with this information?”

  “I cannot dismiss it, of course,” she sighed. “I will have to break it off with him. I don’t see that I can have a future with a man who has such a disease.”

  “I think that you have made a wise decision.” Ian kissed her hand once more.

  “You have saved me then, you know.” She gave him a coquettish grin. “What do you intend to do with me now?”

  “Well, that is quite an interesting question, isn’t it?” He grinned back, seeing the sparkle in her enormous, brown eyes. He hadn’t lied to Scala. He had always liked his women just a bit spoiled.

  “Miss Sara, Mr. Alex is on the telephone for you.” Myrtle walked into the little bedroom and handed her the mobile, smiling broadly. “He sounds cheerful, dear, so perhaps he’s going to come home soon,” she tittered.

  “Alex, is it true, are you coming home?” Sara all but shouted into the phone, butterflies gathering in her stomach.

  “Possibly soon, but not quite yet.” His voice was non-committal and her heart plunged. Myrtle had been guilty of premature wishful thinking, she surmised.

  “Alright. I can wait,” she said, forcing a smile into her voice.

  “Sara, can I ask you to do a favor for me.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Would you drive to the pharmacy and pick up that cream that you suggested I use on my elbow? You know, the one for my rough and patchy skin?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “And would you swing by the post and drop if off to me? I would ask Myrtle but I’m afraid that she wouldn’t
have a clue. I’ve completely run out of it.”

  Her heart sank. That meant that he wouldn’t be home again this week.

  “I will,” she murmured.

  “Would you mind terribly doing it right away? It really is inflamed and I can’t get the damned stuff over here in Switzerland. I hate to be such a bloody bother.”

  “Sure. I was just getting ready to go to the market anyway, so it won’t be a bother.”

  “Thank you. I knew I could count on you,” he said. “Oh dear, have to run. I’ll call you tonight.”

  The phone went dead. She stared into the receiver. She had never had a conversation like this with him before, and she was thoroughly puzzled by his impersonal tone. She couldn’t help but picture the devious Sophia, lying in her sick bed, dressed in a revealing, black, lacy negligee, begging Alex to stay with her just one more day.

  “Fuck a duck!” she bellowed and beat the pillow on her bed until a feather popped out from a seam.

  Sara had to stop at two drug shops before she finally found the necessary cream, then was caught in city traffic on her way to the post office. By the time she arrived home, she was haggard, sweaty, and thirsty, and anxious for a cup of tea.

  To add insult to injury, an enormous truck was parked in the driveway to the back entrance, entirely blocking even foot traffic. Heaving a sigh, she unlocked the front gate with her key.

  As she pushed open the heavy door with one elbow, arms laden with grocery bags, her eyes widened in surprise.

  The entire foyer and hallway were filled with floating red and white balloons, so many that she had to duck her head to enter.

  “Myrtle!” she cried. “What on earth? Myrtle?”

  There was no answer. Sara proceeded cautiously into the kitchen.

  Her mouth fell open at the sight.

  The table and counters were entirely filled with dozens upon dozens of vases, bearing long stemmed red roses, long streamers of red and white ribbon cascading onto the floor.

  Taped to the refrigerator was a large, sharp, silver pin attached to an enormous banner that read:

  “If you don’t find me soon, my heart will burst.”

  Depositing the grocery bags onto the seats of the kitchen chairs, she reached up, dislodged the pin. and walked to the doorway of the living room. Hundreds of balloons filled the entire area from ceiling to floor - so many that she was unable to enter.

  Holding the pin in front of her, she started to prick the colorful, inflated rubber balls one by one, the bangs and pops filling her ears.

  Laughter erupted from her throat and she poked faster and more fiercely, jumping a bit at each explosion.

  “ALEX FLEMING,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, “If I have to puncture every damn balloon in the universe, I swear, I WILL find you!”

  She now abandoned the pin and merely started to wade through, hands pushing the squeaky, airy objects to one side.

  Her arm brushed against something soft, and she realized that it was a sweater. Scrunching her fingers into it, she pulled it forward, until she saw his face emerging from the giant bubbles, the grin splitting from ear to ear.

  “Happy Birthday!” He lowered his head and put his lips on hers for a very long time.

  “It’s not my birthday,” she giggled when they finally came up for air.

  “I know. I missed the last one, but it will be the last I ever miss.”

  His expression was so tender that Sara’s heart nearly burst, like one of the balloons she had just punctured.

  “How long do I have you? How long are you here?”

  “Forever,” he whispered.

  He kissed her again, but this time quite briefly, as his hand grasped hers and he led her to the stairs.

  “I will never, ever leave this bed. You will have to bring me breakfast, lunch, and dinner here for the rest of my life.” She let out an exhausted, satiated sigh. “Or at least until I’m as big as a house and they have to remove me with a crane.”

  “Mm, that suits me just fine.” He traced the line of her cheek with his finger, stopping at the dimple. “You never leaving my bed, is my fondest dream.”

  “I’m serious. Let’s call for pizza and tell the delivery man to just slide it under the bedroom door.” She kissed the finger that now traced her lips, puffy with his kisses.

  “Very tempting,” he grinned, “but I have other plans for us tonight.”

  She turned on her elbow and looked up at him. “Us. I really love that word, Alex. Alright, then, what are us doing tonight?”

  “It involves a date with you and that red dress in your closet.”

  “We’re going out?”

  “In style,” he answered, kissing her nose. “And you now have exactly one hour in which to get ready.” He left their bed with a reluctant glance, and headed for the shower.

  “Hel-lo!” he whistled loudly when she entered the living room. “I’ve dreamed about you in that dress for an entire year, but in person you beat out every dream I’ve ever had.”

  “Well. That’s much better,” she nodded firmly. “The last time I modeled it for you, you barely looked up.”

  “I was in hell,” he whispered, leaning his face into her ear. “I couldn’t let you wear this dress. Stuart would have kidnapped you and whisked you off to Abu Dhabi. You have no idea how stunning you looked… look.”

  “You’re quite dishy yourself,” she said, stepping into his most private space and wrapping her arms around his waist. Even in her highest heels, she had to tilt her head up to look into his eyes.

  “Thank you. I thought that this should be a black tie affair,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  “But what about the paparazzi, Alex? They will be certain to think that you are on your way to some stunning premiere and we won’t have any peace all evening.” She was now used to premieres, having worked with Ian for a year, and knew that they attracted the photographers like hungry flies to a picnic. “Maybe we should take separate cabs.”

  “Alright, if you think so,” he murmured, ushering her down the hallway to the foyer and opening the front door. “But I think I’d rather go in this.”

  Parked in the front drive was the largest, white limousine Sara had ever seen in her life. A chauffeur stood waiting, hat in hand, and hurried to open the massive doors at Alex’s signal.

  “Oh!” she squeaked and hugged him tightly.

  A camera flashed in the nearby vicinity, startling her, but he lifted her chin to his face and kissed her soundly.

  “Let’s hope it hits the front page,” he whispered in her ear as several more flashes lit up the evening dusk. “Nothing brings them around any faster than a great big limousine.” He winked at the driver, helping her inside.

  Champagne and dark chocolates were arranged on a table before them, the cork already neatly popped, crystal glasses awaiting their toast.

  “I see no reason to have a chauffeur,” she nudged him, eyes twinkling. “We can just stay right here in the driveway all night and have our own spectacular private party. Why waste the gas?”

  “Not a bad idea, but the lad has been given a task. Why not go along for the ride and see where he takes us?” he countered, taking a sip of champagne. “If we get bored, we can always tinker with these mysterious buttons.” He pressed one and soft music started to play.

  “Fat chance I’ll let you get bored,” she murmured, putting her hand on his thigh.

  “Keep that up, and we will spend the evening in the driveway,” he said, his eyes dancing.

  “Alright, I’ll behave,” she promised reluctantly. “But only for a while.”

  “I’ll accept that.” He kissed her smiling mouth.

  They sat side by side, his arm tightly around her shoulder, as if assuring himself that she was truly there.

  “You haven’t told me about Sophia.” She approached the subject lightly. “Can I assume then that you are no longer engaged?”

  “Yes,” he laughed. “My apologies. I suppose I should
have told you as much before I ravaged you a little while ago. But you know that was never the case in the first place.”

  “I’ve never seen you sweat so much in your life,” she giggled.

  “Men are not equipped to deal with those types of emotional quandaries,” he said, fidgeting at the topic of conversation. “I would much rather take my chances in front of a firing squad.”

  “Was it a bad moment then, finally ending it?”

  “If I’m to be honest, it wasn’t much of anything. She telephoned and told me that she could no longer continue our relationship. And that was that.” He shrugged in confusion. “The relationship that never was, ended as abruptly as it never began.”

  “It sounds as though she must have given up after your explanations. Perhaps it finally sank in that you weren’t going to play ball.”

  “I don’t think that was it, because she made a most perplexing statement.” He cocked his head in puzzlement.

  “Oh?”

  “She said that she wished me the very best, but that she couldn’t have a future with me because of my illness. She wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle it.”

  “Your illness?” Sara repeated, now totally confused.

  “Yes. She said that I should seek help with Gamblers Anonymous.”

  “What? When do you gamble?” Sara’s face was scrunched up in question.

  “I play poker with the lads on the set sometimes, when things are slow. Twenty pence a wager. But I don’t remember ever having lost more than thirty quid.” His face was equally confused. “That’s about it.”

  “Diamond Jim Brady, you ain’t,” she chortled, taking hold of his hand. “Something tells me that Ian’s fingerprints are somewhere in this sticky pudding.”

  “Donnelly? Wait a moment. Sophia did say something about him. In my surprise, I’d entirely forgotten.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She said that I should call Donnelly and try to sort it with him. At that point I was just relieved and anxious to get her off the telephone and get home to you. I wasn’t going to pursue it. But why…”