Souvenirs

by Mia Kay

  He shook his head, still staring at the shelf. “I’ve never been in a London library.”

  “Well, you do stand out,” she teased. “We have private rooms if you want to be alone.”

  He shook his head again. “Maybe just a comfortable chair.”

  “Good choice. The rooms remind me of monks’ cells. My favorite spot is around the bend there. I’m Jenny. I’ll be at the desk in case you need something.”

  She walked away, and Ben found the inaugural book in its starry jacket. Fe had loaned her copy without it, claiming he’d ruin it while hauling it across Europe.

  He read the back flap, hoping to see Grace’s smile. There wasn’t a photo, and the bio was simple.

  E.G. Donnelley is a promising new author who grew up reading Lovecraft, Wells, and Tolkien and is now proud to have a book in their section of the library. A former English teacher, E.G. now spends time reading anything within reach, learning more about writing, and spoiling Sunny, a faithful retriever.

  The rest of it was praise from the authors filling the shelves on either side of him.

  The second book was Just in Time. Above the title, gold lettering declared, “Follow-up to the New York Times Bestseller Partners in Time.” He skipped the synopsis, now hungry for other details. This time the bio explained that Ian and Zadie had more story to tell and E.G. hoped readers enjoyed learning more about their tangled lives.

  The third was similar. The fourth added the phrase, ‘award-winning novelist.’ The seventh added ‘World Fantasy Award winner.’ The eighth contained a quote from a prominent writer/director about Donnelley’s contribution to the urban fantasy literary canon.

  Ben searched for Grace in the short paragraphs. His fingers stroked the slick covers as they had her skin.

  He’d found the chair Jenny had suggested and connected to Wi-Fi when the librarian peeked around the corner.

  “How are you doing back here?” she asked.

  “Fine, thanks. What do you know about E.G. Donnelley?”

  “Not much. No one knows much. He avoids interviews unless it’s in print, and then it’s mostly for high school students or first year college classes. He keeps the focus on his books. That’s not even changed with the movie news. The studio put an exec on the screen for an internet broadcast about the project. Pretty girl, clearly knowledgeable.”

  “Do you remember her name?” He’d wager a tenner he already knew.

  “They never said. And I’d point you to it, but they had to take it down. Too many hits. It’s rare in this day to point to a real hermit, but he’s pretty close. After looking at his website, I can see why.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Certainly.”

  The woman vanished again, and Ben googled E.G. Donnelley. The site was huge. Q&A blogs, news about upcoming projects including a video game in development, bibliographic links, suggestions for other authors and movies.

  The movie had its own tab, and it was full of information on the studio, the crew, the casting process. He read the credits for the female lead and the director.

  For the first time in his life, Facebook made him happy. Grace’s avatar was a golden retriever in a field of yellow flowers. Her banner photo was a stern warning to “Be kind to each other.” Her fans obeyed.

  Tweets were answered early every morning. She promoted other authors and thanked her readers. Her sarcastic wit made him snort more than once. He heard her laughter in his head.

  Pinterest was full of fan art, book recommendations, movie clips, and writing resources.

  And the more information she gave them, the more they wanted. When are you . . . why don’t you . . . would you come . . . can I ask . . .

  No wonder she’d hidden in plain sight.

  Ben closed the computer and thought back to his audition. The pages had left room for his interpretation but had provided the details necessary for him get into character. The book had done the same thing. Her imagination, her talent, left him gobsmacked.

  Staring at the opposite wall, Ben considered the project. If he’d never met her, would he want to do it? New studio, first movie, and a low budget. They had a talented female lead and an excellent director known for his sci-fi work. It was a complex character. It could turn into a franchise. He’d learn new skills and expand his craft. He’d be gambling, but it was a calculated risk.

  If he hadn’t blown it already.

  He found a book Grace had recommended in one of her last blog posts and stopped at Jenny’s desk to get a library card. Then he went in search of the truth he’d stubbornly ignored.

  He stopped at Noah and Fe’s flat first. She opened the door and hid behind it as he entered. One look at her pinched face and the tissue clinging to life around her fingers, and Ben knew his answers started here.

  “Tell me what happened,” he murmured. “I won’t be angry.”

  Noah stood in the kitchen door with a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Fiona? What did you do?”

  Fe looked between them, her gaze landing on Ben. “Archie wasn’t going to send you out on this, so I did.”

  “The hell you say.” Ben didn’t know whether to be cheesed-off over the secret or chuffed she’d taken care of him.

  Given Fe’s tears, she thought she’d made a hash of it. “I’m sorry, Nobby. I would have told you straight away, but you weren’t yourself when we went, and then you were right narked when we flew back.”

  “It was just seeing Grace after everything.”

  “Grace?” Fiona asked, her eyes wide. “Where?”

  “Bloody well over there.” Ben pointed out the window as if she were next door. “The writer. At the studio.”

  “Your Grace is E.G. Donnelley?”

  The phone rang and Noah left to answer it. It was just as well. This was bad enough to say to Fe.

  “She isn’t mine. Not anymore. I’ve made a complete hash of it.”

  “Well, mate,” Noah said as he rang off, “it couldn’t have been that much of a dog’s dinner. They’ve offered you the part.”

  Ben dropped back into a chair, grinning like a wally even as his stomach plummeted. No more hiding.

  Now in control of herself, Fe took charge of the conversation. “Let’s start at the beginning and have the whole story.”

  Ben told his tale. When he got to Paris, he pulled the clipping from his wallet. The newsprint was fading at the creases and it was beginning to fall apart. He was wearing it out, but it was the only photo he had.

  “I’ve not seen you that happy since school,” Fe said as she ran her finger across the ragged scrap of newsprint.

  “I was.” His sigh telegraphed every regret. Then he confessed the rest.

  Fiona was open-mouthed in shock by the end of the story. “I love you like a brother, but you are the biggest knob I know.”

  “Oi!”

  “Bennett Oliver, only you would see a picture of yourself and assume it was a plot to profit from your success. Only you wouldn’t stop to consider anyone else in the matter. And only you would eliminate all remnants of someone from your life in a fit of pique.”

  She was right, and he’d tell her later, but he had another agenda today. “So, you put me up for the audition?”

  “I did,” Fiona confessed. “Archie’s all mouth and no trousers, and he’s got poor taste in projects. You’re becoming the biggest stallion in his stable, and he’s going to stud you out until you’re spent.”

  Ben listened as dispassionately as he could. He trusted Fiona with everything he considered important. She kept his secrets, watched his back, and protected him while he was on location. She’d been the one to alert him to Hillary’s shenanigans and had run interference when things threatened to get out of control.

  “Ta, muppet.” He winked at her. His smile w
as frail, but it felt good to do it. “Why don’t you ring and tell them yes for me.”

  “You don’t even know the offer,” Noah protested. “You’re acting right squiffy, Ben.”

  Ben stood to leave. “Sometimes my best interests don’t have shit to do with money.”

  Another part of his mission complete, he went round to his mother’s to sort the rest of the puzzle. When he arrived, he used his key and reminded himself not to slam the door. “Mother.”

  He should have reminded himself not to yell.

  “What’s wrong?” She came at a run from the kitchen, drying her hands.

  “Come sit.” He led her back to the table. It wasn’t the kitchen where he’d grown up, but the table was the same. Ben ran his fingers in the same worry grooves he always searched for when they were having a difficult conversation.

  “Have you seen a copy of The Sun lately?”

  “You know I don’t read those awful things.”

  He pulled the newsprint picture from his wallet.

  “Who do you think snapped this?”

  “I don’t have to think about it. I did.”

  Ben put his hand over his mouth. Bollocks. What had he done?

  His mother glanced up at him, frowning. “How did it end up in The Sun?”

  He resisted the impulse to badger her. “Who else has been here? It would have been shortly before the holiday.”

  “My bridge club came. And Fe and Noah. But other than them there was only Archie. He asked to see my vacation pictures over tea. It couldn’t have been him, could it?”

  Ben stood to leave before he lost his temper. “I’m learning a lot about Archie today.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bennett.”

  “Not your fault.” He gave her in a brief, distracted hug. “Don’t fret.”

  “How was your trip to Los Angeles?”

  “I’ll fill you in later,” he said as he left.

  Rather than walking to Archie’s office and running the risk of cooling off, Ben took a taxi. The restraint he’d shown with his mother was fading as he strode through the door and past the vacant desk where Emily, Archie’s sweet P.A., usually sat.

  Slouching in the doorway, Ben watched his agent beaver through files. Photos of parties and red carpets decorated his office walls. A large, ornate desk dominated the space and left little room for sitting to chat. The trilling phone went unanswered, no doubt sending callers to voice mail. Lately, Ben always got Archie’s voice mail—unless Archie needed him.

  “Blimey, mate,” Archie sputtered. “Y’ scared me.”

  Ben sauntered into the room. “Em wasn’t at her desk.”

  “Daft broad quit.” Archie bounced his hand on his desk. He’d done that when they’d read Chemistry in school. Archie had hated Chem. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been to L.A. to read for the Weathermore role in Partners in Time.”

  “Great. You can’t take it, of course. It conflicts with something else I’ve got my eye on for you. Still, the exposure to U.S. casting agents will pay off eventually.”

  “I have taken it.” Ben perched on the edge of his chair. “Imagine my surprise when I found out you didn’t put me in with the casting agent.”

  “I did so.” Archie’s hand went flat and still on the desk. He did that on poker nights at Noah’s. Every time he had a crap hand.

  “Then why did they think Fe was my agent?”

  “Fiona? The barmy bint doesn’t understand anything about this business. That role isn’t the right one for you. I’ve got an ace project on the hook. It’s a remake of—”

  “No, Archie. This one.”

  “So you’d rather work with a rookie producer, a small studio, and a nobody screenwriter?”

  “The script is blinding and the team making it is a great lot.” And she isn’t a nobody.

  “You’ve always trusted me to do what’s best for you.”

  “About that.” Ben tugged the picture from his wallet. I swear, I’m either going to laminate this or throw it away. “Did you steal this photo?”

  A greasy grin slid across the agent’s face. “Look, mate. Hillary is everywhere. Everyone is talking about her. They need to be talking about you.”

  “So you decided to get me into a tabloid headline war with my ex-girlfriend? Are y’ off yer onion?” Ben gained volume as he stood and leaned over the gaudy desk, and even the bric-a-brac lining Archie’s bookshelves trembled. “You betrayed my family’s trust. You took the happiest point in my life and made it a shitty piece of paper.”

  Wide-eyed, Archie leaned back in his chair. “Look, I’m sorry.”

  “You almost cost me a job, and you’ve made a headache for my new director and producer.”

  “I thought—”

  “I’d like my file,” Ben demanded. “Straight away.”

  The defeated man pulled the documents from his desk, and Ben took them. “I’m gutted to end things, but this is unforgivable.”

  “Who’s the bird?” Archie asked.

  “Someone I’ll go through hell to get back.” He indicated the creased piece of tabloid crap still on Archie’s desk. “You can keep that as a souvenir.”

  He returned to Fe and Noah’s home and they spent the rest of the afternoon plotting their next moves. It was almost dark when Ben walked back into his mother’s home and sat at the table with a cup of tea. It grew cold as he told her everything from the past few weeks. He ended it with his head in his hands.

  “Grace is the author of the book you were reading on vacation?” his mother asked. “She never figured it out?”

  “We weren’t exactly having book club, Mother.” Ben dragged his hands free, grimacing at his colorful explanation. “Sorry. I’m shattered.”

  “And you blamed her and Sunny for the picture?” When he nodded, her face melted. “Bennett, how could you?”

  There wasn’t an answer, so he simply shrugged. “Mum . . .”

  “You inherited your father’s temper.” She laid her hand on his jaw and rubbed her thumb on a worry line. “And his good looks.” She sighed and checked the clock. “I need to ring Sunny.”

  His spirits rose. Grace had gone home. She was with her mother. “Would you—could I—”

  “I’ll ask, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  She walked into another room, and Ben listened to her side of the conversation.

  “Hello, Sunny. Dearest, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for Bennett’s recent behavior. What he did to Grace was . . . Wait, what? You don’t know?”

  Ben scrubbed his hands over his face. God, this day just sucks.

  Jetlagged, weary from grief, and unaware of the drama brewing around her, Grace shuffled out of her bedroom for a drink of water. She was blinking in the glare of the refrigerator light when her mother burst through the door. Her mouth was set in a hard line, but her eyes were as soft as the sweater tossed around her shoulders. She held her arms wide, and Grace walked into them.

  “When were you going to tell me he broke your heart?” Sunny whispered.

  “Who told you?”

  “Camille. She called to apologize,” Sunny sighed. “Poor thing had to tell me the whole sordid tale.”

  Grace wrapped her arms around her mother and sobbed.

  After a long while, they sat in the living room watching the lake reflect the moon.

  “His agent did it,” Sunny explained. “Archie someone. Camille said Ben fired him.” She fell quiet for several minutes. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Grace ached to hear his voice, but she was afraid of what he’d say, and she had no idea how to respond. So she sat and let her mother stroke her hair.

  “Are you sure you can work with him?”

  “He’s the perfect acto
r for this role,” Grace said. “Regardless of everything else. It wouldn’t be professional to get in the way.”

  Chapter 14

  Meg and Paul’s home was full of the cast and crew. Unlike any other party her friends hosted, Grace couldn’t hide from this one. She stood firmly at the center of the storm.

  “I’m sorry, Morris, what did you say?” she asked.

  “Susan’s been on cloud nine since your first meeting. She’s been looking for something to pull her out of the supporting action-figure roles and into something more substantial. But now I can’t get her nose out of your books.”

  “Thank you.” Grace turned from Susan Wright’s bald, banker husband to their director, who reminded her of a lion with a silver-white mane. “Ted, you don’t mind if she reads ahead, do you?”

  The smile transformed his severe features, making him more approachable. “As long as she doesn’t want to direct the sequel.”

  Sequel, geez. No pressure.

  “What are you three talking about?” Susan asked as she joined the group with cookies for her husband.

  “Your ambition to direct,” Grace teased, using her favorite actress as a distraction from her raw nerves and roiling stomach.

  Susan Wright had always been her model for Zadie. She was down-to-earth, funny, and talented, and it showed in every role. Plus, she wasn’t afraid to kick some ass.

  Though thrilled she’d accepted the role, Grace had worried about actually meeting her. She shouldn’t have. After ten minutes, the two of them had been talking and laughing like old friends.

  “We all want to direct at some point, don’t we?” Susan asked as she looked past Grace to address a new arrival.

  Grace knew it was Bennett without looking. Spending the evening avoiding him meant she knew where he was at all times.