Souvenirs

by Mia Kay

  “Because of Grace,” Gino said. “It’s not fair, you know. If she’d dumped you, no one would be giving her hell.”

  “I didn’t dump her.”

  “Yeah, right,” Gino snorted. “Then why is our boss trying to kick your ass?”

  The driftwood crackled in the fire, and Ben stared at the embers until his vision tunneled. “Is she okay?”

  “Every department pings her around with questions all day, and I know Paul’s telling them to do it because he’s telling me to do it. She’s up there late every night.”

  “She shouldn’t be up there alone.” Ben frowned.

  “Damn straight she shouldn’t, but she leaves last so no one wonders if you two are together.”

  “What?”

  “She and I overheard a group of costumers at the coffee pot early on,” Gino sighed. “They were, um, giggling about that damn picture and supposing what she did with her evenings to leave circles under her eyes. Anyone ever wonder how many nights you spend at home?”

  Ben shook his head. “She has circles under her eyes?”

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Max chided, “as much as you stare at her.”

  Ben ran his hand back through his hair. “All I get is the top of her head.”

  The next morning, he gave the girls in wardrobe the Weathermore cold shoulder. He told himself it was good practice, but underneath all the wool and silk, he delighted as they scurried and flinched at his every frown.

  After fittings, he changed into his training gear. Wincing at the pinch of a new knee brace, he was walking past Paul’s office when he heard Grace.

  “I’ve had five departments ask me for help in the past hour. Susan is afraid to disappoint me, and Ben is working himself into an injury. Apparently all on your say-so.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paul protested.

  “Bullshit,” she snarled. “Supervising a crew isn’t my job, and they don’t need a babysitter. You’re creating work to keep me busy.”

  “I just don’t want you to be—”

  “What? Lonely? You think I’m having trouble working with Bennett?” Her volume increased with each question. “Because let me tell you something, you’re the only one having trouble working with him. It’s idiotic! Every person out there knows, and it’s sucking at your credibility. What are you going to do, work him until he quits? Punish him?”

  Susan stopped at his shoulder. “She gives as good as she gets, huh?”

  “You have no idea,” Ben whispered while keeping his eyes on the office door.

  Grace continued her lecture. “He’s the perfect actor for this role. If he gets hurt because of . . . if he gets hurt we’ll be set back past our start date. We’ll lose money.”

  “We could get someone else,” Paul suggested. “Nothing is on film yet.”

  Ben’s stomach churned as the crowd outside the door grew. Gino stood to the side with a wide smile under his bushy mustache.

  “If your foolishness gets him injured, I will yank this script and walk with it,” Grace threatened. “I won’t do this movie without Susan and Bennett.”

  “You’re kidding!” Paul shouted. “You’d pick him over me?”

  “If you’re being stupid, yes. Someone has to tell you when you’re wrong—and you’re wrong. I expect you to apologize. I also expect you to loosen up,” she ordered. “I’ll split work between here and home, but I get to choose what I work on and my time is my own. And everyone gets to do their job without me, after you give them the rest of the day off.”

  “Okay,” he grumbled.

  Grace opened the door and froze when she saw the crowd. Her color was high and her eyes glittered, but Ben saw the shadows Gino had scolded him about last night.

  Their eyes met and her victory wobbled for only a moment before she straightened her spine. She moved out of Paul’s way, and the producer trudged down the stairs toward him.

  To Ben’s amazement, Paul winked as a ghost of a grin pulled his lips. He extended his hand and when he spoke, his voice was grave, but his eyes twinkled. “Umm . . . sorry. I was a jackass.”

  Ben took the proffered hand, hoping he didn’t look confused. “I would have been, too.”

  Grace shooed everyone away. “Go on home. Enjoy your afternoon off.” Then she fled into her office.

  Ben waited, slouched against the wall closest to the door so she couldn’t ignore him when she left. When she came around the corner, her eyes widened but she kept walking.

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said as she passed him, “but Paul was being stupid.”

  He fell into step beside her. “It’s nice to know where I stand.”

  “I meant every word.”

  They emerged into the lot, temporarily blinded by the mid-afternoon sun.

  “What are you going to do the rest of the day?” Ben asked.

  “Manuscript edits, publicity requests, promotion, re-writes, budget, cover art, soundtrack choices, location schedules. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  Daunted by her schedule, he took the bag from her shoulder and struggled with its unexpected weight. “Do you have rocks in here?”

  “Funny. No, there’s the first book, the eighth one because I was doing an interview this morning, the full last draft of the ninth for edits, the full script, today’s rewrites, and snacks.”

  “Biscuits?” He should have known she’d pack sweets. She’d always pulled them from her bag while she’d written on the train.

  She shook her head and averted her gaze. “I can’t eat cookies right now, they . . . hurt.”

  Ben caught her chin and made her look at him. The dark circles worried him, but the hopelessness in her eyes stole his breath and constricted his throat. He wanted to close the distance between them in one leap.

  “Idgie,” he whispered. “Talk to me.”

  “Don’t, Bennett. People will gossip.” She tried for freedom, but he hung on.

  She called him Bennett now. Not Ben. Actor, not friendly guy from the train. The distinction was like a punch to his stomach.

  “Fuck. Them. All of them.”

  Humor sparked in her deep brown eyes. “I don’t have enough time.”

  His body shook with the unfamiliar feel of laughter. “Then go home and rest. You can save it for tomorrow.”

  As she left the lot, his smile faded. Whatever emotional pain biscuits inflicted, he’d wager it involved him. Trudging to his car, he found Susan propped against the fender.

  “Morris is flying in late tonight, and I’ll be a wreck until he lands. Want to eat pizza at my house?” she offered.

  Hours, several slices, and even more beer, later, Ben was laughing with his co-star in the kitchen of her home in the Hollywood hills. “Seriously? You actually did it?”

  “I did. Morris nearly died when he found out. We make a deal now with every role. No skiing.” She waggled her eyebrows. “But I really liked it.”

  Ben wiped his chin to remove any runaway cheese. “It’s amazing the things you pick up in bits and bobs.”

  “Defensive driving,” Susan began the competition.

  “Smoking,” Bennett offered.

  “Heroin.”

  He gaped at her over the bottle.

  “Faking an addiction, I should say.” She grimaced. “Three languages.”

  “Seven.”

  “Bullshit,” she challenged.

  “German, Italian, French, Spanish, Russian, Queen’s English, and American.” He ended the last with a passable Southern drawl.

  “Those last two don’t count,” Susan protested.

  “They should.” He tried to smile, but his insides were twisting at the memory of Grace’s sleepy voice, when her
accent slipped through.

  Susan pushed the pizza box toward him. “Grace?”

  He peeled the label from his beer bottle and nodded. Instead of broaching the painful topic, he changed the subject.

  “Why did you invite me for dinner? I’ve gotten the impression you don’t care for me.”

  Susan pulled a chair opposite him. “I didn’t. I thought you used Grace to get the role, and I didn’t want to work with a prima donna British playboy who club-hopped every night. I wanted a serious actor opposite me so I’d have a shot at the kind of performance I know I can deliver.”

  “Wow,” Ben whispered.

  Susan put up her hand to stop his free-fall into self-loathing. “Then I worked with you, and a few weeks ago I went back through everything and learned you’re exactly the person I wanted. On top of that, you’re a damned nice guy.”

  “Thanks.”

  She shrugged. “So, I guess you’re here because I don’t get the discrepancy between you and the Beast. What gives?”

  “I was filming a series in London,” Ben began. “Hillary showed up as a surprise. And, well, it wasn’t a great day to have your girlfriend surprise you at work.”

  “Sex scene?” Susan guessed.

  “Yeah, not to mention the fight scenes that morning. I got home, knackered, and she wanted to go out. We got into a huge barney, and I finally gave in. The club she liked was one step down from a riot, and Hillary wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Jealous sniping, pushing about a role for herself.”

  “And you blew up,” Susan summarized.

  He nodded. “Someone snapped a picture, it ended up in The Sun, and—bob’s your uncle—a legend is born. But worse, Hillary liked it. She started picking fights just to get our picture in the paper, and then she’d give these interviews about how I wasn’t difficult to live with, as she sighed with a hand flourish and a roll of her eyes.” Ben imitated the posture and was relieved when Susan snickered. “I still can’t tell if she’s a bloody genius or the worst actress I’ve ever seen.”

  His tongue had loosened and now the words poured from him.

  “You don’t know what it’s like to have people afraid to talk to you. They look at me like I’m going to hit them. The women think I’m always on the pull-prowling for dates. Or they’re willing to put up with my temper because I know all the right people. Or they think, thanks to Hillary, that I’m some sort of beast in bed.” He rubbed his collar and cursed the heat he felt there. “And suddenly there was Grace.”

  Susan took the chair next to him. “I’ve watched the two of you, and it’s clear both of you are too professional to use the other. It’s also clear you’re both . . . hurt. I played a counselor once. You want to talk about it?”

  Ben wondered where, or how, to begin. “Do you remember when you were first starting out and all the roles were small and you worked crappy side jobs?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I was a rodeo clown one summer.”

  “I miss those days,” he sighed. “I didn’t have a damn thing anyone else wanted.”

  “I remember getting the call for summer stock. You would’ve thought I’d won an Oscar.” She momentarily joined him in the nostalgic trip in time. “But dependable transportation is underrated.”

  “Oh, yeah. So is having my own place. It gets difficult to explain why you’re twenty-five and either living with your mum or sleeping on a mate’s sofa.”

  “You on a sofa?” she teased.

  “I still have back problems from it.” His laughter faded. “How many friends do you have?”

  “About five good ones, I think. And, yes, they’re from before. Although I think I could count Grace in there now.”

  “I have two, and they both work for me. And I can’t count Grace. Not anymore.”

  He leaned back in the chair. “I took a vacation to hide, and she let me. She didn’t ask me what I did for a living. She didn’t recognize me. She talked about prehistoric bunnies and held my hand and made me laugh. She wanted me. And I wanted her, that feeling, so badly I lied to her.”

  “And she was completely honest?” Susan countered.

  “No. And for the life of me I don’t know why she thought she had to hide this. I want to go back to our first day in Vienna and do it all over again. And I can’t.”

  “You can go forward,” Susan offered.

  He nodded. “I hope I can. With her.”

  The next day, when Grace wasn’t at work by noon he knocked on Paul’s open door. The man looked up from his computer.

  “How long were you going to try to kill me?” Ben asked.

  “I was going to give her another week.” Paul explained. “Don’t take it personally. I did it to her, too.”

  “Why?”

  Paul shrugged. “She’s always been like this. She won’t say no until she gets pushed to her limit. Then she gets mad and talks herself through her priorities. Yesterday was louder than usual.”

  He motioned to a chair, and Ben perched on the edge. “Dangerous gamble.”

  Paul nodded. “But I owed her for my gaffe at the party. She adores learning, and this is like Christmas for her. I stepped in it by putting a wall between her and the crew.”

  “What’s she learning now?” Ben asked, anxious for any new information.

  “She’s agreed to a public appearance, and she practices to get over her nerves. It’s a big hurdle for her, but she knows public response is going to be key for the premiere.”

  “Her fans are rabid.”

  Paul nodded. “I’ve closed the set. You and Susan already bring large numbers of devoted fans. When Grace’s news breaks, it’ll get nuts. And then there’s the train picture.”

  Ben slumped in his chair. He hadn’t even considered that. “Jesus. One wrong photo early.”

  “If they figure out you two are here together?” Paul built a mushroom cloud with his hands. “Boom.”

  Chapter 16

  “‘Lo?” Grace answered the phone out of reflex, still staring at the pages in front of her.

  “Grace?”

  Bennett’s croaked question got her attention, and she looked to the living room windows, expecting to see him standing on the deck of the guesthouse. She couldn’t see anything past the circle of light on her desk. It was dark. When had it gotten dark?

  “Grace?” he asked again.

  “Sorry. Yes, it’s me. What’s up?”

  “You’ve not been at work this week. I wanted to make sure you’re well.”

  “Umm, yeah. I’ve been busy with promotion and interviews. Did the rewrites work?” Now alert, she was hungry. Foraging through the kitchen, she opened and closed cabinets as she talked.

  “They’re fine,” he assured her. “What’s all the clatter?”

  “I’m looking for something to eat.” She huffed her hair out of her face. “Nothing sounds good.”

  “What about chicken and rice?”

  “Oh, yum. But I don’t have the time to cook it.” And she didn’t have chicken, or rice. She had mac and cheese, but was out of milk. Damn, she’d have to stop somewhere for breakfast tomorrow.

  “I could bring it to you,” he offered in the same quiet voice he’d first used in Vienna. “There’s a great place a block from me. Persian.”

  God, I love how he says that word. Grace rolled her eyes at her reflection in the oven door. You love how he says everything. That’s one of the reasons you stayed home.

  “Jeweled rice and roasted chicken?” The smile she heard tempted her as much as the food.

  “Can you drive on the right side of the road?” she asked.

  “I always drive on the right side of the road.”

  “Seriously, Bennett. If you drive into oncoming traffic and get killed bringing me dinner, I’ll never live
it down.”

  “Duly noted,” he chuckled. “I have a GPS and everything. I’ll see you within the half hour.”

  “I have wine.” Great. I have none of the four food groups, but I have a bottle of screw top wine in the fridge.

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  The line went dead.

  When she put her phone on her desk, she noticed an edit she’d missed. Just one revision, then she’d change clothes. There was plenty of time.

  Twenty-five minutes later, a knock at the door jolted her attention from the page.

  “Aww, shit,” she grumbled. Her shoulders slumped as she looked down at her sweatshirt and yoga pants. This couldn’t be happening.

  The second knock was louder. “Grace?”

  She flipped on the under-counter task lights before she answered the door. “Hi. Come on in.” Her stomach rumbled as the food smells preceded him. It was all she could do not to rip the takeout containers from his hands.

  “It’s dark in here,” he said.

  “I lost track of the time.” She pushed her glasses to the top of her head and blinked rapidly as he flicked on the kitchen lights.

  He turned them off again. “Sorry.”

  “No, here. Let me.” She could at least pretend to be a hostess.

  Weaving a path through the shadows of the living room furniture, she switched on a few lamps, giving the space a softer glow. In the kitchen, Bennett now searched for plates. His t-shirt and jeans made her feel better about her work at home clothes, but they highlighted his physique from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and down his powerful thighs.

  Fighting the urge to stare, she returned to the kitchen to help with the food. They worked side by side, serving dinner and pouring wine like it was a normal day.

  Noticing his stare, she started an automatic inventory beginning at her hair. “Oh, hell.” She pulled the glasses out of her ragged bangs and tugged the pencil from the knot at her crown. Her hair collapsed in a pile, and she groaned in relief. “I didn’t realize that hurt.”