Souvenirs

by Mia Kay

  It took every bit of concentration and training to get him through the day of filming. Finally free of his costume, he shrugged into his jacket as he saw Grace turn out her office light.

  “Here, let me.” He grasped the handle on one of her bags, tugging in encouragement.

  For the first time, she surrendered it without a fight. “Thank you.”

  “Today went well, I think.” Ben opened the door and looked around the lot before shouldering it all the way open. They emerged into the evening and fell into step. She wasn’t running.

  “It did. It’s fun watching it all fall together.”

  He stowed the bag in her car and stopped her before she escaped. “You look nice.” Aw hell. “Wait. Wrong word.” His mind reeled, spinning in search of his vocabulary. I’m bodging it.

  He reached for his only lifeline—the tempting scarf. “I remember when you bought this at the market in Rome.”

  A tendril of her hair curled around and through his fingers in greeting. She looked up at him with those big brown eyes and the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He took a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard.

  “Susan and Morris have invited me for dinner. Would you come to keep me from being the gooseberry?”

  “We put gooseberries in pies, Bennett.”

  “I’ve had a few third men who should have been in a pie.”

  When she didn’t answer, he pushed a little harder. “It’s only dinner.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’d like to go.”

  Yes.

  From the studio through the Hollywood hills, he kept one eye on his rearview mirror, worried she’d change her mind and turn around. But she didn’t. She even parked next to him and waited so they could walk to the Wrights’ door together. Susan met them, ushered them through the kitchen for beer, and then out to the backyard where Morris was grilling burgers.

  Ben quieted and listened as Grace talked with Morris about flying and Susan about books. The four of them discussed old movies. The entire time, Grace stole surreptitious glances at their surroundings.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “It’s so normal.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Of course not,” she said, frowning. “How could I be disappointed that friends welcomed me into their home? But it’s a little surreal, having a barbecue in Hollywood with an Emmy nominee, a guy who owns his own plane, and a British heartthrob.”

  “And we’re with a New York Times best-selling author,” he reminded her. “I can count on one hand how many of those I’ve met.”

  Dinner ended early, the evening called due to exhaustion. Ben followed Grace until Paul’s gate closed between them. He smiled all the way home.

  He was still happy during final fight choreography the next day. The grin widened when Grace walked from her office to the prop department. One second Ben was watching Max, the next he was watching Grace’s ponytail bounce as she walked, and then he was staring at the ceiling.

  “Bugger and blast,” he growled. He put weight on his ankle, only to have to give way. “Shit.”

  Grace knelt next to him. “Where, Bennett?”

  “Right ankle,” he said, wincing as Max removed his shoe. “Bloody hell.”

  Her warm, strong hand rested on his shoulder, keeping him still while Max declared the injury only a sprain. After the trainer wrapped his ankle, he returned Ben’s sock and shoe and helped him stand. Grace acted as his human crutch as he limped to the nearest bench.

  “Take it easy the rest of the day,” Max said. “Sorry dude, I really thought you were paying attention.”

  Ben waved off the apology. “My fault completely.”

  Grace trotted off, returning with aspirin, a glass of water, and a pillow to put under his ankle. Instead of walking off, she perched in an adjacent chair.

  “I’m, um, speaking this afternoon at one of the local libraries. Would you like to come?”

  Did this mean he was climbing out of the friend-zone or farther into it?

  When he didn’t answer right away, she bashed on. “If you feel like it, I mean. I know it’s short notice, but I thought you’d be busy here.” The longer she talked, the pinker her face became. “It isn’t a big deal if you have other plans.” She glanced at his ankle. “Or if you’re not up for it.”

  You have no idea how much I’m up for it. “I’d like that, thank you.”

  Her smile widened. “Great. It’ll be nice to look out into the crowd and see . . . a friendly face. I have to go change. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  While he waited, Paul walked over.

  “Hey look, you’re injured and it’s not my fault,” the producer teased.

  Ben laughed while he tested his ankle. “Did you know Grace is speaking this afternoon?”

  Paul’s eyes widened. “Are you going?”

  He nodded. “I’ll text you when we get there. Can the crew have a day off?”

  “I’ll get them there. Meg, too. This is a big deal. How are you going to handle, you know, you?”

  “Bollocks, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Give me a minute,” Paul said as he walked off. He returned a few minutes later with a Dodgers cap and a pair of glasses. “The cap is Josh’s. He wants it back. The glasses are from the prop department. Do you need a crutch?”

  Ben stood and took a tentative step. “No. I think I’ll be fine as long as we don’t have far to walk.”

  Grace emerged a few minutes later in a brightly patterned dress that hung to the ground and clung to her in all the right spots.

  Work ground to a halt.

  “Geez. It’s only a dress.” Her face blushed to a bright pink as she shooed away the crew’s attention.

  Only a dress? Sure. That explains why my jeans are cutting off my circulation.

  “Are you sure you can walk?”

  “Huh?” Shit. Did I say something out loud?

  “Can you put weight on your ankle?”

  Under her watchful eye, he took a few more steps. “It’s a little tender, but yeah.”

  They drove across town in nervous silence, coached by her GPS, and she parked as close to the library’s back entrance as she could manage. In his makeshift disguise, Ben felt like a taller version of Saul Goldstein, the nervous, obsessive economist from vacation, as he limped behind her backstage.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and waited until she looked up at him. She was pale, and her wide eyes tugged at his heart.

  “Pick one face and talk to it. Do you want me to sit on the front row?”

  “Not unless you want to.” She chewed on her bottom lip, then her top one. “What if they hate me?”

  Giving in to his instincts, he wrapped her in a hug and leaned to her ear. “You’re going to be wonderful, Idgie,” he whispered. “Be yourself. Do what you do best.”

  She stayed in his embrace long enough to leave him cold when she stepped away. “Do you want to stay back here?”

  Ben shook his head. “I want to watch. If you get nervous, look for the cap.”

  Out in the rapidly filling auditorium, close to the back to stay out of view and watch the crowd, Ben slouched in his seat and fidgeted to find a position that would keep him out of sight to anyone but Grace. One wrong picture and he’d steal her spotlight. He pulled the brim of the cap closer to his nose.

  “Excuse me?”

  At his elbow was a girl in her twenties with a shy grin and big green eyes behind her glasses. Bollocks. Here we go. He recalled his American accent and prayed. “Yes?”

  “Are those seats taken?” she asked, pointing past him and down the row.

  Ben blinked. “Just the one nex
t to me.”

  “Great, can we slide by? I was hoping for closer, but this will have to do.”

  He stood, and the girl along with three others trooped past.

  “I told you we should’ve come earlier, Betsy,” one of them grumbled. “He won’t even see us up here.”

  He . . . Ben’s ears perked up and his stomach clenched. He held his breath.

  “He’s probably some old guy like George R.R. Martin,” the other offered.

  “Nah,” Betsy contradicted them. “Have you read his blog? He’s too funny. He’s got to be younger.”

  They’re talking about Grace. Ben looked away and pressed his lips together to hide his laughter.

  The rest of their comments were lost as Ben recalled the public appearances Paul had discussed weeks earlier. Until today she’d been too busy with the studio and meeting her deadline.

  This was her coming out party, and she’d asked him to be here. Her nerves at the studio had paled in comparison to her anxiety backstage, but her stammered invitation had been full of escape clauses. She would’ve faced this alone rather than risk interrupting his schedule. What on earth had made her think he’d rather not support her?

  The door opened for a few last minute arrivals. He spotted Meg, Paul, Ted, and Gino. Susan was unrecognizable in sunglasses and a 49ers cap. Max filed in behind her, followed by Josh and the guys from Special Effects. Ben waved but kept his seat.

  Polite applause keyed him to the moderator’s arrival on stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you can take your seats.” The young woman with bright red hair, a short dress, and dangerously high heels waited for the crowd to quiet. “Welcome to the Baum Library. We are thrilled to host a program you’ll remember for a long time to come. Over the past ten years, this author has entranced and entertained all of us by creating a vibrant fantasy world populated by rich characters, witty dialogue, and nail biting suspense. I know I wait for each new novel with bated breath. It is my pleasure to introduce E.G. Donnelley.”

  Grace walked onto the stage, and the applause stuttered for a moment before it rebounded louder. Whistles joined the ovation. Ben’s chest swelled as the crowd stood.

  The girl next to him squealed and jumped up and down, grabbing his arm for balance. “I thought she was a man.”

  He laughed and nodded. “I know. Me too.”

  Grace stood on the stage, alone, her face a bright pink and her smile wide, but her hands were balled into fists. Ben saw her search the crowd, and he lifted his hat.

  She nodded, took a deep breath, and relaxed her fingers.

  “Wow, thank you.” She motioned for everyone to take their seats. “As great as this is for my ego, please sit.”

  The crowd quieted, and Ben saw her glance in his direction.

  “Before we get started, let’s play a game.” The screen behind her displayed #EGisashe. “Almost a year ago you guys broke Hulu in an afternoon. Let’s see how fast you can break Twitter.”

  Laughter rippled through the room, but every head bent over their phone or tablet. Ben played along.

  “I’ve planned a discussion about science fiction and urban fantasy as a genre, but I’d rather talk to you because that’s what I do best. If you stop asking questions, we’ll think of something else to do. Who’s first?”

  Hands went up in droves as library volunteers materialized with microphones. Ben recognized one man from backstage and beckoned him over so he could hand Betsy the microphone.

  The girl stood, and her nervous voice filled the hall. “Why not tell us you were female?”

  Grace nodded at her. “Perfect question, and probably the answer everyone wants to know. But first, would you please tell me your name?”

  “Betsy. I’m an aeronautics major at Cal-Tech, and well, Zadie is sort of my inspiration.”

  Ben sneaked a look over his shoulder at Susan, whose mouth hung open.

  “Betsy, it’s nice to meet you,” Grace’s voice shook. “And you just made my day. But to answer your question. Sci-fi, fantasy, and urban fantasy have a history of authors with initials. Lovecraft, Wells, Rowling, Tolkien. I wanted to honor that tradition. Plus, I wasn’t immediately labeled as a twenty-something female fantasy author.

  “I didn’t want to use a photograph because I live in one of those small towns where everyone knows everyone else. I worried my neighbors would hate the book and then ambush me in the grocery store. Plus, I still had a day job as a high school English teacher and, well . . . students can be harsh.”

  The crowd around Ben laughingly agreed.

  Grace went on, “I thought it would be one book. When the reviews began, everyone referred to me as “he,” and I didn’t see a problem with it. I liked the insulation, actually. Bad reviews happened to that other guy. But it wasn’t one book, and by the time we got to book three, the secret had taken on a life of its own. Secrets have a tendency to do that.”

  “Why come out now?” someone asked.

  Grace stared down her nose at the questioner.

  “Oh, right. I’m Karl, and I’m a first-year Lit major at Stanford.”

  “Another great question, Karl. Because there will be cynics who say it’s for the movie.”

  The applause was deafening, and Ben realized how many people were depending on them. It was daunting.

  “And it’s true, in a way.” She looked around the room and somehow included everyone in her smile. “My readers, you, have been there since the beginning. You follow my blog, you send me email, and you’ve welcomed my characters into your hearts and lives. Your art is amazing, and your imagination and dedication leave me speechless. I am incredibly honored to be some small part of your lives. I thought it only fair you get to know my secret first.”

  Ben leaned forward in his chair, hanging on every word. No wonder they loved her.

  “What’s our next question?”

  Grace talked nonstop for almost two hours, and then through a book signing. She didn’t stop even when her voice began to crack no matter how much water she drank. Everyone wanted a photo, everyone wanted to shake her hand or give her a hug. They each left, certain their favorite author had seen them, rather than the other way around.

  After every request had been satisfied, Grace dropped her pen to the table. Her chin hit her chest, but not before Ben saw her wince in pain as she gulped.

  He knelt at her side. “What if they don’t like you, my arse.”

  “I almost wish they hadn’t,” she rasped.

  “May I ask you something?” He waited on her nod. “Why did you think I wouldn’t want to be here?”

  “The crowd,” she whispered. “And you were busy.”

  He touched her hand, breathing easier when she didn’t pull away. Tightening his fingers on hers, he kept her gaze.

  “Doll, no number of people or anything on my schedule would prevent me from being somewhere you want me to be.”

  Her gulp ended in another wince. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for sharing this with me.” He tugged her hand until she stood. “Let’s get you home.”

  Once they were in the car, she collapsed in the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Paul’s in front of me and Susan is behind. Gino’s behind her as back up. We’ll be fine. Keep schtum.”

  “What’s that mean?” The second word cracked, and the last one was lost in a cough.

  “It means be quiet before you ruin your pretty voice.”

  He shouldn’t have bothered explaining. She was already asleep.

  Chapter 19

  Grace stood in the doorway of the Hilton ballroom and surveyed her friend’s handiwork. String quartet, ice sculptures, every color in the rainbow peppered with black tuxe
dos.

  “Quit fidgeting,” Meg scolded. “You look amazing.”

  “I’m uncomfortable,” Grace whispered.

  “Bullshit. You tried on every pair of shoes in L.A. until you found a pair that didn’t hurt your feet, none of your underwear pinches you, and your dress doesn’t itch, wrinkle, or trip you.”

  “It’s too tight,” Grace grumbled.

  “It has Lycra in it. It’s all in your head.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Then you should have eaten something other than a Lean Cuisine. Smile, Gracie.”

  Searching for something to distract her, Grace focused on the crowd. Some were dancing, others were drinking, but everyone was having fun.

  Bennett was across the room. In his tux, bent to hear a question, he might as well have been wearing a “movie star” sign around his neck. He was in his element, and she felt like an impostor.

  “Congratulations on the event at the library. It’s rare in this city for the same topic to be hot for an hour, much less a week.”

  Grace pulled her focus to the man in front of her. Jeb Grant was the distribution executive in charge of their project. “Thank you, Jeb.”

  She prayed she didn’t stutter. She still fought the urge to call him Mr. Grant, which only made her feel like she was in a Mary Tyler Moore episode. Then she wondered how many people in this room had spent Monday evenings with their mothers watching sitcom reruns on the nostalgia channel.

  “. . . Harry Levy,” Jeb said. “Harry’s the president of a wealth management group in Malibu.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grace.”

  She resisted the impulse to wipe her palm on her dress before she took his hand.

  “You as well, Harry. Thank you for coming tonight. I’m sure you’d rather be on the beach.”