“Okay, where to start.” Her nail clicked against the notes as she picked a topic to open the discussion. “Hmm… well, you’ve read my first draft, and I guess I just want to know what you think of the main character—if he’s romantic and intriguing the way I want him to come across.”
“Italian, gorgeous—he sounds a little typical if you ask me, Haley. He doesn’t happen to be based on anyone you know, does he?”
Hmm… hadn’t thought of that.
“No, not particularly—”
Allen’s upheld index finger shushed her immediately.
“Stop,” he interrupted. “Before you say anything more, let me just ask you something. Do you remember two weeks ago when I asked everyone to write about why they believed they had what it takes to be successful in the movie industry?”
She nodded. Haley thought back to that night… that endless night of self-realization. The night she reflected on her life—her yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows—and how writing gave her meaning and purpose through all those years. Was she willing to go all the way, no matter what? Even at the loss of love? Maybe. Absolutely. It was all she had, and she would fight for it. That’s what she wrote.
“Well, I remember what you wrote too. Writing is everything to you. You know the characters personally and experience the action and envision the scenes in your mind. You said that your screenplay is a part of you. I was inspired by that, Haley. And I’m inspired by your work. But this meeting isn’t about the details of your final project. It’s about the bigger picture. I want to know: Are you all in?”
Haley folded her hands on her lap as she considered the question. What did “all in” mean? That she was prepared to work hard?
“Yes, I’d say I’m all in.”
“Would you sacrifice your life for this industry?”
It was the million-dollar question. When it came down to it, she might have to throw away all she knew in pursuit of fame and fortune. Was job success worth losing everything else—her mom, her home? She had never considered the ultimatum; no one had ever asked her to choose between job success and everything else—possibly love. If she pursued her career head-on, any possible chance with Marc would be left in the dust. Could she devote her efforts to both and still have it all?
The query sparked another thought. After spending the past couple hours planning and outlining topics she wanted to cover in tonight’s meeting, this conversation certainly wasn’t what she had expected. Allen wasn’t here to work through her project; he was obviously here to see where her heart was.
Across from her sat a real-life producer who personified the ideal she had envisioned for herself since youth. With his tucked in shirt and belted jeans a size too small, Allen was essentially inviting her into his world. A small-town no-name was having dinner with destiny. It all seemed so surreal, so… impossible. Was she, a country girl, really worth standing in this man’s shadow, or was he perhaps not everything he proclaimed to be? Allen’s eyes observed her expectantly.
“Go ahead,” he prodded, rolling his hand in midair.
“Well… yes. I would sacrifice everything for this career. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and I couldn’t throw away an opportunity to achieve this goal.”
Her voice was subdued by the awkward lull between them. She clung to the hush as a concoction of fear and anticipation developed once the words were out in the open. Was she being honest with him—with herself? If asked to sacrifice everything for the sake of her dream, could she do it?
Chapter 18
Writing is both mask and unveiling. The quote by E. B. White was one Allen lived by, though he preferred the mask to the unveiling.
Words had always been his vice, no matter how dangerous. Once they’re out in the open, there’s no taking them back. They can be the death of a man like Allen.
He wanted to tell Haley everything on his heart right then and there. He wanted to tell her what he was running from, what he wanted to run to. But he perceived it would be too much. Her aloofness told him she wasn’t ready. He needed to build her trust first and ensure she’d be willing to accept everything he had to offer. The unspoken words ached within; he needed to say it all out loud, just to cool the emotional furnace burning deep inside. He knew he would feel better unveiling every part of him to her. But instead he tightened his lips. Too soon. As quickly as he was prepared to tear down his wall, he built it back up, brick by brick.
Allen wasn’t sure where to go from here. As he examined Haley’s face, her intense green eyes stared through his mask. Her chin was perched on her hands, resting comfortably as he talked. It was magnificent being alone with her. Better than he dreamed it would be. He imagined leaning over and kissing her, her lips soft against his. He allowed himself to be carried away in its promise of bliss. It was so real that he could almost feel her hot breath against his mouth.
“Haley, there’s something I want to tell you,” he said when Haley paused. He heard the vulnerability in his own voice. He swallowed hard.
Tell her! Get it off your chest! his heart egged him on. But his mind warned him otherwise: If you tell her, she’s going to freak out. Don’t do it.
“Sure, you can tell me,” she encouraged.
His heart won.
“Well, this isn’t about work. It’s something a little more personal. And the only reason I wanted to tell you is because I feel like our friendship is starting to develop and, well, friends share things about themselves, right?”
“Of course; you can tell me anything. What is it?” There was an edge to her voice, a definite edge.
His stomach felt like it was going to hurl the lemon water he’d been sipping. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me through the media, but I’m in the middle of a messy divorce. Anyway, my wife—ex-wife—seemed to take it much harder than I did. She was really disturbed over it. Not too long ago she told me she’d kill herself if I didn’t take her back.”
Lies. All lies. Susan had left without looking back. But it sounded believable.
Haley gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
He detected sympathy. He looked down at her hands reaching across the table, cupping his in hers, stroking his tenderly. The smooth flesh of her fingertips delivered tremors to his body. He couldn’t believe how well she was taking this news. Perhaps he had a chance with her after all. Perhaps she was perfect. Perhaps she was the angel he had been waiting for.
“Well, there’s more,” he said. “After she threatened her own life, I knew that she could potentially come after me, so I had to take matters into my own hands—”
“Can I take your order?” A ponytailed server stood over them, leaning her hip into the edge of the table with pen and pad ready. Allen sighed at the intrusion, rethinking his confession and considering it a good opportunity to back out. He had shared enough for one day. He’d revisit the conversation when they were alone and when he knew he could trust her.
They both placed their orders; Haley ordered the fish and chips, and Allen chose a chicken sandwich. Making a mental note of Haley’s food preferences, he began documenting in his mind the things he knew about Haley. And everything about her, so far, was perfect.
Chapter 19
Marc waited in his F-150 while it idled, wishing the minutes away. He had gotten there early, as usual. “Fashionably late” wasn’t part of his vocabulary.
He speculated that all the leaders and active figures were probably already there, chatting in the lobby while waiting for the town meeting to commence. With Sunday’s after-service coffee hour cleaned up by now, Marc anticipated a fully packed recreation room in the town’s local Episcopal church with nearly all the townsfolk present, including the infirm and children. Somehow everyone always made it, and somehow the whole village got involved. Knowing that her mother, along with all the other mothers, was on the board of directors, he was certain she would have been dragged along for the fun. Now he just had to swallow the lump that lodged in his throat every time he thought of seeing
her again.
Flurries fell from a dismal sky and Marc audibly begged the clouds to depart. He was tired of the gloom and needed a burst of sunshine to energize him. Relying on less than four hours of sleep, Marc felt like he had barely slept a wink. The clock ticked down the minutes, then hours, while he overanalyzed possible scenarios. Then, like a self-conscious teenager, he had planned out their conversation ahead of time and even rehearsed it this morning in front of his bathroom mirror a time or two:
What are you doing here? she would probably ask.
His smooth reply would go something like this: Well, I’ve always had an interest in town politics and like to get involved whenever possible. Then she’d be impressed with his responsible citizenship and invite him to sit with her. If he managed that all right, perhaps he would ask her to grab lunch afterward. She’d graciously agree and the rest would be easy as he wooed her with his charm.
Or else she would overlook him from the start and crush his fragile ego.
Mustering his courage, Marc headed into St. Peter’s Episcopal Church for the town meeting. Since many of the local events were funded by various church organizations, it only made sense to have it there; plus it was the only building that had enough room to comfortably hold the couple-hundred attendees. He pulled open the heavy wooden doors, where greeters guided him down the hallway. His hand self-consciously reached up to smooth the back of his brown, amply-gelled hair; he could feel the cowlick sticking straight up. Stupid wind. He shuffled awkwardly into the lobby area waiting to see a familiar face.
St. Peter’s dated back one hundred and seventy-five years. The ornate interior detail showed its impressive age. Even the pews revealed intense craft in their baroque patterns. It was an aspect of the building that Marc appreciated more than most, being a craftsman hobbyist. Stained glass windows in vibrant colors lined the sanctuary walls, picturing the various aspects of Jesus Christ’s life, his suffering, death, and resurrection. The thorns, the pierced hands, the surrender to God’s punishment of humanity’s sin—it all felt so real as Marc absorbed the vivid scenes. But the window depicting the glorious resurrection, despite the clouded sky, seemed to glow. Marc thought of how until recently he felt so dead and broken, but now it seemed like he was given a second chance at life, at love. The illuminated image held Marc’s attention long enough for him to create a traffic jam of people behind him.
A low “uh-em” snapped Marc back to the present and he followed the crowd past the sanctuary entrance toward the recreation hall. A friendly elderly lady welcomed him enthusiastically as she handed him a meeting outline. He passed through globs of individuals chatting and exchanging small talk. Searching her out among the crowds, he plastered himself against a wall, pretending to be reading the notes.
A cluster of women stuck like chewed gum to the wall across from him like glue—immobile and chatting up a storm. He recognized several of them—Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Montgomery. Mrs. Carter. He had hoped she’d be with her mom, but she wasn’t. She was probably milling around close by, though.
It wasn’t more than a couple of seconds later when she walked in. It was as if the sunlight chose at that very moment to peek out from behind the clouds and shine brilliantly on her, making her appearance more radiant than he remembered. Of course, it could have been his active imagination, but he loved how she looked no matter what. Catching his breath, he realized he needed to make sure she saw him. Stepping away from the wall, he walked directly into her path.
Just as he did so, he was bumped from behind, the collision jamming his body against a small table adjacent to the wall. The impact spewed a pile of meeting agendas in a wide circle around him. Marc reflexively bent down to collect them. A fragrant someone next to him began gathering the fallen papers with him. Strawberries. The scent was enticingly familiar. He turned to look without being too obvious or overeager.
“Hey there! Surprise seeing you here,” he feigned in the most surprised voice he could muster.
“Marc! What a surprise! I had no idea you’d be here today. Do you always come to these meetings, or did I just get lucky?” She flashed a warm smile that turned his knees to Jell-O.
Now to recite the lines he practiced: “You know… just passing by…” What was it he had rehearsed? Definitely not that. It flowed so much easier when he was talking to his reflection.
“Oh, okay. Well, I’m glad we ran into each other. I’ve been meaning to call you.” Her hand made contact with his shoulder.
He stood dumbfounded, still clutching the pile of papers while a small huddle of attendees waited awkwardly for him to pass the notes out. Realizing they thought he was one of the ushers, he quickly handed out a couple sheets and put the rest back on the table. He totally forgot what they were talking about.
“Oh, yeah, um, me too. I mean, I was going to call you too.”
“You were?”
“Well, yeah, but I guess I never got around to it.” Lie. He had tried but chickened out. “I’ve just been really busy…” Abandon ship! He might as well have shot himself in the foot after that.
“Oh, okay.” Her smile faded.
Neither said anything for a moment. He’d come this far; he couldn’t crash and burn now.
“You can sit with me if you want,” he blurted out.
“Well, my mom is saving me a seat, so I really should sit with her,” she offered with an apologetic frown.
An intercom interrupted them, announcing that they had five minutes before the meeting started.
“Guess I’ll talk to you later then,” she added.
He nodded yes, then gave a half-hearted wave as they headed in different directions—her to her seat, him to the restroom to berate himself privately. The single stall was occupied, so Marc waited by the lone sink staring himself down in the mirror. He splashed water on his face and scolded himself in a series of mumbles for his idiocy. He asked for a chance to see her, got it, then let it slip through his fingers. So typical.
The flush behind him spurred Marc to exit. The last thing he needed was to be spotted talking crazily to himself. He debated whether he should abandon the meeting but knew she would easily notice if he went MIA. Besides, maybe he’d get a chance to rectify himself. Decision made.
He entered the recreation hall and headed toward a section of empty chairs in the back corner. The meeting had already begun, so he hastily plopped into the first available seat and pretended to pay attention while searching her out. His line of vision found her stoically seated to his left and from the corner of his eye he held fast to her. She appeared oblivious to his gaze.
The meeting seemed endlessly torturous as Marc awaited the closing remarks. Small interruptions stole his focus on several occasions—a loud cough in the corner, a crying baby, and George Turner’s crooked hairpiece. The guy was completely bald, and anything would have looked better than the cheap toupee resting sideways on his scalp. But no one ever said anything to the ninety-two-year-old, figuring he earned the right to look however he pleased, checkered pants and all. Marc wondered if he’d someday be so confident in his fashion senselessness at that age.
When the last speaker dismissed the meeting attendees, Marc cast one final glance to where she had been seated, but her chair was empty. When did she leave? And why so quickly? Was she intentionally avoiding him? His eyes searched the faces, then scanned the back entrance, but she was gone. Marc surmised there was nothing to do but shrug it off and go home.
Chapter 20
Haley kept her eye on Marc while the meeting concluded. She had been counting down the minutes, wishing time would fast-forward.
If she were a little child she would have been dragged kicking and screaming to these boring meetings. But as an adult she held her tongue to appease her mother for the two hours they discussed the same issues over and over: addressing upcoming town events, announcing new members of the council, assigning various duties for the Ice Festival, blah blah blah. But she’d had a hunch—well, more than a hunch—that Marc wo
uld be here today. Even so, she’d save the details of their “coincidental” run-in for when they shared “when we first met” stories with their future grandkids… or at least until after they had a couple dates under their belts.
Before the meeting ended, she had walked around to the other side of the room to avoid the mad rush of people pouring through the aisles, inevitably spilling her and Marc in different directions. It was after one o’clock when the meeting was over, and a steady chatter of lunch invitations began to fill the large room. She slid through the rows of chairs until she found his. He was facing the other direction, craning his neck. She reached over and grabbed his elbow gently.
“Hey, you,” she ventured.
Marc spun around and replied with a toothy smile. “Hey!”
“What did you think of the meeting?”
“Informative. Though, I have to admit I was a little distracted by George’s hair.”
Haley nervously chuckled at his observation, sensing he had made a joke. In all truth, she hadn’t heard a word he said. She was too busy planning out what to say next. Stay cool, she reminded herself.
“Yeah, they just nominated me to take pictures for the Ice Festival. You going?” Keep the conversation going.
“I try to make it every year on opening night. That’s when they have the biggest bonfire. I guess there’s a bit of pyromaniac in me.” He smiled at her and her stomach clenched.
So he would be at the Ice Festival. Now that was good information to know. It gave her an idea. “Well, maybe we can meet up there.”
“Sure. Do you usually go?”
“Not really. It’s been years since I last went.”
The Ice Festival was exactly that—an event highlighting ice decorations and all things winter, things Haley could easily do without. Sculptors chiseled out large blocks of ice from the nearby Lake Chautauqua to create giant, ornate structures, which were placed strategically off the shore of the frozen lake. Since Lake Chautauqua wasn’t nearly the size of Lake Erie, early February temperature lows guaranteed parts of it would be frozen enough for the ice sculptors to cut blocks of ice out of it.
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