by DeSalvo, Kim
Dylan was getting through the days, but barely. He still hadn’t heard anything from Tia, and it was eating at him. Angela had arranged a bouquet for him days ago—big tropical flowers like the ones he’d sent after their first goodbye, when things were still uncertain between them. She’d have received it by now, and he thought it might prompt her to call him. Hell, he didn’t know if she was even reading his letters.
He just couldn’t get it out of his head that everything had been perfect—or at least as perfect as it could be for two people living so far apart—the last time he’d spoken to her. He still couldn’t convince himself that Tia would dump him with a two paragraph email and never look back—she had too much compassion for that. The letters she wrote him were never less than three pages long, and the tone of the email just didn’t sound like her, which kept nagging at the back of his mind. He’d already decided that he’d find her again when he was through with the movie—he needed to get an explanation from her face to face, one way or another. If she looked him in the eyes and told him she was through with him, he’d walk away; but he couldn’t do it just yet.
He had to face the facts though, he supposed. If she didn’t want anything more to do him, there was damned little he could do about it from the other side of the globe. He wouldn’t be back in the states until February, and he was scheduled in the studio with the band in early March. He’d hoped to write the songs for the new album while he was here, but all he managed to write were mushy love songs for Tia. A few would make the cut, but he needed a lot more variety to bring to the table. The guys had sent him some tracks, but he hadn’t had the heart to work on any fun music. He needed to get his head out of his ass and move on, he thought. Tia had made her decision, and apparently, it was final. What kept him hoping, though, was going home. She had to have gotten the ticket before the shit hit the fan; maybe she’d feel guilty enough or lonely enough or something to come and see him after all. That was what he couldn’t get out of his head; why he couldn’t just move on.
Penelope was driving him crazy, too. It was obvious that she knew something was up—she had to have noticed that there weren’t any letters coming in from Tia, and he hadn’t spoken to her on the phone in what seemed like forever. She seemed to be pressing things too, trying to make something happen between them that was never going to happen. Even if he’d never met Tia, Penelope Valentine was far from his type. No matter how nice she’d been he still believed that she was out for herself at all costs, and he wouldn’t put it past her to use his breakup with Tia to her advantage. She was already pushing the envelope whenever she could, trying to make a lot more of their on-screen scenes than there should be, making suggestive comments, pressing herself against him in ways that were more than friendly. They’d had to film several scenes that were fairly intimate, but the biggest ones were yet to come, especially when their characters traveled to Bora Bora, where their broken romance would take a serious U-turn. He worried a lot about her level of professionalism when it came to being nearly naked with him on the beach.
There was another, smaller love scene that they’d shoot next week, just before they broke for the holiday, and he was already dreading it. Penelope was really trying to up the ante during rehearsals, insisting that they run through the love scenes—that she needed some practice before the real thing. “There’s more to filming a love scene than knowing the words, Dylan,” she’d said, “we have to know how and when to touch each other, where to change our breathing, which way to turn our bodies—you can’t just get on set and wing it.”
He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. He needed the practice more than she did—he’d never performed a heavy love scene, and really didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Being in character wasn’t enough—he had to feel something to make it come across as real, and lately, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything. His whole life had become an act, and he was doing a pitiful job just playing himself.
Chapter 34
They were in his trailer running lines when Angela came in. Penelope threw her a hard glance. “We’re rehearsing, Angela,” she said coldly. “I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted.” “I’m sorry,” she said, eyes down, “but your sister is trying to get a hold of you. She said it was very urgent, but she keeps getting your voice mail.”
Penelope threw her hands up in frustration. “What does that little bitch want?” she spat, pulling out her phone and punching the power button.
“I don’t know,” Angela said, “she just said that it was extremely important that she talk to you.” As scripted, Angela walked out, apologizing again for the interruption.
“She never calls me,” she explained to Dylan as she waited for her phone to come on line. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure it’ll only take a minute.”
“No problem,” Dylan said, grabbing a bag of chips from the counter and munching a few as he dropped onto the couch. If she needed privacy, she could walk out, he thought. It was his trailer.
Penelope punched a few buttons on her phone, and waited for the connection to go through. “What?” he heard her say into the phone, without so much as a greeting.
Dylan watched as Penelope’s face fell and went pale. Her voice changed to a whisper. “No,” she breathed. “She what?... ”When?...” I can’t believe…and you’re just telling me now?” She listened intently for a couple moments as the color rushed back into her face with fury. “I can’t believe you would do that!” she screamed. “I know you hate me, but…you bitch!” She stumbled, and Dylan jumped up to catch her fall. She sank into the sofa where he’d been sitting and dropped the phone to the floor. He reached down and picked it up, but hearing no one on the other end, pushed the disconnect button and set the phone on the arm of the couch.
“What is it?” Dylan asked, genuinely concerned. She looked as if she were about to pass out.
Penelope just stared straight ahead, unseeing, and tears began slipping from her eyes. Dylan took her by the shoulders and shook her a bit to get her attention. “Talk to me, Penelope, what’s going on?” he demanded.
“It’s my aunt,” Penelope croaked, “the one who’s French toast I’ve made you? She’s… dead! Heart attack…and those bitches already buried her!” She inhaled sharply, and the tears flowed steadily. “She was in the hospital for almost a week, and they didn’t even call me to tell me…” She broke down into sobs, and threw herself into Dylan’s arms. He held her and let the tears come; he knew the sorrow of loss, and regardless of his feelings for Penelope, he couldn’t let her suffer alone.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he breathed as he held her. “If there’s anything I can do…”
“I just can’t believe she’s gone!” Penelope gasped. “I just talked to her last week—oh God, it had to be just before it happened—and she was fine! Now she’s dead?” She stood up and paced around the room, angry. “They didn’t even tell me! I could’ve called her! What the fuck? I couldn’t even send flowers to her funeral! It’s not right!” She opened the door and yelled for Angela, who appeared within seconds.
“I need you to check on something for me,” she sobbed to Angela, giving her the details. “Find me an obituary—did they really already bury her without even telling me?”
Angela left quickly to verify the obits, and Penelope sank back onto Dylan’s couch. “She was the only family I had,” she sobbed, leaning into his chest and crying on his shoulder. “The rest of them are horrible, horrible, people who hate me because of my success…”
Dylan put his arm around her shoulders and let her cry it out. “Penelope,” he said gently, “I can’t believe your own family would really…”
“Yes they would!” she interjected. “You don’t know them—they hate me Dylan, they really do!” she sucked in a huge breath and let it out with a shudder. “They’d do it just to spite me;” she said angrily, “to see me suffer.” She began sobbing again, and pressed her face into Dylan’s chest once more. Angela returned, and her face pretty muc
h told the whole story. Penelope saw it, as well.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“I’m afraid so,” Angela said, her eyes full of pity. “After I found the obituary I made a few phone calls, and she…” she paused, catching her own breath, “they buried her yesterday morning.”
“Oh my God!” Penelope wailed, turning to Dylan. “Can you get me some wine, please?”
Dylan shook his head. “I don’t really think that’s the best idea…”
She turned to Angela. “Angela, get me some wine, please!” Angela scurried to fulfill her boss’s wish, returning just a moment later with a full glass and the rest of the bottle.
“What can I do for you, Penelope?” she asked compassionately. “Please let me help. I know how much you loved her, and how much you must be hurting right now.”
“It hurts so much!” she wailed, grabbing another tissue and wiping at her eyes. “Maybe can you stay with me tonight, Angie?” she pleaded. “I just don’t think I can be alone.”
Angela’s eyes widened for a second, then softened. “Of course I will,” she said, “just let me go try and reschedule that meeting with that TV exec, and I’ll be right back,” she said, turning to go.
“Oh no,” Penelope whispered. “Is that the one you’ve been waiting on for weeks? The one it took you so long to get?”
“It’s OK Penelope,” Angela whispered. “You need me right now—I’ll figure something out.”
“No way, Angie,” she said. “You’ve worked too hard to get that meeting. You have to go. What time is your appointment?”
“Seven tomorrow morning,” she said sadly. “I was going to leave here about five.”
“Oh, and you’ll need your sleep. You can’t spend the night on my love seat and expect to be in shape for a meeting that important. I love that you’d cancel for me, Ang, I really do, but I can’t let you do it.” She looked at Dylan hopefully, the question clearly written in her eyes.
Shit, he thought. He owed her this much—she’d shared her assistant with him, and tried to be kind… and he knew what it was like to lose someone. No one should go through it alone, and she really didn’t have anyone else. “Please, Dylan,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can be alone tonight.”
He compromised. “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep,” he said. “That’s really all I can do.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, taking a deep breath and wiping tears from her face.
He gathered his laptop, his guitar, some paper, and some notes from the guys and walked with her back to her trailer. At least he could get some work done, he thought, maybe pen some lyrics while he had some different emotions running through him. Music had always soothed his soul, so maybe he could play a little for Penelope; help her relax and get some sleep. He managed to convince her that wine wasn’t going to help, and he put on some water for tea while she went to take a hot shower.
Dylan pulled out his notebook and started scribbling lyrics. The mixed feelings running through him were tugging his thoughts to Tia, once again, and he poured them onto his paper. The veil hangs over midnight and I’m sitting here alone…Can’t see you; touch you; face to face can’t even get you on the phone…The moon hangs heavy as my heart blocking stars out from the sky…Alone and dark without you and I can’t figure out just why/ You know you are my heart…I feel all torn up and broken whenever we’re apart…Can’t seem to do the simplest things can’t even start/I need you back I need you near There’s just this veil of midnight when you’re not here…
He was interrupted by the slam of the shower door. Startled from his thoughts, he turned quickly as she stepped out of the bathroom, completely naked.
“Bloody hell, Penelope,” he barked, “put some goddamn clothes on!” He quickly moved to a stool at the counter so that his back was to her.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said, “but I always sleep in the nude. I can’t stand clothes when I’m trying to sleep. Besides,” she added, “I have these great Egyptian cotton sheets that are just wonderful against bare skin—you should feel them.”
“I’m not feeling anything,” he murmured.
“Oh come on, it’s not like it’s anything you won’t see anyway, I’ll be naked all over you when we do that love scene next month.”
“Well, it isn’t now,” he said, keeping his back to her. “Just put something on or at least get into bed and pull up the covers.”
“Oh fine,” she said, climbing into the bed. Dylan stayed on the stool at the counter and took a pull from his beer, turning the pencil over in his fingers. So much for getting some work done, he thought ruefully.
He could hear Penelope crying softly in the bed behind him, the hitch of her breath shuddering against her sobs, and he was frozen. Going to her wasn’t an option, he wasn’t about to put himself into a situation that she could misconstrue, but he hated hearing someone in pain. He grabbed his guitar and started strumming a few chords—maybe it would help a little. Mentally, he put himself in his mother’s studio and tried to create a mood—something soft and soothing but not sad. He lost himself in the music and didn’t hear her come up behind him. She tugged up his shirt in one quick motion and pressed her breasts against his back, his guitar hitting the counter and digging into his ribs. His mind flashed to Tia, all those months ago, trapped by Bud’s unwanted advances at Last Stop.
“Hold me Dylan, please,” she begged close in his ear. “I don’t want to be alone right now. Please.”
He wanted to push her back, but gritted his teeth and held his ground, speaking firmly and clearly in a low voice. “Get off of me, Penelope, now, and get back in your bed, or I’m going to leave.”
She began crying again, but pulled herself away and sat on the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. “Why don’t you want me Dylan?” she whined. “Why are you being this way? We’re both alone here, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t had a phone call or a letter from your little teacher in weeks!”
Dylan stood, and started collecting his things. He definitely didn’t need to deal with this shit right now.
Penelope continued, her voice desperate. “We’re both adults, we both have needs, and I need someone right now so desperately—I’m all alone in the world right now, Dylan, and you’re the only friend I have—why are you turning your back on me?” she choked between sobs.
Dylan turned to face her, trying to keep his face calm. “I thought I made it perfectly clear when I said there wasn’t ever going to be anything like that between us. With or without Tia, I’m not interested in a relationship with you, Penelope.”
“But you haven’t even given us a chance!” she leaned forward, dropping the sheet and exposing her right breast. She quickly pulled the sheet back up, but Dylan wasn’t at all sure that dropping it had been an accident. Coming here had been a mistake, obviously, and it was time for him to go. He found it unbelievable that she would try to seduce him at a time like this—when she was mourning the loss of her favorite aunt.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. You can call Stan and see if there’s someone else who can come stay with you, but it can’t be me.” He snapped his guitar into its case and tucked his laptop under his arm.
“Wait!” she wailed. “We’re friends, right?” her voice was desperate now, pleading, “Please just let me come to Christmas with you, spend some time away from work and just get to know each other better. Now that my aunt’s gone, I’ll be all alone for the holidays—no one should be alone at Christmas!”
He turned to her with his things in his hands. “No,” he said shortly. “Absolutely not—not even an option. Get it out of your head right now.” He’d never consider inviting her—the thought of introducing Penelope to his parents made him wince. She began crying harder, begging him to stay, but he slipped out without another word and let the door bang shut against her pleas.
When he got back to his own trailer, Dylan went to his fridge and grabbed a beer, popping
the top and taking a long swallow. The day had been exhausting, and he was drained. It was hard enough pretending to be in love with someone on camera, but when that someone kept trying to push things in real life, it became downright aggravating. He’d kept trying to tell himself that Penelope was really changing, that she was really becoming a better person and maybe even a friend, but doubt had continued to nag at the back of his mind. Tonight she’d made it pretty obvious that she still wanted a relationship with him, and that was going to seriously affect the tentative friendship they’d developed. He was looking forward to getting away and getting back home, where at least he’d see his parents and be away from her for a while. There was still the chance that Tia would change her mind and come—she hadn’t sent the ticket back, so he assumed she still had it. Just another couple weeks now and he’d know the truth once and for all, and figure out how to get on with his life.
Chapter 35
Dylan finished off his beer staring out the window, and then hopped in the shower to wash the smell of Penelope off him. She wore some overbearing lotion or something, and his body and clothes reeked of it after the way she’d pressed up against him. He let the water run over him until it went cold, thinking about the last time he’d had Tia pressed against him. Fuck, he missed her.
He threw on some lounge pants and a t, grabbed another beer from the fridge and flopped down on the couch, jumping up immediately when he sat on something hard. He reached down between the cushions and pulled up Penelope’s cell phone. “Bloody hell,” he whispered to himself. It must have fallen between the cushions after Penelope got the call about her aunt and pretty much threw herself at him. He was about to toss it onto the table until morning when he changed his mind. He could just imagine her finding it missing and slinking over to his place to get it. Even with the dead aunt, he wouldn’t put it past her to wait until he’d turned in and then try again to get into his bed. She’d certainly been shooting for that earlier in the evening. He picked it up and sighed; might as well bring it over to her and make another quick exit.