Magnolia Drive

by Rochelle Alers

  “But… weren’t you signifying that—”

  “I wasn’t signifying anything,” Keaton said, cutting her off. “You asked me about giving up making movies to become a chef and I told you why that wasn’t possible. And it sounds to me like you still have some unresolved issues on your decision to give up acting.”

  “Oh, now you’re going to psychoanalyze me.”

  Keaton knew he’d hit a raw nerve with Francine but that was her problem, not his. “I would never presume to analyze you, or for that matter anyone else. Let’s not ruin a wonderful evening talking about something we can’t or don’t want to change. I didn’t lie when I told you I liked you, Francine. In fact, I like you more than I intended.”

  She affected a sexy moue. “How much more, milord?”

  This was the Francine Keaton he liked. The Cockney tavern maid was back. “Enough to give up my inheritance as firstborn to take a feisty wench to wife.”

  “That’s too much to sacrifice, milord. How will your wee bairns survive if you have not a farthing to your name?”

  He dropped an arm around her shoulders and pressed his mouth to her ear. “I have some land in the Colonies I won with the turn of a card. The bloke who owned it claims the soil is so rich if you drop a seed it will sprout in a fortnight. We can get the ship’s captain to marry us before we reach landfall.”

  Turning her head slightly, Francine’s mouth grazed his clean-shaven jaw. “Sorry, milord. I will not lie with thee and then, when we reach the Colonies, allow you to discard me like the contents of a chamber pot for some highborn lady with fancy skirts and a well-turned ankle. If you do not marry me before we board this ship, then begone with you and your fancy talk.”

  “Wee maid, why are you so hard with me?”

  “I’m no harder than that member between your noble thighs seeking passage to mine, milord.”

  Keaton clapped his free hand over his mouth to keep from laughing at the top of his lungs. He didn’t know what he was going to do with Francine. When she’d believed he was attempting to analyze her she reminded him of a cat arching its back before it sprang. But once she morphed into the serving girl character she appeared calmer, as if playing a role permitted her an escape from reality. Acting was as natural to her as breathing.

  “Let’s get out of here before I embarrass myself,” he said.

  “Did I embarrass you?” Francine asked innocently.

  “No. But if you continue to talk about what’s between my you know what, I will embarrass you.”

  Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, he held it out for her to slip her arms into it. Then he put on his own jacket. Holding her hand, he led Francine out of the coffeehouse and into the cool night.

  The drive back to the island was accomplished in complete silence, and instead of taking the road leading to the Magnolias he turned off onto the one leading to beach parking. Putting the truck in park, he turned off the engine. A full moon lit up the sky, silvering the sand and the whitecaps as the waves came crashing onto the beach. He’d come to the beach instead of taking her home because he didn’t want their time together to end.

  “Do you ever walk along the beach?” he asked Francine as she stared through the windshield.

  “I come here a lot.”

  “You game?”

  Unbuckling her seat belt, Francine raised her knees and unzipped her booties. “Let’s go.”

  Francine moved closer to Keaton as he wound his free arm around her waist. The sound of the incoming tide washing up on the beach was calming, hypnotic. They weren’t the only ones on the sand. Two couples were huddled together amid light from lanterns on the sand, listening to the radio. She recognized a high school coed with two of her friends holding flashlights for her to see to read aloud from a book. Francine smiled when they attempted but failed to stifle nervous giggles. The eerie glow of the moon provided enough light for her to see a crab moving sideways as it floated on the crashing waves before disappearing into the water. There were large wire baskets with signs to pick up litter and deposit it in the baskets. There were also posted signs to douse all fires before discarding the wood.

  “My mother and I would come down here every Halloween to see candles light up the sand like stars. They always begin at the ferry landing and end at Angels Landing. Some say it is a tradition dating back to when ship captains would place a single lantern on the sand as a signal to the runaways hiding in the swamp that they were sailing north that night. Others claim it was to keep away the evil spirits that come to life on All Hallows’ Eve.”

  Keaton gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “What do you believe?”

  “I’d rather believe the former.”

  “So would I,” he concurred.

  She felt the muscles pulling in the backs of her calves when her toes sank into the sand. “Did Miss Hannah tell you that when you interviewed her?”

  Keaton stopped, turning to face Francine, and took her face in his hands. “She did mention something about runaways stowing aboard ships of abolitionist sea captains. Most of what she told me I could find in history books or archival documents. I want to know about what wasn’t written down.”

  “What’s not written will probably make the hair stand up on the back of your neck and keep you awake at night.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  “One of these days I’ll tell you what I’ve heard. Bear in mind I’m only repeating what has been passed down through generations.”

  “Now that I think of it,” Keaton said after a pregnant pause, “Miss Hannah did mention something that reminded me of Black Orpheus.”

  “Why that film?”

  “Because it’s an adaptation of the Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice set in a modern context. I could include it in the script but slavery is too painful an issue to romanticize on film. But then again, it would work in a flashback. What do you know about Shipley Patton?”

  Francine circled his wrists with her fingers, pulling his hands away from her face. “I’ve heard his family was plagued with quite a few scandals. But you’re going to have to ask Corrine Hamilton about one that involved some of her ancestors. Miss Corrine is Sheriff Hamilton’s grandmother. She taught at the Cove’s elementary school before becoming its principal. I’m certain she would be more than willing to talk to you. She has an appointment at the salon next Tuesday. If I see her before then I’ll ask if she’s open to letting you interview her.”

  They started to walk again. Walking the beach at night with a man like Keaton was something Francine had only fantasized about. Most kids in junior high school hung out on the beach in large groups until high school, when they began coupling off. But for Francine it had never happened. No boy had ever invited her to go to the beach with him. Right now she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Why, she mused, had it taken her so long to find someone with whom to share her adolescent fantasy? And if she believed in the adage that good things happen to those who wait, then all of the waiting was more than worth it.

  Threading her fingers through Keaton’s, she pressed her head against his firm shoulder. Everything about him made her feel good. With Keaton she could be herself, and her vow not to become involved with another man after Aiden was now completely shattered. It was the first time in years she realized just how wrong she’d been when she told herself there was no room in her busy schedule for romance. Not only was there room, but also the possibility that she could learn to love again.

  Keaton didn’t know whether to kiss Francine or pick her up and swing her around until she pleaded with him to stop. He didn’t know whether it was living in the Lowcountry or his fascination with Francine that fired his imagination. Normally it was a news story or something he’d overheard that got him to thinking about a particular idea. He’d mull it over for days before actually brainstorming. It’d begin with single words or phrases, then sentences and paragraphs. After that the characters would materialize, and he worked and reworked the
ir physical and psychological characteristics until he was able to breathe life into them. The entire process from beginning to end usually took a month.

  When he worked for a television daytime drama he’d become proficient in writing a script in less than a week. It hadn’t mattered that he’d become a soap opera hack. The pay was good and he’d cranked them out in order to afford his fifth-floor walk-up in Manhattan.

  Fortunately he knew how to cook, which cut down on eating out and ordering in. Whenever he announced he was cooking his friends would grumble about having to walk five flights of stairs with cases of beer and wine, but once he set out pots of chili and pans of buffalo wings, spareribs, pulled pork, and collard greens with smoked turkey the only sound heard was that of chewing and grunts of satisfaction. Word of his cooking ability went beyond his circle of friends and after a while Keaton found himself catering private dinner parties. The money he earned catering he deposited directly into the bank. Between cooking and writing scripts he’d saved enough to sustain him when he moved from New York to California to enroll in USC without taking out student loans. He continued to support himself writing scripts, this time for film and television.

  His life changed completely when the producer of a television police procedural fired the head writer and assigned Keaton to the position. Writing left him little or no time for a social life but the sacrifice paid off when he wrote and directed his first episode. The experience proved euphoric for him. He’d finally found his niche.

  “It would be like writing for a daytime drama all over again. Thank you, Francine.” The two words were so inadequate to what he was feeling.

  Francine felt Keaton’s excitement as surely as if it were her own. “Will you let me read the script when it’s completed?”

  Keaton palmed her head again, placing kisses at each corner of her mouth. “I’ll let you read it before it’s completed. If you don’t mind, I’d like your input.”

  “What if I tell you something you don’t like?”

  “I’ll take whatever you tell me under advisement. My ego isn’t that fragile.”

  “But you do admit to being egotistical?”

  Lowering his arms, Keaton fused his body to hers, sharing his heat. “Every artist has to be somewhat egotistical about their creations. With me it is scriptwriting and for you it’s hair. This is not to say we can’t improve, but for the most part we’re satisfied with what we do.”

  “You’re right.” Francine hadn’t thought that as a hairstylist she was also an artist, but after all, she was creating something that would enhance the person sitting in her chair. It was the same with a makeup artist. “Are you still planning to come for dinner tomorrow?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Although I really like the food at Jack’s, it’s still different from a home-cooked meal.”

  “You’re in for a treat because my grandma is cooking. By the way, I’m surprised she let you fix anything in her kitchen.”

  “I really like your grandmother,” Keaton admitted.

  “And she really must like you to let you prepare something in her kitchen even if only to make a drink. What on earth did you say to her?”

  “I didn’t say anything except that I’d wait in your apartment for you to come home. Maybe she didn’t trust me to be there alone.”

  “I don’t think it has anything to with trust. What do you think it is?” Francine asked.

  “Once I turned on the charm she just couldn’t resist me.”

  Francine landed a soft punch to his shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “No, I’m not, Francine. She likes me. At first I didn’t do or say anything. She outright ordered me to follow her.”

  Placing both hands on his chest, she met his eyes. “My mother, whom my grandmother loves like a daughter, isn’t allowed to boil water in that kitchen and I come home and find the two of you bonding like Pat and Gina Neely.”

  “What do you know about the Neelys?”

  “I do watch television.”

  “You watch cooking shows, yet you don’t cook.” Dipping his head, he fastened his mouth to hers. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Teach me to cook,” she whispered against his lips.

  His mouth moved to the side of her neck. “There are other things I’d love to teach you, sweetie, but I promise that will happen only when we’re ready to take things to the next level.”

  Francine knew if Keaton hadn’t been holding her she would have sunk to the sand, dissolving into the grains like a drop of water. She’d admitted she hadn’t had a date in more than six months and to him that probably translated into her not having sex for that period of time too, but it had been far longer. What he didn’t know was that it’d been so long she’d forgotten what passion felt like. It was only in her erotic dreams that she was able to relive the sexual sensations that made her feel as if she were having an out-of-body experience.

  Francine knew she had to be careful, very, very careful, not to fall into the same trap with Keaton as she had with Aiden. Her ex had used her for financial support to realize his goal, and she’d just offered to help Keaton brainstorm for a script yet to be written. The only difference was she didn’t know where to start when it came to writing a script. He was the expert. But she and Aiden had been equals when they rehearsed parts with each other. Shaking her head as if to banish all thoughts of him from her memory, she bared her throat for Keaton’s rapacious mouth.

  Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, she held on to him as if he were a lifeline. Her mouth searched and found his, their lips parting and fusing like pieces of heated steel. Everything within Francine exploded, shattering her like colorful sparks from detonated fireworks.

  He lifted her off her feet until her head was level with his, Francine’s arms going around Keaton’s neck in order to keep her balance. She drank from his mouth like a woman dying of thirst. All of her senses were heightened by his body’s natural masculine scent mingling with his cologne, the smell of his leather jacket, and the taste of his tongue as it curled around hers.

  She wanted him so badly that if they were not on a beach where anyone could come by and see them she would’ve begged Keaton to make love to her.

  Francine couldn’t fathom what it was that made her feel so wanton with Keaton. It couldn’t only be prolonged celibacy, because it hadn’t happened with the men she’d seen after she and Aiden broke up. And it certainly hadn’t with David, who’d tried on several occasions to kiss her.

  Somehow, before insanity replaced whatever common sense she had left, she floated back to reality. “Keaton, please. Let me go,” she whispered.

  Keaton’s response was to hold her tighter. “Nothing’s going to happen, sweetie. At least not here.”

  She managed to smile. “I know that.”

  The sound of their breathing competed with the sound of the tide washing up on the beach before it retreated back to its watery bed. Everything felt so right for Francine. Standing on the beach at the witching hour under a full moon with a man who stirred emotions she didn’t want to feel. A man with whom she’d unknowingly connected years before when she appeared onstage while he’d watched from the audience.

  “Why is it I don’t trust myself around you?”

  Keaton’s query echoed her own thoughts. Now, who’s reading minds? Francine mused as she lowered her arms. “Nothing’s going to happen,” she repeated.

  He set Francine on her feet, while still holding her in a close embrace. “I know, because I’m going to take you home before I have a change of heart.”

  She didn’t bother to put her shoes on once she was seated beside Keaton, preferring instead to hold them. It gave her something on which to concentrate instead of the man sitting less than a foot away. Francine had tried to figure out what it was about him that made her let her guard down, and not just emotionally, but physically. Each day she spent with Keaton, she found herself losing more control. Perhaps it was good that he was staying at th
e Cove Inn rather than in his house because that would’ve proven to be too much temptation. Although she had her own apartment with a private entrance, and her parents respected her privacy, she still couldn’t get past the fact that she resided under their roof. It would’ve been vastly different if she and Keaton were married, but that wasn’t even a remote possibility.

  Francine did like Keaton. He was the epitome of masculinity, as evidenced by the number of women, regardless of their age, who gave him more than a passing glance. And she completely understood their reaction.

  She was out of the SUV before Keaton could come around to assist her. With key in hand, she unlocked the door and would’ve escaped him completely if she’d been faster. He caught her upper arm, turning her around and pressing her back against the door.

  Taking her shoes from her hands, he dropped them to the floor. Francine jumped at the thudding sound. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into the tender flesh of her palms. She thought he was going to kiss her again but when he pressed his chest to her breasts, their breathing coming in a measured, syncopated rhythm, she smiled. The heat from his larger body warmed hers, spreading from her chest to her toes. She wasn’t certain how long they stood together because time appeared to be standing still.

  “I have to go up now.”

  Taking a step backward and dipping his head, Keaton kissed her cheek. “Good night, baby.”

  “Good night, Keaton.”

  “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  The last thing she saw was the outline of Keaton’s broad shoulders before she closed and locked the door. The image stayed with her as she washed her face, took a quick shower, got into bed, and pulled the sheet and blankets up and over her body. It faded only when she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Francine waited for her grandmother to go inside the house, then maneuvered along the driveway, heading in the direction of Waccamaw Road. After the early service, she’d run into Jeff’s grandmother, who told her Kara wanted her to come by and see the baby.