Premiere: A Love Story

by Ewens, Tracy

  She was losing control.

  “This is a good one, Peter. Be sure to include all the details, so you look like a real man. Just make sure you leave out the part where you told me you loved me. That makes it look like you . . .”

  She stopped, backed away from him and begged her heart for sanity. The pain was unbearable. The original, awful pain. Peter looked away because he couldn’t physically take it one more minute.

  He wanted to tell her that he did love her, still needed her. Wanted to hold her and say that he’d been a scared, insecure idiot who thought he needed to make something of himself to even be worthy. He wanted to give her those words to help ease her pain, but he stood there and let her wallow in the ache of her heartbreak.

  “Please, Peter. Please, leave me alone.”

  Sam pushed through the heavy wooden doors and into the lobby of the theater. The oleanders would have to wait. She was not working today. For the past two years nothing had been more important to her than this theater, her job. One stupid scene in his play, this stupid scene, had reduced her to a puddle. Sam was angry. Angry with him for coming back and furious with herself for letting him see how desperately she had loved him.

  It had almost killed him putting it down on paper. It was completely insane that he left it in the play, but it was perfect. Some of his best writing. The scene was all from Phillip’s perspective, Sally was depicted as only a light, she wasn’t even on the stage in the scene. Peter didn’t want to share Sam’s stunning kisses or the curves of her body under his hands with anyone else. While it was a love scene, it was abstract and mostly an inner monologue about Philip’s feelings, physical and emotional.

  Peter stood up, watching her walk away again. He felt like one of those stupid cats that proudly drops a dead bird at its master’s feet and is shocked when the human doesn’t see the brilliance in the deed. How had he managed to hide it from her all those years ago, how was it not all over his face? That day changed his life, brought him back to life. She became everything wrapped in his arms. His air, his touch, it all changed.

  Sure, making love to a beautiful woman in the pouring rain was great, there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t cherish that memory, but with the first touch it was instantly more, and it had scared him shitless. He had always loved her mind and wanted her body. Her rain-soaked skin was so soft it almost hadn’t seemed real. He could recall it like he was right back there, but he wasn’t prepared for her to completely crawl inside of him. Her warmth took over and he knew he would need her, the fire she gave him, for the rest of his life.

  He couldn’t need, not then, he could barely allow need now after years of therapy, but back then his twenty-three-year-old, screwed-up self definitely didn’t allow need of any kind. He was so focused on making something of himself during those years. He knew the pull of what he felt for her would keep him in Pasadena. Hell, he could spend a whole day just sitting in a coffee shop talking to her in those days. He couldn’t stay. Even though he loved her to desperation, he needed to find himself outside of his family, or one day she would wake up and realize he was nothing more than a shadow of a man she thought she knew. So, he memorized her, her magic, and with a little push he left her behind.

  He did say cruel things; he had to. She knew him too well and would have never let him go. He had hurt her and now she thought he was simply back to pick the wound. Peter turned back toward the theater and accepted that. Messed up childhood or not, he had been a real bastard.

  Chapter Ten

  Peter’s sister, Cynthia, was getting married in less than two months on Catalina. April Everoad had agreed to let Bindi Malendar host a wedding shower overflowing with champagne and desserts. Sam was invited and was relieved it would be at Grady’s family home and not Peter’s. Mostly because champagne and Peter’s mother did not mix well, and also because Sam had always found it so difficult to be in Peter’s home after his father died.

  She really had not wanted to attend the shower at all, but her mother would be there, and it would be rude to not make an appearance. Sam, always appropriate, found herself making small talk in the large formal living room with a few women she knew from school as well as a larger group of debutantes and new brides in the community. There was a small buffet of real food, but the highlight was a huge table with thirty-five different desserts. Cynthia Everoad was a self-proclaimed sugar junkie so the shower was themed “Bubbles and Confection.”

  Belinda Malendar, or Bindi to everyone who knew her, was a tall and beautifully put together woman. She was one of those women one doesn’t want to run into on a bad hair day. A collection of thoroughbred features, she was perfect: perfectly beautiful all of the time. Sam was sure being a senator’s wife did that to a woman. Bindi had been married to Senator Patrick Malendar since they graduated from college. Despite his wandering eye and a penchant for hard liquor, Senator Malendar was a sweet man. He and his wife, while a little artificial for Sam’s taste, always seemed to complement one another.

  Bindi had been friends with April Everoad, Peter’s mom, and Susan Cathner, Sam’s mom, since they were Bindi Parker, April Whitmore, and Susan Braxton back in boarding school. All three women were dear friends and anyone who thought otherwise did not witness the round-the-clock care given to Mrs. Everoad when her husband died. Bindi basically took over her friend’s life for the first month after the suicide, and Susan was the one who threw open the curtains when April had spent one too many nights drinking. Both women tried to help her in the beginning, but now they simply accepted it, and ran interference for April’s “problem.”

  Senator Malendar, who was out for the evening, was gearing up to run for re-election again at the end of the year. Grady had already starting complaining that he hated election years. The guests were all sure to give Bindi and the Senator their best wishes, but Sam did notice the Malendars were a little on edge. Perhaps because keeping up appearances could be tough when your son was Grady Malendar. Grady liked to party, and he was very good at it.

  Sam excused herself from the giggling festivities in search of some air. While standing on the balcony, she heard a car pull up the circular drive. Black Lincoln Town Car, one of the fleet maintained by the Malendars. The car stopped, and the driver walked around to open the door. Grady stepped out steadily, but then put his arm around the driver, who grinned politely and then bent to help the other passenger. Sam hoped Grady had the good sense not to bring a woman around during the shower.

  Peter emerged from the car, a little less gracefully. Grady moved his affection from the driver to Peter. While Sam was relieved Grady had not brought one of his many lady friends home to his parents’ house, her pulse quickened at the sight of Peter. It had been a few days since she had seen him at rehearsals—the day he decided to parade their private life in front of everyone—but she was still clouded by a mess of feelings she couldn’t shake.

  Grady and Peter held each other up, waved to the driver, and turned toward the door, the front door. They couldn’t see her standing on the balcony, so Sam watched as they both wobbled together. Grady held his liquor well, but Sam wasn’t sure about Peter. It occurred to her that she no longer knew how Peter held his liquor. Either way, intoxicated or not, Grady and Peter heading into Cynthia’s wedding shower was not good. She had to give it to them for sheer courage, thinking they were going to walk through the front door in their current state.

  Leaning over the balcony railing now, Sam watched as they both laughed, turned from the front door, and began walking around the house right under her. Side door, good choice guys, she thought, watching as they walked below her joking like they were in high school.

  “Did you already finish that, that Slurpee? Such a stupid word . . . Slurpee,” Peter said trying, and failing miserably, to whisper.

  He was in tan pants and a navy jacket barely hanging on to his broad shoulders. Grady was in a full suit with his tie shoved into the pocket of his jacket. They were both quite disheveled, curling over laughing as they st
umbled around the corner. In spite of herself, Sam relished seeing both of them relaxed and silly. Peter’s mother had fallen into a serious drinking problem after his father died, so that even when they were in college Peter rarely drank. Which was fine, but it was refreshing to see Peter let loose. Grady must have dragged him to the club with his famous line: “Let’s go blow off some steam.”

  Sam moved back into the study, still not ready to rejoin the shower. They’d been starting to play “How Well Does the Bride Know Her Groom?” when Sam had stepped away. She honestly couldn’t take it; backing away, she’d gone up the stairs and into the study unnoticed. Sam figured that game and the two or three that would follow should allow her a few moments of peace, unless Grady and Peter actually decided to crash the shower. If they were smart they would just stay in the kitchen or get back in the car and go to Grady’s house. Why were they here? Bindi didn’t give Grady much slack when they were growing up, so she certainly wouldn’t take kindly to his behavior now.

  Sam sat in one of the high-backed, dark green chairs facing a massive, heavy, wood and glass cabinet of bookshelves. This library was part of the original house built back in 1929. Sam had always liked this room. The three of them prepared for their SATs in this study. Sam’s memories reached back even further as she picked up the book on the table in front of her, The History of the Ottoman Empire. No doubt a little light reading for Grady. Sam remembered coming to Grady’s house after grade school and playing store in this very room. Everywhere Sam went there were pieces of her past. The rich chocolate cake and crème brûlée she had eaten earlier were now both ganging up on her and turning into a headache. Sam closed her eyes.

  “She sleeps. . . .” Peter whispered a few minutes later.

  Shit! Sam thought and cracked open her eyes expecting to see the two of them looking like kids sneaking home after a night of revelry, but it was only Peter. He was leaning in the doorway with his jacket over his arm like someone propped him there.

  “What are you doing? Where’s Grady? Tell me he’s not . . .”

  “Bathroom,” Peter answered while leaning to point down the hall. He almost lost his balance and swayed back, grabbing the door molding to steady himself.

  “Whoa, that was a close one,” he said, now brave enough to walk toward Sam.

  She was still unsettled and upset about the scene in the play, but damn if he wasn’t sexy and smoldering as he threw himself into the chair next to her. His eyes were heavy and his navy jacket, probably linen, dropped on the floor. Peter rubbed his hands over his face, stretched his long legs, and crossed them at the ankles. His hair looked like he may have taken a nap in the car ride over.

  Peter closed his eyes, and Sam allowed herself to notice, once again, that Peter had grown up very nicely. How could she hate him and want to drag him to the floor at the same time?

  “Tough night?”

  Peter opened one eye and turned toward her. She couldn’t help it, she smiled.

  “We, there was this thing. Grady came by the theater and said we should go, he invited me, said we could blow off . . .”

  “Some steam? Oh, Peter, you fell for that? Hmm . . . you have been gone too long.”

  “I know. I know, but he’s so damn persuasive, and I felt wound up. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but how do people do this all the time? I only had four, maybe five, beers. I should be embarrassed. I love the fact that my face is completely numb along with my brain, but the spinning . . . what kind of a man admits to spinning after only four beers?”

  Peter closed his eyes again and rested his head. He looked wrinkled and tired, but a little reckless. It was different. Sam found herself forgetting that she hated him.

  “I should get back,” she said.

  “Yeah, I was going to ask you why you were hiding in here,” he said, eyes still closed.

  “I’m not hiding. I needed to take a break, but I should get back.”

  Sam stood, and Peter opened his eyes.

  “The shower sounds great. We heard a lot of happy giggling while we were sneaking up the stairs. You’re not having a good time?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m having a good time. Your sister’s fun and clearly very much in love. Mrs. Malendar is in charge of the whole thing, so of course it’s scary perfect.”

  Sam let out a laugh.

  “Right, that’s the well-rehearsed token answer, Miss Cathner, so why are you sitting in the study?”

  “You’ve definitely had five beers.”

  “True, but that’s not why you’re in the study.”

  “Christ, Peter, I needed some air, a breather. Aren’t you worried about Grady? Where . . .”

  “I make it a habit never to worry about Grady. He’s probably taking a little nap or he’s downstairs. Now that would be worth the price of admission. I’m pretty sure he’s dated half the women at the shower.”

  He laughed and then put his hands to his head. Laughter erupted from downstairs, and they could hear Cynthia shouting answers to the next game.

  “Oh boy it’s starting to get rowdy,” Peter mocked.

  “I’m heading back down. Will you be all right?”

  “Probably not for some time, but I’m going to sit here until someone finds me or the room settles down.”

  Sam walked toward the door.

  “Sam, you don’t need to leave yet, they’re still playing stupid games. You’re not into that.”

  “Oh really, how do you know what I’m into? It’s been four years.”

  “I know.”

  His eyes were closed again, and he sounded a little sinister. When she walked back toward him, the corner of his mouth turned up.

  “Still know how to piss you off, don’t I?”

  “You are quite good at it.”

  “I like games. I only needed a . . .”

  “Break. Yeah, so you said. Cynthia does seem happy. I used to think Alan wasn’t really the guy for her, but they’re good for each other. She deserves happy.”

  Peter grabbed his jacket off the floor, reached into the pocket, and pulled out an open bag of peanut M&M’S.

  “Want one?”

  “Peanut, my favorite.”

  “See, I told you . . . I know you.”

  Sam took it, poured a few into her hand, and sat back down.

  “When? Where did you get these?”

  “Right around the time Grady declared he needed a red Slurpee, and we had the driver pull over. For some reason I wanted peanut M&M’S.”

  Their eyes met and again it was effortless.

  “Hmm . . . well, they’re the very best candy.”

  Peter laid his head back and closed his eyes again. Sam did the same. Other than the crunch of peanuts, it was quiet. They sat there for a while and said nothing. Peter began to laugh.

  “What?”

  “Remember when you went to that dance with . . . oh, what was his name?”

  “Harrison,” Sam moaned immediately and he laughed harder.

  “Right, right, Harrison of Pasadena Prep. God, remember him?”

  “I do. He was . . . he had very nice hair.”

  She tried to keep a straight face.

  “Oh please, he was a complete lunatic. His teeth were capped before he was fifteen.”

  Now they both laughed.

  “He was . . . high maintenance.”

  “That’s an understatement. Remember when you called me from their big ball, cotillion thing and told me to come get you?”

  Sam remembered.

  “I do. It was so bad. I should have known when the corsage he gave me took up half my arm, but when he ever started doing the running man . . .”

  Now they were belly laughing.

  “What did you say to him? I remember pulling up and you came running out to the car in that, that dress.”

  “Cramps, I used the steadfast excuse for all things awful or uncomfortable. I pulled him aside and said I had to leave because it was my time. The look on his face, it was priceless. Guy
s never ask any questions when you bring up cramps. It was perfect.”

  Peter shook his head and reached for more M&M’S.

  “What was wrong with my dress?”

  “Oh, nothing. It was, wasn’t it black?”

  “Yes, it was. I loved that dress. It was my first dress that wasn’t pink with some kind of bow or ruffle. It was my slinky dress.”

  “I remember it very well. It was short. My seventeen-year-old mind remembers it being short, and you were wearing very high heels. Yeah, I remembered those heels for quite some time.”

  She looked over at Peter, whose eyes were still closed. She’d never realized the dress or the heels left such an impression. She wanted to stay in the memory with him.

  “Well, if I forgot to say it then, thank you for rescuing me.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Quiet filled their space again.

  “What made you think of Harrison?”

  “I remember that we drove to Memorial Park after I picked you up. We sat in my car and talked for hours.”

  He looked over at her, and the warmth was back. Sam nodded.

  “There was a concert at the Levitt Pavilion. For some reason that memory is so vivid. It was a gorgeous night, and you, you were in those heels.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’d taken the damn things off by the time we got to the park and you brought me M&M’S.”

  They both looked at each other. Even though they were older, and Sam tried to remember to be angry, it felt so wonderful, like being home, so unstudied sitting there together.

  “Well, I thought you might need them after your Harrison trauma. If I’d known about the running man moves, I would have brought two bags.”

  “Who was playing that night? I can’t remember.”

  “I think it was some jazz band. They did that song ‘I’m All Right,’ and the woman singing had such a great voice. I bought that song when I moved . . .”

  Peter’s voice trailed off, but not before Sam saw for a minute how important the memory was.

  “So, I wonder where old Harrison is now,” he added.

  “I think he married one of the teaching assistants from his school.”