The Idea of Love
Page 23
Ella turned her attention to Mimi, away from Margo and her comments and red mouth. “Very.”
“Oh, look,” Mimi said. “Margo is wearing a white dress. Isn’t she so creative and original.”
“Completely,” Ella said, grateful for more times than she could count for Mimi’s presence and humor.
The noise level escalated so rapidly that there wasn’t space or time for any more conversation. The woman MC rattled off the history of wedding dresses from Queen Victoria to Kate Middleton to Kim Kardashian. She talked about hemlines and veils, about famous designers and the intricacy of designing the right sleeve. Even Ella, taking small tasteless bites of her dinner, knew it was too much—all the explanation and blathering. There was only one thing everybody here wanted to know.
Finally, she said it. “So now on to the winner of our bridal design. It was a difficult decision this year. Our judges had a very hard time.”
Mimi leaned over and whispered into Ella’s ear, her breath gathering in laughter. “Why do they always have to say how hard it was to choose? Just tell us.”
Ella took Mimi’s hand and suppressed her laughter.
“Our winner this year will be featured in a full spread, but also each one of you, each finalist will be shown, so in essence, you are all winners.” The woman held up an envelope, and then pretending to be at the Oscars or Emmys or anywhere else an envelope was dramatically opened, she ripped it. “And the winner is the Helena, by Alex Linden.”
A man, beautiful and tall, wearing a tuxedo—of course—stood up to a loud whooping sound. Clapping and hugging and all the things done at an award ceremony commenced. A speech. Toasting. Mentions of the other contestants. It went by in a blur, colors and words and music blending together in a mosaic, until Ella stood with Mimi to congratulate the winner. But Margo rounded the table before anything else could be said or done. “Ella,” she said.
“Yes?”
“This is your fault. The dress, it would have won if you hadn’t embarrassed both of us with your claim and your ridiculous need for unnecessary credit.”
“My fault?” Ella lifted her eyebrows, felt the makeup on her face like too much lotion, a mask.
“Yes.”
“Margo, it is my doing that we are even here. My doing that you are wearing that hideous lipstick and your name is hanging off the ceiling and you get again to wear a white dress. You would never be here without me. And you know that. You know that.” Ella stood taller, felt the straps of her high heels dig into her old ankle injury.
“I don’t know that.”
“I do,” a voice said, a voice Ella missed and tried to forget. The voice of someone she thought she knew but never really had.
Ella turned slowly, wanting to believe for as long as she could that it was his voice, that the music and the noise and the chaos hadn’t scrambled her memory of it. He stood there, next to her, Blake, in a black tuxedo. He’d cut his hair and it waved back from his forehead. His face clean and shaven, a gleam of scrubbed skin broken with a smile.
“Blake,” she said.
Margo stepped away, finally quieted.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Blake Hunter. I’ve heard about you and your work, and I wanted to introduce myself. I’ve wanted to introduce myself for a long time.” He held out his hand.
His voice, it was a wave that washed over her, and she was off balance, slightly wobbly. Ella held out her own hand, felt it wrapped inside his as he lifted it to kiss the inside of her palm. “I’m Ella Flynn,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
They stared at each other and the smiles felt like a secret, something to be held forever and never shared with anyone else.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Blake nodded toward Mimi. “I heard about an award ceremony in New York and I thought I just might show up to see who won.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said.
“It’s always you,” he said.
“Is this the ending you would write?” She touched his cheek.
“No. This isn’t about a story. It’s about you. And it’s not an ending; hopefully it’s a beginning. A new one.” He drew her close, his hands on her waist and his lips on hers as if this was the hundredth time they’d come together this way, as if this was always the way it should be.
Ella wound her arms around Blake and pulled herself from his kiss to look into his eyes. “Well, I would have written it exactly this way,” she said, and kissed him again.
There was a tug, a pull at the elbow, and a voice that said, “I’d like to meet you. I so love your design.” Ella looked to the man, the winner, Alex.
“Don’t leave,” she said to Blake. “Please. I need to…”
“I am not going anywhere.” Blake stepped back and stood next to Mimi. “I’m here.”
Ella turned to Alex and congratulated him. The evening spun out from there. Ella met everyone—the designers, the staff, the judges. She gathered cards and names and numbers, hugged strangers and forgot about her dress and makeup and runner-up status, but what she didn’t forget about was Blake, waiting with Mimi.
The room wasn’t quite empty when she went to Blake, waiting at the back. He leaned against the wall with a smile and a glass of champagne. Ella went to him and pressed herself against him, held him so close she could feel his heartbeat through the tuxedo and then her dress. She could feel him breathe. “Don’t let me go,” she said.
“Never again,” he said.
“So, love isn’t so much an idea now, is it?” she whispered against his ear.
He pulled back from her and wound his arm around her waist. “I don’t care if you’re a designer or an opera singer. I don’t care if you’re a widow or Wonder Woman. I care about you. It’s you. I couldn’t forget you, Ella. I assumed I would. I thought that if I just stopped thinking about you or if I never saw you or talked to you again that I wouldn’t want you anymore. But I do want you. I want to share everything with you. You … you’re the one I want to be near, to share my life, to tell my stories.…”
Ella placed her finger on his lips. “Words.” She smiled. “Now show me.”
Blake wound his hand around her neck and kissed her exactly the way she wanted to be kissed. The kind of kiss that doesn’t use words to say, “I choose you.”
one year later
VARIETY FILM REVIEW: THE ONLY ONE
The world premiere of The Only One in tiny Watersend, South Carolina, provides a marketing bonanza for the summer’s best bet for smart counter-programming to a glut of super-hero action flicks. Goodwill abounds for hosting the film’s debut at a newly renovated movie theater and the small-town setting ties into the rom-com’s unusual backstory.
Most surprising of all, the big hook isn’t the young director hot off Sundance looking for a commercial hit to go with his indie cred. And it’s not the attractive TV stars whose show-sizzling chemistry is evident in their feature debut. Instead, it’s the screenwriter, a rarity at any point in Hollywood’s history. But bankable Blake Hunter can say bye-bye to his recent flops with what’s sure to be a boffo hit that puts him back on top.…
In a signature Blake Hunter move, this film raises the usual questions about love in a fresh style. Is love just an idea that won’t survive the harsh light of day, or can it change your life? If you fall in love at first sight, aren’t you just falling in love with a fantasy of who that stranger might be? And aren’t they doing the same with you? In the past, Hunter would have swept away such concerns with a wish-fulfilling finale. Here, the climax is just as romantic but now it feels genuine and true, a romance that accepts the complexities of real love as one of its rewards, not an annoyance to be ignored in favor of hearts and flowers.
Adults, especially women, are sure to welcome this entertaining, irresistible story that is better than a fairy tale because fairy tales aren’t true. If Hunter is the male Nora Ephron, then this is his When Harry Met Sally.… And if the rumors are true, Hunter may soon follow in t
hat legend’s wake by making the leap to writer-director. Studio bigwigs should cross their fingers that his honeymoon proves just as inspiring as Hunter’s search for romance.—Reviewed by Mitz
The camera establishes a wide shot to show a quaint town with brick sidewalks and gas lanterns. It looks like a movie set but it isn’t; it is Watersend, South Carolina, on a hot summer evening for a movie premier. On the horizon, there is a church steeple and a sunset so beautiful that it appears like a backdrop painted on canvas, all reds and purples and pinks. The storefronts are lit and benches line the streets as if waiting for lovers. The candlelight glow found during that magic hour of dusk hovers over the town, expectant.
The camera zooms in to focus on the crowd outside a vintage movie theater. The marquee is red and bright with the large lightbulbs of the seventies announcing the movie for the night: The Only One. Limos pull up one by one and stars step out to wave at the crowd and then pose for a few photos before disappearing into the theater.
Two TV anchors, Tripp Marshall and Abbie Morgan, are talking over the scene until the camera pans to reveal them standing across the street.
TRIPP MARSHALL, HOST OF E! TV:
We are live in charming Watersend, South Carolina, at the red carpet premier for The Only One, which insiders predict will be the romantic-comedy hit of the summer. This idyllic small town may seem an unlikely place for the Hollywood elite to converge, but this town isn’t just the setting for the movie’s premiere. It’s also the setting for the screenwriter, Blake Hunter’s, real-life romance with a local woman named Ella Flynn, the very same romance that inspired the movie.
ABBIE:
Yes, Tripp, that’s right. We’ve heard that Blake and Ella met in Watersend when Blake was traveling incognito to do research. He was posing as a history writer so he could discover some love stories about others but wound up discovering a love story of his own.
TRIPP:
Yes, Abbie, and Blake wasn’t the only one telling a few white lies as his new love, Ella, told us in an exclusive interview. But we don’t want to give away any more spoilers. So let’s talk about that dress she is wearing on the red carpet. It looks like it’s a Steele Henry design. Is it?
ABBIE:
It does look like it, but the word is that Ella designed it herself.
TRIPP:
Well, that would make sense; she’s a wedding dress designer.
ABBIE:
It’s a fun story, and one we can watch unfold on the screen, thanks to Blake.
TRIPP:
The early reviews have been fabulous so far, but of course we haven’t weighed in, have we, Abbie?
Abbie laughs and winks at Tripp, and then the camera moves away from them and back to the front of the theater, where Blake Hunter and Ella Flynn are exiting a limousine. He takes her hand and helps her out of the car before kissing her. They turn and wave to the crowd and—
“Blake.” The first reporter reaches him and holds out the microphone. “Can you tell us—we’ve heard it rumored that you rewrote the screenplay after falling in love with Ella. Is this true?”
“Yes.” Blake nods and pulls her closer. “Because that’s exactly what love does—it changes everything.”
acknowledgments
Gratitude never seems enough for those who influence and support my work. But nevertheless, gratitude is what I have for so many people because this story (and many others) would not exist without them.
My publishing team at St. Martin’s Press is incomparable. My editor, Brenda Copeland, keeps me in line, kills my darlings, keeps me laughing, has numerous nicknames for me, and generally makes both my book and my life better. For all those who support us on every level, I am thankful: Laura Chasen, Jennifer Enderlin, Sally Richardson, Jessica Preeg, Marie Estrada, Kerry McMahon, Tracey Guest, and Jeanne-Marie Hudson. To the sales staff, marketing, and publicity—such an extraordinary team behind every single book, and I don’t know the half of what they do!
To Rivendell Writers Colony and Carmen and Michael Thompson, I am eternally grateful not only for the space and inspirational place to write—for Percy’s Perch and the tiny cottage on the bluff—but also for saving me when I needed saving the most. And also to Amy Greene and Joe Shuster for sharing that time with me, for opening my heart to so many stories, for walking over the natural bridge with me while we tried to find our places in the world.
To Michael Giltz, movie reviewer, award-winning freelance writer based in New York, and founder of the Web site BookFilter. I am so grateful for your expertise. Any errors about the movie industry are mine alone, but anything correct is Michael’s doing.
To Bookreporter.com’s entire staff, and especially Carol Fitzgerald, I am thankful for your expertise, creativity, and humor.
As always to my agent, Kimberly Whalen, eternal gratitude.
To my writing tribe, I love all of you. What would we do without one another? How would we find our way? To the bookstores and readers and bloggers and reviewers: how can I ever thank all of you? I don’t know if there is a way, but I am sending out so much love to each and every one of you. To those who show up at signings and readings, to those who write to me and tell me your stories, my heart is bigger because of you.
To Gregg Sullivan and Caroline Ambuhl at Sullivan and Associates. What a great year we’ve had. It’s been such a joy working with your creative spirits.
To Mark and Cate Sommer, who never give up in encouraging me on every step in every way. Cate, I’ve used your hilarious “four-star hotel” slip because you always make me laugh even when I don’t think I can.
To my friends, so many, who ran to my front door after I plummeted from the Sewanee cliff in an idiot hiking move. And those who sent flowers, food, and love. God, what would I have done but for you? I wouldn’t have been able to finish this book without you; I know that.
To those who brainstormed, read early drafts, and let me talk about fictional people as if they were real: Kerry Lunsford-Madden, Lanier Isom, Kathy Trocheck, Mary Alice Monroe, Dottie Frank, and Kate Phillips. And to Kortni Duff: Your eagle eye and kind heart made this story better.
Always to my family and extended family, because I couldn’t and wouldn’t do what I do without you. I love all of you, Callahans, Henrys, Burrises, and Cunnions. Every single one of you.
Mostly to Pat, Meagan, Thomas, and Rusk Henry. What a crazy year, right? We did it together, and here we are. I love you.
about the author
Patti Callahan Henry is a New York Times bestselling author whose novels include And Then I Found You, Between the Tides, and Driftwood Summer. Patti lives with her husband and three children in Mountain Brook, Alabama, where she is working on her next novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY
The Stories We Tell
And Then I Found You
Coming Up for Air
The Perfect Love Song: A Holiday Story
Driftwood Summer
The Art of Keeping Secrets
Between the Tides
When Light Breaks
Where the River Runs
Losing the Moon
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter
13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
One Year Later
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Patti Callahan Henry
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE IDEA OF LOVE. Copyright © 2015 by Patti Callahan Henry. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Olga Grlic
Cover photograph © Holly Wilmeth/Getty Images
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-04032-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-3555-9 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466835559
First Edition: June 2015