by Casey Dawes
Midway through the salad prep Mandy felt bold enough to ask another question. “Are you married?”
“I was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be. I had a long and satisfying marriage.” Sally put down her spoon and leaned against the counter, her face softened by a wisp of a smile. “Henry was a good soul. We enjoyed everything together—travel, movies, art museums, even the things that went wrong.” The smile dimmed. “There were a lot of things going wrong at the end. He had early onset Alzheimer’s. It was tough at the end, but our love was still there, hidden under the confusion.”
She looked up at Mandy. “I never let him down. We lived in one of those assisted living places so I could get help when I had a job.” Her lower lip trembled a touch. “Before the disease, he would come with me. He was a writer. Thrillers. Could work anywhere.”
Sally popped two trays into the oven, closed the door, and leaned against the counter. “He died about three years ago. I still miss him.” She pulled out a bin and dumped dirty measuring spoons, cups, and wooden spoons into it before handing it to Mandy. “You can start with the dishes.” She grinned. “Low woman on the totem pole gets the crummy job.”
Mandy accepted the bin and walked the few steps to the dishwashing sink.
“What about you?” Sally asked. “Ever been married?”
That’s what she got for being nosy.
“No. I haven’t had time to go out much, so I don’t get beyond casual dating.”
“Then you and James should get along fine.”
Mandy began the rinse process. “That’s the second time you’ve indicated he’s a player.”
The rich, sweet smell of chocolate and sugar permeated the truck.
“He’s not really a player, although he likes to pretend he is. He’s too caring to hurt anyone, so he looks for women who want what he wants—a few dates at pleasant places, a little bit of sex, and a farewell gift. He tells me once he’s a production assistant, he’ll start looking for someone to marry. Then, when he starts producing movies full time, he’ll be ready to produce offspring as well.”
“Sounds a little rigid.”
“Well, that’s our James.”
Mandy filled the sink with hot soapy water.
“I keep telling him the right woman will derail his plan, but he assures me the ramparts to his heart are secure, and the surrounding moat is filled with crocodiles,” Sally said. “And yes, he really does talk like that—especially after a few beers. I think he watched too many movies growing up.”
Mandy scrubbed the cookie dough bowl.
I wonder if he ever thought about rescuing the princess in the tower.
• • •
James was too busy working with the crew on Sunday to pay much attention to Mandy. Lunch was substantial and served efficiently. When he asked about the new assistant, Sally gave him a thumbs up.
The only nagging worry was George Stubbins. The man had to be fifty, if not older. He’d never been leading man star quality, but he sure had the attitude of one. He’d kept himself in okay shape, but his hair and manner were a little too oily for anyone who’d spent any time in the film industry.
And that was the problem—newbies. A young ingénue on George’s last film had lapped up his lines about his vast experience and connections in Hollywood. James had discovered George trying to force himself on a protesting girl in the cab of his pickup. He’d hauled the man out and punched him before sending the ingénue on her way.
Lawyers had sorted the matter out. Stubbins skated, the girl got smarter, and James was fined.
James sighed. Somehow he suspected Mandy wasn’t as naïve. In fact, she was likely to knee the randy actor in the groin.
He grinned at the thought.
By nine that night the crew had the set ready for the influx of actors. A few had shown up that evening to check out the location, but most wouldn’t show up until the morning.
James was bone tired. The door creaked as he entered the old inn using the key Sarah had given him. Mandy’s car wasn’t in the lot, so she must be at the grill. A black jeep told him Sarah’s boyfriend Hunter was probably home.
Sarah had let him know long-term guests at the inn had access to the kitchen to store cold drinks and snacks, or to make tea or coffee. After the day he’d had, James relished the idea of a quiet beer.
“You must be James.” A broad-shouldered man stood as James entered the kitchen. Shorts revealed a prosthetic replacement for his lower right leg. “I’m Hunter.”
James never knew how to handle war injuries, so he said nothing. A sense of unease gnawed at his stomach. Hunter’s bearing reminded James of his friend Mateo after he’d returned from his first tour in the Middle East.
He stuffed the recollection and thrust out his hand. “Good to meet you, finally.”
Hunter sat. “How’s the movie business?”
The rebuke was subtle, but it curled around the edges of Hunter’s voice. The ex-Marine obviously didn’t think much of the film industry.
James pushed away his irritation. The man had lost part of his leg for his country. James could cut him some slack. He shrugged. “Starting a new location is always stressful.” After he retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, he hesitated.
“Have a seat.” Hunter gestured to an empty chair. “I’m almost finished.”
“Sarah said you were at Pismo Beach.”
A smile broke through. “Yeah. I’m learning to surf again.”
“That’s great.” James sipped his beer to hide his awkwardness. “It must be a challenge.”
“Easier than I thought it would be. It’s nice to have the freedom to be out on the water again.”
“Must be.” Maybe sitting in the kitchen had been a bad idea. A leaf of conversation floated to the surface of his mind. “Nice piece of furniture in the front hall. Fine craftsmanship.”
“Thanks.”
To James’s relief, Hunter finished his beer and stood. “Early morning tomorrow. Sheet-rocking job for a buddy. See you around.”
After Hunter left, James stared at the darkened window. Hollywood power was about money and status. The ex-Marine’s strength was built on character and strength. Would James be able to retain his own integrity in an industry dominated by lies and innuendo? Was creating a film—telling a story—a futile career? Or could he make it something that mattered in a world that seemed to be spinning out of control?
Or was he telling a fantasy, just like the one he told himself every day when he thought about his son—the fantasy that Ruiz was better off never knowing who his real father was.
He disposed of his self-doubt, recycled his beer bottle, and went upstairs to bed. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard Mandy’s door open and close.
The actors’ arrival the next morning gave James no time for angst. By lunch everyone had settled into a routine. Beth Ann had even managed to shoot a few scenes.
When James returned to the canteen from the set, the first person he saw was Mandy. She was placing a fish dish on the buffet table, a smile on her face as she chatted with the lead actress who laughed at something Mandy said.
An ember stirred in his heart. In spite of her struggles, she still managed to snatch joy from the salty ocean air.
He couldn’t say the same for himself. He was all business.
She looked up and caught him staring at her.
Her Cameron Diaz blue eyes reflected the California sunlit skies. A tentative smile played around her lips, but not the laughing confidence she’d had with the actress.
“Who’s the girl?” George Stubbins’s voice snapped James from his distraction.
“I thought you weren’t due in until tomorrow,” James said.
“Nice to see you, too,” George replied. “I decided to get out of LA early and watch the filming today.”
You mean stare at the women in bikinis.
“Anyway, who’s the new server?” George asked again.
&nb
sp; “She’s not a server; she’s the assistant caterer.”
“I thought Sally always worked with Julie.”
“Julie’s getting married.”
“Wow,” George said. “Never saw that coming. With a face like hers, I didn’t think Julie’d find anyone to date, much less marry.”
“You’re an idiot, George. Go get some lunch. And stay away from the caterer.”
“Because protecting a woman worked so well for you the last time.” George walked away, giving a little wave with his fingers. The bastard made a beeline for Mandy.
James headed for the food line, but six of the crew slid in before him. “You don’t mind, do you, James?” the burly cameraman asked.
“No, it’s fine. You need to get back on the set soon.”
“Thanks for getting Sally again. Her food’s the best, and that new gal seems to be working out fine.”
James’s emotions bristled.
He looked up the line. George was talking animatedly to Mandy, and she was grinning at whatever nonsense he was telling her.
James’s blood neared two hundred twelve degrees Fahrenheit. It spiked even further when he saw Mandy reach into her apron pocket and hand George a card.
She’d given the bastard her number. He’d thought she’d be smarter than that. Maybe she was too eager for business.
“You okay, man?” the cameraman asked. “Your face is a bit red. Too much sun?” He glanced up the line. “Or too much Stubbins?”
While the lawyers had killed a potential law suit, they hadn’t been able to slow down the rumor mill.
James forced himself to relax. “George just got here, must be the sun.”
The man laughed. “By Friday it’ll be George.”
Probably.
But James didn’t say anything. Word got around fast on a movie set. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Beth Ann liked Stubbins for her villains and wouldn’t let anyone put him down. Sometimes James wondered if the man had knowledge of a dark secret concerning the director.
Beth Ann stepped in line behind him. She was a slim brunette with wide-set dark eyes and a narrow chin.
“How’s it going, Beth Ann?” he asked.
“Slow. Sand is a pain in the ass to shoot in. Writers have it easy. They only have to describe the damn stuff, not try to keep it from getting into everything.”
“So why’d you decide to direct this one?”
“The ending. I’m a sucker for good endings.” She put some salad on her plate. “And good food. Glad you got Sally. Where’s Julie?”
“Getting married.”
“Where’d you find the new girl—what’s her name?”
“Mandy.” James opted for a sausage and kraut. “It’s my job to make sure everyone has what they need. Sally needed an assistant, so I found one.”
His attention was drawn by a raised voice at one of the tables. When he located the source, he groaned internally. The actress played a stuck-up high school cheerleader, and like Stubbins, seemed to have been typecast.
“There is sand in this fish,” the woman screeched again.
“Told you,” Beth Ann said. “The damn stuff is everywhere.”
Sally started to walk toward the table, but Mandy held up her finger, and went to the woman.
James admired her speed—fast enough to make sure the girl saw her coming, but not so fast as to convey servitude. Nicely done.
“I’m sorry there’s a problem.” Mandy’s voice was calm. “You have a large patch of sand on your upper arm.” Mandy pointed, but didn’t touch the girl. “It might have come from that. Why don’t you brush yourself off and I’ll get you a new piece of fish?”
The girl must have seen James and Beth Ann staring at her. “That will be nice. Thank you.”
The line moved and James reached the end as Mandy was putting out some cold bottled water.
“Want one?” she asked with a smile.
“Sure.”
Their fingers touched briefly. He was instantly aware of her hand’s cool competence. Their eyes locked for a moment.
Beth Ann interrupted the connection. “Well done.” She gestured to the actress eating her fish.
“Thank you.”
“Mandy, this is Beth Ann Colbert,” James said.
“Oh, the director!” Mandy’s smile broadened. “I like your movies.”
“Thanks.” Beth Ann picked up a water and strolled to the table where the film’s lead actors had settled a few moments before.
He turned to Mandy. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” She straightened out a few of the plates and consolidated the salad bowls. “Sally’s great, and most everyone seems nice.” She glanced under her eyelashes at him. “Especially that George Stubbins. He’s…um…very good with flattery.” She kept her head down and continued to work.
James came close to sputtering. How was he going to approach this conversation? He couldn’t very well tell a grown woman she couldn’t go out with someone, especially if she was single.
“How about dinner Saturday night?”
She shook her head. “I have to work.” Looking up, she flashed him a smile. “Job number two, remember?”
At least she hadn’t rejected him outright. “How about Sunday?” If he could distract her she’d be safe from George.
“Once I get breakfast out for our guests—job number three—I have a four hour shift at the grill—job number two—and then three hours of prep with Sally here—job number one.” She put her hands on her hips. “Or is that job number three?” She continued down the table, consolidating, removing empty plates, wiping up spills.
“What about tonight?”
She straightened and stared at him. “Are you that hard up you have to date a co-worker?” Placing her fists on her hips, she added, “Isn’t there some kind of law in California against dating an employee? Harassment or something?”
“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I…uh…” He glared at her, sure his inability to come up with a good lie was her fault.
Then he saw the twinkle in her eye and the slight upturn of her lips.
He laughed. “You’re something. There’s no law and you know it. I simply want to get to know you better without all these people around.” He waved at the seated actors and crew.
“You mean without George Stubbins around,” she said, the corners of her mouth deepening further into the smile.
“I’ve got nothing against George.”
“That’s good,” said the man in question, coming up behind him. “I don’t have anything against you, either, James, in spite of our past history.” Stubbins turned to Mandy. “Honey, that olallieberry pie was so good, I’m back for another slice. Did you make that?”
Oh, puh-lease.
“I think Sally picked that up from Gayle’s in Costanoa. She said she couldn’t make a pie to match theirs, so why bother.” She slid a piece onto the plate he offered. “There you go. Enjoy!”
“Thank you. I look forward to tasting your confectionery.” His smile was more of a leer, but at least he turned and left.
Prompted by Beth Ann’s departure from the lunch area, the rest of the actors and the crew began to stir. James had better check to see everything that was needed was at hand. As he stepped away from the buffet table, Mandy called out.
“James?”
He turned back.
“Yes.”
His confusion must have shown on his face.
“Yes to dinner tonight,” she repeated. “What time?”
He let a genuine smile escape. “Seven?”
“Sounds good. You can pick me up at the inn.” She grinned sunshine.
For a moment he was breathless. Then he nodded his head, turned back to the sea, and walked to the set on the beach.
Chapter 5
What have I done?
Mandy sped south toward Santa Cruz while her mind whirled with questions, cursing
the impulse that had made her agree to James’s invitation, and trying to convince herself dinner out with a good-looking man didn’t mean a thing. She enjoyed James’s company. He was smart and interesting. Best of all, he was only there for a short time. They’d have a casual time like any other co-workers dining together. Maybe some of his obsessive planning would rub off on her.
Who was she kidding?
Her hands, moist with sweat, slipped on the steering wheel, and her inner calm threatened to break apart like a fine china teacup hitting a tile floor.
She glanced at the speedometer and lifted her foot from the gas. While the cops weren’t always plentiful on this stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway, it would be her luck to get a ticket.
Breathe. Slow down. You can handle this. It’s only dinner.
Her phone rang, and she glanced at the number.
Lola.
Talking to her mother was inevitable. The woman wouldn’t give up until she got through. With a sigh Mandy pulled into the Safeway parking lot at the northwest end of Santa Cruz. She clicked the phone on as it was beginning its second set of rings. “Hello?”
“Where have you been?” Lola’s voice had a shrill whine that didn’t bode well. “I’ve left five messages, and you haven’t returned any of them.”
Mandy glanced at the phone readout. Sure enough, there were a bunch of missed calls. “I’ve been working.”
“I thought that restaurant you work at didn’t open until ten. I called at nine this morning. Or were you cooking for that innkeeper? You’re working too hard, Mandy. Why don’t you come home? My personal assistant left to have a baby. I need you, darling.”
“I’m happy where I am.” The only way to keep her independence was to keep a continent between her and Lola. “I’m not moving back to New Jersey. Why did you call?” She tried to make her voice more conciliatory than her words.
“I’m thinking about doing a movie again. I miss Hollywood.”
Mandy kept her snort to herself. This was the first she’d heard of Lola longing for LA. Things must not be going too well in New York.