by Casey Dawes
A wheedle in Lola’s voice sounded the alarm. “I heard Dana is doing a film that I’d be perfect for. Do you think you could ask him?”
“I don’t talk to Dana, remember?”
“Oh.”
“Weren’t you going to see if you could do some work at the Paper Mill Playhouse?” Mandy asked.
“They didn’t have anything.” Translation: The theater is in New Jersey, a state good enough for a mansion, but not theater.
“How many times did you audition?”
“Once.”
“You know better than that,” Mandy said. “It takes time to get into a new theater. Why don’t you go back to see what they have?”
Maybe they’ll do Streetcar. Lola would be perfect for the role of crazy Blanche.
“I shouldn’t have to audition.”
“I hate to ask, but are you taking your medication?”
“Yes. I told you I would, and I keep my promises.”
When keeping your promises suits you.
“You never answered my question,” Lola said. “Where were you?”
“Out getting supplies.”
“For what?”
Silence stretched across the miles.
“If you’re not willing to tell me what you’re doing, you know you shouldn’t be doing it, but you never did listen to me. Especially, when you became a teenager.” Lola said the word as if she was holding up a stinking diaper.
“I’m handling it. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Remember I love you, baby. I’m doing the best I can.”
“Bye, now,” Mandy said. She supposed she should tell Lola she loved her, too, but the truth was she really didn’t know.
Mandy clicked off the phone, put the car in gear, and drove out of the lot. The afternoon sun beat down through the front window, blinding her vision in spots, making driving tedious.
By the time she hit the area by the fishhook that handled the interchange between Highways 1 and 17, her temples throbbed.
Traffic came to a dead stop. Light gleamed off the helmet of the motorcycle rider ahead of her straight into her eyes.
Crap. Not only was she going to be late for her date, she was going to be blind.
Then she remembered. James was going to have to deal with the same traffic.
She smiled, flicked on a country station, and began to sing along. Nothing like a my-man-done-me-wrong song to make a girl feel better.
When Mandy pulled into the gravel-covered drive a little before six, Sarah and Hunter were sitting in the garden drinking tea.
“Hey, Mandy!” Sarah called out. “Grab a glass of wine and come join us. It’s beautiful out here.”
Mandy snatched up her purse and slammed the door of the Subaru. “Can’t. Got a date!” She escaped toward the door, but didn’t make it in time.
“Date?” Sarah’s screech launched across the parking lot.
Without looking Mandy knew her friend was pushing up from the bench to race after her as fast as her out-of-balance body would allow to find out what was going on. The image made her smile, and she stopped walking and turned back to the couple. “It’s not really a date. Well, it is, but it’s my boss so it doesn’t count.”
Sarah settled back down on the wooden bench. “I wondered how long James was going to wait. He’s hot for you.”
“Yeah, right.” Mandy sat on the stone bench nearby. Leafy live oaks teeming with small, loud birds arched overhead.
“I had a chat with James Sunday night,” Hunter added. “He seems okay, but I could glower at him before you leave, warn him to be careful with my ‘little sister,’ and bring her back by ten.”
Mandy lifted her head. “If I thought that would work, I’d encourage you, but no thanks.” She stood. “I need to figure out what to wear.”
“Oooh, she’s interested,” Sarah said to Hunter. “A woman only cares what she’s wearing if she’s attracted to the guy. Maybe we should be worried,” she said with mock seriousness.
“You two need to get a life.” Mandy took a step toward the house.
“I will as soon as this baby comes,” Sarah called after her.
Mandy heard them chuckle, but they weren’t mocking her. If James did anything untoward, Hunter would pummel him before Sarah evicted him.
Warmth flooded her. Sarah was the first girlfriend she’d ever had, but with a deepening relationship with Hunter and a baby on the way, how long would their friendship last? Hunter was a good guy, even if he wasn’t the baby’s father.
“Heard from Rick?” she asked Sarah.
Her friend shook her head. “Thankfully, no.”
“Oh, he’ll do something before it’s all over,” Hunter said.
“Probably.”
“And we’ll handle it.” Hunter took Sarah’s hand in hers. They forgot about Mandy for a few moments while they stared at each other.
Mandy stood. “Okay. Too much PDA. I’m outta here.”
As she walked back to the inn, she swiped a tear from her cheek. Self-pity wasn’t her style.
Moments later she stared at the clothes in her closet in despair. It appeared she didn’t have any style at all. A few years of waitressing had left her wardrobe predominant in black and white. The casual pieces she had were old, but serviceable. Fortunately, most places in Santa Cruz were easy-going—even the fancier places accepted shorts and sandals.
A mauve silk tee caught her eye. She paired it with a pair of khaki slacks and short heels. Simply slipping on the heels made her feel more feminine. With all the hours on her feet, anything other than ultra-comfortable, but frequently ugly footwear wasn’t an option.
She ran a brush through her hair, added beaded earrings, and spritzed on a light mist of perfume. The expensive thud of the Explorer’s door reverberated outside.
She restrained herself from dashing to the window to look out.
Instead she stared at her face in the mirror, pointed a finger at her reflection, and said, “Behave. There is no future in this. He’ll be gone in a few weeks.”
Would he kiss her after dinner?
Would she let him?
Would she be disappointed if he didn’t try?
Why had she ever said yes?
A sharp knock at her door interrupted her misery.
This was really happening.
“Wow,” James said. “You look great!” He shifted awkwardly. “Um, just give me a moment to change and I’ll be ready.” He headed to his room. “Wasn’t that traffic awful?”
“Yeah,” Mandy said, as she stepped out of her room. There had to be more air in the lower part of the house. There certainly wasn’t any in this hallway.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” she called out.
She slipped down the stairs and into the living room where she began to pace. She couldn’t go out with him, shouldn’t go out with him. There were a thousand reasons why.
Stop it. Keep it casual and you’ll be fine.
Steps thudded on the stairs. James walked into the living room. He’d changed into a fresh shirt and soft khakis that begged a second glance.
Lust drove heat to her cheeks.
He smiled. “See something you like?”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be.” He stepped closer, and her body temperature ratcheted up another ten degrees.
Her eyes were at the level of a white plastic shirt button. Idly, she noted it had been sewn onto the placket of his light blue shirt with white thread. Then she swallowed and looked up past his beard-shadowed chin where her gaze hung on firm lips that were much too close to hers.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we go?”
She stepped back. “Uh. Sure. Where are we going?”
“I thought about Costanoa Grill ... ”
She groaned.
He held up a hand. “Just kidding. How does Café California sound?”
“Yum.” She frowned. “But I can’t really afford it.”
“I asked you out. I’m paying
.”
A spasm of panic went through her. “I prefer to split the check.”
He tilted his head. “My mother would have a fit. I’ll take care of the meal.” He grinned. “No strings attached—unless you want them to be.” He looked at her steadily.
Was the whole “payment for dinner” thing going to be settled that easily?
“Um. No.”
“Okay.” A shadow of disappointment darkened his face for a second before it vanished.
He gestured for her to go first out the door.
Hunter and Sarah were still in the garden. “Have fun, you two!” Sarah shouted, a big grin on her face.
Mandy stuck her tongue out at her friend.
James gave her a hand into the Explorer. His touch reignited the heat she’d managed to tamp down after their too-close encounter in the living room.
She could not keep reacting to this man like this.
• • •
Although he acted light and casual on the outside, James’s insides churned.
Mandy was different from the girls he usually dated—women with plastic smiles and enhanced body parts who wanted what he could give them in terms of a leg up in their career. He’d take them to bed for a few months, gradually phase them out, and leave them with a poor excuse and a nice gift of jewelry.
Everyone knew how the game worked. No one got hurt.
Instinctively, he knew the same routine wouldn’t work with Mandy. He’d be ashamed of himself if he even tried.
Why had he invited Mandy out on a date, knowing she didn’t fit the mold of his usual women?
He damn well knew why. He was lonely. But it was more than that. Mandy intrigued him. She had layers—independence, creativity, and good friends. As controlled and successful as his life was, it seemed empty next to hers.
“Are you enjoying the work?” he asked as he maneuvered through a series of lights and onto the freeway. In a distant field a church with an odd spaceship quality perched on a small rise.
“Much more than I thought I would. I was a little nervous about the actors, but they seem nice enough.”
“Even George?” He couldn’t resist the jab.
“I can handle George. He’s no worse than the letches that come into the restaurant—the ones who think a big tip entitles them to a free grope.”
Relief undid a few knots of tension in his shoulders. “Why did you give him your card, then?”
“Same reason I gave it to you. My marketing book said to give cards to anyone I meet. You never know who will need a caterer.” Her voice poked fun at her words.
He chuckled as he took the next exit, navigated a few Y intersections, and headed toward the bay. The road led past rows of eucalyptus trees, a golf course, and houses perched on a steep hillside. Even though the homes were modest, the area reeked of good breeding and wealth.
“The best part,” she added, “is I can lose myself in creating a meal. Will these spices go together? Should I attempt savory or sweet? I love seeing the expression on people’s faces when they taste my food.”
“I feel the same way when I go to a premiere of a movie I’ve worked on.”
He drove down the last hill leading to the beach area and circled the lot in front of the restaurant several times before noticing a bright red sixty-seven Cadillac convertible pulling out of a spot. He put on his blinker and waited.
“Even though you’re only a location manager, you feel that invested in a movie?” she asked.
He slid the Explorer into the vacated spot. “Not as much as if I was the producer, but yes.” He turned off the car. “The background supports the mood of the film. Viewers pick up small details subconsciously, adding to their experience. This job has made me pay more attention to detail.”
“Does that mean you’d actually see the dirty sock on the floor?” She grinned.
He laughed and opened the car door to go to the passenger side to help Mandy, but she’d already opened her door and jumped out by the time he got there.
“I can do it myself,” she said.
“I know, but my—”
“Mother. Yes, I got it.” She smiled up at him.
An urge to caress her lips with his crept up on him.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she ducked around him to get to the sidewalk, the heat from her body a salty breeze as she walked past.
He shut the car door behind her.
Only inches apart, electricity sparking between them, they silently walked past a noisy crowd of young vacationers drinking beer on the café’s open patio.
“Lubbock, party of two,” he told the waitress.
Mandy chuckled.
“What?” he asked as the hostess, carrying two menus, led them toward the table by the window.
“You must have worked in a restaurant at some point. No real person would say ‘party of two.’”
“Yeah.” He pulled out her chair. “Doesn’t everyone in show business work as a waiter at some point?”
She hesitated before she sat down. He suspected not many people showed her life’s little courtesies. A shame. She deserved more.
Once their drink orders were in, a glass of Morgan Pinot Noir for him, a Fogarty Chardonnay for her, she asked him, “Why do you want to be a producer?”
He stared at the parked cars glistening in the coastal sunlight. “I want to have the power to produce the kind of movies I want to make.”
“Which are?”
The waiter plunked their wines down and stood there.
James looked at him.
“I want to tell you the specials,” the young man said.
“We’re not ready,” James told him, then added a smile to soften the words.
“Okay.” The waiter looked at them awkwardly for a moment. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay then.” The waiter turned around and left.
James turned back to Mandy and could see amusement dancing in her eyes. Part of the purple streak had fallen down onto her forehead, and he longed to brush it back with his fingers.
“So, where were we?” he asked.
“You were telling me about your dream movie project,” she answered.
He took a sip of the Pinot Noir. Nice. Then he leaned forward. “Big movies are risky. You almost have to make the perfect chick flick or 007-style action movie to stack the odds to make money. Those types of movies are overdone and hard to make unique.” He leaned back and took another sip of wine. “Today, though, there are lots of opportunities to make niche movies. This country is dividing into finer and finer markets. American movies are rarely the blockbuster hits they once were.”
“That’s gloomy,” she said.
He grinned. “It’s an opportunity. There are lots of new ways to release movies these days. Production is moving from the big players like Columbia to smaller, more agile producers like Netflix.”
“And you want to produce for them.”
He shook his head. “I want to be them.”
Mandy nodded her head. “What would you have to do to get into that position?”
The waiter was back. “Are you ready for the specials?”
James glanced at Mandy. She was grinning.
There was no way the man would go away until he was allowed to announce the specials. “Sure.”
The waiter looked relieved as he rattled off the soup, entrée, and dessert options, including a medley of fish, shrimp, and lobster raviolis in an Alfredo sauce. When he was done, he looked at them expectantly, pen poised over his notepad.
Mandy smiled up at him and said, “Can you give us a few more moments? We’d appreciate it.”
James was struck by the kindness in her voice.
The young man smiled. “Of course.”
“That was nice,” James said.
Mandy shrugged. “It takes time to learn how to wait tables in a place like this. Lots of tourists, big parties, demanding locals.”
“Do you always have such a big heart?
”
“For everyone but my parents.” As soon as she said it, she put her fingers over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I suspect it was truthful.”
“Well, as Lola is always telling me, truthfulness is overrated.”
“Not in my book.” He put his hand on top of hers. “I think it’s a very admirable trait.” He smiled. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” He pulled his hand back, letting his fingers caress her skin as he did so. “Now, what would you like for dinner, so we can make our waiter’s next visit quick?”
Chapter 6
Mandy’s hand prickled where he’d touched her.
What was it he’d asked her?
His strong fingers caressed the wine glass, creating a reflective tingling on her skin. She followed the line of his arm to his shoulder and the tan hollow where his neck met his chest. If she sampled it, would his flesh taste salty, or more like ambrosia?
She pasted a smile on her face and said, “I’ll … I’ll have the special.”
“Would you like to split it?” he asked.
“Split what?” The check? His shirt?
He smiled. “The special.”
“That would be good,” she said. “The portions are really big.”
James’s grin widened.
The waiter reappeared at their table. “Are you ready to order?”
James’s back and forth with the waiter gave Mandy a chance to distance herself from the desires flooding her body. She’d been nuts to even agree to his invitation to dinner. Had he really meant “no strings attached” when he’d said it back at the inn?
Maybe she didn’t want him to mean it?
No. The idea was totally wrong. While she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, getting it on with her boss was definitely crossing the line. She had to be mature and act like an adult.
Besides, a man with his future all mapped out wouldn’t really be interested in anything more than a one-night stand with a ditzy waitress. Maybe some of his über-planning would rub off on her though. She could use it.
How about I simply enjoy dinner?
She straightened up and took a sip of her wine, the tart liquid soothing the tension in her throat.
The waiter left.
“Thanks again for giving me the opportunity to work on the movie,” she said as professionally as she could. “It’s quite an experience.”