by Francis Ray
Bridgett’s perfectly arched brows bunched. “How?”
“By ad-libbing a scene guaranteed to make a man shudder, then hanging up the phone on him,” Hope told her friend.
“You hung up on him—but why?” Bridgett asked, keeping her words hushed.
Hope paused in sectioning the other woman’s wet hair. “Because he put me down earlier in the shop and I didn’t want to hear him do it again.”
With the edge of the white towel, Bridgett dabbed a drop of water from her temple. “Are you sure that’s why he called? Maybe it was about the part. You’re a marvelous actress.”
Hope smiled with remembered pleasure, then spritzed the strands of hair in her hand. “Bridgett, I nailed the scene. Sebastian had this look of total awe on his face after I finished.”
“Then maybe he was calling you for the part.”
The smile on Hope’s face faded. “No. I walked on that stage knowing I wouldn’t get the part. I overheard one of the women waiting to audition say that her agent had heard that it was almost a certainty that Margot Madison was after the part and would get it.”
“Didn’t I read where they were involved once?”
“Yes.” Hope’s lips pressed into a thin line. The fact that Sebastian and Margot were once lovers shouldn’t have bothered her in the least. It did. More than it should have. Reaching for a roller, Hope quickly wrapped Bridgett’s hair around it, secured it with a clamp, then reached for another roller.
“Good morning, Hope.”
Hope gasped and spun around. Standing there was Sebastian in all his stunning glory. No man should look that gorgeous in the morning. She caught herself before she sighed. Presenting her back to him, she picked up the roller. “Please leave.”
“I apologize for what I said here yesterday, and would like very much to speak privately with you,” he told her.
“I’m busy,” she snapped, then clamped her teeth together. Della had been very understanding about the scene she and Sebastian had created yesterday, but she had made it clear she did not want a repeat performance.
“I see.” This was not going well at all, Sebastian thought. Hope wasn’t the least bit anxious to talk to him. Her hair was back to being spiked and purple-tipped. For some crazy reason, he liked it better this way. Perhaps because it showed how versatile she could be.
Trying to figure out how to proceed, he caught the glare of the woman in the chair. Instantly, he recognized her from the day before. If the elderly woman left with Jeremy, it stood to reason that she might have some influence on Hope. He smiled and extended his hand. “Good morning, I’m Sebastian Stone.”
“If Hope doesn’t like you, then I don’t either, and that pretty smile is not going to help,” the woman said without batting a lash.
Sebastian blinked, then laughed. Up-front and outspoken, just like his mother. He liked her immediately. “I’m trying to apologize, but she won’t listen.”
“Half the shop is looking this way. Please leave,” Hope told him, but she couldn’t help taking a peek now and then at him in the mirror. He certainly knew how to wear his clothes. This morning he had on a tan linen and silk sports coat, an ivory linen shirt, and cream linen pleated trousers.
“Has Margot Madison been cast for the part of Eleanor?” Bridgett asked.
“Bridgett!” Hope screeched. More heads turned.
Sebastian’s lips narrowed into a straight line. “No, she hasn’t. Nor will she be, if I have anything to say about it.”
Resisting Hope, the elderly woman spun in her chair until she could look Sebastian directly in the eye. “From everything I’ve read, you have a reputation for honesty.”
“That’s right, and I’m proud of it. I don’t lie.”
Bridgett nodded her satisfaction and let Hope swing her chair back around. “Listen to what he has to say, Hope.”
“I will not.” Whirling, she picked up a clipper from her workstation. “Leave or I’ll give you a buzz cut.”
Sebastian didn’t budge, his black eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry.”
Hope gasped, surprise and delight sweeping through her. It just wasn’t fair that he could turn her to mush with a look or a few words. “Leave,” she repeated, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Have dinner with me and I will.” From behind his back, he drew out a fresh-cut flower arrangement of miniature yellow and pink roses, a mixture of tulips, and baby’s breath.
“You have style, Sebastian,” Bridgett announced. “Mind your manners, Hope, and take the flowers. My hair is getting dry.”
Although Hope was aware that Bridgett was conning her, she put down the clipper and took the beautiful arrangement. Her friend also gave her a gracious out. Both of them had a weakness for flowers. “Thank you.” Her voice came out unsteady. Before she knew it, like a schoolgirl, she had buried her face in the sweet smell.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Sebastian said, grinning like a loon.
“I’m glad we’re all happy,” Della announced.
Hope shoved the flowers at Bridgett, shot an annoyed look at Sebastian, and picked up the spritz bottle. “Sebastian was just leaving.”
“You didn’t tell me what time to pick you up,” he said, unmoved.
Hope swung back around. Della and most of the people in the shop were watching her. “I—I—”
“Seven, and make reservations at the Palm Court,” Bridgett told him, and gave him their address, then held out her hand. “Bridgett Swanson, and I have a fondness for flowers and Swiss chocolate.”
Sebastian chuckled and shook her hand. “I’ll remember. Until tonight, ladies,” he said, then spoke to Della. “Please don’t blame Hope. I can be pushy when I want something.”
Della folded her arms across the front of her red silk dress. She was no shrinking violet herself. “And what are you after?”
Everything in the salon stopped. Everyone leaned forward to hear the answer, including Hope and Bridgett.
“I want to discuss this with Hope first, but suffice it to say, she’s one of the most brilliant actresses I’ve ever had the pleasure to see perform and I’d consider it a pleasure to work with her.”
“You do? You would?” Hope heard herself say.
“I do. Until tonight.”
Hands in his pockets, he strolled from the shop whistling.
Hope was a nervous wreck. Bridgett had picked one of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in the city and it was located in the hotel of New York, The Plaza. And Hope couldn’t find anything to wear. After Jeremy was born she had added a few pounds, and the dress she now had on was too snug in the hips. “I look like a stuffed sausage in this.”
“No you don’t, Mommy,” Jeremy said from where he sat in the middle of her bed strewn with clothes.
Hope turned from the full-length mirror in her bedroom and smiled at him. He thought it was fun seeing her small array of evening wear scattered on the bed, when she had always insisted he hang up his clothes after he took them off. She returned to studying her reflection in the mirror, then trying to smooth out the puckers in the side seams by her hips in the sheath. Yet, no matter how many times her hands swept over the wrinkled sky blue material, the fabric refused to remain smooth.
She barely repressed a sigh. “Jeremy, you’re looking at me through the eyes of love.”
“Won’t Mr. Stone love you?” Jeremy asked, climbing off the bed to come and stare up at her.
Her heart racing, she gazed down at her son. “Why would you say something like that?”
“We’re supposed to love everybody,” he said innocently. “Isn’t that what you always said I’m to do?”
Hope felt foolish, and realized she was getting in way over her head. Her eyes closed. This night meant entirely too much to her.
“Mommy, what’s the matter?”
Her eyes opened. She tried to bend from the knees, couldn’t in the tight dress, and wanted to groan. She glanced at th
e clock. Six-thirty. There wasn’t enough time to call and cancel even if she knew Sebastian’s phone number. “Nothing, sweetheart. Mommy is just having a little trouble finding a dress to wear.”
“Not anymore,” Bridgett announced after a brisk knock on the door. “Some things of Cynthia’s were packed in the attic. How about this little number?”
It was a dream, chic, black, and hand-beaded. Hope reached out, then quickly withdrew her hand. “I can’t wear Cynthia’s dress.”
“It’s not her dress anymore, it’s yours.” Casually throwing the dress over her shoulder, Bridgett turned Hope around and unzipped the dress she wore to the midpoint of her back. “She always did have too many clothes. I called and she said to tell you to help yourself to anything you find. She’s working such long hours with her residency, she doesn’t have any time to go out.”
“What about Peter Johnson?” Hope asked over her shoulder. The main reason Bridgett had advertised for a female boarder was because she was lonely, with her only child in med school. Cynthia, at the top five percent of her class, was already planning to do her internship and residency in cardiology at the famed Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. The vivacious Cynthia was one of those women who had it all, beauty, brains, charm, and like her mother, was as down-to-earth as they came.
“Struck out, like all the rest,” Bridgett finally answered with a sigh. “I may never be a grandmother.”
“You got me, Aunt Bridgett,” Jeremy said, having heard the story many times.
“Right you are,” she said, smiling down at him, then handed Hope the dress. “Let’s go downstairs and let your mother get dressed.”
“Thanks, Bridgett. I’ll call Cynthia tomorrow and thank her as well.”
“When you do, tell her how much fun you had so maybe she’ll take a hint and try to keep a man for more than a couple of dates. About time too—you’re worse than she is about dating.”
Hope frowned. “This is business. Not a date.”
“If that were the case, you would have kept on the first thing you put on.” The landlady glanced from the clothes scattered on the bed to Hope. “You didn’t have this problem when you went to dinner with that school principal a couple of months ago.”
“Some of them were too tight,” she quickly defended.
“Some, not all,” Bridgett said, then lightly touched Hope’s cheek. “Tonight is important to you. Accept it and enjoy yourself. You deserve it. We’ll be downstairs.”
Sebastian got out of the backseat of the limousine, bounded up the steps, and rang the doorbell. Tonight he had pulled out all the stops. He planned on doing everything in his power to ensure Hope took the role of Eleanor. Nothing was too good for his future star.
Through the oval-shaped frosted glass in the door he saw Bridgett and Jeremy approach. The door opened.
“Good evening, Mr. Stone,” Bridgett greeted with Jeremy by her side. “You’re right on time. Punctuality is a good trait in a man.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Swanson. These are for you.” Sebastian handed her a long white box, and a small rectangular one wrapped in gold foil.
“Thank you, but you didn’t forget Hope, did you?” Bridgett asked, taking the candy and flowers.
“In the limo,” he said, then bent and held out his hand to Jeremy. “Sebastian Stone.”
Jeremy reciprocated with all the manners he had been taught. “Jeremy Douglas Lassiter.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jeremy.” Since that morning Sebastian had learned that Jeremy’s father, Douglas, had died while he and Hope were touring in Chicago. From all accounts, the couple had been very much in love.
“Would you care for something to drink, Mr. Stone?” Bridgett inquired, closing the door as Sebastian entered.
“No, thank you, and please call me Sebastian.”
“Only if you call me Bridgett.”
“I’d consider it an honor and privilege, Bridgett.”
Pleased, she spoke to Jeremy. “Please show Mr. Stone into the living room and keep him company while I put these in some water.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s this way,” Jeremy said, unselfconsciously taking Sebastian’s hand and leading him down the short hallway to the room on the left.
The room had style and warmth. The walls were painted a warm peach. Antique furniture graced the room, which was dominated by an immense bay window draped in pristine white sheers. A fresh-cut arrangement of tulips and lilies sat on the clawfoot coffee table. Photographs were everywhere. It was evident that in this home family was important.
Taking a seat on the sofa Jeremy indicated, Sebastian picked up a picture of Hope holding a baby in a long white christening gown. Tears sparkled on her cheek despite the smile on her face.
“That’s when I was a baby,” Jeremy said, standing by Sebastian with his hand on his leg. “Mommy said it wasn’t a sad cry, but a happy one.”
“She doesn’t cry often, does she?” The thought disturbed Sebastian.
“No, sir. Just the time I got lost in the store and the time I fell out of the tree trying to get the cat,” Jeremy confessed, then tucked his head.
Immediately concerned, Sebastian replaced the picture. “What’s the matter, Jeremy?”
“Mommy might not like if I tell you,” he said, his little head slowly coming up.
The black eyes were so much like his mother’s, Sebastian would have done almost anything to help. But he didn’t want to go against Hope’s wishes. “Jeremy, we haven’t known each other for long, but you can trust me. I’d like to help.”
Jeremy threw a quick glance at the door, then leaned over and whispered, “I think she was crying last night.”
Sebastian felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Had he caused that?
“When she came home yesterday she wasn’t happy like I thought she would be. She didn’t get the part she wanted, did she?” Jeremy asked, his face somber. “She always gets me what I want. At least most of the time. I wish I could do something to help her. I could wash your car or something to help change your mind.” His small face scrunched up. “I’m not very good at cleaning my room, so maybe we better leave that out.”
Sebastian couldn’t speak for a moment, his throat was so full. What a loving, selfless child. “Jeremy, can you keep a secret for a little while?”
He nodded.
“That’s why I’m here. To offer the part of Eleanor to your mother.” Jeremy opened his mouth to yell and Sebastian quickly put his fingers to his lips. “Our secret, remember?”
“I’ll remember. Thank you, Mr. Stone.” Jeremy threw his arms around Sebastian’s neck.
Laughing, Sebastian hugged him back. The kid was all right. Then the noise of heels on the hardwood floor in the hallway caused him to turn toward the door. Hope appeared seconds later. Jeremy must have heard her also, because he loosened his stranglehold on Sebastian’s neck and ran to his mother.
“Mommy, you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, her uncertain gaze going to Sebastian.
Sebastian, his heart doing a jitterbug in his chest, came to his feet. She was stunning, absolutely stunning. But what had she done to her hair?
FIVE
“What’s the matter?” Hope asked, her heart sinking at his stunned expression. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Your hair,” Sebastian whispered.
Hope’s hand flew up to her head. She rushed to the hall mirror, with Jeremy and Sebastian behind her. Try as she might, she didn’t see anything wrong with her hair she had spent an hour styling. Finally she turned to ask him. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s not purple and sticking all over your head,” Sebastian told her, fingering the soft, sassy black curls framing her face.
Hope finally understood and would have relaxed if Sebastian hadn’t continued to touch her hair. “I-it was washout dye for the play I was in. I left it in as sort of a walking advertisement. Neither Della nor my customers mind.”
“Dye?
Then you don’t have purple hair all the time?” he asked, reluctantly drawing his hand away.
“No,” she answered, trying to control her uneven breathing. The man definitely put her body into hyperdrive.
“Mommy’s a motorcycle lady and gets to beat up two men,” Jeremy said proudly.
Rubbing her hand across Jeremy’s head, Hope smiled. “That’s the scene Jeremy likes best.”
“Sorry this took so long,” Bridgett said, coming up to the threesome with the flower arrangement. “But I had a difficult time finding a vase big enough.”
“Here let me take that.” Sebastian lifted the large arrangement of mixed flowers, his gaze going back to Hope.
Bridgett frowned. “What did I miss?”
Jeremy giggled. “Mr. Stone thought Mommy’s hair was purple all the time.”
Sebastian looked momentarily chagrined, then laughed. “I had almost talked myself into liking the purple hair, but I have to admit you look lovely with your natural hair.” The smile vanished. “That is your natural hair, isn’t it?”
Hope opened her mouth, but Bridgett said, “A woman never discusses her hair color or her age.”
All the adults laughed. Jeremy peered up at them, puzzled. Sebastian leaned over and said, “I’ll explain it to you when you get older. Now, where shall I put this?”
Hope’s nerves, which had been settling nicely, went haywire again. Walking down the steps to the open door of the waiting limousine, she couldn’t get it out of her mind that Sebastian’s words to Jeremy indicated he’d be around for a long time. Was he just mouthing words or did he plan to see them often?
She had to admit she hoped it was the latter, and she wasn’t at all sure if it was just because of the play. The man was jaw-dropping gorgeous and always impeccably dressed. Any woman would be proud to be seen with him.
He had a style that denoted his wealth, authority, and power. Heads would always swivel when he entered a room. Rightly so. He possessed that special something that would forever set him apart from other men. The way he dressed added to his image. A measured fraction of crisp white shirt extended beyond the black tuxedo jacket. The collar of his shirt caressed, but did not bind, his neck. His black pants legs gently grazed the top of his immaculate shoes. Hope was both thrilled and a bit nervous about being in his company.