Let Me Call You Sweetheart

by Gwen Hayes

  “And then what?”

  He moved his mouth to her ear and he whispered low and dangerous. “And then I’m going to do things to your body that will make you blush for a year. And I’m going to do them slow, real slow.”

  The bones in her legs softened to wet noodles.

  “And I’m going to do them hard.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “And I swear to God, I’m going to do them until you beg me for mercy, and then I’ll do them some more.”

  She was sure she was about to melt on the entry rug.

  Jeeves kissed her forehead. “And you’re never going to wonder again.”

  Chapter Seven

  February 1

  Dear Jeeves,

  I’m not sure, exactly, how it worked out that you had this idea—but I have to go first. As usual, you manipulated me into doing something I don’t want to do.

  I don’t even know how to start. I’ve never had a pen pal before. I can’t catch you up on gossip because we live in the same town and ninety percent of the town’s gossip is about the two of us anyway. We already know each other, so I don’t need to tell you where I came from or what I look like.

  And, no, I’m not about to tell you what I’m wearing either.

  In the spirit of this exercise, I guess I will try to tell you something that you might not know…I began a sketch of you last night. I was going to pull up some of your publicity shots to make it authentic—but I decided I wanted to sketch you the way that I see you. The way nobody else can.

  And that is all you are getting from me today.

  Sincerely,

  Charlie

  Dear Charlie,

  There are no rules. You can tell me anything you want. Especially if it’s what you are wearing. Especially if the answer is “not much”.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  Dear Jeeves,

  That is not a letter. That is a post-it note. Try again.

  Regards,

  Charlie

  Dear Charlie,

  Sorry. This sounded like a great idea until I sat down with a pen and paper. I don’t usually write my own material, and it suddenly occurred to me that I might not be very good at it.

  Look at that—I just gave you a glimpse at my insecurities. Maybe this is going to work after all.

  I want to see the sketch. Not as much as I want to see you. This is going to be much harder than I thought. Whose idea was this anyway?

  Love,

  Jeeves

  February 6

  Dear Charlie,

  For the last time, I’m not lying. Jeeves Allencaster is my real name. I swear. It’s the name my mother gave me. If I had changed my name for Hollywood, it would have been something manly like Brick or Hunter. Or Vladimir. You know…something that drives the women wild.

  I found your first Blaze comic on eBay today for, well, more than I wanted to pay. But it’s on its way. Collector’s edition now, you know. Blaze has quite a following. Did you know they have whole fan-fiction sites about her?

  I miss you. Now I know why nobody ever likes my ideas—this pen pal thing is crazy stupid. Why did you go along with it in the first place? I have this overwhelming urge to borrow a cup of sugar. I’m going to be strong.

  It’s just that I’ve never missed anyone before. Not like this. And knowing you are right there—it’s killing me.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  February 10

  Dear Vlad,

  I realize it’s winter, but can you go back to getting your mail with no shirt on?

  Yours,

  Charlie

  Dear Charlie,

  In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s raining sideways. The wind took out one of the trees in my backyard last night. I don’t take off my flannel shirt to shower anymore—it’s just too damn cold.

  And that was not a letter. Please try again.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  Dear Jeeves,

  I saw the tree—I would call Ray Saget to come out with his chainsaw. He doesn’t charge too much.

  It’s always windy in February—actually all winter. But it never snows. So don’t be such a baby, and take your clothes off.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about you being naked, and I’m for it. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the last few weeks of letters and stolen glances across the yard and at the grocery store, because I really have. I’m just ready for naked. I miss making out on your couch, and I’m frankly a little annoyed that Medusa has become so well adjusted.

  Did I mention that I’m ready to take off our clothes now?

  Instead, I guess I’ll stoke up the fire. If the wind keeps up, we might lose power. It would be really great if I had someone to snuggle with if that happened.

  And by snuggle, I mean naked.

  Yours,

  Charlie

  February 11

  Jeeves,

  You lying son of a bitch. Please, just don’t write or call. I should have known better—I did know better. But no, instead of listening to my instincts, I trusted you.

  C

  Charlie,

  Knock it off. It’s only six weeks. I’m not moving. I’m not even going to Los Angeles. We’re shooting in Vancouver and I’ll be back. I promise.

  I love you.

  J

  Dear Bootlicking Toad,

  Then why are you bringing the dog?

  Charlie,

  She’s my dog. I can bring her if I want to.

  And I may be a bootlicking toad, but I’m your bootlicking toad. Still. Always.

  I’m coming back.

  J

  P.S. I really thought you’d be happy for me. This is a great role.

  February 13

  Dear Charlie,

  Please—I don’t want to leave like this.

  These letters have come to mean so much to me. I’ve learned a lot about you—but I’ve also learned a lot about myself. And one of the things I learned was that I still want to be an actor—I just don’t want to live the part 24/7.

  I’m not going back to my old life. My life is here now. With you—eventually. I’ve even talked to the school board about doing a play with the kids this fall. I’m not going to turn into the guy I was before because I’ve evolved. I thought that we had evolved, but now I see it’s just me.

  Wait, no. I didn’t mean that.

  I guess what needs to happen is you need to trust me. If you can’t, well, I guess you can’t.

  Not that I’m giving up.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  P.S. I’ve left you a box of addressed stamped envelopes. Please use them. I’ll miss you. I already do.

  February 16

  Jeeves,

  I’m sorry I’m such a bitch.

  I’m sorry I let you leave without saying goodbye.

  I can’t believe I let my insecurity get the best of me. You deserve better than that. I’m really, really sorry. You know I don’t apologize well, so I hope you understand that I really mean it.

  It’s important to have a fulfilling career. I’d be really pissed off if someone tried to make me feel bad for wanting to do what I was born to do.

  I hope you forgive me.

  Yours,

  Cleaver

  February 18

  Dear Charlie,

  There is nothing to forgive. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Love means never having to say you’re sorry but occasionally overnighting muffins from your best friend’s bakery. I’m in a sugar coma and still in love.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  February 22

  Dear Cleaver,

  Thanks for sending the autographed book. I wish you could have seen Jenny’s face when I gave it to her. So now, I’m in good with the director for making his daughter happy, and with Jenny, probably the future President of the United States.

  Shooting is going well. My part is small enough that I’ve had more free time than I’d like, so I’ve spent a l
ot more time watching production. There’s a choreography behind the camera that I never paid attention to before. It’s amazing, actually.

  I’ve been spending more time alone, too. It’s not like alone in Port Grable. I’ve never been lonely before in my life—but when I go back to my trailer, I feel so empty. It’s strange for me. I feel more isolated here than I ever did in our little town in the middle of nowhere. I fill my time reading and writing to you—but I don’t like this void. Which means it’s probably good for me.

  These are the things I know now, that I didn’t before:

  Cheetos give Medusa and me terrible gas. We vow never to do that again.

  I hate smiling when I don’t mean it.

  It turns out I can’t write scripts, nor do I really want to.

  I think I might be a good director.

  Everything I see that I find interesting, my first thought is that I want to tell you about it.

  Maybe those aren’t the things you were talking about when you said I needed to work on the inside stuff. I haven’t worked very hard at fitting in since I’ve been here, though. I keep to myself a lot. Maybe I am growing up.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  February 28

  Dear Jeeves,

  This would be our last day of pen pal communications if you were still here. Are you sure you don’t want to add the phone? We made it a month, why are you trying to torture us some more?

  I was going to tell you when you got back—but since that is still two weeks away, I’ll tell you now. I’ve been seeing a counselor. It was supposed to be once a week, but she doesn’t have a huge client list in Port Grable, so I’m going twice a week now. I just thought you should know. I don’t see myself ever going to L.A. or any other big city—but I am really trying to work through my fear.

  You showed me that it’s possible to be the person you want to be—so I’m a work in progress, but getting there. The person I want to be isn’t afraid all the time.

  Also, the person I want to be is naked. Come home.

  Love,

  Cleaver

  March 3

  Mr. Allencaster,

  Please find the enclosed newspaper clipping. I thought you might want it for your scrapbook. It’s a nice picture of you. I especially like the way you are so wrapped up in kissing your co-star that you didn’t realize you weren’t on the set, but rather in a restaurant in downtown Vancouver.

  Do me a favor. Don’t write. Don’t call. Just don’t.

  Sincerely,

  Charlotte Jeeves

  March 4

  Dear Charlotte,

  Please find the enclosed photograph similar to one you so thoughtfully included in your last letter. The difference, however, is that this photograph does not have my co-star’s husband cropped out of it. They had just told me the happy news that she was expecting their first child. I’m afraid the kiss I laid on him was even sloppier.

  I can assure you that I won’t write again. I can’t keep prostrating myself in front of the tank you use to run me down with. When you are ready to be a grown up, I hope you’ll give me a call.

  Love,

  Jeeves

  Chapter Eight

  Jeeves pulled in front of the remote cabin, turning off the engine with a sigh of relief. He turned to Medusa and said, “Never trust a female. No offense.”

  Myrtle had been all charm when she asked him, no tricked him, into making this delivery for her. It’s an important client, she’d said. Sam is busy. I just put wedding cakes in the oven. Jeeves would have done it anyway, of course, but when she promised him a dozen muffins every Sunday for a year, he told her he’d be there in five minutes.

  An hour and a half later, he realized he’d been conned. Sam was a very intelligent man. Jeeves had no doubt he broke the pipe in the basement himself to avoid delivery duty. This place was in the middle of nowhere. He half expected to hear “Dueling Banjos” when he stepped outside.

  Still, it was a beautiful day, the first day of spring, and Medusa liked car rides. And he really had nothing better to do. He’d been back from Vancouver for a week, but he’d yet to see his neighbor. He knew she was there, probably simmering with some self-righteous indignation. Jeeves had almost broken down and called her several times, but he just couldn’t do it.

  Which meant he was simmering with the same self-righteous indignation.

  It was stupid really. All of it. Her mistrust, his stubborn pride. He missed her more than air. Just last night, he’d stayed up rereading all her letters again. She’d told him snippets about the violence, but it was the stories from before the stabbing that were the most telling.

  Before that night, Charlie had been a different person. Losing everything would do that to a person, he supposed. Despite the physical ache in his heart whenever he thought of that sweet young girl with everything to live for changing overnight, part of him knew that girl could never have handled a relationship with Jeeves. Not that the jaded version was doing much better, but at least she could hold her own with him.

  Jeeves let Medusa out to stretch her legs a bit while he got the pink box out of the back of his car. The cabin was small, rustic, but a little deceiving at first glance. It wasn’t exactly rough—the craftsmanship evident the closer he looked at it. Yes, it was tucked away in the woods like a hunting box, but it seemed more like a getaway than shack.

  He was calling Medusa back to the truck when he heard a voice call out, “Let her run.”

  He glanced toward the front porch framed in well-cared-for timber and surrounded by the first blooms of spring. On the top step, the surliest woman alive stood barefoot in one of those pretty dresses she liked so well.

  Medusa leaped with joy when she realized it was Charlie up there. Jeeves would admit his heart did the same.

  Her hair was down, swirling around in wild ribbons of cocoa. Her dress was loose and white, reminding him of a nightgown maybe. His first thought was to wonder if she was wearing panties. His second was that they were well out of city limits.

  She’d left Port Grable.

  The closer he got to the porch, the more he wanted to get there. Charlie looked nervous, but brave. She’d done it.

  “It’s probably not what you had in mind when you said leave town, but it’s a different county and a start,” she said. “I wanted you to see I could do it.”

  He was so damn proud and in awe of her. And. He was an ass.

  “I’m sorry,” he admitted when he reached the step below her.

  She arched those eyebrows at him the way she always did. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but what are you sorry for?” Then she added wryly, “This time.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “You’re sorry that I’m amazing?”

  “No.” He set the pastry box on the porch railing. “I’m sorry that I gave you ultimatums and trials to prove your affections. I’m sorry that I treated a simple misunderstanding like some kind of mortal transgression of my honor. I probably would have thrown a car through a window if I’d seen a picture of you in the newspaper kissing another man.”

  She took a long minute before answering. “I’m sorry that I seem to be two-steps-forward-one-step-back girl. I don’t blame you for giving up on me.”

  Jeeves shook his head. “I wouldn’t say I’ve given up.”

  A light flickered in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen in them before. Not in all the months he’d known her. Hope.

  “We have a lot to talk about.” She pushed off the post and went to the door.

  Inside the cabin was just as peaceful as the outside. It wasn’t frilly, but it wasn’t exactly masculine either. It looked like a place a man and woman could both be comfortable. Since the kitchen area was twice the size of the sitting room, he figured it belonged to Myrtle and Sam. Their lovers’ hideaway maybe. What would it be like to love the same person for twenty years? As he watched Charlie curl her legs under her on the couch, his dog settling into her hip easily, Jeeves realized he
’d really like to find out.

  “It’s the first day of spring,” she said.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  Wow, this really wasn’t like the fantasy she’d been imagining. It was awkward and fraught with…awkwardness.

  “We met on the first day of autumn,” she said. Because trivia would surely save this moment.

  Jeeves smiled. “That was quite a day. I knew then you’d be more than a little trouble.”

  “Oh please, you were too enamored with Myrtle to notice me that day.”

  “You wore the red dress with white dots.” She must have looked surprised, so he kept going. “I remember the way the sun lit your hair from the window and the way your freckles reminded me of chocolate jimmies.”

  She felt as if the sun were hitting her face right now, the way the warmth grew and spread across her cheeks and into her hairline. “We’ve been through a lot in six months.”

  “I put you through a lot, you mean.”

  Charlie knit her brows together in confusion. “Where is this sudden attack of conscience coming from? I’m the one that screwed up.”

  “I don’t think that is true.”

  She was suddenly very, very tired. “I pushed you away over and over, expecting you to just Weeble right back.”

  Jeeves sat next to her. They weren’t physically touching—or even looking at each other. Like they needed the distance. “When a man falls in love, it feels a little like storming a castle. I just wanted past your defenses so bad, I didn’t give enough thought to the vulnerable part you were protecting with all your crazy moats and concrete turrets. I came through like a wrecker ball.”

  “You’re mixing a lot of metaphors there.”

  “I really do suck at writing my own material.”

  Charlie laughed but then got serious. “I don’t want to have a weak and vulnerable part.” Her voice sounded meek to her own ears.

  “Then give it to me. I’ll take care of it. I promise.” He threaded one curl around his finger. “Give me your heart, Charlie. I promise I’ll guard it with my life.”