Celluloid Memories (19 page)

“I agree with both statements.”

He grinned, remembering that she wasn't afraid to square off with him. “I'm sorry. I know it's a weak response, but I don't want to spoil your party. Your friends are honoring you, and you deserve it.”

She finally lowered her gaze, accepting his remark, and McCoy felt relieved.

“It's very sweet and thoughtful, but embarrassing.”

Someone passed by, took her now-empty glass, and thrust another into her hand.

“Why?”

“Mac, I haven't done anything great. And I know enough to know that an option doesn't mean that much. I mean, I'm glad about it, but that's not why I wrote the story.”

“I know,” he answered, wondering if he was finally “getting it” too late.

“Anyway,” she began somewhat reluctantly, looking briefly over her shoulder at the gathered guests. “I guess I'm supposed to circulate and say hello to everyone. It's really nice that they all came tonight.”

“I'm very glad I did, Savannah,” McCoy said, and was deeply gratified when she smiled before turning away.

But he knew he wasn't out of the woods, yet. He'd made a great tactical error with Savannah and he wasn't sure he could easily make up for it.

McCoy spent another twenty minutes or so talking with the exuberant Taj and another few minutes with Punch before the agent left the party. He was introduced to Donna, Savannah's other girlfriend, who was responsible for getting Savannah to the party and making sure she didn't find out about it. McCoy learned that the elderly white man he'd seen earlier with Savannah was Simon Raskin, Will Shelton's agent.

He watched covertly, even while chatting with any number of people, as Savannah circulated around the room. She had a very quiet grace, and made sure she spoke to everyone, most of whom seemed to be coworkers from her studio. McCoy didn't attempt to approach her again, but was oddly content just to watch her.

A few hours into the party, just as several people were starting to leave, someone else arrived. It was a simple but elegantly dressed older woman who looked familiar, although he couldn't place where he'd seen her before. Unerringly she walked over to Kay and introduced herself. Kay then led the petite woman over to Savannah. When Savannah recognized her she showed genuine surprise and they embraced. Someone brought them each a glass of wine and for the next half hour the two woman chatted, occasionally laughing together. And just when McCoy was certain that the last guest had arrived, yet another woman came in. Young, white, very pretty with a mass of curly blond hair. She seemed to know both Donna and Kay and spent time with the two women.

McCoy was aware when the older woman finally stood to make her goodbyes. She and Savannah again embraced and Savannah escorted her from the restaurant and, he guessed, to the parking lot. When Savannah returned she joined her other women friends, and he watched as they toasted the occasion with another glass of wine.

He'd come to the party out of curiosity and mea culpa. He's spoken to Savannah and didn't catch any attitude from her, which he knew would have been justified given his recent behavior. And then someone recognized him, a former client who was a restaurant guest and not attached to Savannah's celebration, and cornered him to discuss a recent real-estate deal. By the time they parted company, McCoy realized that the party was pretty much over.

It was definitely time to leave. He went over to say good night, hoping for another minute alone with Savannah but accepting that it probably wouldn't happen.

“Oh, Mac,” Savannah said, beckoning to him. “You're still here. I want you to meet my friend, Dominique Hamilton. This is McCoy Sutton. He crashed into my car. That's how we met.”

It was said with calm straightforwardness, but it sent Donna and Kay into great peals of laughter.

McCoy saw the confusion on Dominique's face. He shook her hand.

“It was entirely my fault, but the story seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

“I hope no one was hurt,” Dominique commented, looking from one to the other.

“Oh, no,” Savannah assured her with a benign smile. “But I think he did it on purpose so we could meet.”

Touché.

Again Donna and Kay laughed. McCoy realized that while she was calm and alert, Savannah had been made a tad mellow by the wine.

“Time for the girl to go home,” Kay declared ruefully. “I can't leave for another hour or so. I have to help close up tonight.”

“I'm the one who brought her, and I'd better take her home,” Donna lamented, drawing more laughter.

“I'd be happy to take Savannah with me, but I actually have a date in another twenty minutes,” Dominique said.

“A date! At this time of night?” Savannah asked, grabbing onto the only part of the conversation she'd caught.

“Honey, this is L.A.” Kay observed.

“I'll take her home,” McCoy spoke up. All three women stared at him. It was Donna who recovered first.

“Are you sure? It would help me out. Savannah knows I love her, but I live on the other side of town.”

“Don't worry about me. I can get myself home,” Savannah said, as if that was a logical option.

Dominique responded by giving her a brief hug as she got up to leave. “You're the guest of honor. Let your friends take care of you, okay? It was a great party. Sorry I got here so late. And let me know how things go with your option.”

“I will. By the way, are you still interested in reading it? I think you'll find it an interesting story.”

“Absolutely,” Dominique responded.

“Great. I'll send you a copy. Thanks for coming,” Savannah said graciously.

“Are you sure you're okay with taking her home?” Donna asked him again.

McCoy realized that she wasn't trying to be coy or provocative, but just wanted to make sure that someone was watching out for Savannah.

“I'm totally fine with it. I live in Santa Monica so it's an easier drive for me.”

“Santa Monica,” Kay exclaimed.

“Ooohh,” she and Donna chorused together, indicating their awareness of that upscale part of town.

McCoy grinned.

Dominique blew a kiss to all and left.

Savannah gave the rest of her girlfriends a hug, ending with Kay. “Thank you, Kay. This was a lot of work, but I really appreciate the thought. I'm very touched.”

“I think it went well. I met some of your Hollywood contacts,” Kay teased, and she and Donna again drawled, “Ooohh.”

“And we met McCoy. That alone was worth the price of admission,” Donna said.

“Don't pay her any attention,” Savannah said seriously to McCoy.

He was amused that she thought he'd take offense.

Soon McCoy found himself escorting Savannah from the restaurant and to his car. In a million years he wouldn't have imagined that the evening would end this way. He felt the need to be careful with her as if he'd somehow, miraculously, been given a second chance. He kept an eye on her movements and a hand lightly on her elbow to guide her, but Savannah seemed in control. She walked slowly to the car and waited while he held the door for her.

Once he was out of the parking lot she seemed to snuggle down into her seat with her head back against the cushion. They'd gone several miles when Savannah spoke.

“Carrie Spencer came tonight. That's so amazing,” she said in a tired but clear voice.

“Who's Carrie Spencer?”

“The lady we followed the day you took me to Long Beach.”

“You met her?”

“I went back the next day. She was expecting me.”

“I repeat. Who is Carrie Spencer?”

She didn't answer right away, and for a moment McCoy thought Savannah wasn't going to.

“Carrie was in love with my father,” she said, as if she was simply describing the moon in the sky. “He was in love with her. Later I learned that Carrie knew about his friendship with Rae Marie Hilton, but the two of them never met. She understood totally why they were friends and told my father he should never give it up. She wasn't jealous. She told me so.”

McCoy glanced at her. “How do you feel about that?”

She sighed audibly. “Sad. I think Carrie understood my father's dreams better than anyone. She loved him knowing that they might never be together as a couple. She misses him. Love is complicated, isn't it?”

He couldn't have agreed more.

 

The only thing to do was be cool. Just like the movies.

That's what Savannah told herself as McCoy drove. She still had no idea what had gone wrong between them, nor when it had turned around for him and gone right again. But this wasn't the time to ask questions.

All things in their time.

Savannah only knew she'd learned something significant when she'd looked up at the party and seen him standing across a crowded room.

She chuckled softly to herself and closed her eyes. Maybe she had had a little too much to drink, but there was nothing wrong with her senses. Let him wonder what she was thinking.

When they got to the house she wasn't sure she wanted to get out of McCoy's car. She'd gotten comfortable and warm. They were together in a closed confined space and it was only the two of them. There hadn't been much talk on the way home, and she hadn't felt the need for any. Sooner or later she'd find out what had happened with McCoy in the last few weeks. For now, it was enough that he was here.

When he'd turned off the engine, Savannah got out of the car and started up the driveway to the door, alone. Behind her she heard his driver's-side door close and knew he was following. She couldn't feel her feet; it was as if she was floating, but she could feel her own heart beat and was aware of everything that was happening.

Almost.

She and McCoy had talked at the party. What had he told her again about why he was there? He'd been invited. He'd been standing with a drink in his hand, talking to Punch. She'd felt sorry for him, seeing the big searching question in his eyes—was she going to toss him out on his ear? Good. Let him wonder.

She'd felt silly, she was so glad to see him.

Savannah frowned. She was standing in the doorway of her bedroom. How had she gotten there again? The light was on. McCoy was turning down the bed linens. She hung her purse over the doorknob and sat on the edge of the bed. Now she had to take off her shoes. She stared at her toes. That would mean bending down.
Not.

Then she saw McCoy's shoes in front of her. He knelt and silently began to untie and remove her espadrilles.

“You have small feet,” he commented.

“Thank you. That was a compliment, right?”

McCoy stood up when he was done. “Yes, that was a compliment. Lie down.”

She did as she was told. The going backward part didn't seem so hard until she was halfway down. Then she seemed to have gotten very top-heavy and gravity took over. Her head hit the pillow. It felt like a fluffy cloud. A soft moan escaped.

“Mac? I feel like…like I'm rolling down a hill.”

“It will stop in a minute. Go to sleep.”

She lifted an arm and it flailed about. Something really warm and strong caught it and held on. Immediately the falling sensation stopped. Savannah sighed.

And went to sleep.

 

McCoy leaned over and looked into her face. It was peaceful and relaxed and beautiful. He looked down at their clasped fingers and smiled. Just the fact that her grip hadn't loosened at all, even in sleep, gave him an odd feeling. He didn't want to let go, either. They were connected for the moment, but he knew it was still tenuous. He got his shoes off and eased onto the bed next to Savannah, carefully stretching out.

He felt a little keyed up, but, in another way, sort of relaxed. The contradiction made him pensive and McCoy drifted into a thoughtful review of his relationship with Savannah. He had to go all the way back to when and how they'd met. A small ironic smile curved his mouth as he recalled her comment just hours ago at the party. The story of the accident was becoming a legend. He wondered, in amusement, what would the next version be?

McCoy's head rolled slightly to the side, and he suddenly jerked it upright. The movement pulled him out of sleep and back from a dream that was quickly fading. He forced his eyes open. The room was bright with sunlight and he could hear the quiet sounds of morning.

Savannah still seemed to be asleep, but she had moved and turned over, snuggled against his side with her head on his rib cage. He could only see the top of her head and watched it move with his breathing. He was also still holding her hand. As he was thinking about how to get off the bed without waking her, she suddenly spoke.

“You have to go.”

“I should,” he responded carefully.