His and Hers (15 page)

Flashbulbs burst and blinded. She did her best not to flinch, to keep her smile easy, Misty kept expression practiced. Experience taught that she tended to look like a crazed banshee if she showed too many teeth.

Turning, she stood alongside the car to grant the paparazzi fair view. Grandma Nona exited the vehicle, Anton right behind. Misty spoke to the event producer—headset clamped to his ear—who then relayed that the guests had finally arrived. Another student leapt behind the steering wheel and set off to park the car, leaving the four to maneuver themselves down the red carpet between the ropes.

Long Valley put on quite the show for its own. The crowd of fans, most middle aged, some younger, many older, all present in support of Nona Darling—who practically floated, seeming to drink in the energy of the crowd. Misty’s breast filled with warmth and admiration for her grandmother. After avoiding the limelight for so long, she now bathed in its glow.

There, Mr. Wiggersham waited at the edge of the portico. Misty saw Evelyn in her stunning amethyst form-fitting dress. Mom and Dad waved, looking like two halves of the same coin. Both fair haired and green eyed, Dad in a sharp tuxedo and Mom, perfectly coifed, wearing vintage black Chanel. Misty clutched Cain’s arm all the tighter, pointing them out with her stare.

“The parents?” He spoke between his clenched teeth.

She nodded, and then noticed Evelyn pointing a hasty finger toward the edge of the stairs. Misty followed her sister’s line of sight, and a chill erupted from head to toe.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Cain knit his brows. He must have realized what struck to her core, turning to find the source of so much grief. Todd stood at the edge of the velvet rope, a pit viper, lying in wait.

“Which one is he?” Cain’s question rumbled, low.

“I don’t…I can’t…” Misty gulped, as she began to hyperventilate. The telltale signs of panic tunneled her vision. Her cheeks went cold, hands sweaty and numb, as the blood rushed out of her extremities.

Cain held on to her elbow, and then turned her to face him. “Look at me,” he commanded.

She nodded, swallowing, throat desert dry. Her gaze locked onto him, this level-headed man who for some reason had been there through this entire journey.

They stood, hands clasped, several feet now behind where Grandma and Anton worked their way through the crowd. Hands waved. Voices called. Somewhere, a band played a Dean Martin crooning tune spelling out L-O-V-E.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His gaze didn’t waver. He remained focused on her, an immovable force. “Understand?”

“Yes.” She focused on his strength. His presence. So sincere in every regard, she knew he told the truth.

“No matter what.” Cain ignored the world, his full attention, hers alone. He nodded. Hand securely fastened to her elbow, he marched her up behind their grandparents. “Ever.”

As she found her voice, she nodded. “Let’s do this.” Head high, Misty took a step forward, and then another, a bit more steady. Soon, she only had Cain lightly by the arm, steady in the knowledge that she’d never falter again.

“Misty!” She heard Todd’s voice ring out over the crowd noise before she saw him. His wide, dark eyes held a devilish gleam. A shark’s smile as he saw she’d noticed.

He wanted to shake her. To rattle her to the core.

“Misty Darling!” Todd shouted over the din. “Over here!”

Misty took a deep breath, keeping her smile even and nodded to her nemesis. “Hello, Mr. Rhenquist. Nice to see you.” Her voice rose over the racket, she offered him a slight wave, imagining her queen to his commoner.

“There’s a problem with my ticket…” He started toward the barrier, waving the envelope.

Several red-jacketed fraternity students soon halted his progress.

“Sorry to hear that, but we’re on a tight schedule.” Misty tapped her watch-less wrist, offering a vaguely apologetic smile. “We’ll speak after.”

They glided on up the stairs, Cain holding back a deep belly laugh.

Misty bubbled up with giddiness. She’d done it. They’d done it. Together.

Glancing back at Cain, she saw his chin was up and his eyes bright, smiling as her mother stepped forward to introduce herself. He darted his gaze back to the crowd, then hooked his attention on Misty with a confident nod. A swift, sure handshake to her father, then he placed his hand comfortably at the small of Misty’s back.

She half-listened to the conversation, but the throng of voices rose and fell around her. She closed her eyes, briefly, at the warmth radiating from his palm. Safe. Secure.

“Miss Darling!” From across the portico, Alfred waved her over.

“Go.” Cain kissed her cheek. “We’ll be right here.”

She tilted her head, chewed her lip slightly. “Be right back.”

Stepping to Alfred, she reviewed his clipboard. A glance at Cain saw he kept her in sight, ready to jump to her aid at a moment’s notice.

There he stood, talking animatedly with her father. No physical comparison in coloring or height, her Dad towered over him, blonde, light eyed. Cain stood not quite a head shorter, with olive-toned skin, and vibrant, dark eyes.

For all he lacked in height, he stood tall, proud, watching—her protector. Her partner. She was quite sure that together they could do anything at all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The banquet hall was abuzz with activity. Chandeliers dripped in low lights, the tables sparkling with candles and the ornate centerpieces deftly designed by the ladies of The Flower Field. Misty saw the three of them, at a premium table, each having a well-deserved glass of champagne.

She followed Cain through the crowd, greeting and being introduced to some of Long Valley’s finest. She waved to Delores, Rose, Adele, and their husbands, all looking bright and bubbly to celebrate their beloved friend. The mayor and his wife sat elbow to elbow with the former dean and his whole family. Even a few executives from the studio who produced many of Grandma Nona’s first films had come to pay their respects.

“This ought to be interesting.”

Cain’s whisper tickled her ear. Misty couldn’t agree more.

Glasses filled with golden champagne. Mr. Wiggersham introduced everyone to the event at hand, followed by polite applause from the audience. The air of excitement was palpable as Desiree joined their family table.

The buzz in Misty’s head refused to subside. Nerves, she imagined. Didn’t anyone else feel it? If Grandma did, she didn’t say. Misty sat, fidgeting with the tongs of her fork while her father gave Cain the thorough grilling he thought her young man deserved.

“Dad, don’t you think you can cut him a break?” Misty pleaded.

“What do you think, Cain?” Her athletic father scooped back his thinning blonde hair, removed his glasses, and pocketed them, focusing on Cain. “Would you go easy on the guy your daughter chose to spend time with?”

“No, sir. Not at all.” He cleared his throat, in over-emphasis. “Please continue.”

Everyone laughed. Misty sighed and sank deeper into the chair.

“He’s cute, Misty.” Evelyn leaned in and squeezed her arm. “Where’d you find him?”

“Which time?” Misty arched an eyebrow.

“I’m particularly fond of the time he dove through the bathroom window,” Grandma said.

Cain and Misty both looked up, then at each other. All gazes fell heavily upon the pair as dessert plates appeared.

“Tell the story, Misty.” Her mother’s voice was ice.

“Oh, good. Death by Chocolate,” Cain quipped, breaking the awkward silence.

Their collective families answered with resounding laughter. Grandma gave her own account of the incident with the spider. Cain’s mother followed with a few Cain-spider-stories of her own.

“Cute,” Misty whispered, turned her attention to Cain. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” He speared a large forkful of the gooey dark chocolate and strawberry treat, stuffed his mouth full, and gave a thoughtful chew.

“You’re perfect for me.” She tasted a tiny bite of the melting frosting, followed by another. “And I just can’t quite figure you out.”

“Oh, I’m real mysterious…” He shrugged, devoured another morsel, swallowed. “Anyway, you’ve got the next fifty years or so to do it.”

She glanced to his hand that absently checked his coat pocket for the umpteenth time. “Next fif—” She started, mouth agape. “—what’s up, Romeo?”

He went deer in the headlights. Then a slow, knowing smile crept over his face that kicked her heart-rate up-tempo.

The orchestra interrupted in a flourish of violin, cello, and French horn. The master of ceremonies trotted up the rope-lit stairs. Audience paused through their coffee and dessert, and peppered with applause.

Cain shrugged, with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin, and sipped from his fluted champagne glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Before we start our show, we have a special treat. The granddaughter of our guest of honor—a film producer in her own right—Misty Darling.”

Applause brought her to her feet, the question left unanswered. She leaned down, freshly glossed lips to his ear. “You will be finishing that thought after this is over.”

“I plan on it.” His lips brushed a kiss over her cheek.

She stood, straightened her skirts, and reached over to clasp her grandmother’s hand.

“Here goes nothing.” Nona grinned, her fingers entwining Anton’s. “Break a leg, kid.”

Misty nodded, and then focused her attention at the back of the room. The entry doors had opened, the paparazzi finally allowed entrance, as scheduled. Frenzied over the secrecy, they turned in their cameras with murmurs of disapproval, first amendment rights, and the like—she got the oddest sensation of seeing gunslingers enter a saloon in a western movie. Still, Todd remained barred at the door. His voice, loudest of all, discernable over the din. Denied, she noted, with a smile in her heart, just according to plan.

She turned and followed a young, handsome theater major—dressed to the nines in his best suit—up the stairs to the podium. The stage lights up, footlights glowed, spotlights lasered on her.

Behind, the screen filled with the swirling images of the featurette she and Desiree had spent hours creating. The young man tapped his watch and showed five fingers. Five minutes, and all the wheels would be in motion.

Showtime. Misty’s heart pounded a crescendo yet somehow, she remained poised. Her hands wrapped tight around the Plexiglas podium. She spread out and feathered note cards she didn’t need. She knew this story by heart.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Misty’s voice boomed from the microphone. She kept her jaw up, offering a nod to the crowd, wishing she’d taken one more sip of water. Her gaze found Cain’s, and she smiled in earnest, drawing courage from him. “If I might take you back a moment, to the nineteen fifties.”

A solo guitar—Cain’s music—played a fifties riff. A young Nona Dysart filled the screen, waving animatedly in a home movie. Just a kid. A girl with stars in her eyes and a song in her heart.

“The year was 1950. The place, a tiny town called Mammoth Spring, Arkansas.” Black and white images of a little girl, fishing with her father, on the banks of a creek. Willows wept, framing the serene scene.

“It was a national contest by Sudzee soap. Any kid could enter, and be the face of America’s cleanest kid.”

Another picture of Nona and her dog on a wide, sweeping lawn. She, in her bathing suit, being sprayed with a hose. Mouth open in silent laughter. Innocent. Young. Dripping wet, head to toe.

Laughter peppered the crowd.

“Nona Dysart, at the age of sixteen, filled out as many postcards as she could write.” Another picture of Nona, hair up in a bandanna, surrounded by postcards.

“By a twist of fate, she won that soap box contest, and ended up with a movie contract. A girl who had a knack for comic timing, possessed the face of an angel, and could sing like a nightingale. At a time when Hollywood cranked out movies, the industry desperately sought out new blood. The girl next door became America’s sweetheart. She soon filled stages across the country with stories of whimsy, slapstick comedy, and romance.”

Deep breath. Here came the hard part. Misty swept her attention around the room, found and focused on her grandmother.

Nona nodded, encouraging. However, even in the spotlight, Misty noted diamond tears glittering on her cheeks. Her regal chin remained up.

With an exhale, Misty continued, voice sure even though her nerves jangled. “But, what America didn’t see lay further behind the scenes.” Behind her, Misty knew the scene changed, and with it, the tone of the background music.

Desiree had added a feeling of mystique in her edit bay, behind the newsreel footage. The once-chirpy, enthusiastic blonde Nona Dysart faded into a sullen, reclusive, and agitated starlet. Protected by the studio, the source of her anxiety, the next series of scenes showed the change. A young woman who ducked from cameras, and hid behind raised coats and her handlers. No longer did she grin and wave to her adoring public. No longer a high school homecoming queen made good, the clips showed Nona Dysart stumbling up the stairs of the movie studio, on the arm of a dapper film executive who shouted, “No comment! Let her through!”

As the film clips ended, and the still shots returned in a montage, Misty told the story as her grandmother had shared it with her. Every word, corroborated with facts from medical records and broken contracts. “The young girl suffered from her sudden rise to fame, and more specifically, from a grueling studio-driven schedule that weakened her bubbly nature. The executives suggested pills. Drugs. Left in a haze and often confused, Nona Dysart felt the pressure to perform. Box office tallies soon took a dive as her public no longer believed in her performances. While girls Nona had grown up with were studying to be nurses, teachers, or getting married and having babies, Nona Dysart teetered on the verge of collapse.”

The scene shifted to an eight millimeter shot of Nona entering a sanitarium. The same film executive signing her in, nodding as he left her there, wide-eyed, hollow cheeked, terrified. The doors closed behind as Nona reached out, screaming, crying, abandoned.

A news headline spun that the star had needed rest. The prescriptions and doctor evaluations told a different story. The young starlet was addicted to the very drugs that were supposed to propel her career. Instead, she slid backward into chaos. Oblivion. Obscurity. Until, at last, she was saved by the love of a man.

Hopeful music flooded the speakers, as a much different, twenty-something Nona Dysart walked along the bank of Lake Arrowhead in the mid-fifties. Stylish dress of crop pants and tied, checked blouse, large rimmed glasses, but a spark about her that had been lost returned once more. Next, a home movie showed a scene of her walking, hand in hand, with a broad-shouldered man, Misty’s grandfather.

A lump welled in her throat as Misty described the chance meeting at the Lake Arrowhead shore that had changed the young, reclusive starlet’s life forever. “As my grandmother has often said, ‘sometimes a chance meeting is just the thing to propel you out of the darkness, and into the light.’” Attention drifting to Cain, she chewed her lip. At that moment, the truth of the words skewered her heart.

He smiled from just beyond the stage lights. There, at the table, sat their collective families—Mom and Evelyn clasped hands, each with tears streaming, and Dad beamed with pride.

“Thank you, Grandma Nona, for joining us back in the light. Now, for everyone’s viewing pleasure, the nineteen-fifty-seven smash hit:
His and Hers
. Starring—in her first role as a newlywed—healed and whole, America’s forever sweetheart, Nona Darling.”

The audience roared with applause, followed by a standing ovation as a film student helped Nona slowly, gently, to the stage to her granddaughter’s side.

Misty closed her eyes, fully enveloped in her grandmother’s warm embrace. She stepped back, so Nona could have her full moment in the spotlight.

“I’m a gal of few words.” Nona spoke, her voice sure, unwavering into the microphone. “So, I’ll say it plain. We all make mistakes. There are Prince Charmings out there, sure. John was the best of them. But a gal needs to pull herself up by her own bootstraps.”

Her focus remained on Misty, their fingers laced. Grandma squeezed her hand, tight. “I’d like to thank my granddaughter for her honesty, and dedication to the truth. Thank you, to Almond Valley College, and its wonderful theater arts program, for your recognition. And most of all, thank you all, for sharing this wonderful night with me.”

More applause. Exit, stage left.

They made their way back to the table, followed by the spotlight, arms wrapped around one another.

Face damp, Grandma mouthed her silent
thank you
, head high, breathing easy as she returned to her seat next to Anton who gently kissed her cheek. Grandma glowed from within.

Misty joined Cain at her seat, first giving Desiree a long hug, then squeezing her parents, his parents, and her sister, each in turn. Her heart barely slowed its rapid pace.

The houselights faded, the room darkened.
His and Hers
filled the silver screen. The audience cheered when Nona Darling’s name displayed in the opening credits.

Misty couldn’t sit still. She pushed back from the table.

Cain touched her arm. “You okay?”

“I just need some air.”

“Want some company?” he offered.

“No. You stay. I’ll be back in a minute.” She swept her way through the crowd, nodding and smiling at patrons on her way out of the room.

Once outside, she took a deep cleansing breath of fresh air. Though she’d seen some of the paparazzi grab their mobile devices to dash out the news, Misty knew their pre-designed press release, and theater student orchestrated You-Tube release of the
Forever Darling
featurette had already gone out as the show began.

All had fallen into place. Clockwork. Or a perfectly penned script. The only thing missing was her final confrontation with Todd. Her shoulders shuddered at the thought.

Though resolve flooded her soul, worry pinched her eyebrows along with the sudden onset of headache. She peeked across the thinning crowd. No sign of Todd’s unmistakable, larger-than-life form. Maybe he’d taken his lumps and gone back to the city. Knowing Todd, however, he’d be outside somewhere, lurking.

Misty raised her gown’s hem and trotted up the stairs to the portico. Moonlight swept between the pillars, bathing the granite and brick façade in silver. Hands to the rail, she tilted her head back to the stars, the cool evening air bringing goose bumps on her arms as she breathed in her newfound freedom.