Incidental Happenstance (6 page)

            He climbed in and wondered in the back of his mind if she’d eventually get around to asking him for front row seats. In the front of his mind, he hoped she wouldn’t.

            Penelope Valentine stood and examined her naked body in front of the long mirror. Not perfect yet, but another couple months with Jean Phillipe and she’d be back in movie shape. It had been a long hard six months—her latest film a flop at the box office, bad press, that bastard Jason Whitten dumping her for that wanna-be Italian supermodel, more bad press—then a few months of seclusion where she refused to take any calls and ate whatever she wanted. Oh, and she drank way too much. It was going to take another minor procedure to get rid of the little red veins that streaked across her cheeks.

            But she was on a comeback, and her luck had finally turned. It was time to get back on the fast-track again; time to make her grand entrance back into the Hollywood limelight. She was lucky to nab the starring role as Anastasia in
Ambient Rain—
she knew two other actresses had passed on the role because of prior commitments—but she didn’t let that bother her. Well, maybe a little. She hadn’t read the book or the script, but knew that it had spent quite a few months on the New York Times Bestseller List. Plus, when she found out who her co-star was, she knew it was the perfect role for her comeback. Dylan Miller wasn’t the biggest actor in Hollywood, and spent much of his time touring with his band, but he was good, and his last two movies had gotten rave reviews, as had he. He was just what she needed to get back on her feet—successful, adored, and incredibly good looking. He was on the cover of the Sexiest People on Earth issue of
Person to Person
last year—she was also in the issue, although a little further back. Dylan was much better looking than that rat bastard Jason, as a matter of fact, and with a little work on her part, they could be the perfect Hollywood couple.

            It didn’t hurt, either, that they’d be filming in New Zealand with a little hop over to Bora Bora. They couldn’t be further from Hollywood there, and Bora Bora, in her opinion, was the most romantic place on the planet. After a few months together, they could be the next hot thing—Dylanope, or some stupid mix of their names that the tabloids could put on their covers, and she’d be back on top of her game.

            She ran her hands over her nearly flat stomach. Jean Phillipe was a miracle worker, that was certain, but it hadn’t been easy. A private chef, daily workouts, stress management—it was all part of the plan. She’d follow it to the letter, though, because it was her ticket back to the fame and adoration that she couldn’t live without.

            Her mind ran back to Dylan Miller. Sexiest Man on Earth, she thought, and if her memory served her, he was on tour right now with his band. She slid into a silk kimono and sat down at her desk. In the deep side drawer, she kept her extensive collection of magazines in which she’d appeared so she could pull them out and look at them anytime she wanted. She pulled out the “Sexiest Stars” issue with Dylan on the cover, and another magazine graced by her own face. It was a picture taken on Oscar night, three years ago, and if she did say so herself, she was stunning. Her dress was a DeHoya, made exclusively for her, and it perfectly accentuated her figure and the new breasts she’d splurged on six months earlier. The neckline plunged daringly, and she dripped in borrowed diamonds. They’d given her ‘best dressed’ honors that night and although she hadn’t won the Oscar, she’d been the darling of the after parties. She held the two covers next to each other to see how they’d look as a couple. He oozed masculinity--the faint scruff on his chin and cheeks, the longish, wavy, carelessly unkempt ovee hair, the incredible blue and expressiveness of his eyes rimmed in long dark lashes, a firm jaw line. He wore what could almost be called a pout and his lips looked made for kissing. They would look good together, and as a couple they would knock Jason and that Italian slut off the covers of the magazines. She flipped through the issue until she came to Dylan’s photo spread. Great smile too, she thought, and the picture of him singing on stage clearly showed the passion he had for music. She held up several combinations of the two of them together, and liked what she saw. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get started on reclaiming her place at the top.

            She booted up her computer and checked out his web site, scrolling through more photos and reading his bio. She had to do her homework, know a little about him, so that when they met they’d be able to slide effortlessly into a relationship.
That’s how things work in Hollywood
she thought, relationships were more about appearances than they were about love. Love was overrated, anyway—it was all just an act, really, and she knew how to act. A guy like Dylan Miller would be easy enough to wake up to every morning, and everyone seemed to love him. He never got bad press, and being attached to someone like him would soften the hard edges she’d acquired over the years. Her excitement mounted as she read—they even had a few things in common besides acting.

            She checked their tour schedule, and figured, why wait? Let’s get this party started as soon as possible. One call to her assistant Angela and the arrangements were already being made. Chicago wasn’t too bad at this time of year. Not warm yet, but a few sessions in the tanning booth and she’d have a healthy glow that would look great against the fish-belly-white Chicagoans who’d been covered up all winter.

            She’d just show up at the concert and surprise him with the news that she’d be his costar. The studio wasn’t planning to make the announcement until the following week, so he’d hear it first from her, and it would be a valid excuse to show up at his concert unannounced. Obviously he’d show her the professional courtesy of meeting her, and then the romance could begin.

            She drew herself a bath, pinned her long blonde hair on top of her head, and slipped into the luxurious salts harvested straight from the Dead Sea that Jean Phillipe had insisted she buy. Good for the skin, he’d said in his obnoxious French accent. Rid your body of impurities. Hell, she’d just rid her life of impurities, and she was ready for a fresh start. Just a few days to primp, and then it was off to the Windy City, and her new lease on life.

            “So, where are we going?” Tia asked.

            “Are you up for some adventure and a little fun?” Dylan answered with his slightly crooked smirk and slightly cocky accent. 

            “After what just happened in
Last Stop
? I don’t know if I need any more adventure, but the Dyart sounds good. What’d you have in mind?”

            “I thought we’d hit
Sing-Along Cassidy’s
.”

            She looked him up and down and laughed. “Yeah, your mullet’ll probably fit in there. Actually, though, I do have somewhat of a reputation to uphold in this town. Any chance you have another disguise in your pocket? One a little less…obnoxious?”

            “Nah,” he smiled. “I’m sportin’ this look tonight. Deal with it, sister.”

            She’d deal with it. Absolutely she’d deal with it. She was surprised that he seemed like such a nice, normal guy, and she was completely taken aback that she felt so comfortable with him right off the bat. That was part of being famous, she guessed. Everyone thought they knew you. “Oh, alright,” she said with mock disappointment in her voice. “Let’s do it then,” she laughed, and threw the car in gear.

            “So, if you’re a fan, you know some of my music, right?” Dylan asked as they were seated in a corner booth a good distance from the main stage.

            “Only all of it,” Tia replied. “I’ve been a fan for a lot of years.”

            “Then tell me this, Tia—are you a sing-along kind of girl?”

            “Well actually,” she paused, not knowing how much she wanted or needed to give away at this point. She certainly didn’t want any sympathy about Nick—the whole purpose of this night was to get away from the sympathy and just be a normal person.
Someone who didn’t lose the love of her life a year ago to the day,
she thought.
 
“A few of my friends play guitar, and know a lot of your songs. Sometimes they play at this pub I hang out at a lot, and once in a while I’d do harmony if they needed someone.” She realized that she’d spoken the last part of the sentence in past tense. It had been a long time since she’d sung at the pub; sometimes it seemed like a lifetime ago. Dylan didn’t seem to notice.

            A huge smile crossed his face. “Seriously? Well that’s just perfect! Do you know harmony for “
Lost in You
?”

            “That’s one of my favorites, actually, but…”

            “Hold that thought.” Dylan slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

            “Dylan, wait!” she called as he walked toward the reception table pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He wasn’t seriously signing them up to sing karaoke, was he? She was at once mortified and thrilled. She’d sung in front of crowds before; that wasn’t a big deal. And like
Last Stop
, she didn’t think anyone who ran in her social or professional circles was big into karaoke, so she wasn’t too concerned about making an ass of herself. But having the chance to sing, on a stage (albeit at a strange venue) with Dylan Miller? Especially to sing one of the songs she and Nick had loved so much? She knew he would want her to do it—if he were here, he’d push her onto the stage if he had to. And yes, Dylan was returning with a song sheet in his hand—not that either of them would need it.

            “We’re all set. I entered us in the duet contest. Looks like we have some stiff competition, too. See that couple over there?” He tipped his head toward a table aside the stage where an older couple dressed in full country-western compliment were pouring over a song sheet and squeezing lemon into their water glasses. “They’re doing Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers.”

            “Oh God. Not “
Islands in the Stream
.”

            “The very one. And, Candy at the reception table tells me that they’re regulars. They’re big winners—kind of an institution around this place. She wasn’t going to let me enter so late in the game, but apparently not too many people are willing to cough up the entry fee when they have to go against the local champs. They might be tough.”

            “Dylan, it’s been a while since I’ve sung in public. I know all the notes, but…”

            “Well, you said you liked fun and adventure. What could be more adventurous than karaoke?” He lifted her face with his finger, taking in the look of indecision on her face. He forced her to meet his eyes. “Hey,” he said. “It’s just for fun; I’m not going to judge you or anything. But if you’re not comfortable, we can back out if you really don’t want to do it; no big deal.”

            The serious look on his face, and his touch under her chin boosted her confidence. She’d still been singing at home. She could do this. Actually, she thought, how could she not do this?

            “Oh no,” she smiled, hoping she conveyed more confidence than the butterflies that had suddenly taken flight in her stomach allowed her to feel, “I was just thinking how those country bumpkins are goin’ down!”

            “Thata girl!” Dylan smiled that incredible smile, and she knew she would sing her heart out. For Dylan, and for Nick.

            The country bumpkins turned out to be Frank and Joy Walker, and they were actually really good. Her voice was clear and bright, and his was deep and rolling. They complimented each other nicely, and got a rousing applause from the audience. It was cute how they dressed for the part, too. She was wearing a flouncy skirt, circa 1970’s line dancing competition, and he was pure cowboy, complete with boots, hat and bolero tie. When their song ended, they drifted into each other’s arms and kissed before taking a bow. Dylan and Tia shared a look that said, ‘tough competition, indeed’ as they clapped and cheered along with the rest of the crowd.

            Two more couples performed, one newlywed and one a pair of girls. Both were painful to listen to. Then the mc stood up and called for Chester and Francine to take the stage. Tia’s heart began to flutter as her butterflies suddenly turned into bats—nervously, she looked up to her singing partner, who was smiling down at her. This couldn’t really be happening! If this was a dream, she definitely didn’t want to wake up from it. Dylan gallantly extended his hand and she took it gracefully, rising from her seat and walking to the stage. It was all a show now, so they set up the song by staring deep into each other’s eyes as they took their places in front of their mikes. It was a love song, after all.

            As soon as the music started, Tia lost herself in the ebb and flow of the notes and the rhythm of her heart changed to match the music—slow and easy. Dylan’s voice glided in with the gravelly, honest sound that had won the hearts of millions. When Tia chimed in with the harmoy, their voices blended beautifully, rising and falling in piano and crescendo. Their eyes locked, and the passion of the music played out in their faces. Around the room, conversations halted and glasses stopped in mid-rise. Neither of them noticed, but Frank and Joy exchanged first a pained look, then a hug, as they conceded to the young couple on the stage who were so obviously in tune with one another.