Souvenirs (15 page)

“They look exactly alike,” she grumbled as she stared at the poster boards leaning against the sofa.

“They’re not.” Pam contradicted her. “I read through the book between renderings. I think the second one does a better job with the story line.”

God save me from over-committed artists
. “Which one is the second one?” Grace asked.

“It’s subtle, but I like it. You will too when you see it. Spend some time looking at them.”

“Thanks, Pam,” Grace drawled as she hung up.

She stared at the poster boards again. Pam had done every cover in the series, and Grace loved them all. She should trust the artist’s judgment. But they were
hers
, and fewer and fewer things were hers alone.

Her eyes skipped from option A to option B, and then back to option A. It was like looking at one of those matching game puzzles—find the things in this photo that weren’t in the other. At least the online versions of those gave hints. Shelving the decision for later, she walked to the window to stare out past the deck and into the night. She was bone weary from the day and raw from trying to discipline her body and her mind into ignoring Bennett.

One waistcoat matched his eyes, and the other matched her green dress. She’d helped Susan design her hair and thought about combing her fingers through Bennett’s. She had to stare at her feet as she walked to keep from bumping into people while she watched him on the training floor. His voice bounced from the metal walls and found her throughout the building, behind every closed door.

At lunch, he’d sat on the mats with Susan and their trainers, Beau and Max, while they ate. Grace had itched to sit next to him and share her potato chips while they compared notes about their day.

Even now, she wanted to know what he thought.

Sighing, she dropped her head into her hands. This would never work if she couldn’t get herself under control.

Down the beach, closer to the city, Ben slouched in the armchair provided in his furnished apartment. With the patio door open, he could hear the tide and smell the ocean even if he couldn’t see it past the glare of his reading light.

He hadn’t expected this. With the way Meg and Paul felt about Grace, he was surprised he wasn’t camping under a bridge.
Like a troll
. He admired their willingness to give him a chance and make him welcome while still letting him know they were firmly on Grace’s side.

The entire crew was on her side. Hell, half of them were in love with her already. He was either a bastard for breaking her heart or a daft git for letting her go.

He chose daft git.

All day long, she’d moved from department to department, stopping to visit, laughing with techs and talent. At least with the
other
talent. She’d stayed well clear of him.

Through the dressing room wall, he’d listed to her consult with Susan about wardrobe, makeup, and hair. When the knock had come at his door, he’d looked up with a smile only to see Linda, the wardrobe assistant, armed with a pile of fabric Grace had already chosen and he hated. The hair stylist already had photos taped to his mirror, and none of them fit his interpretation of the character. She’d left make-up to their own devices, thankfully.

Okay, so maybe he was a bastard.

He recalled Grace’s speech from this morning.
We’re fine with it
, she’d said. Bloody hell, he certainly wasn’t fine with it. He thought about the shake he heard in her voice, about her retreat from the stage without waiting on him. She’d
flinched
when he’d approached her. Had she simply been nervous about being in front of people? He wanted to know if today had been this difficult for her. Was she really
fine
?

In his orientation packet, he found the contact sheet and her name and number near the top of the alphabetical listing. Halfway through dialing, he realized what he was doing and deleted every number with a determined press of his finger.

Do it right this time.

Daft git.

Chapter 15

For the next month, Ben went to work and did his job. While he didn’t think his costar liked him much, Susan seemed to put it aside for the sake of the film. Ted liked him, and the director ran his set well. But Paul, the producer, hated him. Training went longer each day and stunts got tougher and more intricate. Sore and exhausted every morning, Ben got to the studio early, smiled at Grace, and ignored the disappointment when she stared at her shoes and scarpered. She sat as far from him as possible during read-throughs, focusing on her script and scribbling notes.

At least he’d mended his relationship with the crew by hosting them at his condo once a week. Sitting on the beach with their toes in the sand, they drank beer, talked about their families, and swapped stories. One night, Gino and Max stayed until it was only the three of them.

“Paul’s giving you a hard time, isn’t he?” Gino asked.

Ben shifted in his chair and winced as pain shot from his knee to his hip. “It’s fine. It’s a rough scene.”

“It’s not that rough,” Max said. “Paul keeps adding difficulty, suggesting ways to
improve
. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up hurt.”

“Thanks, mate, but he thinks it’s best.”

“Because of Grace,” Gino said. “It’s not fair, you know. If she’d dumped you, no one would be giving her hell.”

“I didn’t dump her.”

“Yeah, right,” Gino snorted. “Then why is our boss trying to kick your ass?”

The driftwood crackled in the fire, and Ben stared at the embers until his vision tunneled. “Is she okay?”

“Every department pings her around with questions all day, and I know Paul’s telling them to do it because he’s telling me to do it. She’s up there late every night.”

“She shouldn’t be up there alone.” Ben frowned.

“Damn straight she shouldn’t, but she leaves last so no one wonders if you two are together.”

“What?”

“She and I overheard a group of costumers at the coffee pot early on,” Gino sighed. “They were, um, giggling about that damn picture and supposing what she did with her evenings to leave circles under her eyes. Anyone ever wonder how many nights you spend at home?”

Ben shook his head. “She has circles under her eyes?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Max chided, “as much as you stare at her.”

Ben ran his hand back through his hair. “All I get is the top of her head.”

The next morning, he gave the girls in wardrobe the Weathermore cold shoulder. He told himself it was good practice, but underneath all the wool and silk, he delighted as they scurried and flinched at his every frown.

After fittings, he changed into his training gear. Wincing at the pinch of a new knee brace, he was walking past Paul’s office when he heard Grace.

“I’ve had five departments ask me for help in the past hour. Susan is afraid to disappoint me, and Ben is working himself into an injury. Apparently all on your say-so.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paul protested.

“Bullshit,” she snarled. “Supervising a crew isn’t my job, and they don’t need a babysitter. You’re creating work to keep me busy.”

“I just don’t want you to be—”

“What? Lonely? You think I’m having trouble working with Bennett?” Her volume increased with each question. “Because let me tell you something, you’re the only one having trouble working with him. It’s idiotic! Every person out there knows, and it’s sucking at your credibility. What are you going to do, work him until he quits? Punish him?”

Susan stopped at his shoulder. “She gives as good as she gets, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Ben whispered while keeping his eyes on the office door.

Grace continued her lecture. “He’s the perfect actor for this role. If he gets hurt because of . . . if he gets hurt we’ll be set back past our start date. We’ll lose money.”

“We could get someone else,” Paul suggested. “Nothing is on film yet.”

Ben’s stomach churned as the crowd outside the door grew. Gino stood to the side with a wide smile under his bushy mustache.

“If your foolishness gets him injured, I will yank this script and walk with it,” Grace threatened. “I won’t do this movie without Susan
and
Bennett.”

“You’re kidding!” Paul shouted. “You’d pick him over me?”

“If you’re being stupid, yes. Someone has to tell you when you’re wrong—and you’re wrong. I expect you to apologize. I also expect you to loosen up,” she ordered. “I’ll split work between here and home, but I get to choose what I work on and my time is my own. And everyone gets to do their job without me, after you give them the rest of the day off.”

“Okay,” he grumbled.

Grace opened the door and froze when she saw the crowd. Her color was high and her eyes glittered, but Ben saw the shadows Gino had scolded him about last night.

Their eyes met and her victory wobbled for only a moment before she straightened her spine. She moved out of Paul’s way, and the producer trudged down the stairs toward him.

To Ben’s amazement, Paul winked as a ghost of a grin pulled his lips. He extended his hand and when he spoke, his voice was grave, but his eyes twinkled. “Umm . . . sorry. I was a jackass.”

Ben took the proffered hand, hoping he didn’t look confused. “I would have been, too.”

Grace shooed everyone away. “Go on home. Enjoy your afternoon off.” Then she fled into her office.

Ben waited, slouched against the wall closest to the door so she couldn’t ignore him when she left. When she came around the corner, her eyes widened but she kept walking.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said as she passed him, “but Paul was being stupid.”

He fell into step beside her. “It’s nice to know where I stand.”

“I meant every word.”

They emerged into the lot, temporarily blinded by the mid-afternoon sun.

“What are you going to do the rest of the day?” Ben asked.

“Manuscript edits, publicity requests, promotion, re-writes, budget, cover art, soundtrack choices, location schedules. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

Daunted by her schedule, he took the bag from her shoulder and struggled with its unexpected weight. “Do you have rocks in here?”

“Funny. No, there’s the first book, the eighth one because I was doing an interview this morning, the full last draft of the ninth for edits, the full script, today’s rewrites, and snacks.”

“Biscuits?” He should have known she’d pack sweets. She’d always pulled them from her bag while she’d written on the train.

She shook her head and averted her gaze. “I can’t eat cookies right now, they . . . hurt.”

Ben caught her chin and made her look at him. The dark circles worried him, but the hopelessness in her eyes stole his breath and constricted his throat. He wanted to close the distance between them in one leap.

“Idgie,” he whispered. “Talk to me.”

“Don’t, Bennett. People will gossip.” She tried for freedom, but he hung on.

She called him Bennett now. Not Ben. Actor, not friendly guy from the train. The distinction was like a punch to his stomach.

“Fuck. Them. All of them.”

Humor sparked in her deep brown eyes. “I don’t have enough time.”

His body shook with the unfamiliar feel of laughter. “Then go home and rest. You can save it for tomorrow.”

As she left the lot, his smile faded. Whatever emotional pain biscuits inflicted, he’d wager it involved him. Trudging to his car, he found Susan propped against the fender.

“Morris is flying in late tonight, and I’ll be a wreck until he lands. Want to eat pizza at my house?” she offered.

Hours, several slices, and even more beer, later, Ben was laughing with his co-star in the kitchen of her home in the Hollywood hills. “Seriously? You actually did it?”

“I did. Morris nearly died when he found out. We make a deal now with every role. No skiing.” She waggled her eyebrows. “But I really liked it.”

Ben wiped his chin to remove any runaway cheese. “It’s amazing the things you pick up in bits and bobs.”

“Defensive driving,” Susan began the competition.

“Smoking,” Bennett offered.

“Heroin.”

He gaped at her over the bottle.

“Faking an addiction, I should say.” She grimaced. “Three languages.”

“Seven.”

“Bullshit,” she challenged.

“German, Italian, French, Spanish, Russian, Queen’s English, and American.” He ended the last with a passable Southern drawl.

“Those last two don’t count,” Susan protested.

“They should.” He tried to smile, but his insides were twisting at the memory of Grace’s sleepy voice, when her accent slipped through.

Susan pushed the pizza box toward him. “Grace?”

He peeled the label from his beer bottle and nodded. Instead of broaching the painful topic, he changed the subject.

“Why did you invite me for dinner? I’ve gotten the impression you don’t care for me.”

Susan pulled a chair opposite him. “I didn’t. I thought you used Grace to get the role, and I didn’t want to work with a prima donna British playboy who club-hopped every night. I wanted a serious actor opposite me so I’d have a shot at the kind of performance I know I can deliver.”

“Wow,” Ben whispered.

Susan put up her hand to stop his free-fall into self-loathing. “Then I worked with you, and a few weeks ago I went back through everything and learned you’re exactly the person I wanted. On top of that, you’re a damned nice guy.”

“Thanks.”

She shrugged. “So, I guess you’re here because I don’t get the discrepancy between you and the Beast. What gives?”

“I was filming a series in London,” Ben began. “Hillary showed up as a surprise. And, well, it wasn’t a great day to have your girlfriend surprise you at work.”

“Sex scene?” Susan guessed.

“Yeah, not to mention the fight scenes that morning. I got home, knackered, and she wanted to go out. We got into a huge barney, and I finally gave in. The club she liked was one step down from a riot, and Hillary wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Jealous sniping, pushing about a role for herself.”

“And you blew up,” Susan summarized.

He nodded. “Someone snapped a picture, it ended up in
The Sun
, and—bob’s your uncle—a legend is born. But worse, Hillary
liked
it. She started picking fights
just
to get our picture in the paper, and then she’d give these interviews about how I wasn’t difficult to live with, as she sighed with a hand flourish and a roll of her eyes.” Ben imitated the posture and was relieved when Susan snickered. “I still can’t tell if she’s a bloody genius or the worst actress I’ve ever seen.”

His tongue had loosened and now the words poured from him.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have people
afraid
to talk to you. They look at me like I’m going to hit them. The women think I’m always on the pull-prowling for dates. Or they’re willing to put up with my
temper
because I know all the
right
people. Or they think, thanks to Hillary, that I’m some sort of beast in bed.” He rubbed his collar and cursed the heat he felt there. “And suddenly there was Grace.”

Susan took the chair next to him. “I’ve watched the two of you, and it’s clear both of you are too professional to use the other. It’s also clear you’re both . . . hurt. I played a counselor once. You want to talk about it?”

Ben wondered where, or how, to begin. “Do you remember when you were first starting out and all the roles were small and you worked crappy side jobs?” he asked.

“Yeah. I was a rodeo clown one summer.”

“I miss those days,” he sighed. “I didn’t have a damn thing anyone else wanted.”

“I remember getting the call for summer stock. You would’ve thought I’d won an Oscar.” She momentarily joined him in the nostalgic trip in time. “But dependable transportation is underrated.”

“Oh, yeah. So is having my own place. It gets difficult to explain why you’re twenty-five and either living with your mum or sleeping on a mate’s sofa.”

“
You
on a sofa?” she teased.

“I still have back problems from it.” His laughter faded. “How many friends do you have?”

“
About five good ones, I think. And, yes, they’re from before. Although I think I could count Grace in there now.”

“I have two, and they both work for me. And I
can’t
count Grace. Not anymore.”

He leaned back in the chair. “I took a vacation to hide, and she
let
me. She didn’t ask me what I did for a living. She didn’t recognize me. She talked about prehistoric bunnies and held my hand and made me laugh. She wanted
me
.
And I wanted her, that feeling, so badly I lied to her.”

“And she was completely honest?” Susan countered.

“No. And for the life of me I don’t know why she thought she had to hide this. I want to go back to our first day in Vienna and do it all over again. And I can’t.”

“You can go forward,” Susan offered.

He nodded. “I hope I can. With her.”

The next day, when Grace wasn’t at work by noon he knocked on Paul’s open door. The man looked up from his computer.

“How long were you going to try to kill me?” Ben asked.

“I was going to give her another week.” Paul explained. “Don’t take it personally. I did it to her, too.”

“Why?”

Paul shrugged. “She’s always been like this. She won’t say no until she gets pushed to her limit. Then she gets mad and talks herself through her priorities. Yesterday was louder than usual.”

He motioned to a chair, and Ben perched on the edge. “Dangerous gamble.”

Paul nodded. “But I owed her for my gaffe at the party. She adores learning, and this is like Christmas for her. I stepped in it by putting a wall between her and the crew.”

“What’s she learning now?” Ben asked, anxious for any new information.