California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (88 page)

“I wish I could do more organic,” Sally said while they waited for their orders to be completed. “But prices in stores like this are more than the bean-counters will allow. Of course, some actors get food choices written into their contracts. Then this job becomes a nightmare.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is.” Sally’s face broke into a grin. “But I love it. I can create, overcome challenges, and be around smart people. It’s a mad rush for weeks or months, then time off to do whatever the hell I want.”

Anticipation stirred within Mandy.

When they got back to the catering RV, Sally showed her where to stow everything as they unloaded the car. As she put staples away, Mandy grasped the intuitive logic of Sally’s arrangement. She was going to learn a lot to apply to her own business. Anticipation blossomed into the thrill of discovery.

After lunch, Sally taped the menus to the four-door refrigerator at the back of the truck.

“Now you’re going to learn the system.”

“Okay.”

“Immediate obedience. I like that. That is the first rule of the system. I’m in charge. There can only be one boss in a space this small and I’m it.” She smiled at Mandy. “Things will get hectic, like in any kitchen, but this place is tiny.” She indicated her girth. “And I’m not.” She held up two fingers. “Rule Two. Everything has a place. Think of this like a boat. If we’re consistent about where we put things, they’ll be there when we’re ready to use them. Saves time. Rule Three. For the first few days, I want to check your work. I trust you, but consistency in how we do things is important.”

Mandy nodded. The flutters in her stomach returned.

Sally smiled. “I’ve been doing this twenty years. The first five I almost lost my mind. Once I got this system in place, life has been a breeze.” She frowned. “Well, maybe not a breeze. We are in the movie business, after all.” She gestured to the menus. “Let’s break these down to steps. Then it’ll be time for you to go.” She smiled. “After the market tomorrow morning, we’ll really get to work. They will be here and hungry.”

They worked until it was time for Mandy’s shift at the grill.

Exhaustion claimed her as soon as she got home, and her sleep was deep and uninterrupted.

Early the next morning, she met Sally at the Costanoa Market. White canopies lined rows on top of a community college parking garage. Like much of Santa Cruz County, the market had its share of characters. A lady in a tiara hawked fresh peaches, the egg man grumped about egg cartons he’d been sued for re-using, the sauerkraut vendor looked like he’d stepped from a German brewpub, and an accordion man in a comic unitard strolled the aisles, dodging families with strollers, determined chefs, and small children racing to the pastry booth.

Sally deftly maneuvered a wheeled shopping bag through the crowds. When she stopped, Mandy could see her calculating how the ingredients would mesh to create the flavors she wanted. Although they’d created menus and lists the day before, Sally had deliberately left a few blanks to fill with fresh fare from the market.

After they returned to the catering RV, they put away the food. Sally handed Mandy a cup of coffee when they were done.

“Once you are used to how I do things, I want you to come up with your own suggestions and ideas,” she said. “I may not always take them, but I’ll consider them.” She smiled. “It’s more fun if we’re both active participants.” She pointed to the prep list. “Off you go.”

A half hour later Mandy’s nerves steadied. The small space was efficient. Knives were handy to both workstations and the cutting board in front of the steam table. Bowls were in easy reach, while pots and pans were stored close to the two sets of burners.

With a knife in her hand, Mandy was completely at ease. She chopped herbs, removing any stems and stray matter. When she was done, she called Sally over to inspect the work.

Sally looked it over, patted Mandy on the shoulder, and said, “You’ll do.”

Mandy packaged the herbs, placed them in the back refrigerator, and started on potatoes.

As she diced, Mandy grew comfortable enough to ask a more personal question. “How long have you known James?”

Sally gave her a sharp glance. “About five years now. He keeps telling me I’m his go-to caterer. With all the work he’s been giving me, I believe him. He seems like one of the good guys, although he’s a bit dogged about his career, almost like he’s trying to prove something to the world.” Sally spooned rounds of chocolate chip dough on a non-stick bake pan.

Midway through the salad prep Mandy felt bold enough to ask another question. “Are you married?”

“I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I had a long and satisfying marriage.” Sally put down her spoon and leaned against the counter, her face softened by a wisp of a smile. “Henry was a good soul. We enjoyed everything together—travel, movies, art museums, even the things that went wrong.” The smile dimmed. “There were a lot of things going wrong at the end. He had early onset Alzheimer’s. It was tough at the end, but our love was still there, hidden under the confusion.”

She looked up at Mandy. “I never let him down. We lived in one of those assisted living places so I could get help when I had a job.” Her lower lip trembled a touch. “Before the disease, he would come with me. He was a writer. Thrillers. Could work anywhere.”

Sally popped two trays into the oven, closed the door, and leaned against the counter. “He died about three years ago. I still miss him.” She pulled out a bin and dumped dirty measuring spoons, cups, and wooden spoons into it before handing it to Mandy. “You can start with the dishes.” She grinned. “Low woman on the totem pole gets the crummy job.”

Mandy accepted the bin and walked the few steps to the dishwashing sink.

“What about you?” Sally asked. “Ever been married?”

That’s what she got for being nosy.

“No. I haven’t had time to go out much, so I don’t get beyond casual dating.”

“Then you and James should get along fine.”

Mandy began the rinse process. “That’s the second time you’ve indicated he’s a player.”

The rich, sweet smell of chocolate and sugar permeated the truck.

“He’s not really a player, although he likes to pretend he is. He’s too caring to hurt anyone, so he looks for women who want what he wants—a few dates at pleasant places, a little bit of sex, and a farewell gift. He tells me once he’s a production assistant, he’ll start looking for someone to marry. Then, when he starts producing movies full time, he’ll be ready to produce offspring as well.”

“Sounds a little rigid.”

“Well, that’s our James.”

Mandy filled the sink with hot soapy water.

“I keep telling him the right woman will derail his plan, but he assures me the ramparts to his heart are secure, and the surrounding moat is filled with crocodiles,” Sally said. “And yes, he really does talk like that—especially after a few beers. I think he watched too many movies growing up.”

Mandy scrubbed the cookie dough bowl.

I wonder if he ever thought about rescuing the princess in the tower.

• • •

James was too busy working with the crew on Sunday to pay much attention to Mandy. Lunch was substantial and served efficiently. When he asked about the new assistant, Sally gave him a thumbs up.

The only nagging worry was George Stubbins. The man had to be fifty, if not older. He’d never been leading man star quality, but he sure had the attitude of one. He’d kept himself in okay shape, but his hair and manner were a little too oily for anyone who’d spent any time in the film industry.

And that was the problem—newbies. A young ingénue on George’s last film had lapped up his lines about his vast experience and connections in Hollywood. James had discovered George trying to force himself on a protesting girl in the cab of his pickup. He’d hauled the man out and punched him before sending the ingénue on her way.

Lawyers had sorted the matter out. Stubbins skated, the girl got smarter, and James was fined.

James sighed. Somehow he suspected Mandy wasn’t as naïve. In fact, she was likely to knee the randy actor in the groin.

He grinned at the thought.

By nine that night the crew had the set ready for the influx of actors. A few had shown up that evening to check out the location, but most wouldn’t show up until the morning.

James was bone tired. The door creaked as he entered the old inn using the key Sarah had given him. Mandy’s car wasn’t in the lot, so she must be at the grill. A black jeep told him Sarah’s boyfriend Hunter was probably home.

Sarah had let him know long-term guests at the inn had access to the kitchen to store cold drinks and snacks, or to make tea or coffee. After the day he’d had, James relished the idea of a quiet beer.

“You must be James.” A broad-shouldered man stood as James entered the kitchen. Shorts revealed a prosthetic replacement for his lower right leg. “I’m Hunter.”

James never knew how to handle war injuries, so he said nothing. A sense of unease gnawed at his stomach. Hunter’s bearing reminded James of his friend Mateo after he’d returned from his first tour in the Middle East.

He stuffed the recollection and thrust out his hand. “Good to meet you, finally.”

Hunter sat. “How’s the movie business?”

The rebuke was subtle, but it curled around the edges of Hunter’s voice. The ex-Marine obviously didn’t think much of the film industry.

James pushed away his irritation. The man had lost part of his leg for his country. James could cut him some slack. He shrugged. “Starting a new location is always stressful.” After he retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, he hesitated.

“Have a seat.” Hunter gestured to an empty chair. “I’m almost finished.”

“Sarah said you were at Pismo Beach.”

A smile broke through. “Yeah. I’m learning to surf again.”

“That’s great.” James sipped his beer to hide his awkwardness. “It must be a challenge.”

“Easier than I thought it would be. It’s nice to have the freedom to be out on the water again.”

“Must be.”
Maybe sitting in the kitchen had been a bad idea.
A leaf of conversation floated to the surface of his mind. “Nice piece of furniture in the front hall. Fine craftsmanship.”

“Thanks.”

To James’s relief, Hunter finished his beer and stood. “Early morning tomorrow. Sheet-rocking job for a buddy. See you around.”

After Hunter left, James stared at the darkened window. Hollywood power was about money and status. The ex-Marine’s strength was built on character and strength. Would James be able to retain his own integrity in an industry dominated by lies and innuendo? Was creating a film—telling a story—a futile career? Or could he make it something that mattered in a world that seemed to be spinning out of control?

Or was he telling a fantasy, just like the one he told himself every day when he thought about his son—the fantasy that Ruiz was better off never knowing who his real father was.

He disposed of his self-doubt, recycled his beer bottle, and went upstairs to bed. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard Mandy’s door open and close.

The actors’ arrival the next morning gave James no time for angst. By lunch everyone had settled into a routine. Beth Ann had even managed to shoot a few scenes.

When James returned to the canteen from the set, the first person he saw was Mandy. She was placing a fish dish on the buffet table, a smile on her face as she chatted with the lead actress who laughed at something Mandy said.

An ember stirred in his heart. In spite of her struggles, she still managed to snatch joy from the salty ocean air.

He couldn’t say the same for himself. He was all business.

She looked up and caught him staring at her.

Her Cameron Diaz blue eyes reflected the California sunlit skies. A tentative smile played around her lips, but not the laughing confidence she’d had with the actress.

“Who’s the girl?” George Stubbins’s voice snapped James from his distraction.

“I thought you weren’t due in until tomorrow,” James said.

“Nice to see you, too,” George replied. “I decided to get out of LA early and watch the filming today.”

You mean stare at the women in bikinis.

“Anyway, who’s the new server?” George asked again.

“She’s not a server; she’s the assistant caterer.”

“I thought Sally always worked with Julie.”

“Julie’s getting married.”

“Wow,” George said. “Never saw that coming. With a face like hers, I didn’t think Julie’d find anyone to date, much less marry.”

“You’re an idiot, George. Go get some lunch. And stay away from the caterer.”

“Because protecting a woman worked so well for you the last time.” George walked away, giving a little wave with his fingers. The bastard made a beeline for Mandy.

James headed for the food line, but six of the crew slid in before him. “You don’t mind, do you, James?” the burly cameraman asked.

“No, it’s fine. You need to get back on the set soon.”

“Thanks for getting Sally again. Her food’s the best, and that new gal seems to be working out fine.”

James’s emotions bristled.

He looked up the line. George was talking animatedly to Mandy, and she was grinning at whatever nonsense he was telling her.

James’s blood neared two hundred twelve degrees Fahrenheit. It spiked even further when he saw Mandy reach into her apron pocket and hand George a card.

She’d given the bastard her number. He’d thought she’d be smarter than that. Maybe she was too eager for business.

“You okay, man?” the cameraman asked. “Your face is a bit red. Too much sun?” He glanced up the line. “Or too much Stubbins?”

While the lawyers had killed a potential law suit, they hadn’t been able to slow down the rumor mill.

James forced himself to relax. “George just got here, must be the sun.”

The man laughed. “By Friday it’ll be George.”

Probably.

But James didn’t say anything. Word got around fast on a movie set. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Beth Ann liked Stubbins for her villains and wouldn’t let anyone put him down. Sometimes James wondered if the man had knowledge of a dark secret concerning the director.