Hollywood Beginnings (A Novella) (5 page)

"I took a bow, of course. It took him a second to recover, but the other folks in line clapped for me. A young body builder whistled, but he'd been trying to buy me an ice cream, so it's safe to say he had an agenda."

An
agenda
. Hadn't she used that word a million times when I was a teenager? Boys didn't want
one thing
. Boys had an
agenda
, and that agenda did not suit nice young ladies. "Mom, you told me plenty about agendas. How come I never heard
this
story?"

She shrugged. "You never asked." She shivered a little. "Amy..."

"Oh, okay." I looked toward the front of the building where a maître d supposedly guarded one of two jackets my mother packed. "The peach one?"

"No, the blue."

I got up, and as I left the table, I heard my mother say. "The man who discovered me was Van Baron."

***

I practically sprinted through the restaurant, but the heels, while killer, only allowed speed walking. I tried to follow the body language at the table as Mom leaned in and Brian sat back. But from the distance while waiting for the host to seat two more tables of diners, I couldn't see their facial expressions.

I tried to grab a waitress, but she craftily avoided eye contact and slipped into the kitchen. And then I saw Mom reach out and touch Brian's arm, and even from across the room, I saw him shake his head. I debated about going back to the table coatless, but she'd just send me again, and I was finally up.

The host smiled, and I quickly motioned toward our table. "My mother left a blue jacket with you?"

He looked puzzled. "We don't have a coat closet."

Where had she left it, in the cab? My mother really did need my help. I nodded to him, and power walked back to the table, standing a little breathless and a lot worried at the edge. Mom didn't even look up.

"You know what my favorite verse is?"

Crap, they'd been talking religion while I was gone.

"
There's no one you can save who can't be saved
. Where do you think that verse comes from?"

I ransacked my Sunday School files but couldn't find it. Brian hazarded a guess. "Uh, Paul?"

Mom laughed. "Close. John, actually. The next verse is,
all you need is love
."

My mom was quoting the Beatles, the gospel according to John, Paul, George, and Ringo?

"Even the mixed up, sideways things folks do can just remind us there's a shortage of love."

What in the hell had they talked about when I'd gone on a wild coat chase?

His eyes narrowed. "This is about forgiveness then?"

"
Forgiveness
is just love going both ways. Finding some shred of love for the person off track in their own search for it, and finding love for yourself, to accept what is and fill your own well."

Brian shook his head. "Easier said than done."

"Everything is easier said than done. Don't let that stop you."

I looked back and forth between the two of them and couldn't decide what was going on. They seemed engaged in a kind of stand-off, and clearly my mother and the man who had been a flirty dinner companion had both forgotten I was there. I cleared my throat. "Yeah, and there's no coat closet here, incidentally."

Mom looked up at me. "Oh, I must have left it in the room."

"And…" I pointed to Brian since the mood was long ruined. "He's writing a gossip piece about you."

She looked him in the eye, a challenge even I could see. "He says he's not. He's not at all interested in saying anything about Van's life."

I felt instant relief that I didn't want to examine too closely. I was afraid it might be equal parts happy for Mom's reputation and happy that Brian wasn't public enemy number one anymore. Not that it mattered. Dinner and a show were over.

I'm going to say I was shoved into Brian's car by my mother. It's not entirely true, but it's pretty damn close. He'd come into some memorabilia and had a movie poster of
Beach Towel Twist
that Mom and the cast had signed. He was giving it to her like a peace offering, which was generous and a little hinky. Yeah, hinky.

Brian Keller just might have an agenda.

And if he didn't, I'd be really, really disappointed. I'd turn down any sexual invitation, but a girl liked to be asked. And I hadn't been
asked
in a really long time.

I sat beside him as we headed to his place and tried to focus on the level of trust my mother had in him that she was sending me alone. Obviously she'd cleared up whatever misinformation he'd been given about her. But what my mother didn't know was how dangerous
I
was in a vehicle with an attractive man. Did she know I stopped saving
it
for marriage in the backseat of one? No she did not.

Not that I was sorry for that one. If I'd saved my virginity for marriage to Duane Frandsen I'd have tossed pearls before swine. Not that I'm
all
that good in bed, but I'm
plenty
good in bed. Plenty good at Minnesota sex, that is. California sex might be an entirely different proposition.

I glanced at Brian's profile and felt my attraction for him grow. A good straight nose is appealing, but one with a little bump from some long forgotten basketball nailing it is catnip to a Minnesota girl like me. I was in danger of having my own agenda.

Watching him drive down the Pacific Coast Highway, I realized it was the same route the cab had taken when we'd met for coffee. Who knew he lived in Malibu? And what kind of journalist could afford that sort of address? It had to be a real dive, and the kind of bugs that live in cheap apartments are the cold showers of the libido world. Lucky me, cockroaches always ruin my sex drive. I know this because we have four disgusting varieties back in Minnesota, a fifth if you count a Pennsylvania scourge that visits seasonally. And you do not want to know why I know this. Just thinking about it lowers my heart rate for the really attractive guy next to me. And I'm going to keep telling myself that.

***

Well, it was no bug infested apartment Brian lived in. It was a kind of pool house/cabana that stood between an almost mansion and the cliffs that led to the beach. Prior to arriving at the cabana, I'm not sure I could have drawn one, but it looked like a small cottage.

It was too dark to see the main house, and I tried not to think about Kato Kaelin, the ultimate pool house loafer. There's no reason to think Brian didn't pay rent and put down a hefty deposit like a responsible human being, but If O.J. Simpson sauntered down from the main house, I was out of there.

We went into a small sitting room with a kitchenette to the left, airy and charming, and he left to get the poster.

I watched him head down a narrow hallway with three doors. A bathroom, I assumed, and two bedrooms. When he went into one bedroom, I wandered around the living room, spotted a laptop and couldn't resist tapping on it.

Up came the surf competition scene from
Beach Towel Twist
. My mother stood on the beach, her hair shellacked and immune from the wind with a tiny pink bow stuck in the golden poof just above her bangs. She had on a baby blue terry cloth cover-up, short and sleeve-less, like she was just dragged out of a retro shower and found herself cheering on Van Baron, her risk-taking boyfriend.

I couldn't tell if Van could actually surf or not. The shots cut between distant figures wiping out to a close up of him, sleek and tan, all white teeth, and streaky brown hair that also didn't move.

My mother showed eight shades of concern so real I'd swear they were aimed at me. And Van, when he looked in the camera as if he could hear her encourage him to stay upright, made me feel the love. Van Baron had any number of short comings, but the camera loved him, and the way he looked into it, I believed he loved that girl on the beach.

"They were good weren't they?"

I looked over at Brian. "Beach movies?" I laughed. "Not really. But they had something, didn't they?"

He didn't say anything, just handed me the poster rolled up in a tube. I took it awkwardly in that way people do when they don't really want to leave. I hoped he didn't notice.

We waited in silence and then he started to ask me something. I could see it in his face.

"Wanna swim?"

Yeah, not the question I anticipated. Did I want to swim? Uh, not really? I was sorta hoping he'd at least make a small move. And I didn't have a suit. And I didn't really wanna be on a summer beach with my winter body. I understand the weirdness of thinking
maybe
to naked and
no
to a bathing suit. Some things defy explanation, but it doesn't make them any less true.

But ultimately I knew that seeing
him
in swim trunks would be worth the price of admission.

He sent me to one of the bedrooms, which was really a changing room with French doors leading to an outside shower. He told me I'd find a woman's suit in there, but there was a collection of discarded swimwear worthy of an archeological dig.

The top layer looked to be fairly recent with the standard triangles for bottoms and tops that barely offered nipple coverage. I found two thong bottoms which were out for more reasons than I have a lifetime to list, but I will state one: there are places dental floss does not belong.

Enough said.

Beneath those I uncovered a couple of color blocked beauties from the 80's. There was even a crazy one-piece with cut-outs. In that one my curves would make a break for it by coming out in odd places. And then I hit the antique layer and found a blue and white gingham bikini with eyelette trim. It didn't give off the sexy vibe a woman wants from a bikini, but it was the winner because women back then had real breasts.

I put it on, surprised at how perfectly it fit. I managed to have the sexy part after all. There was a blue bow that brought the eye to a tasteful amount of cleavage and another bow on the shapely bottoms right above the goodies. I could only hope his suit revealed the kind of abs that made their own arrow to the goodies. I didn't want either of us to be confused about where to explore if the opportunity arose.

We walked several levels down to the beach, the white rail making sharp turns where the stairs hugged the steep incline. Like any gentleman, he carried the towel bag and offered to let me go first. Like any lady, I said,
hell no
. I did not want to be mincing my way down stairs when he got his
first
view of my
rear
view.

Despite the late hour, moonlight lent a romantic glow to the waves lapping at the shore. It also illuminated the significant swing of my back side. The retro bikini was holding up, and I could hold my own under normal circumstances, but next to skinny girls from plastic Hooterville? I could not win that contest.

When we hit the beach, I looked back up the zigzagging stairs to the pool house. Brian had fallen into a plum location. Even Minnesota rental prices weren't anything to sneeze at. I couldn't imagine what it cost for the privilege of walking a few minutes to the beach.

We slowed down when the sand squished under our feet, and he waited for me to catch up and walk beside him. I realized I felt privileged to be there at all, like for a moment I was lucky. I'd left
cool
weather for a
warm
swim with a
hot
man. The whole evening reminded me of that version of hide and go seek where the clues are
warmer
,
warmer
,
warmer
. That's when you know you're getting close to the thing you've been looking for.

I gave him a stealth, sideways glance, and even his abs glowed in the dark. Okay, not really, but I could close my eyes and they glowed where the image burned into my retina.

Warmer
,
warmer
,
warmer
.

I turned to the ocean for distraction and watched the dark waves move beautifully into the charcoal colored sand. There was a
swoosh
sound I wanted to keep on hearing. When I left, I'd download oceans sounds on my iPod. Yeah, that would be the same experience. I mentally shook myself. I needed to stop doing that, thinking about the regular grind of my life in Minnesota, and instead just enjoy a Pacific Ocean swim.

Down the way I could see firelight, leaping yellow and orange flames, with several couples gathered around. They had drinks in their hands, a good time in their hearts, and I tried to picture my mom there. Maybe she'd gathered with the film crew and relaxed like that at the end of the shoot. It was getting easier to see her, but there were limits. Maybe it's just hard to picture your mother not being a mother.

One guy from the group waved and called out, "Hey, Brian."

He was a man I would have said was very, very attractive had I not been walking beside Brian who deserved two
verys
to this guy's one.

Brian waved back, and the ripple of his arm muscles distracted me. I tripped a little in the sand, and he reached for me, but I righted myself. I needed to get a grip before I started my first beach party by taking in a face-f of beach.

"You up for a drink by the bonfire?" He looked further down the way. "Or we can swim now if you want."

I considered the options and knew he'd be safer in a crowd. Maybe I would find him less attractive at a party. And I needed to. Since he'd given up on the story about my mom, I'd really let myself enjoy the rush of being with him. He wasn't a stalkerazzi anymore. At least he wasn't stalking anyone I cared about. Plus, it was my last night, and I should enjoy some California night life. "Sure."

We joined the party, and Brian introducing me to people who were so welcoming, I forgave them for being tan. As he dug around in the drink cooler, I watched him bypass the lemonade-like alcohol. With the exception of margaritas, I've always felt strongly that sugar drinks are for kids and alcohol is for adults, and the two substances shouldn't be found in high quantities in the same bottle.