Stars Collide (14 page)

“Don’t know why everyone out here has to work so hard to become someone they’re not,” Charles said. “I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.” His words were spoken with a familiar cartoonish accent.

Scott smiled, but I thought I noticed a hint of a sigh. Had his father’s words struck a nerve?

“Alma is the spinach capital of the world,” Nancy explained. “We even have a statue of Popeye on Main Street. So trust me when I say we all have the show memorized.”

“Impressive,” I said. And the fact that Alma was known for its spinach certainly explained Scott’s muscular physique.

As if reading my thoughts, he flexed his arm and grinned. “I ate more spinach when I was growing up than any kid should be allowed to by law.”

“That explains it then.” I winked and his cheeks turned red.

We were just about to head to the kitchen to sneak a peek at Carolina’s yummy foods when she called us in to dinner. We made our way to the formal dining room—a place that rarely saw any action these days—and gathered around the huge mahogany table, where I glanced down at the beautiful cheese tray in the center. Scott reached down and grabbed a piece. His dad quickly followed suit.

We clustered around one end of the large table to make things more comfortable, everyone now nibbling on cheese. I could see Charles scoping out the room, and I couldn’t help but notice that his nose wrinkled when he glanced down at the little plates of salad.

Carolina must’ve noticed too. “Baby arugula salad with artichokes,” she explained.

We all took our seats and Scott offered to pray. As I listened to his voice lifted in prayer, my heart felt like bursting into a worship song. I still couldn’t get over the fact that the Lord had brought him all the way from Alma, Arkansas, the spinach capital of the world. Even the boy’s prayers were powerful.

When the prayer ended, we dove into the salad. I noticed Charles ate every bite and had a satisfied look on his face at the end, though he never said a word. Nancy more than made up for it, however. She couldn’t seem to say enough. Thankfully Carolina heard every word as she entered the room with the next course in hand. I could see her cheeks turn pink and wondered if this sort of flattery was embarrassing to her. She placed the glasses of ceviche down in front of each of us, ending with Scott’s dad.

He pushed the martini glass away. “I’m not a drinker, thanks.”

I stifled a laugh. “It’s shrimp ceviche.”

“Shrimp what?” He picked up the glass and examined it more closely, even giving it a sniff. “Never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, I saw this one on the Food Network,” Nancy said. She took a little nibble and her eyes grew wide. “That’s really good.”

“It’s kind of like salsa, only with shrimp in it,” Carolina said. “And I promise, no tequila. I used orange juice instead.”

“What do I do with it?” He stared down at the glass, clearly perplexed.

I pointed to the triangular tortilla chips Carolina had pressed into the side of the yummy mixture. “Scoop it up with the chip.”

“Hmm.” He took a bite, his eyes widening.

Nancy used her chip to scoop up a generous portion. “I want to have this for dinner every night!” she said between bites.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Charles said. “But it is good.” He finished his up in a hurry.

Next came the main course. Carolina obviously felt an explanation was in order as she plopped the plate down in front of Scott’s dad.

“Blackened salmon and haricot verts,” she said.

Nancy’s brow wrinkled as she looked down. “They look like green beans to me.”

Grandma chuckled. “They are.
Haricot verts
is French for ‘green beans.’ ”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Charles asked. He gave the blackened salmon a curious look. “This stuff looks scorched. I’m a fried catfish man myself.”

“It’s a shame you’re not staying longer then,” I said. “There’s a great place in Dana Point that specializes in fried fish. I think you’d like it.”

“I love catfish too,” Grandma said. “But I think you’ll like the salmon if you give it a chance, Charles.”

To my surprise, the tension in his face released after he took a cautious bite. “Spicy. I think I like it.”

And with those words, my fate was sealed. Scott’s father liked the blackened salmon. That meant Scott’s father would learn to like me as well. At least, I hoped so. He certainly loved the bananas Foster that followed, even though Carolina set off the smoke alarm when she lit the luscious dessert on fire. He didn’t even argue about the rum that she poured on top to use as fuel.

By the end of the meal, the Beverly Hills crowd and the Arkansas crowd had come to an understanding. We were a perfect fit. They were a little bit Southern. We were a little bit West Coast. No problem! Any lingering issues had been settled over a martini glass of shrimp ceviche and a plateful of blackened salmon. Next time we’d have the fried catfish and a big helping of spinach. But this time it was L.A. all the way.

15

L.A. Heat

As we ate our dessert, the conversation shifted a thousand different directions. I learned that the city of Alma, Arkansas, got its water supply from Lake Alma, and that the city hosted a spinach festival every year.

“You’ll have to come and check it out,” Nancy said to my grandmother. “We have such a wonderful time. And if you come, you’ll get to see our water towers.” She practically beamed with pride at this announcement.

“Water towers?” Grandma looked perplexed at that one.

“Oh yes. They’re famous,” Nancy said. “They’re painted green, and one of them has the Popeye-brand spinach label painted on it.”

“They’re known for miles as the largest cans of spinach in the world!” Charles laughed then slapped his knee.

“I’ve never been a big spinach fan,” I confessed.

Everyone at the table turned to me, totally aghast.

“I like it in quiche,” I quickly added. “But that’s about it.”

“Oh, honey, you’ve got to come to Alma and let me cook up a pot of spinach that you won’t soon forget.” Nancy fanned herself. “It will change your mind in a hurry.”

“She is the best spinach cook in town,” Scott said with a nod. “No one cooks it like my mama.”

“Oh yes. I do a spinach soufflé, creamed spinach, and a spinach dip that’s out of this world, if I do say so myself.”

Hmm. Now that would be something to compete with. If I married Scott, would I have to learn to cook spinach like his mama? He might have to toss me aside based on that technicality alone.

The conversation shifted gears again, and I happened to glance out of the window, catching the reflection of the setting sun off of the swimming pool. Must still be early. I glanced at the clock, stunned to see we’d been sitting here for two hours. Eight o’clock? Really? Funny how easy, comfortable conversation caused the time to fly. Seemed like we’d all just taken our seats a few minutes ago.

I wondered if that’s how life would be, should my relationship with Scott deepen over time. Would we become so comfortable that time would slip away from us? Would we one day be as old as his parents—or even my grandmother—and not even realize the passage of time because we’d been so busy enjoying each other?

Sounded like a great way to spend a life. I glanced his way, embarrassed at the depth of my ponderings. If he could see into my mind right now, what would he think? Would he want to sweep me away to Alma and bake me a lovely spinach pie? I grinned just thinking about it.

“You okay, Kat?” Scott asked, giving me a funny look.

I nodded, heat rising to my cheeks. “I’m great. But all this talk about food is really painful.” Rubbing my stomach, I added, “I’m already full to the brim.”

“We need to ask Carolina to do the catering at our fund-raiser,” Scott said. “She’s the best.”

“I’d be happy to,” Carolina said, entering the room with a tray in hand. “Just let me know what you’d like. I’ve catered many an event over the years.”

This led to a conversation about the fund-raiser.

“I want you to come back as my guests,” Scott said to his parents. “You can stay at my place this time.”

“But it’s only a couple of weeks from now, right?” his father asked.

“Two trips to L.A. in such a short period of time!” his mom said. “What a blessing.”

“If you come, you’ll get to meet someone really famous,” Scott said.

“Who’s that?” She leaned forward in anticipation.

“I’ve been thinking of asking Brock Benson to emcee.”

“Brock Benson?” Every woman in the room suddenly came to life, especially Carolina.

I could hardly believe it myself. “Do you think he’ll do it?” I asked.

“I think so.” Scott shrugged. “I’ve worked with him before. He’s a great guy.”

“And the hottest actor in Hollywood,” Carolina whispered. Scott threw her a look and she laughed. “Sorry, Scott. But this is Brock Benson we’re talking about. Have you seen his movies?” She went off into a lengthy discussion about his latest pirate film, and before long all of the women were swooning.

Scott laughed. “I know he’s very popular. He’s also a believer, and he’s been involved in inner-city outreach for the past couple of years. So I think he would be a great choice to emcee our fund-raiser. I met him a few months ago when I helped out at an after-school program he sponsors.”

“Still, I can hardly believe it.” Carolina fanned herself. “I’d better start shopping now. I want to look my best when I meet him.”

“And we will definitely come back in town for that,” Scott’s mother said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

We convened to the great room, where Scott’s dad joined his wife in looking over every photograph on every wall. Around nine, Grandma began to yawn and I knew the time had come to wrap up this party. Besides, I still wanted to look over those letters I’d found. Couldn’t do that with a houseful of guests, now could I?

Scott must’ve noticed my grandmother’s weariness. He turned to her with a smile. “Well, Lenora, thank you so much for a wonderful evening. We’ve got quite a drive ahead of us to get my parents back to the hotel, and I know they’ve got an early morning.”

“I should get a little shut-eye,” my grandmother said. “I have a big audition in the morning.”

“You do?” Scott and I both turned to look at her.
On Sunday?

“Yes, my agent called this morning. I’ll be reading for the starring role in a new movie . . . something about disco dancing.”

“Disco dancing?” We all spoke in unison.

“Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “Can’t remember the name of the kid they said would be playing the lead opposite me, though. John something. I think his last name started with a T.”

“Travolta?” Scott asked, his eyes widening.

“That’s it!” She snapped her finger. “A disco movie with John Travolta.”

“Would you by any chance be referring to
Saturday Night Fever
?” Scott’s father asked. “Because that movie—”

“Is destined to be a top seller,” Scott interjected. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about that Travolta kid.”

“Yes, he’s great on the dance floor, from what I understand.” Grandma yawned. “But if I don’t get some shut-eye, I’ll never feel like dancing in the morning.” She gave Scott’s parents a winsome look. “I am going to miss you both so much, though. Do you really have to leave?”

Charles nodded. “Yep. Gotta get back to the store.”

Nancy frowned. “I can’t believe the week is over. I’ve loved my time in L.A.”

Charles slipped his arm over her shoulders and nodded. “Guess I have to rethink my former position on Hollywood. It’s a great place. Why, everyone is just as normal as they are back home.” He glanced at an autographed photo of Charo on the wall and said, “Well, almost everyone.”

I laughed, and Scott gathered me into an embrace and pressed a light kiss onto my forehead.

“There are a lot of wacky people out here, to be sure,” Grandma said. “But I think you would be surprised at how many believers we know.”

Charles nodded. “Oh, I’m sure. The church is everywhere. Sometimes I lose sight of that, but the Lord is happy to remind me.”

“Hollywood is filled with praying people,” I echoed.

“Oh yes.” Grandma nodded. “There have always been prayer warriors in Hollywood. Why, the great Cecil B. DeMille once said, ‘I have found the greatest power in the world is the power of prayer.’ ”

“Wow.” Scott and his father both nodded.

“You memorized that quote, Lenora?” Scott asked.

“Memorized that quote?” She looked perplexed. “He shared that with a group of us over dinner one night. I’ll never forget it. We had just prayed for the meal and he looked me squarely in the eye and said it.”

Nancy glanced my way, a questioning look in her eye. I could read her thoughts:
Is she serious, Kat?

This was a new one. Then again, the audition for
Saturday Night Fever
was a new one too. But who knew? Maybe Travolta was doing a remake and had asked for my grandmother to play an aging dance instructor. Stranger things had happened.

“Walk us out?” Scott asked.

I nodded. “Of course.”

Grandma took Scott’s father by the arm. “Do you like cars, Charles? I’d love to show you my babies on the way out. I’ve got a lovely Cadillac. And I’m sure you’ll appreciate my ’67 Mustang and the ’77 Camaro. Any of those sound interesting to you?”

“Do they!”

Everyone headed for the front door. I tagged along behind the others, lingering as I heard the house phone ring. After the third ring, I realized Carolina probably didn’t hear it, so I offered my apologies to Scott and his parents, then headed back to the great room.

When I reached the phone, I glanced down at the caller ID. I didn’t recognize the number but picked it up anyway, thinking it might be Athena, calling from her house phone to ask how the evening had gone.

“Lenora Worth, please,” the voice on the other end said.

“She’s stepped out for a few minutes,” I said. “Could I ask who’s calling?”

“Is this Kat?” the male voice asked.

Something told me not to respond.

“James Stevens here from
The Scoop
.”

Ugh. The
Scoop
? I chided myself for picking up the phone. Now what?

“Listen, I talked to Lenora earlier today and she told me everything. Congrats to you and Scott.” He paused. Not a minute too soon. I needed a second to pick my heart up off the floor. Surely I’d misunderstood. Grandma had not given
The Scoop
a private interview.

“I . . . I’m sorry. What did you say your name was again?”

“James Stevens.” He paused. “It’s the weirdest thing, though. Lenora called Scott
Jack
. Thought that was humorous. Anyway, I know you’ve got a couple of busy months ahead of you. Just hoping for some details on the wedding. Local, right? That’s what Lenora said.”

“Well, actually, I—”

“Just placed a call to the registry department at Macy’s. I understand you and Scott have chosen the Fantasia pattern for your china. I looked it up online. Great-looking plates. A little girly, but who cares when they’re covered in food, right? I wouldn’t mind eating off of them myself. I understand you and your grandmother have a great cook. What was her name again? Caroline? No, Carolina. Well, maybe you could invite me over to dinner sometime so I could get a sample firsthand. Sounds like fun, right?”

“W-what?” Surely I was hearing things.

“We’ll have a little bubbly in your new stemware to celebrate. I saw a picture of it too. Nice stuff. Showed it to my wife and she got plenty jealous. Two hundred and fifty dollars a stem? You’ll share more than a few toasts with those, I suspect. Hope to be there when it happens.”

Ugh. Could this pit get any deeper?

“I understand you guys had quite a feast planned for tonight. Scott’s parents are in town, right? Something about ceviche and salmon. Your grandmother even gave me a recipe for the ceviche.” He laughed. “I passed it on to my wife. She’s not much of a cook, my wife. A night at Spago suits her just fine, thank you very much.”

“Well, that’s nice, but—”

“Hey, speaking of Lenora, she’s quite a pistol. Wouldn’t give me any information until I named three of her most famous movies. Thank goodness I had my iPod with me. I googled her in a hurry. Not a bad résumé, really. She used to be quite the rage.”

“Still is,” I managed.
In more ways than one. And before the night is over, I’m going to be in one.

“Funny thing. When she called us, she asked to speak to Ted Holliday. Holliday hasn’t worked here since 1972. From what I hear, he was pretty good with a story, though.” After a final pause to catch his breath, James added, “Anyway, enough about all of that. I’m hoping you can share more details with me before I stay up all night putting together this story. I’ll handle whatever you give me with care.”

Sure you will.

An awkward pause grew between us. I wanted to hang up on him but didn’t dare. No telling what he would do.

“Hey, there is one more thing you could do for me while I’ve got you, Kat. We want to add some tidbits about Scott’s family. Lenora says they’re not from Hollywood.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Yeah, I know. They’re from some small town in Arkansas. Al-ma.” He dragged out the word with a thick Southern drawl. “Guess you know all that.” Another pause and my heart gravitated to my throat as I anticipated what he might say or do next. “Crazy thing about that father of his.”

“O-oh?” I managed.

“Vacationing in Hollywood when his hardware store back home is about to be foreclosed on. Don’t you find that odd?”

“What? I had no idea they—” My words stopped right there. I would say nothing else, one way or the other. Well, maybe one thing. “Mr. Stevens, I appreciate the fact that you want to do a story on us, but I would like to ask you to give us the privacy we need.”

“Privacy?” He laughed. “Kat, you and your fiancé are public figures. Public figures don’t have the luxury of a private life.”

“Well, Mr. Murphy’s father is not a public figure and I know he values his privacy very much.”

“Which is why he hasn’t told his future daughter-in-law that his store is about to be foreclosed on, no doubt. But he’s got a couple of folks back in Alma-ville who aren’t very fond of him, and they’re happy to talk, so just keep that in mind.”

Ouch.

“Oh, one more question before I forget. Lenora said something about Elly May and a cement pond. I’m assuming she was making a reference to Scott’s family being outsiders in L.A. Guess she thinks small-town folks don’t get out much, huh?”

“What? She compared Scott’s parents to the Beverly Hillbillies?”

“Hope you don’t mind if I quote you on that. Well, listen, Kat. Invite me over for dinner sometime soon. Can’t wait to see those dishes. We’ll talk some more. I’ll go ahead and cover the story, but I’d sure like some input from you. Anything you want to add?”

“No comment.” I bit back the other words that threatened to erupt. I wanted to give this guy a piece of my mind, but didn’t dare.

“Okay, I get it. Next time we’ll do it your way, so we won’t have to lean on those folks back home in Arkansas. They sounded a little . . . bitter.”