The Admirer's Secret (3 page)

Chapter 4

P
ushing his glasses up his pointed nose, Allen Michaels diverted his stare from the front row beauty and glanced down at a collection of story synopsis ideas as he waited for the last of the students to arrive. After spending time getting to know Westfield, he found it the perfect setting for his next suspense thriller screenplay. He knew from skyrocketing box office sales that audiences loved a small-town murder mystery, and he was determined to deliver.

A tremble overcame his hands and he hastily wiped moisture from his clammy palms onto his Dockers. Self-consciously checking his collar, he straightened it out and checked to make sure his attire was in place—an obsessive habit since youth. His nerves got the best of him this morning, but it could have been a combination of the breakfast sausage he ate and his body’s sluggish adjustment to the
bitter climate. But getting acclimated to the northeastern winter wasn’t the only thing on his mind; he had a class to teach.

The last of the students drifted in, and everyone sat comfortably in their seats. Allen inhaled, rose from his chair, and formulated each word in his head
before he spoke. He paced across the room, examining the pairs of intense eyes peering up at him. He drew a blank. Stage fright.

“Welcome, class.” It took every ounce of strength to push the words past his chapped lips. His world had been tu
rned upside down in the past few weeks.
I shouldn’t have come here,
he brooded. But after all that happened, this was the perfect diversion from the paparazzi. He could lay low, get some fresh perspective, and start over. Maybe get a good story out of it as well. He would take it day by day.

As his thoughts
threatened to smother him, the strain in his shoulders crept up into his skull. Reality was harsh, and the mere thread that held him together in front of this roomful of strangers weakened. He knew he had to get through these next few weeks unscathed. So he proceeded, shaking off the discomfort that swept over him.

“My name is Allen Michaels.
” He looked over his glasses at the group before him. “So you all want to be screenplay writers?”

That was easy enough.

A pause, then a mumble of affirmations rose around the room.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m a writer, director,
and producer. And now your teacher. I’m going to help you make your dreams come true. To begin, I want each of you to write out a single word that expresses why you want to be a writer.”

He waited for the shuffle of bags and whine of opening zippers to die down, then studied their contemplative faces. So eager. So brimming with enthusiasm. It reminded him of his own beginnings, and how
similar circumstances led up to this very moment.

The teaching venture first came to him
several weeks back. Needing a break from Los Angeles and the acidic memories associated with it, he decided to take a brief sabbatical. It was no big deal to uproot like this; he’d been doing drifting around for years, moving from one city to the next, shifting one life into another. However, this time was different. It wasn’t his usual step up to bigger and better; after all, he had grown accustomed to certain luxuries, and under normal circumstances he’d be searching out a location that would accommodate his trendy lifestyle of fancy restaurants and regular pampering—Milan or a Caribbean island resort. But his latest emergency afforded him no such time. The weight of Los Angeles and its insatiable press suffocated him, and he knew if he didn’t get out soon, he would choke. All he needed was a few weeks. Just some time to recoup.

After considering options for passing the time, he liked the idea of lecturing. He thrived in front of an attentive audience
, once he overcame the jitters. So the next order of business was where. Far enough away to leave the past behind. Though he rarely frequented the east coast, he welcomed the thought as things got rocky with his soon-to-be ex-wife. That, along with all the right doors opening, led him to Westfield, New York.

His one-room rental from elderly Mrs. Ellsworth was sparsely furnished, and he required nothing more than the basic necessities to avoid cluttering his minimalist life. Arriving to
New York with little more than a suitcase and carry-on, the man appeared anything but extravagant, with the exception of the brand new Mercedes E-320 that he rented upon stepping foot on Empire State soil.

Snowflakes drifted outside his classroom window. The crystallized distraction invited his eyes to scan the parking lot beyond. His shiny black Mercedes with beige leather interior—his only noteworthy symbol of success—was already covered in a dusting of snow and salty residue. He made a mental note to check on snow tires later that day. A cough from the back row signaled that the students were finished.

“So let’s hear some of the responses. Just shout them out,” Allen said with a dramatic flair of his hand.

“Money,” a blond
girl initiated.
Ah, but the love of money is the root of all evil.

“Fame,” said another.
And fame can turn on you at any moment.

“Fun.”
Work is always work, my friend.

And then the golden ticket answer. It was as if he had heard himself say it, or think it, but it came from the front row corner: “Passion.”

“Now
that’s
an answer, class. Passion. You could do anything for fortune and fame, but writing is about passion. And I’m going to help you cultivate that passion. Since this is a beginners’ course, we’re going to start with the basics. In order to begin, you must know your voice. What makes you tick? What inspires you? What are your darkest secrets?” He paused for a moment, watching the thoughtful expressions on the students’ faces as they leaned in. He proceeded with an air of confidence.

“Before we dive into screenplays, I want each of you to listen up. This is not for the weak at heart. If you don’t live and breathe and eat and sleep this, you aren’t going to make it. If you aren’t ready to commit your all, I want you to leave now. Get up and leave.” He pointed to the door.

Pairs of curious eyes met others’ around the room. They appeared either scared of the crazy man ordering them to leave or wondered if he was serious, but nobody moved… or exhaled.

“Alright, that settles it. We’re all in,” he said with a clap of his hands. “Now, I want to see your heart. Each of you will write a page about yourself. Harness your energy and put in on paper. Get as personal and real as you can.” He felt the momentum. Everything was clicking. “Tell me why you think you have what it takes in this field.”

His material flooded him in one memorized tidal wave. It felt good to view the admiring gazes of so many. He congratulated himself for the idea of hosting a writing class. Not only would it put some money in his emptying pockets—a result of a creative drought and lawsuit-happy ex—but the ego boost was always worth it.

“Does anyone have any questions so far?” As if on cue, several hands shot up around the room. Allen addressed a scruffy kid in the back row.

“Can you tell us about Hollywood? What is the industry like?”

Allen’s mind rumbled through a variety of answers. How should he answer? With the truth? That
Hollywood had been his single best friend and worst enemy? It embodied the injection of his next high, but the subsequent low felt like a sobering rock bottom. Hollywood was full of plastic people and fake smiles, but it was home nonetheless. It was where he felt fulfilled. Yet it rejected him the moment he took one wrong step. His love affair with the entertainment industry fed on having a big name in a small world. He was
The
Allen Michaels.
He was the epitome of success, but had achieved that at a price. For Hollywood was laden with media vultures who knew how to dig up old wounds and tear them open. The light of the spotlight illuminated any darkness. And now his name, smeared with past sins, was ruined.

Lucky for him, pop culture news managed to skirt around the remote town of
Westfield.

No, he wouldn’t tell them the truth. Instead he would tell them what they wanted to hear. That the fame and fortune was gratifying, but it also required hard work and creativity. That it’s a tough market, but worth the blood, sweat, and tears. And boy were there a lot of tears.

Settling on the first words that took form, he answered, “It’s everything everyone wants, but only a few are cut out for it. And it’s all about who you know. I’ve spent the last thirty years networking and building a name for myself. So before any of you think you can waltz in and make a name, you need to refine your craft. That is what I’m here to do for you. And perhaps one day I’ll be your ticket to success.”

Like golden honey dripping from his lips, he knew they’d eat everything he fed them. He gave a satisfied smirk at his own cleverness.

“Moving on… I’m passing out your syllabus.” A couple of papers fluttered to the floor as he shuffled them from his desk into his hands. He clumsily bent to pick them up, only to lose several more in the exchange. An overeager student…
the
woman from the front row
… beat him to the loose papers on the floor, and he let her. Watching her tend to his mess, Allen almost caught his breath when she looked up at him from her crouched position.

She has the face of an angel
. She had captivated him when she first walked in, but up close she was even more beautiful.

When she had collected the last of the papers, the fresh scent of her hair lured him closer. His gaze fell upon the attractive curve of her body, moving upward to the most innocent green eyes he had ever seen.

“Why thank you… what’s your name, young lady?”

“Haley Montgomery, sir,” she replied with a shy grin. Her voice was sweet and tender.

Haley Montgomery… what a beautiful name.
“Thank you, Haley. And please call me Allen.”

She retrieved the last of the fallen pages and shoveled them into his arms. They momentarily stood eye-to-eye while he absorbed her glowing radiance. Dark hair complemented her emerald eyes. Based on her appearance, she looked to be half his age, but this woman gleamed with childlike playfulness, while at the same time expressing deep maturity—the type of maturity that would appreciate someone with his life experience.

Gently brushing past him, she headed back to her seat. When they bumped arms in passing, she flashed him an apologetic smile. A warm sensation spread through his body. A peace seemed to surround her; somehow her presence made him feel secure.

He had to admit, her magnetism caught him off-guard. Though he came to this town defensive and elusive, this woman’s genuine kindness crumbled his wall with one momentary grin. Was there something else behind that smile? It was subtle, yet inviting.

His ice blue eyes followed her as she passed out the papers… her body movement was graceful and fluid. Soft curls fell into her face and she pulled the strands away with manicured fingers. How he wished he could be those fingertips caressing that cheek! Shakespearean poetry cascaded through his thoughts. Everything about her intrigued him, but something specifically beckoned him to approach her… something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

For the next few moments she unknowingly held his intent gaze. He watched her read the syllabus, wondering if her thoughts clung to him as his did to her. Did she imagine tenderly tracing the outline of his face? Or running her fingers through his hair? The thought splashed over him that perhaps she noticed him as more than a teacher.

The moment ended all too soon as his query was interrupted by a cleared throat from the back row. There was no time for contemplation as several blank expressions waited for further instruction.

“Oh, um, sorry about that. A story can rouse you at any time. Well, I guess inspiration comes uninvited, doesn’t it?” he exclaimed with eyes concentrated on his new favorite student. “Let’s outline the details of the first assignment…” and as he resumed talking, his attention never left the green-eyed beauty in the front row.

She was exactly what he had been looking for. And if she didn’t yet know it, she’d know it soon enough.

Chapter 5

“H
aley, wait up! You forgot—”

She spun around toward the sound of her name, but the wind drowned out the rest of his sentence. The familiar lanky outline of Allen Michaels came running across the parking lot toward her, his long overcoat flapping wildly in the wind and a heavy computer case bumping against his leg. He held out something to her. A bag. Haley glanced down at her side. Sure enough, she must have left her purse at her chair. It wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten it somewhere. 

“I think this is yours,” he said between gasps once he was within earshot.

His run slowed to a jog, then to a walk until he paused in front of Haley and her salt-covered car. White snowflakes danced around them as she waited for him to pass the purse over. Yet the purse rested firmly near his thigh, as if he had forgotten why he chased her down in the first place. When her hand finally reached out, Allen sputtered a laughing apology and returned the bag to its owner.

“Thanks so much,” Haley said. “I guess I couldn’t have gotten too far without it.” She pulled her keys from the purse with a chuckle and dangled them as she turned toward her car door. She waited for Allen to start his retreat, but he didn’t. He was still standing there, and still out of breath. Shifting a step or two, he hauled his sliding briefcase strap back to his shoulder where it fit perfectly in the nook of his jutting collarbone.

“That reminds me, I wanted to talk to you before you took off.”

“Oh sure, Professor… uh… Mr. Michaels.”

“Please call me Allen.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot, Allen.” Hoping he would take the conversation from there, she waited as the wind howled around them. She had never personally talked to someone of his… well, caliber before, and that was enough intimidation to leave her speechless.

Once the wind died down, Allen continued between labored breaths. “I just wanted to say I truly appreciated your input in class today. I can see you’re pretty enthusiastic about this screenplay class.”

Was that a compliment?
She had, after all, actively—maybe over-actively—participated in the class discussions today, but she had no idea Professor Michaels, rather
Allen
, would even notice. Even the bitter wind couldn’t suppress her smile.

“You have no idea how honored I am to learn from you. I mean, this is my dream, so to be able t
o have you as a teacher is just… well, I am really excited about this opportunity. You have such an impressive background, it’s humbling to be your student.” Due to nerves and a bothersome case of temporary amnesia, she couldn’t name a single film of his by heart, but blowing a little smoke never hurt.

“Well, that’s what I am all about: opportunity, Haley. I bring opportunity where there is none. Because, and I hate to say this, you aspiring writers need more exposure outside of this
old-fashioned town’s walls if you want to make it.”

Unsure of whether she should agree with him or be offended by his belittlement of her home, she conceded to brush off the remark.

“We are certainly glad you decided to come here.”

She noticed him scratch
his chin before replying. “Hmm… well, it’s refreshing for me to step down from my pedestal and guide young minds like yourself.”

There was nothing much Haley could say to that. Did he want her to praise him or stand there stiff like she was? Guessing none of the above, she offered a bland “thanks” in re
turn. Yet Allen had more to say… about himself, of course.

“I like to think of it as me giving back something to the community, y’know? Helping out the little guy.”

Her lips mutinied a forced smile.
How noble,
Haley thought sardonically.
Because the community truly needs more screenplay classes than they need food for the homeless
.

“I’m not used to such simple living, but it’s… quaint here,” Allen continued, filling in the uncomfortable silence.

Once again, Allen left her at a loss for words. As her mother had often reminded her as a child: If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. So she sealed her mouth.

“I was thinking, Haley. I’m assuming you’ve seen some of my latest films. Perhaps you should rent them, or you might as well buy them and use them as tools for helping you generate more creativity.
Tax deductable. If you need a list of movies to pick from, let me know and I’ll give you some to choose from… though even I lose track sometimes,” he said through his guffawing laughter. It was a good thing he was busy laughing at his own joke, since he missed her exaggerated eye roll.

“Okay.
I’ll do that. Thanks.”

Now what?
Based on her initial impression of him, he probably didn’t need help in the bloated ego department. It was the mother of all awkward moments. She blatantly glanced down at her watch, as she was suddenly feeling annoyed… and cold.

“Well, I suppose I better get going.” She aimed her key into the frozen lock and pushed until the lock popped open. A hand clutched her forearm tightly, a little too tightly.

“Before you go,” he said, rushing his words and releasing his kung-fu grip, “I wanted to offer you extra tutoring if you’re interested in preparing for the final project due in three weeks.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It could give you an edge over the other students. I think it would be worth your while.” Though no one was within hearing distance, he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper and leaned in a breath away from her ear. “But keep this between you and me.”

Haley’s ears perked up at the sound of his offer, but she felt a slight unease that perhaps she was receiving privileged attention. And she knew favors usually came with a price. Privileged or not, hunger for success got the better of her.

“I’m definitely interested.”

His upper torso bent forward while his feet remained planted. One hand clutched the padded strap of his laptop case and the other pressed against her car door. Judging from how dirty her car was, Haley surmised that Allen would have a heck of a time cleaning his hand once he saw what he was touching. When her eyes moved back to Allen’s face, it seemed
even closer.

“I haven’t told the class yet, but at the end of this course, I’m going to offer a chance for one screenplay to be presented to my
Hollywood colleagues.”

Her nose wrinkled at the mixture of day-old Starbucks and halitosis.
Dude, eat a mint.

Leaving her keys hanging from the door lock, Haley swiftly moved out of proximity to his offending breath. She was relieved when he didn’t seem to notice as he rambled on. “Over the next three weeks, I’m going to be assessing the best match for this golden opportunity based on creativity, natural ability, and of course a final screenplay project as the deciding factor. Consider this a heads up.”

She wondered if she was the only student privy to this “heads up.” And if so, why her? Maybe it was the way he leaned into her, or the way his eyes locked on hers, but she sensed a subliminal message from Allen… something more than just a concerned teacher offering to help a student. If there
was
another motive for his divulgence, she didn’t want to know about it. Because if her success was based on something other than her raw talent, then it wasn’t
her success
. It would be favoritism. And she didn’t want success that way. She wanted to earn it.

She shook the thoughts off, instead choosing to belie
ve what she wanted to believe: It was a merited favor based on her obvious passion for the class.

“Wow, thanks so much for letting me know. I assure you I’ll give it my best shot.”

He offered a wide, toothy smile. “I’ll be honest, Haley. I would love to see you make it. And I’m always available if you have questions or need anything,” he promised.

“I appreciate that, Allen.”

“Well, I can tell we’re a lot alike Haley. I hope we become good friends through this.”

“Me too,” she replied.
Me too?
She could barely take this guy for five minutes without driving a pencil through his eye.

“Call me anytime.”

He grabbed her hand and pushed a business card into her palm. She looked down at it, wondering if all Californians were as aggressive—and touchy—as Allen. Everything he did was big and bold, quite a contrast to Haley’s shy demeanor. Then she wondered if she, too, would have to someday fit that Hollywood mold. All drama all the time. Though, perhaps it wouldn’t be as hard as she thought to fit in. After all, she had spent her life as a chameleon—always changing her colors to fit her environment. It was no different than most people—one color at home with their families, another at church, another with their friends, and another at work. But the danger was if the roles got so convoluted that the person ended up with no idea of who they were anymore. 

“Thanks, Allen. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Allen hadn’t budged from his position against her car, and Haley didn’t want to give the conversation an opening to take another tangent—especially now that she lost all feeling in her toes—so she shuffled her handbag from one arm to the next and made an obvious move toward her car door. When he stood statue-still, she tried a verbal hint.

“Well, I
really do need to get going. Got someone waiting on me.” Sensing an awkward silence coming on, she moved past him, grabbing her driver’s side door handle, hoping he would take the hint. “Guess I’ll see you next week, then.”

A stronger hint was apparently necessary to move this private meeting along as Allen finally shuffled aside.

“Sounds good. See you then.” He allowed room for her to get in and offered a slight pat on her shoulder before stepping back, leaving her confused yet enamored that someone of his reputation would show the slightest interest in her… professionally or personally. She still hadn’t figured out which.

He gave a weak wave as she closed the door behind her, and she gingerly returned
the gesture before driving off. She spent her drive home wondering if there were strings attached to his offer.