When Leslie
emerged, her anger remained, although most of it was aimed at herself. She’d
let Christine’s words get under her skin. Truth was, she had become mousy. In
high school, she’d been headstrong, bold, and daring. Then in college, thanks
to unwise decisions, unspeakable things happened. Because of those things, she’d
become paranoid and cautious. If she was being honest, more than a little
mousy.
That was the
next item on her bucket list to change.
As she walked
back toward the line, the drone of machines had lessened.
Frank’s skinny
arms flailed around. He looked like a chicken fighting a snake. He spoke to a
man, but because of the crowd gathered, the back of his head was the only
visible body part. Angela too, appeared wild-eyed and pointing in her
direction. Coffee churned in Leslie’s stomach. The crowd turned to stare as she
trotted up.
Mr. Miller stood
like ice. His eyes narrowed. A hush came over the crowd of extras. Folding his
arms, he glared.
Great. What now?
She swallowed
hard. Mr. Miller cleared his throat and grinned like a cat. Slowly, as if he
had nowhere to be, he sauntered toward his prey, ready to pounce. “Miss
Carroll,” he said, steepling his fingers, “how pleasant of you to join us. Did
you have a relaxing break?”
She opened her
mouth to explain. He held one finger in the air to silence her, then circled
like a shark claiming its lunch. “Did you get autographs from anyone famous? Is
that why you’re here, dear—to attract an actor? I hired you to do a job, not to
fraternize with the famed.”
The thirty or so
extras gaped with delight as the torture unfolded. Frank’s face was lined with
pretend sympathy yet smug, while Angela’s seemed more humbled. Blood drained
slowly from Leslie’s face, and her fists balled. Damn. Her only crime was not
finding the bathroom. It wasn’t as if she sought out the crazy.
Mr. Miller
circled one last time. He strutted a few feet from her, head cocked sideways. A
faint smile drifted across his lips. Enjoying his assault, he resumed, “Miss
Carroll, please share with the group precisely where you went for an hour and
what you were doing?”
She opened her
mouth to speak, but everything she wanted to say, sounded crazy. Then it hit
her. Leslie cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Mr. Miller, I’d love to
tell you where I’ve been, but, you see, I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I’m
sure you’ll understand, the actors I ran into would appreciate my discretion.”
He reeled. Anger
rolled off his skin like fog. His nostrils flared as he stomped back toward
her. His face was inches from hers. “I had such high hopes for you, Miss
Carroll. You came with such recommendation. Now I know you are not a team
player, but someone who enjoys the spotlight. I’m afraid, I am going to have to
ask you—”
Gasps from the
crowd rang out before he finished. She knew. Knew someone walked up and stood
behind her. Normal range, but again, too close for her.
“Mr. Miller?”
Charlie’s familiar voice boomed.
Her back
straightened as if someone poked her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the
warmth from his body radiated through the back of her thin shirt. Or she was
having a hot flash twenty years too early.
His signature
cologne, designed by someone else but stamped with his name, filled the air. A
body-awakening musk mixed with a fresh rain. She shuddered. Instinct caused her
to whirl around and step to the side, gaining a foot of distance between them.
As she did, their eyes locked. Another chill racked her body. If she was lucky,
he didn’t notice.
One quick look
at Charlie’s head cocked to the side and the question in his eyes—he’d noticed.
Mr. Miller’s
demeanor and voice changed, as if someone flipped a switch on his back. “Mr.
Erickson, what a pleasure! To what do we owe this visit? Oh, I remember, you
were to be measured today, weren’t you? Let me get my top assistant, Dana, and
we will get that underway right now.”
He brushed past
Leslie, shooting daggers, when Charlie stopped him.
“Mr. Miller,
I’ve already been fitted by this young lady here.” He moved toward her, holding
out an arm like an invitation for a side hug.
Great. He was a
hugger. When she mirrored his movement, only backward, she crossed her arms and
shot him an apologetic nod. Questions arose again in his eyes. But this time, a
sign of understanding accompanied it.
Charlie shoved
his hands into his pockets and examined her yet spoke to Mr. Miller. “She saved
me time and embarrassment today.” Charlie’s gaze darted from the gawking crowd
to Mr. Miller’s aggressive stance. Then he added, “I hope she was being
commended for her efforts, rather than reprimanded.”
Charlie slid a
long look at Mr. Miller.
Frank gaped,
star struck, while Angela’s stare switched from the famous actor to Leslie and
back.
Charlie turned
toward her. “I didn’t realize—wait, did you say today is your first day?” He
shook Mr. Miller’s hand. “Nice catch. She’s an excellent hire.”
Mr. Miller
stammered, “Why…thank you, Mr. Erickson. That is generous of you. So Leslie
measured you already?” Confusion laced his voice.
“Leslie,”
Charlie repeated her name.
His slow, smooth
voice rumbled with a touch of his southern drawl. Nothing could stop the
flaming in her cheeks. Heat spread all the way to her ears. She wanted to
disappear under the concrete floor. Her mind logged and registered all the
exits. An old survival habit she couldn’t break.
Fidgeting, she
moved a baby-step farther out of his reach. He’d already made her shudder and
his mind-numbing scent mixed with his unwavering stare had her terrified he’d
touch her, and yet wanting him to at the same time.
Yes, she was
aware a costume professional by design must touch people. But it wasn’t her
touching others that bothered her. It was not having control of someone else
touching her. As long as other people stayed in their bubble, she was fine. But
somehow, Charlie seemed unaware of the bubble rule.
“Yes, Leslie did
an amazing job of putting up with my shenanigans.” He turned toward Mr. Miller.
“Could I have a private word?”
Mr. Miller
puffed up like a peacock. “Me? Well, of course, you can, Mr. Erickson.”
Chin raised a
notch, he walked a few feet away from the crowd for their chat. When he returned,
he waved his hand in dismissal of the crowd. Frank shrugged and turned. Angela
actually smiled toward Leslie. She beamed back. They’d not be getting the
better of her today.
Mr. Miller
turned. His normal intimidating presence softened. “Miss Carroll, I owe you an
apology. It was my understanding you’d gone missing.” He glared over at Frank
and exhaled. “I should have considered the source. I had no idea you were
recording measurements. Will you please accept my request for forgiveness?”
“Of course, sir.”
She offered her
hand. Mr. Miller shook it as if it might bite him. Letting go, he raised one
perfect eyebrow and added, “Interesting first day, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, sir.” She
exhaled, deeply grateful to still have a job.
Straightening
his suit jacket, he reverted to his more formal speech. “Mr. Erickson requested
a private word with you as well. When you are finished, I would like for you to
find Mrs. Godwin again and speak to her about your next assignment. That will
be all, Miss Carroll.”
“Of course,
sir.”
What does he
want now? Leslie made her way from the crowd toward Charlie. He leaned against
the edge of a drafting table. Strong arms were folded across his chest, his
golden hair still messy, and his legs stretched out. He surveyed her as she came
toward him, his eyes questioning, as if figuring out a puzzle. His
I-told-you-so smile was enough to make anyone swoon, but she took a deep
breath, squared her shoulders, and pressed her eyebrows together as she neared
him.
He chuckled.
Then in a low, sexy voice he said, “There she is. My elusive friend, Mousy—I
mean Leslie.”
“Mr. Erickson.”
She nodded.
“Charlie,” he
stated, looking her dead in the eyes.
This was a
strong-willed chess match she was determined to win. “Mr. Erickson—was there
something you needed from me?”
“Not a fan, I
take it?”
“Fan of what?”
“Me.”
She shrugged. “I
guess so, why?”
He mimicked her
shrug. “Just wondering. I know you’re not a fan of being touched.”
He’d nailed her
in five seconds flat. Her hackles rose. “Did you need something?”
“You’re a
mystery, that’s all. Most people in this town fight to stand next to an actor,
name drop, snap pictures, you know the whole not-real fame thing.” He slid her
a curious look. “But not you. It’s refreshing.”
She nodded, then
raised her eyebrows as if to say, your point?
His smile faded,
then rebounded as he mouthed the word “lunch.”
Her eyes
narrowed. She cocked her head to the side as she placed both hands on her hips.
“You expect me to fetch your lunch?”
He pushed off
the table and took a cautious step toward her. Both hands raised in surrender,
he looked hurt. “No, I want to take you to lunch. You know, for being discreet
and not telling the world about the arrogant, pompous, windbag actor and his
lunatic ex-girlfriend.”
She bit her lip.
She wanted to full-out cackle. An unstoppable grin fought its way through. It
radiated across her lips, erupting into giggles she had zero hope of
controlling. He lowered his arms. His warm eyes danced with laughter along with
her.
“I guess I
should apologize for the pompous-windbag comment, eh?”
“No way,” he
said. “Besides, it was cute.”
He examined
her—too closely. The heat in his eyes caused warning bells to clang in her
mind. Her laughter faded fast.
Clearing his
throat, he continued, “Please let me take you to lunch. Come on, Slim, you
gotta be hungry.” His boyish grin made her smile. “What do you say? They make a
mean salad at the Canteen downstairs.”
Frank watched
them with a mixture of respect and jealousy in his eyes. Perfect. Obviously, he
was a fan of Charlie’s. Charlie didn’t notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to
notice anything in the room but her. A few short years ago, she would’ve jumped
at the chance to go to lunch with a famous actor.
Not now.
Shaking her
head, she backed up. “Sorry. I just can’t. We’re slammed. Thanks anyway.” She
turned on her heels toward the sea of human mannequins.
“Hey, wait.”
She turned back
as he stepped close.
“I’m sorry you
had to listen to all that—you know, before with Christine. She’s such a…” The
struggle between being honest and being kind washed over his face. Charlie
tilted his head up as if his answer hung in the rafters. He gave the impression
he was searching for the vaguest, yet most correct word in the English
language.
“Bitch?” Leslie
offered, her lips curved upward.
“Yeah. That’s
probably the best one.”
His wholesome
laugh softened his jawline and lit up his eyes. She didn’t want to look away.
He didn’t seem so intimidating or so famous anymore.
Charlie bent
toward her. “Listen, can I buy you coffee and a salad to make it up to you?
Please?”
She allowed no
one except Nate and her father to touch her or be in her space. Charlie had
weaseled his body closer to hers. Back inside her bubble. Breathe. Tiny beads
of sweat trickled around her temple. He was only being polite, she reminded her
brain.
“No thanks, I’m
more of a peanut butter and jelly type of girl anyway.” Leslie backed away,
winning and grinning. She spotted Dana waving from the other side of the room.
“Mr. Erickson, I gotta go.” Walking away, she sensed a gaze on her rear.
Something about him staring both excited and terrified her.
“Leslie?” he
yelled.
She stopped in
her tracks and turned, hating how it thrilled her when he called to her.
Turning on his Hollywood charm, he declared, “It’s Charlie—and I will see you
around.”
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