safety and how it wasn’t
very nice to fire dodgeballs at other people’s heads or something
like that, and how Beth wouldn’t be playing any more dodgeball
because of her disregard for the rules, but the whole thing was
fading to background noise.
She was still having serious trouble
catching her breath. It felt as if there was a vice around her
heart. All the things she thought she’d say if she ever saw him
again had vanished into thin air, and the only thing in her head
now was one question: Why?
She definitely wasn’t
going to ask him that. Okay,
Leah , she told herself, do NOT be a wimp. So what if he is not seeing you
exactly at your best? This is YOUR film and YOU can do this, you
can do this, you can do this , she chanted
in her head.
She wasn’t looking at him, but she could
feel him, every single inch of him, strong and hard and warm.
“Leah . . . I don’t know what to say,”
Michael said at last. “I didn’t notice your name on the list.”
Be fabulously successful!
Be nonchalant! Be someone who is glad she moved
on ! “Oh,” she said, finally forcing a
smile. “Well, that’s probably because it’s not Kleinschmidt
anymore.”
“No?”
“No,” she said, screwing the lid back on the
water bottle, her consciousness rousing from its fog of confusion
to take hold. She had shortened it because she’d gotten such a bad
rap for being a basket case after he’d left her, but that didn’t
sound very glamorous. “It’s Klein. I shortened it for my acting
career.”
God, that sounded even more stupid than the
real reason. She’d been on top of the world when she’d last seen
him, and now she could barely get a gig.
“It was a good move,” she
added, upping the stupid quotient to moronic. A good move ? she yelled at herself.
Jesus, she couldn’t even act fabulously successful. No wonder her acting
instructor said she didn’t know the meaning of the word
spontaneous.
Okay, but it didn’t matter, because she
didn’t owe this man an explanation about anything. Not her name,
not her spectacular fall from the Broadway marquee—Nothing. If
anyone owed anyone any explanations at all, it was him.
“This is so weird,” Michael said again with
a funny little smile.
“Weird? I wouldn’t call it
weird,” Leah snorted. “I mean, granted, it’s not every day you run
into old, ah . . . okay, all right, you are definitely the last
person I expected to see here,” she admitted. “But it’s not that weird.”
Okay, that was pretty good. Breezy, sort of
like an old school acquaintance, nothing more.
Michael chuckled. It was a warm, familiar
sound that slid all over her, trickling down her spine, reminding
her of how he used to chuckle in her ear when they were fooling
around. “You are definitely the last person I thought I’d see,
too,” he said, and smiled fully, his teeth still white and straight
and damnably sexy. “So how are you, Leah?” he asked, peering too
closely. He was probably trying to figure out what he saw in her
back then.
“Me? Great,” she said,
nodding enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, I’m doing great,” she said,
flinging one arm out to emphasize how great, and flashed him
an I’m-doing-great ! smile before turning her attention to the dodgeball game
they had just started.
“I always knew you’d end up in Hollywood,”
he said quietly.
The soft timbre of his voice dredged up a
memory so deep that Leah’s heart sank a little deeper. She was
instantly transported back to one snowy night high above the
streets of Manhattan, when they had lain in his bed after making
love, their naked bodies entwined, talking about the future. “I
want to be a film actress,” she’d said. “Not Broadway. Film. Do you
think that’s crazy?”
Michael had stroked her hair and had said
easily, “Not at all, baby. If you really want to be an actress,
then we’ll move to L.A. so you can be one.”
His response had surprised her, and she’d
twisted around in his arms onto
very nice to fire dodgeballs at other people’s heads or something
like that, and how Beth wouldn’t be playing any more dodgeball
because of her disregard for the rules, but the whole thing was
fading to background noise.
She was still having serious trouble
catching her breath. It felt as if there was a vice around her
heart. All the things she thought she’d say if she ever saw him
again had vanished into thin air, and the only thing in her head
now was one question: Why?
She definitely wasn’t
going to ask him that. Okay,
Leah , she told herself, do NOT be a wimp. So what if he is not seeing you
exactly at your best? This is YOUR film and YOU can do this, you
can do this, you can do this , she chanted
in her head.
She wasn’t looking at him, but she could
feel him, every single inch of him, strong and hard and warm.
“Leah . . . I don’t know what to say,”
Michael said at last. “I didn’t notice your name on the list.”
Be fabulously successful!
Be nonchalant! Be someone who is glad she moved
on ! “Oh,” she said, finally forcing a
smile. “Well, that’s probably because it’s not Kleinschmidt
anymore.”
“No?”
“No,” she said, screwing the lid back on the
water bottle, her consciousness rousing from its fog of confusion
to take hold. She had shortened it because she’d gotten such a bad
rap for being a basket case after he’d left her, but that didn’t
sound very glamorous. “It’s Klein. I shortened it for my acting
career.”
God, that sounded even more stupid than the
real reason. She’d been on top of the world when she’d last seen
him, and now she could barely get a gig.
“It was a good move,” she
added, upping the stupid quotient to moronic. A good move ? she yelled at herself.
Jesus, she couldn’t even act fabulously successful. No wonder her acting
instructor said she didn’t know the meaning of the word
spontaneous.
Okay, but it didn’t matter, because she
didn’t owe this man an explanation about anything. Not her name,
not her spectacular fall from the Broadway marquee—Nothing. If
anyone owed anyone any explanations at all, it was him.
“This is so weird,” Michael said again with
a funny little smile.
“Weird? I wouldn’t call it
weird,” Leah snorted. “I mean, granted, it’s not every day you run
into old, ah . . . okay, all right, you are definitely the last
person I expected to see here,” she admitted. “But it’s not that weird.”
Okay, that was pretty good. Breezy, sort of
like an old school acquaintance, nothing more.
Michael chuckled. It was a warm, familiar
sound that slid all over her, trickling down her spine, reminding
her of how he used to chuckle in her ear when they were fooling
around. “You are definitely the last person I thought I’d see,
too,” he said, and smiled fully, his teeth still white and straight
and damnably sexy. “So how are you, Leah?” he asked, peering too
closely. He was probably trying to figure out what he saw in her
back then.
“Me? Great,” she said,
nodding enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, I’m doing great,” she said,
flinging one arm out to emphasize how great, and flashed him
an I’m-doing-great ! smile before turning her attention to the dodgeball game
they had just started.
“I always knew you’d end up in Hollywood,”
he said quietly.
The soft timbre of his voice dredged up a
memory so deep that Leah’s heart sank a little deeper. She was
instantly transported back to one snowy night high above the
streets of Manhattan, when they had lain in his bed after making
love, their naked bodies entwined, talking about the future. “I
want to be a film actress,” she’d said. “Not Broadway. Film. Do you
think that’s crazy?”
Michael had stroked her hair and had said
easily, “Not at all, baby. If you really want to be an actress,
then we’ll move to L.A. so you can be one.”
His response had surprised her, and she’d
twisted around in his arms onto
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