guard. “See you, John.”
John nodded.
Most of the lot consisted of warehouses, but when we reached the back, we passed the façade of an old west town.
Wow.
Garrett said, “I like to cut through here to get to the employee lot. Cool, huh?”
At my nod, Garrett pointed at two nearly identical doors, standing side by side. “The tour guide said the cowboys stood in the shorter doorway to appear big and braw. The lass would stand in the tall one to seem fragile and wee.”
I handed him my camera and posed in the tall doorway. Then I made him get in the short one and I snapped his picture. “Tell me some more.”
Garrett kept me entertained while we walked out to the car. The movie illusions were fascinating, though honestly he could read me the phone book with that voice and I’d be riveted. Garrett clicked the keys and opened the passenger door of a white Land Rover. Polite.
I got in and we zoomed out of the parking lot, past an empty tour bus, and onto the streets of Burbank. There were no tour buses in Trallwyn, Texas. This was so surreal. “How does California compare to Scotland?”
“In no way. Even the lights are a different color.” His accent deepened and he described a phenomenon called the gloaming. “Here it’s sun and cactus, and white-toothed smiles set in tanned skin. I can’t drink here, you know.” He went from nostalgic to outraged. “I can buy a house but not a beer.”
“Your liquor cabinet’s fairly packed for such a restricted guy.”
“The studio stocked it.” He tapped on the wheel, though he needed both hands in the ten and two position. “About dinner.”
I curled my feet up and tried to ignore his horrible driving and enjoy the sights. “A lot’s going on, and I want to celebrate. In Texas, that means steak. I have some marinating in a pineapple ginger marinade. You good with that?”
Garrett banged the side of his fist on the steering wheel in excitement. “I have a grill.”
We got back and I wasted no time throwing together a spinach salad with feta, walnut, and strawberries while Garrett hovered near the bar drinking a glass of fizzy water. He swiped the screen on his cell phone and his voicemails started. A female Scottish voice came on. “Garrett, dear, your mum’s been trying to reach you. You haven’t confirmed—” Garrett stopped the message before it finished.
Shocker, a man avoiding his responsibility. I wanted to ask for details, but didn’t think I should, given the hunted expression on Garrett’s face. He paced a few steps, took another swig of his sparkling water, then opened the nearest kitchen cabinet, and stared inside. “New plates in the cupboard. I found them at breakfast.” His eyes closed. “Without that casserole, I wouldn’t have made it through the shoot. They’d have had to call in a stunt double and hook me up to an IV.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Garrett snagged two plates and took the salad bowl from me. “Come on.”
I didn’t think chefs usually ate with the people they cooked for, but California was different. I grabbed the steaks from the fridge, a bottle of lemonade, utensils, and followed him out. Stepping from the house to the June air was always a shock back home: intense high temperatures, sticky muggy heat, flat landscape. Here, little difference existed between the interior and exterior temperatures. If anything the air had a nip to it. Garrett probably had to heat his pool. In June. And the view of the city lights was stunning.
“Careful for the edge there,” Garrett said, as I walked by the pool. His eyes were more on the steaks than me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere near the edge. I can’t swim.”
Garrett frowned and lit the grill. “That’s not good.”
I placed the platter on the fold out arm and nudged him aside. “I’ll learn one day.” I tossed the steaks on, and the beef sizzled, a happy celebratory sound.
“In Scotland, they throw the wee bairns straight into Loch
John nodded.
Most of the lot consisted of warehouses, but when we reached the back, we passed the façade of an old west town.
Wow.
Garrett said, “I like to cut through here to get to the employee lot. Cool, huh?”
At my nod, Garrett pointed at two nearly identical doors, standing side by side. “The tour guide said the cowboys stood in the shorter doorway to appear big and braw. The lass would stand in the tall one to seem fragile and wee.”
I handed him my camera and posed in the tall doorway. Then I made him get in the short one and I snapped his picture. “Tell me some more.”
Garrett kept me entertained while we walked out to the car. The movie illusions were fascinating, though honestly he could read me the phone book with that voice and I’d be riveted. Garrett clicked the keys and opened the passenger door of a white Land Rover. Polite.
I got in and we zoomed out of the parking lot, past an empty tour bus, and onto the streets of Burbank. There were no tour buses in Trallwyn, Texas. This was so surreal. “How does California compare to Scotland?”
“In no way. Even the lights are a different color.” His accent deepened and he described a phenomenon called the gloaming. “Here it’s sun and cactus, and white-toothed smiles set in tanned skin. I can’t drink here, you know.” He went from nostalgic to outraged. “I can buy a house but not a beer.”
“Your liquor cabinet’s fairly packed for such a restricted guy.”
“The studio stocked it.” He tapped on the wheel, though he needed both hands in the ten and two position. “About dinner.”
I curled my feet up and tried to ignore his horrible driving and enjoy the sights. “A lot’s going on, and I want to celebrate. In Texas, that means steak. I have some marinating in a pineapple ginger marinade. You good with that?”
Garrett banged the side of his fist on the steering wheel in excitement. “I have a grill.”
We got back and I wasted no time throwing together a spinach salad with feta, walnut, and strawberries while Garrett hovered near the bar drinking a glass of fizzy water. He swiped the screen on his cell phone and his voicemails started. A female Scottish voice came on. “Garrett, dear, your mum’s been trying to reach you. You haven’t confirmed—” Garrett stopped the message before it finished.
Shocker, a man avoiding his responsibility. I wanted to ask for details, but didn’t think I should, given the hunted expression on Garrett’s face. He paced a few steps, took another swig of his sparkling water, then opened the nearest kitchen cabinet, and stared inside. “New plates in the cupboard. I found them at breakfast.” His eyes closed. “Without that casserole, I wouldn’t have made it through the shoot. They’d have had to call in a stunt double and hook me up to an IV.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Garrett snagged two plates and took the salad bowl from me. “Come on.”
I didn’t think chefs usually ate with the people they cooked for, but California was different. I grabbed the steaks from the fridge, a bottle of lemonade, utensils, and followed him out. Stepping from the house to the June air was always a shock back home: intense high temperatures, sticky muggy heat, flat landscape. Here, little difference existed between the interior and exterior temperatures. If anything the air had a nip to it. Garrett probably had to heat his pool. In June. And the view of the city lights was stunning.
“Careful for the edge there,” Garrett said, as I walked by the pool. His eyes were more on the steaks than me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere near the edge. I can’t swim.”
Garrett frowned and lit the grill. “That’s not good.”
I placed the platter on the fold out arm and nudged him aside. “I’ll learn one day.” I tossed the steaks on, and the beef sizzled, a happy celebratory sound.
“In Scotland, they throw the wee bairns straight into Loch
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