really—”
“I don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs, anyway.”
“Sure, okay. Thanks.” I was glad to see that the others were preoccupied with the pre-fight commentary as Mick followed me out the front door.
“I can’t believe you were on your way here.”
“Yeah? Well, I can’t believe that you’re Louis’s new assistant.”
Simultaneously we both said, “You should have seen the look on your face—” and burst out laughing at the serendipity of it all.
It was too dark outside to see much, and it seemed totally natural when Mick grabbed my hand and steered me up the driveway toward the gate. Halfway there, he bumped into Randy’s Humvee and yelped: he had hit the knee with the open wound from the motorcycle fall.
“Gee, I—I can’t apologize enough for that.”
“Hey, it’s just a scratch, really. Besides, if I hadn’t fallen, we would have met under totally different circumstances. That might have changed everything. Fate, you know?”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I liked the way it sounded. “I guess you’re right,” I answered cautiously. I was glad that it was dark and he couldn’t see how happy hearing that made me, because I wasn’t yet ready for him to read me so openly.
Besides, there was still the issue of my working for Louis.
“So, how long have you known Louis?” I asked as casually as possible. I opened my car door, then grabbed two sacks of groceries and handed them to him. I picked up the last two bags and locked the car door.
“For a couple of years. I was the script doctor on Fast Eddie , his first American film.”
“Oh, yeah? I remember that one.”
“Yeah, well, he had the role pegged. You know, ‘fast-talking bloke taking L.A. by storm.’”
“Sounds like total typecasting.”
“Seems to have turned out that way. Anyway, that’s when we started hanging out together. I also wrote Dead End , which he starred in.”
“I know. It just came out, right? That’s the one that may get him an Oscar nod. Wow, you two have a great relationship: artist and muse.”
“Not really.”
“You’re not great friends?”
“No. I mean, yes, we are close buds, but he’s not my ‘muse.’ I wrote it several years ago, before I’d even met him. In fact, it was my first script, and I had another actor in mind for the lead. That guy turned me down, though, and it sat in a drawer for years. Louis read it and pushed the studio to get it made. I owe him a lot for that.”
We’d walked into the kitchen undetected. The boxing match had just started, and curses, whoops and whistles were flying out from the living room. I opened a few cabinets until I found ones containing the needed plates and trays then I began unwrapping the prepared dishes. Mick seemed in no rush to get back to the guys, which was fine with me.
“Of course, being the grateful friend that I am, I guess I’ll have to tell Louis what you really think of him.”
Was it that obvious? I turned around, startled. “How do you know what I think?”
“You told me, remember? At the scene of the accident. You called him a ‘slave driver.’” He let loose with another teasing grin.
I laughed. “Who do you think he’ll believe, you or me?” I blinked my lashes in mock innocence.
“That’s a good question,” said Louis.
Neither Mick nor I had heard him enter. We both stared at him, like two guilty children caught playing doctor or something. He looked from one of us to the other, not sure what to make of our little game.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other. Gee, Hannah, you seem to be very popular.”
“We just met tonight,” I explained. “Unfortunately, on my way down the hill, I ran out of gas, and Mick stopped to help.”
“Oh.” Louis turned back to Mick, bemused. “So Hannah is the girl you almost ran over. Interesting .”
“Yep, she’s the one.” It was Mick’s turn to be embarrassed.
“Why? What did you say?” I asked Mick, confused.
“He said,
“I don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs, anyway.”
“Sure, okay. Thanks.” I was glad to see that the others were preoccupied with the pre-fight commentary as Mick followed me out the front door.
“I can’t believe you were on your way here.”
“Yeah? Well, I can’t believe that you’re Louis’s new assistant.”
Simultaneously we both said, “You should have seen the look on your face—” and burst out laughing at the serendipity of it all.
It was too dark outside to see much, and it seemed totally natural when Mick grabbed my hand and steered me up the driveway toward the gate. Halfway there, he bumped into Randy’s Humvee and yelped: he had hit the knee with the open wound from the motorcycle fall.
“Gee, I—I can’t apologize enough for that.”
“Hey, it’s just a scratch, really. Besides, if I hadn’t fallen, we would have met under totally different circumstances. That might have changed everything. Fate, you know?”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I liked the way it sounded. “I guess you’re right,” I answered cautiously. I was glad that it was dark and he couldn’t see how happy hearing that made me, because I wasn’t yet ready for him to read me so openly.
Besides, there was still the issue of my working for Louis.
“So, how long have you known Louis?” I asked as casually as possible. I opened my car door, then grabbed two sacks of groceries and handed them to him. I picked up the last two bags and locked the car door.
“For a couple of years. I was the script doctor on Fast Eddie , his first American film.”
“Oh, yeah? I remember that one.”
“Yeah, well, he had the role pegged. You know, ‘fast-talking bloke taking L.A. by storm.’”
“Sounds like total typecasting.”
“Seems to have turned out that way. Anyway, that’s when we started hanging out together. I also wrote Dead End , which he starred in.”
“I know. It just came out, right? That’s the one that may get him an Oscar nod. Wow, you two have a great relationship: artist and muse.”
“Not really.”
“You’re not great friends?”
“No. I mean, yes, we are close buds, but he’s not my ‘muse.’ I wrote it several years ago, before I’d even met him. In fact, it was my first script, and I had another actor in mind for the lead. That guy turned me down, though, and it sat in a drawer for years. Louis read it and pushed the studio to get it made. I owe him a lot for that.”
We’d walked into the kitchen undetected. The boxing match had just started, and curses, whoops and whistles were flying out from the living room. I opened a few cabinets until I found ones containing the needed plates and trays then I began unwrapping the prepared dishes. Mick seemed in no rush to get back to the guys, which was fine with me.
“Of course, being the grateful friend that I am, I guess I’ll have to tell Louis what you really think of him.”
Was it that obvious? I turned around, startled. “How do you know what I think?”
“You told me, remember? At the scene of the accident. You called him a ‘slave driver.’” He let loose with another teasing grin.
I laughed. “Who do you think he’ll believe, you or me?” I blinked my lashes in mock innocence.
“That’s a good question,” said Louis.
Neither Mick nor I had heard him enter. We both stared at him, like two guilty children caught playing doctor or something. He looked from one of us to the other, not sure what to make of our little game.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other. Gee, Hannah, you seem to be very popular.”
“We just met tonight,” I explained. “Unfortunately, on my way down the hill, I ran out of gas, and Mick stopped to help.”
“Oh.” Louis turned back to Mick, bemused. “So Hannah is the girl you almost ran over. Interesting .”
“Yep, she’s the one.” It was Mick’s turn to be embarrassed.
“Why? What did you say?” I asked Mick, confused.
“He said,
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