A Captivating Conundrum (31 page)

"Regular Paul Bunyan?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." He threw a smile to Beth.  "If Bunyan had worn Dior, of course. Now,
really
," Chris said loudly. "Shower!"

I looked over at Beth.

"I have some things to finish up in the office and then we'll head out for a sightseeing extravaganza." Her face was filled with disbelief. "If that doesn't bore you to death and send you running back to L.A., I don't know what will."

When I entered the bedroom there was only one thought running through my mind. Today, I was going to have Beth all to myself.

~ Hers ~

Closing the door behind me, heading into my beloved library where the dark green walls soothed me the moment I stepped inside, all I could think about was that chest. I know, a completely girlie moment, but Matt had the most amazing looking torso I'd seen in a long—scratch that—ever. Between the dancing, the running, the guy was beyond cut.

I looked down at my computer, knowing that the next step in my morning ritual was to call up my mail, answer, reroute to Nicole, or Bobby, delete, etc. But all I could think about was him, and how he and I would be spending time together.

I also had to add to that, discarding Lily Stone and heading to London. I certainly didn't mind having Beth Carrier appear, but as far as coming out at the charity event, I wasn't so sure. All I wanted was for the play to commence and have everyone see the amazing dramatic acting ability that Matt had when he gave his spectacular performance, and for Amber to get a home. I know I had to deal with the spotlight eventually, but there were simply times where staying in the background was the absolute right thing to do. But getting Nicole to listen was like getting a tornado to divert its path.

Staring at the screen, I knew my brain was just not gonna help me on this particular day, so I sat down and waited in anticipation for the knock on my door.

Twenty-Three

~ His ~

Small town living.

You'd think this would be boring, yet so far the day was as exciting for me as any I'd ever had from Vegas to Europe. Reason being? I was learning more and more about Beth.

In fact, she'd been completely open. Beginning with that mansion with the frightening wallpaper and the caretaker's cottage where she'd grown up, we then visited her grade school; we sat on the swings and talked about life here back then, and she gave me a tour of the mighty homes hidden away—even offered a little "Tour of the Star's Homes" for my enjoyment.

We passed through the library that her Mom used to run, and stared up at the green and orange stone clock tower in the center of town. We shared lunch on the beautifully manicured Green, as I learned all about the rich history of an area that most people would probably never even bother to see. 

But it was in the evening when I was taken for a walk through Beth's private sanctuary to hear the most raw and heartfelt story of them all.

~***~

The building looked almost lonely in the moonlight. I looked up at the old street lamp that was still trying desperately to shine its flickering orange light down on the rooftop of the big, red barn.

It's odd seeing something through another person's eyes. I saw a dilapidated building with windows boarded up by big wooden beams. I saw a large white opening that'd been broken into, most likely by the kids in town who wanted to sneak a beer or two just to liven up their nights a bit. And I saw the old weathered sign resting on top that announced the 'Sharon Playhouse.' 

I pulled the car into the circular drive decorated with weeds growing in wild abandon and got out, going over to Beth's door and taking her hand. Her eyes absolutely gleamed when she looked up at the building. They were alive, filled with the same excitement as if we'd just exited a limo in front of Lincoln Center to see the Broadway show that everyone in New York was talking about. Beth stared at that decaying sight, and I knew she was seeing it during its heyday. She saw a place in her imagination that'd once taken her breath away. 

Leading me across the parking lot, I carried the six-pack and suddenly felt like those teenagers who were about to have a good time on a night filled with nothing but hope and promise.

Beth led me up the back steps to an old deck that jutted out behind the building. Taking small, careful steps, Beth lifted up tarps and old yellowed sheets, every once in a while sending out a gasp when she saw something she apparently remembered from long ago. She would hoist it in the air, something that to the naked eye was nothing more than a painted picture frame or a broken mirror, and give it a loving look. I tried to imagine what scene it'd been in, what play was racing through her mind when that one piece had decorated the stage.

I followed the form; her jeans and jacket were now absolutely covered with the dirt and dust all around us that'd lain undisturbed for years. Around the corner she disappeared and I had to race to follow her, tripping over oddly-shaped wood structures that were covered in faded wallpaper—pieces that'd once represented a sitting room in some southern parlor, or decorated a famous palace in Siam. I spied a weathered plastic lei that was perhaps worn around a lovely neck as the overture to
South Pacific
began to play.

It was so unbelievably dark that I panicked slightly when I couldn't find where Beth had gone. 

"In here."

The lilting voice emanated from my right. Carefully I pushed my body through the slightly broken door and followed her into the darkness.

A strand of colored lights suddenly beamed from above, wrapped around the catwalk as if someone had celebrated their very own Christmas party inside the old tomb. I looked around, seeing the tears and holes in the blue velvet curtains that sagged so badly, it looked like very soon their weight would pull the whole roof down once and for all.

I stared at the stage I was standing on and was actually amazed. Moving my feet around in the dust I was in awe that underneath, somehow, a high polish from years of work, love and attention was still there making the small Sharon stage shine.

I shielded my eyes from the glare of lights now coming from the front of the House, and saw her. Beth had run up the aisle and provided me with a beacon so I wouldn't fall down while making my way.

The center row and side aisles had been covered with linens now bathed in the refuse of time and neglect. But even I could see the charm that once was. I spotted the cast iron claw feet coming out from under the sheets in the front row, exposing a royal blue velvet cushion that once served the artistic crowd of the small community.

Standing up in the back, Beth smiled at me. "You were made to be on stage, sir. You would've had this Sharon audience groveling."

I laughed, setting the beer down and doing my best moves for her as she clapped and cheered. 

I felt that little tug inside me. Whenever I stepped on stage I tended to transform. I loved the lights, the music—the anticipation that comes from the audience like a wave of excitement. Suddenly, my voice came out loud and clear, so that my very special audience of one could hear every word of the romantic song I was singing just for her. But when it came time to dance some more, I pointed at the back row.

"I don't like solo numbers. I like dancing with a partner."

Her sweet laughter echoed in the emptiness. "You don't want me stepping on your toes. Besides, you're the star. It's
you
I paid to see."

"Please?" The word came out quiet but clear. I'd never wanted a woman in my arms so badly.

I saw Beth think for a second. That's one of the many traits I'd fallen for over the past few days. She always took a moment, as if weighing the situation. Soon, she began to walk toward the stage and I met her at the steps. Holding out a hand, I pulled Beth into my arms, whispering the only song I could think of into her ear. 

I pulled her close and we danced. First softly, quietly, swaying from side to side, and then into a ballroom dance that offered her absolutely no escape as I whisked her around the floor. 

She flew, she laughed, she was the perfect partner because her moves were soft and fluid, and I felt that all we were lacking was the tuxedo and gown in order to make the picture complete.

When my song ended, Beth once again began to study my face, as if searching for something that was still a mystery.

Letting go of my hands, Beth sat down on the stage and stretched her legs out in front of her.

Taking my place, I offered her a beer and tried to catch my breath. "This is not from the dance, mind you," I said with a smile. "Just from the beauty of my partner."

Questions raced through my mind. I
had
to know her. It was as simple as that. She was like some unknown drug to me, where when she opened one door and gave me a peek inside I immediately had to have another shot as fast as possible in order to sustain my addiction. "Is it real?"

The stunning profile turned. "What?"

"Your play,
Father
. Is it real?"

Taking a deep breath, she looked out at the mystical audience that'd gone home long ago. "All writing is real. I mean, I'm sure it's just like being an actor." She turned her gaze back to me. "I would think that some of what you put into your characters must be real—must come from you—or people would know you're just reading lines."

I nodded. "So all your characters are real?"

Beth shook her head. "They're fictional stories, Matt. But there are certain characters that are always based on someone, or a combination of people I've met along the way. It's only the female lead, so to speak, who has to be a great deal like me, otherwise I would have no idea what was inside her mind."

"And the men?"

She shrugged. "What I want them to be, I suppose. But there's also reality in them. I mean, you meet people every day. You study their traits, their feelings, how they speak, what they say—I'm constantly watching and absorbing all that, so it comes out in the writing."

"Is that why you study me all the time?"

"Actually, no."

"Then why?"

"I just really like looking at you."

A shot of adrenaline raced through my chest as Beth looked at the two small chairs sitting on the aisle in the front row. "
Father
was very close to my heart. This place actually had a lot to do with it."

I thought back on the material. "Did you…have an abortion when you were young like the woman he lost his heart to?"

She shook her head. "No. Like I said, every situation is different."

I should've stopped talking, but I had to know. "What happened?"

Beth offered me a smile. "Everyone has their own 'Jack and Diane' story, remember? Maybe not in the heartland, but somewhere along the way."

"First love?"

"Only one." She nodded.

My heart leapt, thrilled with the fact that there was no one besides a high school sweetheart that'd earned a place in her memory. "Just the one?

"Probably really odd for such a Hollywood stud like yourself to hear," she said, laughing. 

I so wanted to correct the impression she had of me, but she continued, "We met at fifteen. He was a bud I hung out with. We grew older and things changed. It was really quite simple. We didn't go to the same high school and didn't have the same background at all. I suppose you could say he was from the 'wrong side of the tracks,' but a very kind heart was hidden under all that bravado. When we were alone, away from the world that gives you the mask you're assigned to wear, he was…sweet."