All My Tomorrows (8 page)

Alice turned her full attention back to Eileen.
“That doesn’t sound good. Let me finish this glass, and then I’ll be ready to
hear it.” She drank most of it down and then studied her friend.

“I got a part – in a film.”

“Eileen, that’s great!” She smiled broadly and
pulled Eileen into a hug. “That calls for more champagne!” She got a glass for
each of them. “So tell me about it.”

“It’s a small part, but I do have lines and lots
of screen time.”

“What’s the role?”

Eileen glanced down at her glass then back to
Alice. “It’s as an old hag.”

Alice burst out laughing. “I know you said you
aren’t as beautiful as Giselle, but you’re certainly no old hag!”

“They’ll use make-up, silly, and this could be a
great opportunity for me.”

“I know. It really is wonderful. So when do you
need to be on set?”

“I have to be in Louisiana by the end of the
month.”

“Louisiana in August. Ech. At least that’s during
the Olympics so I don’t have to send you off to a medical convention or
something.”

“Well, that’s the thing I need to talk to you
about. I don’t want to come back.”

Alice thought she must not have heard correctly.
“What?”

“I’m leaving
All My Tomorrows,
Alice. I
need you to write me out.”

“Shit – how long do you have to be on location?”

“It’s not just this film. I really want to give
this a shot. Don’t hate me for saying it, but I don’t want to spend my entire
career on a soap.”

“Of course I don’t hate you. I feel the same way.
Don’t you dare repeat this, but I do want something more. As long as you don’t
kick me out of your life, I want you to have everything you want.”

“I would never let you out of my life. In fact, I
wanted to see if you would come with me on location.”

“Louisiana in August? No way. Not happening. You
might have to suffer for your art, but I don’t.”

“I’ve been so worried about telling you. I’m sorry
you have to change the storyline.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I will not kill you.” The
bartender stopped mid-pour at Alice’s declaration.  “I refuse to kill you off,
just in case you want to come back. Peter’s leaving, so you can go visit him to
spend time with your devastated brother, and while you are there, you meet the
man of your dreams.”
Speaking of which…
“Now I have to find out when
Rich is getting here.”

Alice set off on the journey to the front of the
house, stopping only to speak to Jack-and-Giselle – they were joined at the
hip, after all – and with a few missteps along the way. She finally retrieved
her purse from the “cloakroom” and pulled out her cell. A text.

Still in malb not gonna make it sorry prob
better not to spoil the party by pissing off vold

She would have thrown the phone across the marble
tile except she really liked the case, but she did shove it back into her purse
with great force.
That’s it. I’m going to go
. Except she had not eaten
much all day, and the three glasses of champagne had gone straight to her head.

“Fuck it.” She tossed her purse down and marched
toward the party.  She barely knew this guy; she was not going to let his
non-appearance prevent her from having fun with her friends – really the only
family she had.

Alice had not counted how many glasses of
champagne she had, but it must have been quite a few to get her out on the
patio dance floor. She had to admit, the band could imitate just about any song
from the eighties like a New Wave mynah bird. In fact, although she didn’t know
whether to credit her friends or the upbeat music or the champagne – perhaps
the combination – she could not remember the last time she had had so much fun.
She and Eileen and Jack and Giselle were hopping around frenetically under the
stars and twinkling lights to some song she didn’t even recognize but sounded
like eighties pop.

After ten or more fast songs in a row, the music
stopped, and a saxophonist came into the stage lighting. As the opening riff
for “Careless Whisper” began, Jack-and-Giselle again became a unit, and a
cameraman took a laughing Eileen into waltz position.

Alice turned to leave the dance floor and stopped
just short of walking into Peter. Before she understood what was happening, he
had taken her hands and tugged her toward him.

“Where’s Winnie?” she asked.

He furrowed his brow and peered at her through
squinted eyes. “Why would she be here?”

He stepped forward as she resisted. “I’ve been
dancing – I’m all sweaty.” She was, too. Her blouse clung to her chest, and her
scalp was drenched.

“So am I.” He traced her face with his eyes and
pulled her into his arms.

Her arms were trapped against his damp chest, so
she had no choice but to circle them around his neck; but that only brought
their bodies closer. They barely moved, their feet somehow turning them in a
sluggish rotation, reminding her of slow dancing in high school. A tingly
numbness enveloped her. She surrendered to it and laid her head against his
shoulder, and he tightened his hold.

God, she loved this song. Her mother had it on
almost all of her playlists. The singer sounded so much like George Michael, or
perhaps the champagne improved his performance. With her eyes closed, she
released a full, deep sigh.
Only one thing could improve this moment.

As if he had read her mind, Peter pulled back ever
so slightly and lifted her chin with his forefinger then brought his mouth down
upon hers. Nothing sweet and gentle here. He claimed her mouth with fierce
passion, and she reciprocated. Their lips moving together as they continued
their semblance of a dance, her body pressed against his, converged to send a
charge of electricity coursing through her. He pushed his fingers through her
wet hair, pulling her mouth even closer as his tongue collided with hers. He
stopped even pretending to dance then, focusing all effort on the mutual
plunder of their mouths.

The song had not ended when he pulled his face
away. Confused, she opened her eyes and found him gazing at her intensely. The
second refrain came to an end; only then did he release his hold on her hair.
Taking her hand, his other arm still around her waist, he led her away from the
others and into the house while the saxophone continued to play.

As soon as they entered the dark silent room and
the door closed behind them, he had her against the wall and his mouth upon
hers. She couldn’t get enough of it – she never wanted his mouth to leave – and
she wrapped her arms around his neck to prevent its escape.

He must have felt the same way because, even as he
began to unbutton her blouse, he never broke away, never released her lips to
trail soft kisses down her throat or nibble her ear or any such nonsense. She
wanted to consume him and to be consumed in return. He felt good, he tasted
good, he smelled good. She had already kissed away the saltiness of his sweat
on his lips, but his scent of spice and lust still teased her. Their chests
rose and fell in rapid synchronicity. Although he had unbuttoned her blouse
with care, he exercised no restraint with his own, pulling it open as buttons
jumped into the dark. He opened the front closure of her bra, but he did not
bring a hand to her breast. Instead he laid his hands against her skin on her
back, pressing his bare chest against her breasts so she could not imagine how
he could hold her any closer. And never once did his mouth cease its relentless
assault.

They kissed in this manner for some time until she
could think of only way to bring him closer, and she could feel his desire as
well. As if by instinct, she parted her legs, and he pressed himself against
her. He set her on fire – she yearned for him, burned for him, but only he
could extinguish the flame. Her heart raced, and she couldn’t catch her breath
until she thought she might suffocate. Only with all her strength could she
take her mouth from his to pant for air. He panted as well and dropped his head
against her forehead.

“Alice.” Her name had never sounded erotic until
spoken with his breathless voice.

His voice.
Peter. No, no, no
.

“Wait,” she said, bringing her hands to his shoulders
and pushing him back an inch, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut.
Oh, no. I
am one of them – one of his groupies
.

“Alice. Be with me tonight. I have to go to
Toronto tomorrow, but –”

“Oh, no.” She extricated herself from his embrace
.
A one-night stand. I almost become one in his long string of them.
She
blessed the darkness of the room that concealed her blush and her nudity as she
fumbled with her clothes.

He reached for her, but she flinched under his
touch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“This – all of this. This is a mistake.”

“Alice, don’t say that.”

When he took hold of her arm, she jerked away.
“Stop! I-I’m sorry. I’ve had too much to drink. This should not be happening. I
didn’t know what I was doing.”

He switched a lamp on just as she finished
buttoning her blouse, but she had missed one in the process and had to begin
again.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and for some reason
she obeyed.

She couldn’t believe how delicious she found him,
the strength of the attraction with his shirt open, his breathing still heavy,
his mouth…She looked away.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” A hostile edginess sharpened
his tone.

“Who?”

“Rich. I saw him, in your office, kissing you.”

“Oh, now I see what this is about!”

“What
what
is about?”

She did face him then, prepared for the challenge.
“You and Rich. You could have any other woman, but you cannot stand for him to
have something that you don’t.”

“Is that it, Alice? Does he have you?”

“That is none of your business!”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“That is
really
none of your business!”

She turned and strode with purpose to the door and
out into the hallway with him right behind her.

“Listen to me – you need to be careful with him.”

“Says the half-naked man who was just ravaging
me!”

“You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I would say you
–”

She interrupted him with a primitive sound –
half-growl, half-groan. “Stop following me! I am not one of your bimbettes!”

She marched on toward the sounds of the party in
progress and turned into a lounge-like room, quiet except for Mrs. Jellyby’s
voice reverberating from the sofa where she sat pontificating to a weary Mr.
Peacock.

“You’ve seen how he is with her,” Mrs. Jellyby
said, oblivious to the presence of Alice and Peter just inside the room. “She
has him wrapped around her little finger! You know the people he represents. He
will get her a movie deal before the year is out – mark my words! And once
Giselle is in films, just think what that will mean for the show!”

Mr. Peacock noticed them then. “Alice? Is
something wrong?”

Alice could only imagine how she must look to them
– her hair a tangled mess, her face a chafed wreck, and a bare-chested movie
star behind her. She muttered something unintelligible and fled out the other
side of the room, which miraculously emptied into a hall leading to the front
door.

“Alice, stop,” Peter said, but she did not. “Where
do you think you’re going?”

She retrieved her purse and dug for her keys.
“That, actually, is none of your business either!”

His eyes hardened and his jaw stiff, he grabbed
the purse from her hands and held it out of her reach. “You are not going
anywhere.”

“What the hell, Peter? I just want go home.” She
covered her eyes with her hand and released an exhausted sigh.
Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare cry.

“I’ll drive you. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just told me the only reason you couldn’t
keep your hands off me was because you were drunk!”

“Amazing how anger can be so sobering. Let me have
my purse!”

“I said I would drive you.”

“You have a house full of guests – you can’t leave.
And look at your shirt. Please let me go before someone else sees us and thinks
we…”

“I’ll drive her,” Mr. Peacock said behind them. They
both turned to him as he came forward and yanked her purse from Peter’s hand.
He looked Peter up and down as if he emitted an offensive odor, then with his
arm around Alice’s waist, he walked her out the front door.

CHAPTER
7

The Edge
of Darkness

Chapter
16

The duke appeared at rehearsals one day and presented
me with a single red rose.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“My dear lady, that is one of the privileges of having
power, money, and royal blood.” He leaned forward and gave me a kiss, which
probably would have lasted much longer had I allowed it. I had to admit, the
duke had been quite understanding and gracious about my desire to take things
very slow. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“I’d love to,” I said, and I meant it.

Over lunch, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were
an actress?”

“I guess for the same reason you didn’t at first tell
me you are a duke. I didn’t want you to judge me by my title.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

“Most people see actors as failures or dreamers or
bums unless they become a star.”

“Oh, my dear, you are already a star in my eyes, even
if you weren’t an actress.”

I blushed and grinned. “You always know exactly what
to say.”

After a fabulous lunch, he took me back to the theatre
and said, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I can’t. I have to work.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Robert, I have to work.”

He tapped my nose. “You are certainly no bum.” We
kissed goodbye, more than once, and parted without settling if we would see
each other or not.

I did see him that night, but rather than as a date,
as a member of the clientele. I felt sorry for him eating alone under the gold
murals, and when it wasn’t too busy, I walked over to talk to him.

He stood as I approached and had me sit on the wall
side of the table next to him. “You look absolutely radiant this evening.”

I smiled. “So do you.”

“Ha, ha! Aren’t you the charmer!” I found him rather
charming, with all the chivalry of Middle Ages’ knighthood. The waiter eyed me
when he came to the table and set a steak in front of the duke, which he began
carving. “Darling, I must leave for Britain tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“My love, that is where I am from. Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust. I must return from whence I’ve come.” He set down his silverware
and brought one hand to lift my chin to look into my eyes. “England is my
home.”

“So,” I said with a cry in my voice, “that’s the end
of us?” I knew my tone exaggerated my feelings. Although I certainly found him
gallant and I had enjoyed the brief time we had had together, I couldn’t say I
was crushed by his leaving.

“That is why I wanted to speak with you.” He took my
hand in both of his, kissed it, then rubbed it against his cheek. “I want you
to come to England with me.”

I was in too much of a state of shock to hide it.
“What? But we barely know each other!”

“Alexandra, I do love you. I know you don’t want to
believe me, but I do. Please say you will.”

“I…I can’t.” I pulled my hand away.

“Why not?”

“I have a play to do.”

“You do have an understudy.”

“You don’t understand. Acting is everything to me.
It’s my life.” I might have sounded overly-dramatic, but I wasn’t acting. “I
could never make you happy because I would be an adulteress. I am only faithful
to my art – it is my only love.” I thought the speech rather good for being
improvised.

“I see. Then I shall stay here with you so you needn’t
leave your one true love.”

I worried about what he might expect from me if he
stayed. “But what about ashes to dust? Returning to your homeland?”

“My darling, I would give any price for you.”

“Why?”

He slammed his palm on the table. “Because I love you,
Goddammit!” Everyone in the restaurant turned and looked at us, and he leaned
toward me and spoke in a low voice. “Can you get that through that actor’s head
of yours? Do you think I go after every woman I meet like this? You are special
to me. I refuse to let you go.”

I found his words both flattering and disconcerting.
“But I would feel guilty if you gave up your home for me.”

He took my face in his hand. “You are not forcing me
to do anything I don’t want to do. That is not within your power.”

God, help me, I prayed. “You…you just don’t know me
well enough. Once you do, you will see you don’t love me. You couldn’t possibly
love me now.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel, Alexandra. I love you, and
nothing will change that.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go. Go back to England. If, in one year, you
feel the same, come back for me. Then I will know your love is strong enough to
last.”

He looked mournful. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have loved and lost, and I’d rather never
have loved at all.”

“He really did hurt you.”

“He really did.”

“I shall go. I have caught a beautiful butterfly and
would love to have her near me always, but I must love her enough to let her go
so she may be happy.”

He walked out without even kissing me goodbye, leaving
behind his twenty-dollar steak. A part of me hoped he would come back in a
year, but I refused to let it show.

☼

Rich tapped a knuckle on her open door. Alice
hadn’t bothered to close it, too exhausted even to say come in. She lifted her
eyes from her book to him without a word.

“Do you want to go get some lunch?”

“No, thanks. I brought mine.” She motioned to the remaining
half of her sandwich with the book.

“What’re you reading?”

“Research…on melodrama.”

He walked in and sat on the edge of her desk. “I
feel like you’re avoiding me. Are you still pissed about the party?”

“I told you when you called Sunday, I think you
were right not to come. I’m not avoiding you. I’m just busy.”

He held her gaze for a moment, gritting his teeth.
“Is it because of Peter?”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“People saw you, Alice. They saw you kissing him.”

Alice dropped her head onto her desk and covered
her head with her arms, one of which crushed her lunch. “Oh, God. No. No no no
no no no no…” She banged her head on the desk.

“They saw you go inside with him.”

“No no no no no…”

“And then neither of you went back to the party.”
Peter
didn’t go back?
“You slept with him. Didn’t you?”

Her head shot up. “No! Absolutely not!”

“Then why is everyone saying –”

“Shit. Everyone? OK, listen. I got drunk and, yes,
I kissed him. But that was it! Not even second base.”
That’s technically
true
.

“Did you kiss him like you kissed me?”

Her cheeks heated from the memory of kissing
Peter, and an unwelcome tremor rolled through her. “No, it was nothing like
when you and I kissed.”

“So where did you go?”

She stood up, and her chair rolled back and hit
the wall with a thud. “What is this, the Inquisition? I was drunk, Peter and I
kissed, we had this huge fight, then Peacock drove me home.”

“What did you fight about?”

“You, actually. He warned me not to get involved
with you.”

Rich dropped from the desk, his face blooming red.
“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing, really. Just that I needed to be
careful. I don’t know what his deal is with you, but I think he just said that
to try to get me into bed. Winnie wasn’t there, so he probably wanted a one-night
stand and assumed a lowly writer would jump at the chance. When he realized
there was no way in hell I would ever sleep with him, he probably grabbed the
first convenient female that walked by.” For some reason, that thought tugged
at her heart.

He released the breath he had been holding and
smiled. “So you really are not interested in him?”

“I can safely say that Peter Walsingham is the
last man in the world I would ever sleep with. He cheated on his wife with
Winnie, he would have cheated on Winnie with me, and God knows how many
bimbettes he’s had in between. He is the last person I would ever listen to for
dating advice.”

“Relieved to hear it. Most women would love to
scratch ‘movie star’ off their bucket list.”

She corrected his agreement error in her head.
“I’m not one of them.”

“Well, your lunch has had it. Now will you come
with me?”

“All of this has really made me lose my appetite.
Now not only do I have to write Eileen out, I have to contend with the rumor
mill. I need to get this Peter story nipped in the bud.”

“Then how ‘bout dinner?”

She stepped around and took both of his hands.
“I’ve been thinking – and this has nothing to do with Peter or the party or
anything like that – but I think we really need to slow things down.”

“How slow?” He furrowed his brow.

“Don’t do that. You’ll get wrinkles.” He obeyed
immediately. “I mean slow – really slow. So slow that we are moving backwards.”

“I don’t get it! If this has nothing to do with
the other night –”

“The last relationship I had was with an actor on
the show, and it did not work out well. It really affected
All My Tomorrows,
and I can’t let that happen again.”

He squeezed her hands. “How do you know this can’t
work out with us? I’d like to try.”

“I…I would too, but I have to put everything into the
show for the rest of the month to have a cliffhanger for the Olympics.”

He nodded, although his expression did not agree.
“Then we’ll try it during the Olympics.”

“No, I can’t then.” She glanced down at their
hands and released them. “I…I’m going on location with Eileen. She asked me to
come along.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure. A few weeks.”

“But I want to spend time with you, get to know
you better.” He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and left
his hand against her face.

“If you still feel this way in September, we’ll
see where this goes.”

He kissed her tenderly on the lips before walking
out.

What is the matter with me?
He was
good-looking, sexy, funny, obviously attracted to her, maybe a good kisser –
she wasn’t sure.
Why have I damned myself to Louisiana in August to avoid
him?

☼

“Alice, we have a problem.”

“My five favorite words.” She grabbed her iPad and
followed the stage manager to the park set where Giselle sat on a bench with
Rich and the cameramen and other crew standing around. “So what is it?”

“It’s Giselle.”

As soon as she reached Giselle, she understood the
problem. Giselle’s face was red, her nose swollen, and her eyes puffy.  She
looked like someone who had been crying for hours. Alice sat down beside her
and placed a hand on her arm.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been crying
for hours.”

Giselle sniffed, and more tears began to flow.
“It’s Jack. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since the morning after the
cast party. When he left my place, he said he would call me once he got Peter
settled in Toronto, but I never did hear from him. When I tried his cell, it
would go straight to voicemail, so I thought maybe he didn’t have service out
there. He didn’t reply to my texts either. This morning I called his office to
leave a message with his assistant, and she told me he’s been back in L.A.
since last Friday!”

Alice rubbed her hand up and down Giselle’s arm
she hoped in a reassuring way, but she couldn’t keep thoughts of the storyline
out of her head.

“Giselle, he’s obviously a dick. He doesn’t
deserve you. You should just delete his number from your cell.”

“I already did.”

“I hate to say it, but he might have just wanted
to get you into bed. He’s had a crush on Sienna for years.”

“I know, but it just didn’t feel that way.”

We need a scene in the can
. “If I can put together
an emotional scene for you, do you think you can use all of this as Sienna?”
Giselle sniffed and nodded, and Alice stood up and glanced at her tablet then
around the soundstage.

“Who is still here?”

“Only Rich and Eileen from the cast,” the stage manager
said.

“Any writers? Go find them and tell Eileen to come
here. Where’s Peacock?”

“Gone. It was supposed to be a simple three-camera
scene, already blocked.”

Alice exchanged her iPad for a script, which she pulled
apart then rearranged its pages. “Okay, Rich, you can go. We’ll have to film
your romantic scene with Sienna tomorrow. So move the scene with Raife and his
priest later, after the scene on the waterfront.”

Eileen and the writers appeared. “What’s up?”

“Thank God, you’re still in make-up. You haven’t
discussed the whole Tristan/brother bit with Sienna, have you?”

“No. Tristan told me, but I haven’t had a scene
with Sienna since.”

“Okay, good. She’s about to show up at your
doorstep in hysterics. Everyone, move over to Clarissa’s living room. Eileen,
go put on scrubs or something. Writers, come with me.”

Romance and soap operas do not mix.

☼