Beautiful Stranger (24 page)

“We give the profits of Bye, Bye Love to charity!” Cammie sang out. “How brilliant is that? Every star in Hollywood will be begging to be involved because they want the good press.”

“And the longer you run your club with all the profits going to charity, the more press you’re going to get for your opening,” Clark concluded. Ben scratched the day-old stubble on his chin. “Eventually we’d turn it back into a for-profit thing.” He picked up the conversation where Clark left off. “But we could still do, like, the first Saturday of every month for charity—”

“I was thinking we could do the New Visions foundation,” Cammie broke in.

“The one that sponsored the fashion show you and Anna were in a couple of weeks ago?” Ben raised an eyebrow.

She wasn’t exactly turning cartwheels at hearing Anna’s name on Ben’s lips, but whatever. “Exactly.”

“I’d recommend two weeks as the minimum time you dedicate to charity,” Clark advised. “But—”

“But a month would be better,” Ben finished his thought.

Clark smiled, tiny lines appearing around the corners of his mouth. “At least. I knew there was a reason my daughter likes you. Yes, a month would be better. Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.

Ben shook it, his face breaking into a grin. “How can I ever thank you?”

“Be good to my daughter. And have your ass at your club by two o’clock. That’s when my clients are going to show up. Also, TV vans from KCAL, KABC, and Channel 4 News. And possibly
Entertainment Tonight.
Now I need you guys to excuse me. I’m meeting Jackson in my office at ten.” Clark stood and put his coffee cup down. “We’re talking about
Ben-Hur
.”

“Sam’s dad?” Cammie asked. “How come?”

“He’s been at Endeavor since that agency was formed. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

“You’re poaching him!”

“No one’s poaching anyone. We’re just going to have a discussion to explore common interests and directions. Good luck, you two. See you this afternoon.”

Clark moved off. As he did, Ben leaned across the table, embraced Cammie, and planted a big fat kiss on her cheek. She was thrilled, though she would have been more thrilled if the kiss had been directed at some other part—or parts—of her anatomy. On the other hand, they were in a crowded deli—not that such a thing was likely to stop her, but she was somewhat more adventurous in that department than Ben.

“Your father just saved our asses.” He reached across the table for her hand again. Cammie smiled.

She used the other hand to motion Tillie, a waitress in her eighties who had the body of an in-shape forty-year-old, thick gray hair in a bun, and an encyclopedic knowledge of Hollywood gossip. Rumor had it that she’d been one of Jack Warner’s lovers late in his life, when Jack was getting on and Tillie was still searching for stardom. She’d waited on Cammie many times.

“Tillie! Can we order a real breakfast now?”

“You? Eating more than a plain English muffin?” Ben teased.

“Two things help me work up an appetite,” Cammie answered coyly. “And a great save is the one we can do with our clothes on.”

He shook his head and Tillie hustled over with a pink-lipsticked smile. “Your father restored your appetites?” She gave Ben an approving up-and-down. “A boy so handsome like this, he needs to eat.” Then she winked at Cammie. “To have energy for a girl like you.”

Cammie batted her eyelashes and puckered her lips. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

The Trout Pout

“I
t’s funny that people don’t walk in Los Angeles.” Anna’s fingers were entwined with Logan’s, and they were strolling down the stone steps to the Boat Basin Café, one of Anna’s favorite hangouts in the entire city. Located at the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin on the Hudson River, the café overlooked dozens of moored sailboats and had an unobstructed view of the river and New Jersey beyond. On a hot summer night like this one, with the cool breeze coming off the water, it beat almost anyplace that she knew. A young woman in her twenties in lime green capris and a clashing sports bra ran by, pushing a hooded double baby jogger. A skinny boy without front teeth was throwing a battered pink Fris-bee to his dog, a brown-and-white mutt of no discernible breed; a distinguished if diminuitive elderly man in a suit and his equally small octogenarian wife, in a formal dress and vintage hat, strolled slowly together, holding hands. Every so often, they’d stop and gaze into each other’s eyes.

It struck Anna how un-West Coast the whole thing was, because none of the people had that rosy sheen of Hollywood airbrushed perfection. They were just people, living their lives.

Anna was thrilled that Logan hadn’t known about the boat basin; it was a chance to introduce him to something new. Plus, the Little Red Lighthouse was only a hundred blocks north. They could walk there along Riverside Park, if they chose. She was sure that with him, even five miles would go by in a heartbeat.

He grinned at her. “No, it isn’t, it’s that car culture. Here, a car is a terrible way to get around. Speaking of … how do you feel about going back to Los Angeles tomorrow?”

She shrugged as they reached the café and took one of the open white plastic tables and chairs. “I’ll only be there a week, then back here for a few days, then up to New Haven.” Anna heard the flatness in her own voice. “You won’t need that,” she advised as Logan reached for a menu. “Stick to the burgers. And watch out for the dogs. They allow them here.”

“I’ll keep certain parts well protected,” he answered with a straight face, as a waitress appeared immediately to take their order—two cheeseburgers, two Absolut Citron martinis, and a side order of pickles. “Meanwhile, I can tell you’re not filled with joy about going back to L.A.”

Was that true? And if it was, which part of the scenario was it that she didn’t like? The thing she felt most excited about was the screenplay she’d started. She finished twelve pages last night, and of course, had no freaking idea if it was any good. But at least she was
doing
something, instead of thinking everything to death.

They sat in silence for a while until an aging hippie couple in tie-dye shirts and their Doberman sat down at the table next to them, and the dog—a friendly behemoth with a red bandanna tied around its neck—decided that he was in love with Anna. After several amorous advances, the hippie couple chatted them up. It turned out that they were visiting from an actual commune in Tennessee and were about to eat their first hamburgers in five years.

“I’ll order one for the dog,” Logan gestured humorously as the waitress brought them their drinks. They clinked glasses.

Anna studied his handsome face across from her. “When we’re at school, we’ll only be two hours apart,” she started thinking aloud. “We can see each other on the weekends, and …” She let the rest of what she’d been about to say peter out, because of the shadow that crossed his face. “What?” she prompted.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and instead took a sip of his drink.

Anna flushed. She sensed immediately that she’d gone too far, talking about getting together once school started. She’d only been in New York for a week and she was already making them into some kind of a couple? What was going on with her?

The waitress brought their food, and they ate practically in silence. Their table had just been cleared when they were interrupted by a voice behind them.

“Anna Percy? Is that you? It
is
you!”

A brunette with cut-glass cheekbones and the trout pout of overly enthusiastic lip enhancement—a woman of a certain age who’d had so much work done that her actual age was now entirely uncertain—approached their table. She wore vintage black-and-red Chanel. The toy poodle panting in her Hermès handbag was the same color as her suit.

“Marianna Saint Thomas. I was co-chair with your mother for the American Ballet Theater benefit for years.”

“Right, nice to see you,” Anna murmured. Evidently, folks from her side of Manhattan had found the boat basin restaurant, too.

“And you’re Logan Cresswell,” Marianna continued, pointing an elegant finger at him. “My niece owns the cottage next door to your parents on the Vineyard. Such lovely people. Well, isn’t this a small world.”

The toy poodle gave a toy bark, and Marianna stroked its twitchy head. “Hush, Precious,” she chided. “She just loves attention,” Marianna added for Logan and Anna’s benefit, then lowered her voice. “I’d never be seen at this place, but my daughter Muffin graduated from Sarah Lawrence and we’re having a little celebration before she leaves to study art in Venice. She’s very bohemian. We have a table by the water. Would you care to join us?”

“We’d love to,” Logan answered quickly, “but we have other plans.”

“Some other time then. Kisses to your mother, darling Anna!” Marianna let her dove gray Prada pumps carry her away from the table. As she did, Logan tossed some money on said table and rose. “Let’s get out of here.”

His face was grim. “Are you mad about something?” Anna asked, stretching her long legs to keep up with his stride.

“Just … her. And the whole world of hers.”

Anna arched a brow. “You mean, the world we grew up in?”

“Exactly. It’s like she fits the mold exactly.”

There was a time, Anna knew, when she fit that mold, too. But eight months in California had changed her. She hoped.

“I don’t think where you’re from makes you who you are. Not completely, anyway.”

Logan shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his ancient khakis, and they started up the stairs to Riverside Drive. “I hope not. My father went to Harvard. His father went to Harvard. All I ever heard my whole life was, ‘When you go to Harvard …’”

He captured her hand as they reached the sidewalk. “I’ve done what’s expected of me my whole life.”

Anna nodded silently, knowing exactly what he meant. They walked to Amsterdam, where there was a street scene to watch every night. Just as two elderly women in kerchiefs and support hose vacated a bench surrounded by pigeons, Logan slid onto it and patted the seat next to him. They observed the changing street scene of a hot New York night. People out walking their dogs, groups of teenagers from New Jersey looking for fun but not knowing where to look, Rollerbladers, night bikers, and an endless stream of honking cars and taxis.

“I thought we’d talk during dinner,” Logan suddenly began in a low tone. “But we’d better do it now. I have something to tell you.”

“Okay. Go ahead.” She steeled herself. He was probably still freaked out by what she’d said at dinner, the plans for their relationship she’d blurted out without thinking.
I really like you,
he’d say.
But I’m just not ready for that kind of commitment.
How could she have thought differently after just a week?

“I’m not going to Harvard.”

“You’re
what?
”

“Not going,” he repeated. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. And then when I went to the reception and couldn’t find the enthusiasm I’d been hoping—”

“But … but it was just a cocktail party for incoming freshmen—it wasn’t like actually being at Harvard!” Anna exclaimed.

“I just … I need some time to think. St. Paul’s, then Harvard, then grad school. I feel like I’m in a car, driving ninety miles an hour to I don’t know where.”

Anna’s throat tightened. She’d already pictured them together in New Haven or Cambridge. Even though she knew it was too soon to really talk about it, it felt all too natural that they’d continue to see each other once they were at school. It didn’t have to mean they were a couple. It just made the thought of going off to Yale so much more bearable to know—

She stopped herself.
So much more bearable?

That was what she thought about going to college, that she needed something—someone—to make it more
bearable?

What if … what if he felt about Harvard the same way she felt about Yale? Yet she couldn’t imagine simply blowing it off as he just had. Because without her plan of going to college, she had no clue what she wanted to do.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t seem enthusiastic about what you said at dinner,” he continued. “I would have been. I just … it caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready to tell you I wasn’t going.”

She turned to him again. “Maybe you should think about it some more.”

Logan shook his head. “All I’ve been doing is thinking about it. And I know what I’m going to do instead.”

“What?” She was unable to contain her curiosity. What did people like her and Logan
do
if they didn’t go to college?

“Go to Bali. My dad just opened a new eco-resort there. A new hotel.”

“And what exactly will you do at your father’s new eco-resort in Bali?” Anna could hear the edge in her voice, which wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t just that she suddenly felt abandoned. She cared about Logan. And maybe it could develop into something more. Evidently, he didn’t feel the same way. They’d just been old neighbors hanging out for a few days.

“Think.” He rubbed his temples. “Just be free and clear to … think. Figure out what I want.”

“Okay,” she replied softly. It wasn’t like she could talk him out of it.

Logan put a hand to her cheek. “These past few days with you have been amazing, Anna. I want you to know that.”

Her answer was very short and very honest. “For me, too.”

When You Feel Your Worst, Always Look Your Best

A
nna had been to the Academy Awards with Sam this past spring, when Sam’s father had unfortunately lost—yet again—for best actor. But the scene on Venice Boulevard as she approached Bye, Bye Love rivaled it for celebrity and star-studded controlled chaos. The LAPD had actually blocked off the boulevard in either direction, snarling traffic in the somewhat scruffy Culver City neighborhood almost to the point of gridlock. Certainly, the neat frame houses, plumbing suppliers, temporary-labor storefront shops, and takeout Chinese joints had never seen anything like it.

“I’ll say this for Ben and Cammie—they know how to do an opening,” Sam commented as she and Anna crawled along in Sam’s yellow Hummer. “Not that I care,” she added, “about that or anything else.”