Faces in Time (20 page)

She kisses him on the lips in a quick but firm motion. Staring at him she says, “You know every girl wants to hear that. We just get scared when it happens out loud. Makes us realize life is for us to make it the way we want. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend love isn’t real and just head straight for the jerk so we’ll never be reminded of how things could be if we weren’t so scared to hold out for it.”

“Holding out can be scary.”

“But, it’s also the sweetest thing. As long as you come talk to me at a crowded party, being different than anyone else there. It’s only scary if you never let me know.”

“So, what made you change your mind about me?”

“It was the stuff I told you before. You were right about Dane; you weren’t trying to take me home—you said you wanted to take me out. A date is different. A date is talking to someone, not trying to take them home. You said you wanted to ask me out, which means for another time, not that night. That’s different for Hollywood. That’s different for most places.”

He nods.

“You were happy to take me out for coffee or a movie, and you weren’t getting drunk either. You didn’t say dirty things to me. You said you thought I was wonderful. And beautiful. Just ‘cause I was scared doesn’t mean I didn’t like what you had to say.”

“Uh huh, what else?”

Looking sheepishly, “I-uh, had Harvey check into some things for me too.”

“Oh, so you’re calling him Harvey now?”

“Well, not to his face, but I’m working up to it. Been thinking about what you had to say about him.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe, he isn’t such a nice guy, but he is a good agent. Doesn’t mean there aren’t other good agents though.”

Chester smiles.

“See, you only said things that were good for me, and all of them were true. Just didn’t know it at the time.”

“Was a lot to digest, I guess.”

“Yeah, it was a lot at once,” pauses as she stares at his face that looks troubled, “but not bad.”

“So, what kind of things did you have Harvey look into?”

“Umm, just some stuff about you.”

“Like what?” he asks smiling, leaning in closer to her face that is growing with embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, Chester,” she says smacking his shoulder playfully, turning red, and looking away from him.

“Hey, Rhonda, you thought I was a weirdo, remember? You can tell me whatever it is; it’ll be alright.”

Despite how embarrassed she’s become, she loves the last three words and the tone behind them too much to deny his request.

“I had Harvey call a few people and ask about you. That’s how I knew you’d be here.”

“Well, I almost didn’t come. But, that’s not so bad that you had Harvey ask about me.”

“Just not so bad?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Best kiss of my life.”

She turns even more flushed.

“Rhonda, I’m sorry. I’m not very good at being cool.”

“Cool’s not where I want to be right now,” she says grabbing his hand and pulling him in a little closer, “Chester, there’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“I had Harvey call in a favor and get your police records. I didn’t ask for it, but he got your school transcripts, medical records, pics from your school yearbooks. Guess the guy really owed Harvey. I just wanted the police info, which there wasn’t any of anyway.”

Chester’s face grows worried.

“Chester, I’m so sorry. I just had to know about you before I could feel safe. Things with that crazy man in my bushes had me so scared I was afraid to think of dating anyone—you’re my first kiss since all this started about a year ago. None of the guys I’ve known have acted like you. All of the people who knew that creepy man said he was a nice, quiet guy. Made me afraid of nice…”

“No, no, that’s not what’s bothering me, Rhonda,” he interrupts.

“Then, what?”

“I’m…nothing special. You know that, right? I didn’t have many friends. Don’t have a lot of money. I’ve lived a boring life before coming out to L.A., and I haven’t done much since being here. I don’t know why you would…”

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Don’t you talk like that,” she says lifting his chin off his chest, and peering closely into his face, “You talked to one girl who thinks you’re pretty great. That’s something, right? Isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” squeezing her hand.

The movie has been inconsequential, an action flick without much of a plot or acting. But, the
Most Hipness
writers have been all smiles. The film has been giving them a lot to lampoon in quiet whispers and nervous snickers, an elbow to the ribs in the next seat to point out a particularly bad line. Despite all of the professional critiquing, the redhead sitting next to one of their own has proven to be far more interesting.

Rhonda’s hand has remained in his with her shoulder held snugly against him. At a dark part in the middle, she placed her head on his shoulder, an action which the other writers had to make sure was noticed by all of their ranks. No jokes have been made about her being with him, just smiles and surprise.

The music swells, and the screen fades to credits.

The crowd concedes ostentatious applause while giving each other dissatisfied or comedic looks. The people in the front nearest the director, writer, producers, and cast decide to stand while clapping, making an obsequious wall around the movie makers. The rest of the theater does not follow.

Chester
wonders if the thin wall of ovation surrounds them closely enough to provide the illusion that the gushing wall is universal throughout the theater and maybe even the world. He also wonders if they care that they’re being fooled or if they are simply enjoying the acclaim. Surely, the inevitable two and three star reviews will start pouring in tomorrow, and their remembrances of the ovation will turn from warm and hearty to transparent and thin.

Rhonda’s hand squeezes his, and as she says his name, he cares not for tomorrow but for the wonder of the present.

“Chester?”

He looks to her and sees that her face is flushed and her lips look nervous. His response comes immediately.

“Rhonda, would you like to do something tonight?”

“Yes,” with a smile, relief, and cheeks returning to their normal color. Her eyes still dart bashfully, but not foolishly.

Fourteen minutes later inside the limo, Rhonda sits next to Chester near the rear passenger door. The seats to their left at the immediate back of the limo are filled by Omar and the two show runners. The rest of the seats are taken by the writing staff. She is the only lady in the vehicle to which they pay any attention.

Omar has been leaning forward talking to Rhonda since the limo pulled away from the curb. She has been cordial like a princess, but she has squeezed Chester’s hand while answering any question and not letting go until a positive response has been made.

Another writer, Josh Oakley, leans forward and asks, “So, you guys met at the show party a few weeks ago?”

“Sort of,” answers Chester before she has a chance t respond.

“What kind of answer is ‘sort of’?”

“The kind of mysterious answer that a talented TV writer would conjure up purely for your amusement,” extending his arm bent at the elbow before him and bowing his head and shoulders.

Omar laughs along with the other writers.

“Miss Romero, what projects are you working on now? More TV, or are you looking to make more movies?”

“I’ve been considering both. I’d rather start making more movies, although I enjoyed TV too. Right now I’m looking for different kinds of roles. I want something different than what I played on
The Arcade Life
. So far the roles that I want I haven’t gotten, and the ones they’re begging me for I don’t want. Just seems like I need to pick the right roles now if I’m going to make it past the TV show and do other things.”

Omar says, “I can’t believe you’ve been turned down for roles. Were you auditioning for male leads or parts that required homely women? It seems you could land about anything else that you’d want.”

Laughs and says, “No, just leads in movies with good scripts. They’re usually trying to cast the same six or seven actresses for those roles. They’re not very willing to take a chance on anyone else. Comedies—they’re offering me comedies left and right along with the role of the girlfriend in a ton of movies with lousy scripts and trashy jokes.”

Grinning, Omar replies, “Come on now; I’ve made a career out of lousy scripts and trashy jokes.”

Rhonda’s face becomes flushed, and she tries to explain over the laughter, “No, I didn’t mean scripts like your shows.”

Chester tugs gently on her hand, and her breathing slows. She looks at him, and he leans close to her.

“Omar knows; he just loves a good joke, especially when it’s at himself.”

She looks to Omar who is still laughing but quieter now, “It would be an honor to be on one of your TV shows or movies. Good scripts are what I’m really looking for. The comedies they’ve been sending me are just disgusting.”

A little more serious in tone, Omar says, “Yeah, it’s getting harder to make a comedy without naked girls bouncing around and se kind of weird sex joke. Not that I’m above all that, but I can see why you’re holding out for something else.”

She responds, “Well, I did just finish up shooting a movie called
The Ever After
. It’s a psychological horror about a guy trying to reach his own version of heaven through the power of his mind. He creates his perfect place inside his head and lives there. Then things start to go wrong.”

“It’s great,” supports Chester.

“How would you know, Chaz?” asks Omar.

“Yeah, how would you know?” poses Rhonda.

All eyes looking upon him, his insides far more nervous than his skin shows, “I’ve heard things. You know this town. Heard there might be some Oscar nods in this one.”

“Really?” asks Rhonda.

Omar adds, “Yeah, I’ve heard some good buzz too. Heard it might be up for director and screenplay.”

“Yeah, it was a crazy script. Good though. A fun one to work on—something different,” she explains.

Chester’s heart races at the close call, and he fidgets with his fingers for the rest of the ride to Omar’s home.

His car glistens in the night, parked underneath a tall streetlight in front of Omar’s neighbor’s house. The night hides the thin layer of dirt that he’s allowed to build on it. It may not be that much, but it’s more than he’s ever allowed. He hasn’t paid much attention to it, but he wishes it were cleaner now for Rhonda to ride inside.