Just Kiss Me (26 page)

“No problem. I like demo.”

Which was one of the reasons Hoyt made such a valuable employee. He was built like a tank and loved grunt work. “It’ll take a few trips to haul it all back.”

The kid next in line paid for a Slurpee with a handful of change. He dropped a quarter on the floor, and Henry’s gaze followed him as he bent to pick it up. “I can sell it as …” his voice trailed off, his attention caught and held like glue by the
National Enquirer
in a rack at the checkout counter. The kid stood and blocked Henry’s view.

“Excuse me,” he said and reached in front of the boy. He pulled the tabloid from the rack and stared at the picture of Vivien, walking down a street somewhere and eating ice cream. The paparazzi had caught her eating, but it wasn’t the ice cream that caught his attention. It was the enlarged red circle around her stomach and the red arrow pointing to it. “Baby Bump?” was written in bold black letters. Henry stared at the red circle and Vivien’s belly and he felt the blood rushed from his head. He thought he might pass out. Right there in the Kangaroo Express.

“Boss? Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you back.” He disconnected and stepped out of line. Balancing his six-pack, he thumbed to the center of the magazine. The same picture was blown up even bigger, and he could see a slight bulge, like she’d eaten a grapefruit. He studied the photo and it looked to him like she’d gone on an ice cream bender, like when she was a kid.

“Sources close to Vivien will neither confirm nor deny that the actress is pregnant,” he read. Tabloids made stories up all the time. Like him fondling her bra in the sports bar on King Street.

He slid his gaze to her beautiful face and big dark sunglasses. There had been a bit of truth to the bra story. He
had
been holding it on his finger and … Henry’s brows crammed together over his eyes and he brought the paper closer to his face. Right beside Vivien, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, strolled Henry’s missing brother.

While Henry had been going through hell in Charleston, Spence had been living it up in Hollywood.

More to come.

“
THIS IS THE
life.” Spence lifted his empty hand as if he held a glass. “Here’s to Hollywood, my dear.”

Through her cat-eye sunglasses, Vivien looked at the script in front of her. She lay curled up on her side beneath the white canopy of her poolside cabana and read the stage directions:
Dorothy feels ambivalent about the move to Hollywood and about her marriage to Alan
. Just as she was about to say her lines, Spence’s phone beeped and he broke character.

“Christ almighty! Henry’s been texting me five times an hour.” He tossed his script on the mattress. “He’s definitely seen the cover of the
Enquirer
and he sounds pissed off.”

Vivien lifted her gaze. “So? Let him be pissed. I didn’t get
him
pregnant.” She tossed her script aside and stretched out within the linen pillows. Beyond the shade of the cabana, the California sun bathed twelve Greek statues in bright light as they poured water from urns into an elaborately tiled pool. The house had been owned previously by a twenty-five-year-old computer-game developer who had more money than taste. Although at night, Vivien had to admit, the sound of water spilling from the urns was relaxing.

“When do you plan to talk to Henry?” Spence asked as he rose from the cabana and moved to a chaise a few feet away.

“I don’t know.” She’d avoided the subject. She wanted to get her current film wrapped up before she thought about him, but at some point she would have to tell him or Henry would make himself unavoidable. “I wrap up shooting Friday, and then I’m going to sleep for a week. I’ll think about it after that.”

“I don’t know if he’ll be put off that long.” Spence whipped off his T-shirt and stretched out to sun himself. His chest was still pink from tanning the day before.

“Are you sure you don’t want sunscreen?” When and if she decided to talk to Henry was not up to him. It was up to her.

“I spent every summer on Coligny Beach. I’ll bronze up in no time.”

He looked like a blister just waiting to happen. Vivien snuggled deeper into the pillows and put a hand over her slightly rounded stomach. She closed her eyes and listened to the water falling from the stone urns into the pool. She’d been so tired lately. All she did was work and sleep. All of the pregnancy books she’d read said exhaustion was normal. The lists of dos and don’ts for pregnant women was mind-boggling. The dos were commonsense stuff like make regular doctor visits and get lots of rest. The don’ts list was frightening. She’d read that she couldn’t eat hot dogs or fish or soft chesses. She should avoid microwaves, cat litter, and herpes. Although really, avoiding herpes was a given, pregnant or not. The others though … What if she forgot and ate a microwaved hot dog? Or there was some brie hidden in a tostada? Would she need her stomach pumped?

The warmth of the sun through the cabana curtains lulled her into the relaxing space just before sleep. All the baby books differed, though, on when she might feel movement from the baby. One of the books said sixteen weeks, the other twenty-two.

She wished she had someone to talk to other than Sarah and Spence. She wished she had her mother. For lots of reasons—not the least of which was to ask why she’d lied to Vivien her whole life—and because a girl needed her momma when she was expecting a baby. Spence was her closest living relative, and his only piece of advice had been to avoid hard liquor. To which she’d replied,
Duh
.

It was still weird to think she had a brother. Especially Spence, but the same day she’d written down her list of cons, she’d reached out to him. Without hesitation, he’d dropped everything and hopped on the first available flight to L.A. He’d arrived at her house wearing yellow pants, a white-and-yellow-checked shirt, and a gray jacket. The choice had been bold for a man living anywhere but South Carolina, where even the most hetero of men weren’t afraid of pastels. Except maybe Henry. She just couldn’t see him in yellow pants.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” she’d said as he walked in the front door.

“Of course you called me.” He’d pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and dropped his suitcase on the floor. “I’m your big brother.”