Leaving Unknown (26 page)

Judd assessed me. “Your hair is long.”

I ducked my head in shame. “Yeah, I’m not at all heroic. I took a long time.” Was this word-vomiting?

He tapped my chin, just enough to make me look at him again but not enough to be pervy. “Kudos to you, kid,” he said seriously. “I lost my dad to cancer.” He vaulted into the Club. “It’s nice to meet a survivor,” Judd understated.

“I’m not sure when you become survivor.” I believed this. “I don’t think you’re there if your scars keep you from doing what you want to do.”

“How long have you been in remission?” He voiced the benchmark between life and death, over a beer.

“Two years seven months,” I whispered.

Judd’s face split into a wide smile. “You’re cured!”

“No.” I shook him off. “Not quite. Five years is just a number. I’ve been part dead since the day I accepted that I might die.”

“That’s not true.” Judd was all confidence. Then he looked sad. “My dad’s remission was for a year and eleven months before it came back. The two-year benchmark means a lot.”

I was having this conversation in a bar after evading survivors groups for so long. Judd signaled Smiley for his check and I felt anticipatory loss for my newfound friend.

“So what do you do, Maeve Connelly?”

I slouched. “Nothing. I thought I had a job when I got here, but it fell through. At the moment, I run on the beach, take pictures, and try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.”

“What kinds of pictures?” Judd looked interested.

“Oh, you know, just people doing what they do. That’s what I used to do in Unknown. Only there I got paid for it.” It felt cool to say it like that, like it was a career or something.

“And you’re looking for work now?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Starbucks is looking better and better.”

Judd signed his credit card receipt. “You like shooting?”

“What?” Laura-Lola earlier maybe, but I was a nonviolent person.

“Pictures. You like taking pictures?”

“I love it.” I was getting confused. He wasn’t going to spoil my impression of him by professing to be a photographer and asking me to get into a paneled van and go into the deep woods to model for him, was he?

“You want to shoot, you call me.” He slid me a card. “I run a company that photographs special events. It’s not for the starry eyed. It’s hard work and seriously less-than-famous.” He smiled. “I’d love to have you on board, purely because I like the way you think and I’m partial to long braids.” He tugged one, but again, it didn’t feel predatory. This was the first person in LA other than Marion who seemed to be himself. “Organize a serious portfolio. I’ll pitch you to my partners and we’ll see what we can do.”

I looked at his card. It was professional, Woot Prints Photography.

“Wow, Judd. Thanks!” Was all I could manage. Was it possible that for once, timing had worked in my favor, planting me next to this guy at this bar?

Judd stood, slinging a camera bag from the floor over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to cover a fashion event party at Lisa Kline tonight.” He winked as my mouth dropped open. “I’ll try to get some good ones of the ‘seduction’ for you.”

With those words he walked out the door, leaving me sucking air as some yahoo in a baseball cap asked me if the seat next to me was free.

I was still there an hour later when TJ cleared away my empty plate and glass. The crowd had thinned and I felt panic balloon at the recollection that I had nowhere to go.

“Anything else?” TJ gleamed, putting a check in front of me.

I shook my head as I paid, wondering what I was going to do next. I checked my watch. 8:30
P.M
. Crap. I smiled when I overheard a couple down the bar discussing a studio’s intent to make another
Mummy
film. It was the franchise, not the mummy, that would never die. Then I had a brainstorm. I’d see a movie. Genius. Maybe I’d see two, even a midnight show if they had one. That’d eat up hours. Happy now, I hopped off my stool and headed down Main Street towards the Santa Monica Promenade, where there were at least two theaters, maybe three.

I’d only been walking for a minute when my cell phone rang. I answered without looking at the screen. It had to be Vi. Who else would be calling me? My only friend in LA was camping.

It was a shock to hear Noah’s voice on the line.

“Maeve?”

I sucked in my breath, frozen. After phantom sightings of Noah all day, the real one was saying my name. Repeatedly.

“Maeve? Are you there? Hello? Maeve, can you hear me?”

I smiled at his impatience. “What’s up, duck?”

“Oh there you are.” His voice was relieved.

“I’m here, Big Ears. How the hell are you?” I forced casual cheer.

“At the moment, hungry and in need of a drink.”

Huh. Well. Okay. “Too far away to help, I’m afraid.” Standing alone on Main Street with nowhere to go, pressing the phone hard against my ear as if I could actually bring him closer. Why was he calling? “There’s this invention called a sandwich, though. First you take…”

“Actually, I’m here.” He cut me off.

Adrenaline shot through my body. “What?” As ridiculous as it was, I looked around so furiously my braids flew like helicopter rotors.

“I’m in Santa Monica. At the Loews Hotel.”

My heart stopped. Then started like a bird trying to fly out of my chest. He’d come for me! Noah was here to take me home!

“…in town for an independent booksellers conference.”

His words shot the bird like an arrow. But my happiness was only slightly diminished. He was
here
. Near me.

“So I was hoping you’d meet me?”

“You betcha.” I tried not to sound overly enthusiastic. “There’s this great little dive right there called Chez Jay—it’s sort of legendary for Warren Beatty and Madonna getting it on in the back room once. Or if you want swish, we can go to the poolside bar at the Viceroy. A bit farther out is Wilshire or the Other Room. For Irish pubs we have Finn’s and O’Brien’s. Or there’s…” Excitement had me babbling.

Noah’s voice had an unseen smile when he interrupted my verbal flow. “Why don’t you come to the hotel? If it’s not too far for you.” Always courteous.

“Sure, sure.” I nodded to no one on the empty street. Anywhere. “I’m close. Ten minutes?”

“I’ll be at the bar.”

I hung up and took a few deep breaths. I had to calm down or he was going to think LA had turned me psychotic. Inhale. Exhale. I surveyed my outfit. My favorite 7 For All Mankind jeans and a black halter top, with jade green satin ballet slippers. I wouldn’t win any fashion icon awards, but it flattered me. My chunky white bangle with a peacock feather painted on it matched the shoes. That showed maturity and good sense. He’d see I’d grown in LA.

I was a little hurt that he’d apparently been in town for a few days at the conference and hadn’t called me, but I pushed it away. He’d been busy, and he’d called me now. Feet light, it was less than ten minutes before I was smiling at the doorman as I stepped into the Loews lobby. Loews is one of those lovely hotels where they shoot those scenes on
Entourage
or
The Hills
, with beautiful people sipping drinks by the pool and accepting complimentary frozen grapes and real juice popsicles from jacketed waiters. At night, the lobby exuded understated luxury and the scent of expensive floral arrangements. I located the bar and headed toward it, trying to maintain a measured speed. People didn’t run in the Loews lobby. Or at least I assumed. I’d never been.

I spotted his back instantly, and felt the same jolt as earlier. Only this time it
was
his back. Inhale. Exhale. As if feeling my presence, he turned. His face split into a wide smile, and something warm flooded my body. I crossed the distance as he slid off his stool and stepped to me, meeting in a hug that increased from tight to bone crushing. Finally he released me, and smiled down from six foot four.

“You look great.” He didn’t say much, but his green eyes were warm. I grinned back.

“You should’ve warned me to wear sunglasses, pasty,” I
joked. “Cancer doesn’t fall out of the sun on you like rain, you know. You can walk around outdoors, stay a while even.”

“I’ve been trapped inside a store.” He shook his head, face rueful. “I just can’t keep good help.” Now my smile spread, and we beamed goofily at each other like awkward teenagers. Noah recovered first.

“My lady.” Ever the gentleman, he assisted me onto a barstool, hand at my back heating my flesh more than it should. “I was about to order something to eat. Will you join me?”

I made sure my face didn’t change. I’d had the chicken quesadilla appetizer (sour cream on the side) at the Alehouse because it was all I could afford. And that was only because Judd had bought my drinks. My movie excursion would have depended on my talking my way into a student discount.

“I’m not hungry,” I breezed. “Just ate. Stuffed, in fact.” I patted my nonexistent, almost concave, belly. I’d lost weight in LA. A tiny frown suggested Noah noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Okay. Do you mind if I…” My stomach’s loud rumble would have overpowered a sonic boom, much less Noah’s words. He started, then laughed. Without a word, he gave my braid a tug, and turned to the bartender. “We’ll have one filet, medium please, and one of the halibut, miso broth on the side, peas steamed with no butter. And, a bottle of your Cambria Pinot Noir.”

“But…”

“And we’ll start with the crab cake appetizer.” He looked at me. “You like crab cakes, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He knew I did. “We’ll have the crab cakes, lobster reduction on the side.” He shut the menu with a satisfied snap.

I felt a little panicky at the thought of how much it would all cost. “Noah…”

“Maeve, allow your old boss to buy you dinner. You brought me sandwiches often enough when I was on a deadline and forgot to eat.” My nervousness must have been evident, because he laughed. “Don’t look so distraught. This is on the corporate tab.”

That didn’t really comfort me considering I’d seen the “corporation.” I gestured to the lavish surroundings and raised an eyebrow. “This is pretty swish for a independent book shop. Dipping a hand into the till, are we? Wait until the boss finds out. You’re canned.”

He laughed, but his right eyebrow did the thing where it creased down on one side. It was his tell. There was something he wasn’t saying. He noticed me noticing, and looked shifty.

“So, tell me about…” he began.

“You first.” I wasn’t having it. “Tell me about this independent booksellers conference.”

His gaze flicked away. “Nothing very exciting. Just a bunch of dusty bibliophiles trying to figure out how to throw the rock at the Goliath booksellers and stay afloat. Roomful of people looking worried.” Definitely. There was definitely something he was withholding. I pondered it. Then horror flooded my body.

“You got married,” I accused, feeling sick. I have no idea what my face was doing, since I wasn’t stopping it, but it couldn’t have been good. I felt miserable. And stupid. Of course that explained the nice digs. “You and Beth are on your honeymoon.”

His eyes flew back to mine, astounded. “What? Maeve, no…Why would you think that? That’s, well, that’s just ridiculous. Preposterous even. Beth and I…”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” I interrupted. I didn’t want to hear about Noah and Beth. Though I could have swooned from relief at his denial. I still wasn’t satisfied. “You have the worst poker face, Noah. And this hotel.”

He was smiling again. He tapped my hand on the bar and absently played with my fingers. “I never could keep anything from you.” I waited. “It’s not that big of a deal.” He gave a laugh and looked away, embarrassed. “I mean, it’s silly really, not worth mentioning.” His eyes returned to my expectant face. “I’ve been flown out by a studio. They’re interested in
The Boy Who Could Fly
. They’ve optioned the rights to make a film. They’re trying to impress me Hollywood style, hence the high-brow food and hotel.”

“Noah, that’s incredible!” I was so relieved my initial supposition was wrong, I was giddy at his good news. I launched across the space between our barstools, throwing my arms around him. He reflexively wrapped his around me and returned the hug. Or caught me, as I sort of toppled in my enthusiasm. It felt so good to be captured against his chest that I turned to liquid and couldn’t move. I blinked back tears at my reprieve. Someday I’d have to face the reality that he belonged to another. But not tonight. We held each other until it wasn’t about congratulations anymore, and I realized I’d turned my face into his warm, masculine neck. I didn’t pull away until the sound of his cell phone jarred the mood.

“Hello?” he answered, eyes on me. Then his expression became strange. “Beth.” My stomach plummeted. He mouthed
excuse me
in my direction and hurried away from the bar, phone close to his mouth. I could see him behind a large plant across the lobby, pacing as he spoke.

After five minutes, he returned, seeming agitated.

“How’s Beth?” I faked interest.

“Demanding.” He frowned, distracted. Then he focused on me. “Maeve…”

“Okay then, crab cakes for you?” The model-actress-bartender interrupted him, placing a dish in front of us. My stomach indicated its willingness to defect from my body in the manner of
Alien
to reach the crab cakes if I didn’t attend to the matter. I was happy to comply. Beth might be dominant in Noah’s life, but I didn’t want to hear about it. I wanted to enjoy my borrowed time.

“Wow. These look great.” I seized my fork and took a bite. Noah opened his mouth, then closed it. After a pause, he picked up his fork as well. Diversion successful. “So tell me more about it. Do they scout booksellers’ meetings for frustrated novelists like Catholic girls trolling JDate for doctors?” JDate was the Jewish version of Match.com.

He looked confused. I doubted Noah was hip to the world of online dating.

“My agent called a few weeks ago with an offer. It happened that the conference was coming up, so I suggested this week. They’re footing the bill for my trip to meet them and I get a free ride to the conference.” He looked smug.