The Admirer's Secret (12 page)

“Very much. It’s just that it looks vaguely familiar…”

“Well, it’s a hobby of mine—taking pictures, I mean.”

“Thank you so much. This is really thoughtful of you.” He paused, then continued, “You know, I don’t think I have a single picture on any of my walls. I know just the place for this. Thanks, Haley. You’ve just brightened up my living room.”

“Well, the picture made me think of you. I’m glad you like it.”

“I definitely do.”

Marc slipped his coat on and stepped toward the door. Reaching for the doorknob, he paused and turned to face Haley. He held out his arms, and unsure of what he was doing, she walked into them. He slowly enveloped her in his grasp, squeezing her gently. She thought she felt the brush of his lips tickling her cheek.

Haley’s body trembled in his, but she wasn’t sure if he felt it or not. Her excitement peaked with each passing second. The moment endured time. His grasp lingered, and when he slowly released, he gave a slight sigh, as if he regretted having to let go. That gesture salvaged the date more than anything Marc could have said. In Haley’s mind, the evening couldn’t have
ended more romantically… considering the circumstances.

She solitarily stood in the doorway watching his car disappear into the shadows looming outside the reach of nearby streetlights. It took a few moments before she could force herself back to the dishes in the kitchen and
dealing with the sparse leftovers needing put away. She kept wishing he would turn around for one last quiet moment together, but eventually the cold draft hit her bare legs with such force that she surrendered any surprise return.

After the kitchen was clean and the dishes in the dishwasher, she sat down at the dining room table to reflect on the evening.
She retrieved a pile of mail and began to sort through it, when something caught her eye. Pushed beside the vase of flowers, Marc left his signature calling card: a handwritten heart-shaped letter folded in half waiting for her eyes only. She read it slowly and intentionally, absorbing each poetic word:

My darling Haley,

How can I show you what you mean to me? Words can only express so much, and actions can only show so much, but how can a heart feel so much? It’s enough passion to fill a lifetime together. You are forever in my thoughts and my wish is to be filled with more than dreams of you, Haley, but with shared memories together. I hope you feel the same.

Yours forever,

Marc

As she read the beautiful prose in its perfect cursive handwriting, she wished he would have said it all aloud. There was something surreal about the note, and if only he could have spoken wh
at his heart clearly longed to tell her… but she’d give him time to let the words surface.

**

Later that night, lying in the pitch-black, Haley replayed the hug over and over. She knew there were more of those to come. She couldn’t believe how wonderful Marc was turning out to be. The sensation that Haley was left with after being in his presence felt indescribable. He left her wanting, and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She wanted to be near him, to talk to him, to be lost in his eyes. Haley couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him that made her feel this way, but it was pure. Though there were a lot of things she hadn’t discussed with Marc—like the details of her past or how deep her passions ran—something in her heart told her that he held those very same things close to his own heart. She knew that he would accept who she was and who she is, no matter how messed up she might be.

His letters assured her of that.

People always assume they have more time to pursue the things they want.
Where has the time gone?
There was no answer for her in the pitying darkness. For many, love is as elusive as truth from a politician’s lips. But this time she’d hold on.  

Chapter 25

A
fter the “miraculous” recovery of his engine and the tow truck’s departure, Allen’s drive home that night gave him time to reflect on the evening. He turned off the radio as soon as he started the engine so he could relish the quiet. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, untainted in the peaceful silence. Though overwhelmed with excitement at seeing Haley again, Allen was disappointed that Marc Vincetti was sitting at her dining room table.

Shaking his head, Allen couldn’t imagine what Haley would want with such an
average
guy. Though Marc seemed “likeable” enough with his friendly pretense, there was nothing special about him. Besides, Allen brooded, all of Marc’s cordial chatter was probably just a façade to make himself look good in front of Haley.

Allen read right through Marc’s invitation to join them—
Marc wanted to shove his relationship with Haley in Allen’s face. Allen seethed at the thought. He despised Marc. How could Haley not see through Marc’s charade? And even if she did fall for Marc’s act, certainly she had to recognize that she was too good for a boring
computer repairman.
And tonight only reaffirmed that notion. Her enchanting personality, combined with her enticing charm, was poles apart from Marc’s dry intellect. She needed a creative counterpart like Allen to complete her. Engrossed in her every gesture and every murmur, Allen was captivated as she emanated an energy and tenderness that so few people possessed. Haley was a gem. A rare jewel that Allen hoped to add to his crown.

Haley was the complete opposite of his ex. Luckily, he would never have to deal with that wench ever again. Her nagging, her dominating personality, her demands—his
soon-to-be ex drove him to do what he did. But Haley, on the other hand, was sweet and thoughtful and naïve. These traits were exactly what he wanted in a woman.

As he relived the evening detail by detail, Allen knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep that night. Haley’s infectious laugh would echo in his mind until the sun rose. In his mind’s eye he saw her twisting her finger around her soft curls, attentive to his words. He’d never met a woman like her, certainly not in
Hollywood where everyone was already “someone” and Allen was a mere face in a crowd of countless somebodies. Women didn’t flock to him there. Not being the required grade A meat—maybe a C+—he rarely got a second glance from passersby, and certainly not the respect he deserved. Haley gave him all that he sought—he stood out where he belonged, as a celebrity should. With Haley at his side, he’d never have to worry about feeling like a nobody.

More determined than ever to keep her, Allen knew he needed a plan. But time was running short and he still hadn’t secured any assurance that she’d be following him to the West Coast.

Wishing away the musings, the other side of the sword slew him like a dagger in his heart. There was something else about Haley that caught his attention when he left the dinner table to use the bathroom. On his way, he had passed Haley’s bedroom. The door was wide open; the room was as neat as a pin. Allen observed her decorative rose-patterned pillows, her feminine taste and the orderly way she kept everything. He imagined himself in that bed next to her, waking up to her glowing face each morning for the rest of their lives. But as his gaze curiously circled her room, something struck him. Next to her bed, perched upright beneath her bedside lamp, was a picture. The photograph of Marc should have been enough of a hint to confirm that Haley’s heart was no longer available; there was no reason for Allen to give her another thought.

But he couldn’t give up that easily. After all, that’s how he got into this business: using force. It was his nature. Passive-aggressive. There was still a chance
, and his plan was flawless. Tomorrow she would get his letter, then she’d naturally accept the invitation to accompany him to L.A., and a week later they would be riding off into the sunset together. She’d be unable to resist Allen’s spell and would happily leave Marc in the cloud of dust behind. A perfect Hollywood ending. Once Westfield was behind them, Marc would be history and Haley would be his.

On the other hand, there was a chance—a slim chance—that Haley would refuse Allen’s offer. Then what? If she chose Marc over Allen’s career opportunity, that would put a damper on Allen’s plans; more than a damper, really. It would smother any possible chance of Allen and Haley’s future together.

No, Allen simply could not let that happen. He’d have to redirect Haley’s focus. Or perhaps redirect Marc’s focus away from Haley. It would take some creativity to break the couple up, but Allen was a film script writer—that’s what he did for a living! Create ideas. And execute them. Yes, that would be Plan B. If Haley didn’t come on her own, Allen would orchestrate some motivation to help guide her to the right decision—joining Allen in Los Angeles as a pupil and his future wife.

Allen’s Mercedes hit a pothole, jarring his focus from his devious plans back to the road with more holes than Blackburn,
Lancashire. Thumping along the concrete chewed away by too much salt, he passed quaint houses with friendly picket fences and neglected tire swings swaying in the bitter breeze. It was nothing like Los Angeles where people lived in apartments or cramped houses, fighting traffic and avoiding bad neighborhoods. Would he ever have a place to call home with Haley? If this laid-back atmosphere was her life—a life that perhaps she loved—would she ever settle for someplace different? It was at that moment as he pulled up to a pitch-black empty house, where he and a month’s worth of clothes adequately fit into a meager single-bed room, when he realized he was truly alone. He was in love with Haley Louise Montgomery, but he might never have her, no matter how much he fought. For she was in love with Marc Vincetti, a vital part of her world here.

Chapter
26

T
he mailbox was stuffed more than usual for a Saturday. At least three days’ worth of ads, coupons, and bills were crammed into the spruce green metal box with a broken red flag that had at one point matched her green shutters. Time and weather had changed that, though.

Haley hastily gathered up the mail before heading into the house. Several sheets of advertisements escaped her grasp and flittered to the wet ground below. With a dramatic roll of her eyes that no one would see, she bent down and collected everything, then treaded up her front walkway, feeling the slushy ice mixture seeping through her
shoes and socks to her toes.

She didn’t care about the sopping mail.

Or her frozen feet.

All she cared about was what waited for her on the other side of the door. On her answering machine. She wanted a message from Marc. Anything to show that he thought of her, cared, anything.

Timidly pushing open the front door, her machine stared back at her from its place on the kitchen counter. Lo and behold, a bold yellow “1” awaited her. Still clutching the stack of snow-drenched mail, she pressed the button.

“Hi
…
crackle
… wanted to see…
crackle
… you’d want to…
crackle
… really need…
crackle
… talk…” Dead silence. The voice was indiscernible due to the heavy static on the other end, but it was male, nonetheless. Apparently the caller had lost his signal. If her machine had feelings, she would have told it a thing or two, but instead she saved the message and debated whether to call Marc or not. If it wasn’t him, she’d seem overeager. If it was him and he didn’t know the message got cut off, he’d think she wasn’t interested if she didn’t call. Haley had never been much of a gambler… but it wasn’t too late to start, was it?

Maybe some ice cream would aid in the decision. She tossed the handful of papers and envelopes on the kitchen counter, and a large yellow manila envelope dropped out of the pile onto the floor. When she picked it up and examined the label, she saw no return address and no postage; nothing but her name and address written in perfectly scripted handwriting. Odd. Her usual anonymous writer always used standard envelopes, not manila. And while the handwriting definitely looked familiar, it didn’t match the fluid style she knew so well. She couldn’t pinpoint where she’d seen it before.

Curiously peeling off the adhesive binding, she tore it open.

She slowly reached inside, searching for the contents with her fingertips. She pulled out a second smaller, thick envelope from within, along with a letter. She read the letter first:

Dear Haley,

I wanted you to know how much I’ve enjoyed getting to know you as a fellow writer and as a friend. You are an amazing individual, among the most creatively brilliant that I know. That is why I am offering you this opportunity.

Perhaps it feels somewhat premature for me to offer you this before you’ve completed the last class. But it didn’t take me long to see your potential, Haley. I have watched you grow as a writer, and you have not only impressed me with your talent, but you’ve earned this more than any other. As you know, I planned to select one individual from the class to accompany me to a
Hollywood premier. Out of all your classmates, you are the one most deserving of this opportunity. Every aspect of your growth has proved time and again that you love what you do and are passionate about a future in this industry. That’s what I was looking for all along.

Enclosed you will find one airplane ticket to
Los Angeles. This ticket is specifically for a trip to a Hollywood event that all the most prominent movie writers, producers, and directors will be attending. You belong among us, Haley. I believe you are ready to move forward in your career. I hope you see your potential as I do, and seriously consider this opportunity.

Though I’m sure you would have hoped for more time to consider, the flight leaves this upcoming Sunday, the day after our last class together. If you choose to accept the invitation to join me at this event, I will look forward to working with you for years to come. If you choose not to, may you find happiness and fulfillment in all you do.

I’m honored to have known you and worked with you, no matter how short the time.

Allen Michaels

Haley stood transfixed, reading and re-reading the letter, dumbfounded. The dreamlike moment was how she imagined it
would feel if she’d won Publisher’s Clearinghouse. Had she spent more time thinking about it, she probably would have thought it odd that the final projects had apparently counted for nothing, since hers was still saved on her computer waiting for the last few changes before turning it in next week. She didn’t have enough space in her brain to consider that, though. She had only one week and a day to decide her fate.

There were two options. If she left, she wouldn’t come back. Hence, she would probably never see Marc again. Or she could stay and pursue a life with Marc and kiss her dreams and ambitions good-bye. So which was more important—love or success?

She went to tuck the letter back in the envelope when she felt something else. There was another piece of paper. And it felt thick. Something was inside.

She pulled out a plane ticket that was wedged inside and a ticket to a
Hollywood premier. Turning them both over in her hands, she studied them. They seemed legit. This was actually happening. Everything was coming together as she had once hoped it would.

As a young woman, this day was what she had journal
led about for so many years. Now she was an adult with adult decisions to make. With the choice here in front of her, she didn’t know if this was what she wanted. The timing couldn’t have been worse. She was still getting to know Marc, and so far, her feelings for him were growing deeper. She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave.

Oddly enough, when the whole screenplay writing venture was stifled in a dream
, it felt right. But the birth of a realization that she would actually live a life of last-minute meetings and premiers, while hibernating until a script was complete… Was this what she had chased for so long?

The more she stared at that plane ticket, the more uneasy
she felt about the whole thing. There was no guarantee of how long she would be gone. A loitering insecurity told her that perhaps she wasn’t ready for this step, that she should wait until she had a little more experience under her belt. If she left, she’d be passing up Marc. If she stayed, she’d be giving up her dream. Would she ever get a second chance at Hollywood… or Marc?

The decision
-making process was beginning to take the form of a headache, so she dropped the letter on the dining room table, rummaged for a tub of ice cream in the freezer, and found refuge with it in front of her television. She plastered herself on the couch and flipped through channels searching for something distracting. The television droned on in the background with canned laughter from a trivial sitcom, but nothing was registering in her head. Her mind dwelled on the ultimatum at hand—follow Allen or stay with Marc. 

Secure in her vegetative state, she scooped spoonful after spoonful of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream into her mouth until she hit the bottom of the container. Now that her stomach ached, and the
Seinfeld
rerun no longer provided the comedic distraction she needed, it was time to do something else. Haley didn’t feel like writing anymore—her hand was sore from last night’s journaling—and she lacked the energy needed to spill out all these new developments and choices to her mom.

Pushing herself up off of the couch, she had an idea. She darted up the stairs to her office and threw open the lid to the window seat that stored a
hodge-podge of odds and ends and memorabilia. After a second or two of digging, she found what she was looking for—her Canon EOS with an exchangeable 50mm 1:1.4 lens. Right where she had last stored it.

Throwing the thin black leather strap over her shoulder, she ran down the stairs, skipping every other step. Within a couple of minutes, she was driving down
Main Street, where two-feet-high piles of slush had been plowed aside. She passed through one set of lights, then the second, looking for the sharp left turn up ahead. She could drive this route blindfolded.

More recently, as tension harbored inside her, she found her latest hobby
to be the perfect source of relaxation. By the time she arrived at her destination and left her car near the berm of the road, the sky had darkened to a midnight blue and the moon glowed brightly overhead, guiding her steps. She found her familiar spot and pulled out the black leather pouch that still had remnants of dust on it. Before she had only come here to relax, but now she came out of necessity.

She sat in her usual spot and retrieved the camera from the case. Normally she would have brought her tripod for an evening landscape shot, but she hoped her wide-angle fast lens would suffice tonight, with the aid of the celestial bodies above. She used her pocketknife to pry off the lens cover that always seemed to stick, put the
viewing lens up to her eye, and found her target up ahead.

It was the perfect picture where the sky met the earth. Even in its darkness, the distant glow of
Erie, Pennsylvania, illuminated the horizon enough to reveal that distinct place where land ended and the heavens began. Clicking picture number one, then number two, Haley felt the tension release with each shot. Adjusting the angle, she refocused, then snapped a few more. The whir of the shutter was the only sound to be heard. The cold air invigorated her as she captured a frozen snapshot of life. Her hot breath left a mist in the night air, barely visible in the faint glow. Sure, it felt crazy to be out in the dark taking pictures, but it was part of living in the moment for Haley, the new Haley. The Haley that decided life didn’t have to be dull and boring and conventional.

After one roll of film, she reached for a second and found her case empty. Though she was only halfway to feeling better, she stood erect from her crouched position and crunched along the gravel path to her car. She rarely shared her love of photography with anyone, but she would make an exception just once more. For Marc wasn’t just
anyone.
He was special.

Though it felt hasty to throw away Allen’s offer, nurturing her relationship with Marc seemed more important. With her night now planned, she’d spend the evening picking out the perfect picture to give Marc
. One for his dining room
.

Being outside tonight, consumed by the endless blackness, was a nice reprieve. Fresh air always seemed to clear her head. She decided two things
as she stood there: One, that she would call Marc. And two, that she would put off Hollywood. For now, at least.