The Other Side of Someday (12 page)

I scrunched my brows. “That’s in South Carolina.”

He laughed. “No. Out here, USC is the University of Southern California. They have a great film program, so I left Jersey to pursue my dreams and haven’t looked back once.”

I brought the glass to my mouth, tasting the smoky red wine.

“Do you like it?”

Licking my lips, I nodded. “It’s my favorite kind of wine, actually.”

“What? Pinot?”

“No. Open.” I smirked. “Now, what is this great cinematic masterpiece you want to watch? I’m expecting to be completely blown away.”

He grinned, grabbing the remote, and the television screen sprang to life.

“This better be good.” I sipped my wine once more, nearly spitting it out when the first few measures of the opening song played, followed by that tell-tale whip. “
Blazing Saddles
?” I looked at him, incredulous. “
This
is the greatest cinematic masterpiece of the twentieth century?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sebby countered. “I simply argued it was
one
of them.”

“I thought we’d be watching
The Godfather
or
Apocalypse Now
or something like that. Hell, maybe even
Titanic
. But
Blazing Saddles
?”

“Come on, Dixie.” He nudged me with his elbow. “You love this movie. I know you do. Mel Brooks is a goddamn genius. The man should win the Nobel Peace Prize. If more people were exposed to his movies, there would be less war.”

“That’s a bit extreme. His movies do put a smile on my face, though, especially
The Producers
.”

“Matthew Broderick or Gene Wilder?”

“That’s not a fair comparison. One’s Ferris Bueller and the other is Willy Wonka. I refuse to answer as it’s comparing apples to chocolate.”

It was silent while he seemed to assess my response. Out of nowhere, he laughed an all-consuming, gut-splitting laugh. “I like you, Baylee. I have a feeling I’m really going to like being friends with you.”

He leaned back on the couch, settling in to watch what he considered to be one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of the twentieth century, and I followed. I liked how comfortable his home was. It was what I always imagined a home would be. Will liked everything to have a modern flare, so I decorated our former house in that style. Leather couches, angular tables, everything neat and orderly. It didn’t feel lived in. But Sebby’s living room was exactly that. It was a room he lived in. Bits and pieces of his life adorned every wall and table, each trinket, photo, and plant giving me another piece of the Sebby Powers puzzle.

As “The Battle of Rock Ridge” played, I turned to steal a glimpse at him, grinning when I saw his lips moving along with the lyrics of the song.

“So,” I said, getting his attention, “what made you want to go into film? When did you know this was what you wanted to do?”

“When I was seven. I remember the date. October twentieth.”

“Really? You remember the exact date? I know people who can’t remember their spouse’s birthdays. That’s impressive.”

“I guess.”

“So what happened on October twentieth?”

“I went to The Meadowlands with my father to watch a Giants game.”

“A football game changed your life?”

“It wasn’t the game itself. Before kickoff, we were able to go into the control room. He knew someone who worked for the network or something. I don’t really remember the connection, but I
do
remember how wide my eyes went when I stepped into that darkened room and saw all the small monitors in front of me. There were dozens of people wearing headsets, and I was mesmerized by the whole process. I always loved watching sports on TV. What seven-year-old little boy doesn’t?”

He turned to me, his eyes brimming with enthusiasm, a frenzied quality to his voice. “After that day, I wanted to know everything about how television worked. I wrote my first screenplay when I was eight. It was some story about a mutant alien coming to earth and turning all the school teachers into fellow mutant aliens so they could brainwash all of us.”

“So
that
explains it,” I teased.

“Well, when you’re eight…” He shrugged.

“I think it’s cute. So…”

“Right. The Giants game. It was life-changing for me. When you’re seven, I guess life-changing experiences have a lower threshold than when you’re older, but being able to see the cameras, the monitors, the control room… I was in awe. When we got to watch them call the first part of the game from the control room, I knew where I wanted to be. I wanted to be in that room. I wanted to be the one in charge.”

“But I thought you liked making films?”

“Oh, I love it, but I’ve always said that if I get the chance to produce for the NFL, I’d leave this in a heartbeat. The rush of a live broadcast, the adrenaline pumping, knowing you only have one chance to get it right… There are no words to explain how that would feel. Shooting a film, well… There’s no rush there. Yes, we have deadlines and budgets to worry about, but it’s not the same. You have as many takes as you want to get it perfect. There are some days you work on one three-minute scene all day long…dressing the set, checking lighting, then finally shooting. You don’t have that with live TV. One chance, just one. Some people would hate the pressure, but something about that rush… I don’t know. I want that.”

“Wow,” I muttered in disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone speak so passionately before.”

He shrugged, his ears turning red. “There’s nothing
you’re
passionate about?”

“I always wanted to be a writer. I studied English and journalism in college. Then I worked as the editor of our town’s newspaper for about five years, but my job always came second to Will’s joke of a career selling used cars. Sure, our newspaper was small with a dismal circulation, but I loved that paper. It made me feel as if I was doing something with myself. And now…” I let out a breath.

“Yeah?” he pushed.

“I don’t know,” I said thoughtfully. “I was a bit of a dreamer, too, I suppose. I remember writing my first book when I was in third grade. It even won a statewide award. Throughout middle school and high school, I kept a journal to jot down short stories or ideas for a novel. Then I married Will. He never understood why people would want to read books, so he certainly didn’t support me when I said I wanted to write one.”

“What’s stopping you now?”

“Absolutely nothing.” I felt a weight lift off me at the notion that there was no longer a barricade standing in the way of me finally pursuing my dreams. No more trying to make everyone around me happy. No more having to listen to a husband laugh at the thought of me writing a book. No more trying to defend my reluctance to manage my father’s lumber company to my step-mother, who was still bitter that she wasn’t left a portion of the business. “Although I have no idea what my story even is. And I guess that’s partly the reason I decided to take your advice and work on my mom’s bucket list. Maybe there’s a story there. Or maybe I’ll find some inspiration along the way.”

He smiled. “Good for you, Dixie.”

I took a sip of my wine and refocused my attention on the movie, a fluttering in my stomach. I had only known Sebby a few short weeks, but I felt like we were old friends. His words from this morning rang through my head. The more time I spent with him and got to know him, the more I started to believe we
could
simply remain friends. Since finding out he had a girlfriend, I was more open and forthcoming with him. I didn’t feel like I had anything to prove, worried he would judge me. There was a freedom to it that wasn’t there yesterday.

Relaxing into the couch, I rubbed Sport’s belly, thinking how normal and comfortable watching a movie with Sebby was, our two dogs curled up between us. Sebby’s hand roamed from Gidget to Sport, scratching his ears.

“You know what I just realized?” I tilted my head and looked from Sport to Sebby. “Sport normally doesn’t like people. It’s not that he’s not a friendly dog because he is, but only if he’s comfortable around you. It usually takes him a while to feel at ease around anyone other than me or Will. Probably because he was found abandoned and fending for himself. He’s got a bit of a tramp in him.”

“Maybe he knows I’m a dog lover. Dogs are perceptive little critters.”

I shook my head. “No. He’s been around other people who have owned dogs and was still a little hesitant around them. But with you, well…look at him!” I smiled at Sport rolling around, trying to get Sebby to continue scratching his ears. “He likes you.”

“What about you?”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “What do you mean? Do I like you?”

Our eyes met. There was a sparkle in his gaze that made me want to melt into the couch. Or maybe it was simply the reflection of the setting sun on the Pacific Ocean.

“As friends,” he added.

“Of course,” I said, shaking my head. “I like you…as a friend.”

“Good. To new friends.” He raised his wine glass and I followed, toasting our new friendship.

Out of nowhere, the sound of Kenny Loggins’ voice filled the room, tearing my attention away from Sebby. “Sorry. I meant to silence that.” I grabbed my cell off the coffee table.

“You can answer it if you want. I don’t mind.”

I looked at the phone. “I don’t recognize the number… Some eight-one-eight area code.”

“That’s the valley. Get it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, my finger hovering over the ANSWER button.

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” I turned from Sebby and walked toward the windows overlooking the ocean. “Hi. This is Baylee.”

“Hey, Carolina,” a familiar smooth voice crooned.

“Dennis?” I said, surprised. “Wow. You didn’t waste any time calling, did you?”

He laughed. “I like you. You’re straightforward and don’t beat around the bush. Tell me how you really feel.” I could hear the smile in his tone.

“Is something wrong? Are you switching classes?” I asked, remembering the reason he had requested my phone number in the first place.

“Yes and no. My boss scheduled a client meeting for tomorrow, so I can’t make class, but I wanted to see if you’d like to get together on Sunday.”

“Sure. What class did you have in mind?”

“Not for a class, Baylee. On Sundays, there’s this fabulous little farmer’s market just down the street from the yoga studio. What do you say? I know how much it sucks being new to town.”

“That sounds completely different from anything I’ve ever done before.” Not to mention, it was on my mother’s bucket list. I was crossing things off faster than I expected I would.

“Please say yes. I’m not a freak or serial killer, and I have no ulterior motives. Honest.”

I looked at Sebby, feeling awkward about agreeing to a date with another man when he was just a few feet away from me. But why? He had a girlfriend. He had no say in whom I should or shouldn’t date. And Dennis seemed like perfect rebound material.

“You know what? I’d love to. Count me in.”

“Fantastic!” Dennis responded, his tone animated. “Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at eleven on Sunday. See you soon!”

“Bye.” I hung up, ambivalent about my impending date.

“Everything okay?” Sebby’s husky and endearing voice cut through my thoughts, bringing my attention away from the sunset.

“Actually, yes. Everything’s great.” I made my way back to the couch and settled next to our two dogs just as Madeline Kahn sang about being tired.

“Why’s that?” he asked.
 

“I have a date Sunday morning.” I tried to sound enthusiastic but probably failed miserably.

“Oh really? With whom?”

I shrugged. “A guy I met at yoga earlier. His name’s Dennis.”

“A date? On a Sunday morning?” He paused, raising his eyebrows as he tilted his head to the side. “Where?”

“The farmer’s market. He says it’s fabulous.”

“Umm… Baylee, were those his exact words?”

“Yes. Why?”

A small smile crept across his face. “Let’s think about this for a minute. You met him in yoga class. He used the word fabulous. He’s taking you to the farmer’s market.”

I furrowed my brow, not understanding what Sebby was trying to infer.

Sighing, he said, “Sorry. All signs point to him hitting for the other team.”

“What do you mean? What other team?”

“His favorite pirate is One-eyed Willy.”

“Oh, from
The Goonies
? I love that movie!”

“No, Baylee. Focus. He’s as straight as a three-dollar bill.” He raised his eyebrows at me as if trying to tell me something with his expression.

“There’s no such thing as a three dollar bill, Sebby.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“He’s
gay
, Baylee!” he shouted, exasperated. “He likes men! He’s more interested in your ex than he is in you.”

“You haven’t even met him!” I shouted back, jumping off the couch and glaring at him. “There’s no way! His voice is very masculine. He has an amazing body. He even mentioned something about awful pick-up lines he’s heard at some clubs in West Hollywood!”

Sebby looked at me, his eyes growing wide, before breaking into a laughing fit. I had no idea what was so amusing to him.

“What?! What’s so funny? Are you going to let me in on your little joke?”

He held his stomach, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard.

“Maybe I’ll just leave. Come on, Sport. Let’s go.” I spun on my heels, heading toward the door, although I really didn’t want to. I wanted to spend more time with Sebby.

Darting off the couch, he grabbed my arm, preventing me from taking another step. “No. Don’t leave. I’m sorry, Baylee. You really have no idea, do you?”

“No, I don’t! And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t laugh at my expense, Sebby.”

A thoughtful smile crossed his face. “How much exploring have you done around town?”

I shrugged. “Not much.”

“That settles it. Tomorrow, I’m taking you on Sebastian Powers’ official Hollywood tour.”

“What does that entail?”

“Just showing you the different neighborhoods that make up the wonderful city of Los Angeles.” He beamed.

“Fine,” I huffed, placing my hands on my hips. I hated that I was more excited about the prospect of spending tomorrow with Sebby than I was about my outing with Dennis on Sunday. “But are you going to tell me what’s so funny about West Hollywood?”