Guilty Pleasures (9 page)

“Then you’ll come. Great! I’ve got my own car. Bill can give me directions to your house, and you can navigate me to”—he paused—“where?”

“The luncheonette,” Nina said, laughing. “The place to go for weekend breakfast is the Egret Pointe Luncheonette.”

“It’s a date then,” Bob Talcott said.

A date! Breakfast obviously did count as a date these days. When was the last time she had had a date? Before she and Charlie were married, and that meant not since the 1970s. She almost gasped aloud. She wasn’t used to thinking of time in such huge chunks for herself. “I’ll look forward to it,” Nina replied, and to her surprise, she was looking forward to it.

They reached her cottage on Maple Lane, and Bob got out to escort her to the door. “Do you have your keys?” he asked.

“Door’s open,” Nina told him. “We don’t lock our doors in Egret Pointe.” Then, giving him a smile, she said, “It was the nicest evening I’ve had in a long time, Bob. See you tomorrow morning.” With a final smile she opened her door, slipped inside, and closed it behind her. Oh! My! God! She had just had dinner with her favorite movie star. “How about that, Charlie?” Like all widows, she often talked aloud to her deceased husband. “Lyon Roberts in the flesh. I think he’s better-looking in person, and he is certainly aging well. Guess I better hit the sack if I’m going to look decent in the morning. I’ve got a date for breakfast before mass. Good night, dear.”

At two minutes after nine the next morning Nina opened her door to greet Bob Talcott. “Good morning,” she said. God, he really was good-looking. He was wearing a pair of khaki chinos and a blue windowpane-checked shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. Nina stepped out of the house. “I’m not certain I’m hungry after last night’s wonderful dinner at the inn,” she said.

“We could go to mass first, then,” he said. “Is there a nine thirty?” The blue eyes swept over her. Damn, she was one pretty woman! The strawberry blond hair, the warm brown eyes, and that trim figure. He was surprised to feel his dick twitch with interest.

“Yes, there’s a nine thirty,” Nina answered him. “Are you a Catholic?”

“I used to be,” he told her. “I’m a little bit lapsed.”

“Everyone, or almost everyone, goes to church in a small town. It’s not just the religion—there’s a social aspect to it as well,” Nina explained. “It’s how you make friends and contacts.”

“Let’s go, then,” he said, escorting her to his car, which was parked at her curb.

Nina was surprised to see the vehicle he drove was a Chrysler PT Cruiser. “I thought you’d have more elegant transportation,” she said as she got in.

He laughed. “I bought this when they first came out. It’s not the kind of car anyone wants to steal. I garage it, but those fancy cars have been known to disappear from even the best garages in the best neighborhoods. I go for my car, and I know it’s going to be there.”

“A practical man,” she replied, fastening her seat belt. “Take a left at the corner. St. Anne’s is just three blocks down. I usually walk it, but since we’re going to eat afterward, it’s good to have the car right there. You’ll see the church parking lot.”

Robert Talcott thought the church charming. It looked like something out of an English village. The stained-glass windows were very old, their colors rich, each portraying a moment in St. Anne’s life as imagined by the artist. The brief mass was conducted by an elderly priest Nina introduced afterward as Father Sullivan. She explained to him that Mr. Talcott would be moving to Egret Pointe eventually.

“Then we’ll expect to see you regularly,” the old man said. “You appear to be at an age where you’ll be wanting to begin making your peace with God.”

Nina swallowed a giggle as Bob manfully agreed.

“Your priest doesn’t mince words, does he?” her escort said as he helped her back into the waiting car.

“He’s really a dear man,” Nina said, defending Father Sullivan. “I have no idea what possessed him to say such a thing.”

“He’s got a sharp eye. He saw I didn’t come up for the host,” Bob replied.

“Turn left out of the parking lot,” Nina directed him. “Then right at the next corner onto Main Street. The luncheonette is on the right, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get a parking space right in front.” They were.

Inside, they had to wait a few minutes for a table. He was surprised, and remarked it was just like trying to get a table at a trendy restaurant in the city or Hollywood. They were finally seated in a comfortable booth.

“Coffee?” the waitress asked, slapping down two menus in front of them.

“Tea and a large cranberry juice for me,” Nina said.

“Coffee,” Bob said.

The waitress hurried off.

“What’s good?” he asked Nina.

“Blueberry pancakes,” she answered. “With sausage.”

“Done!” he told her, and when the waitress returned, he ordered for them both.

“I’m curious,” Nina said, “and it’s really none of my business, but I’m so surprised your wife could just let you come east alone. You were married to Sallie Blair, weren’t you? She’s a fantastic actress.”

“She is, isn’t she?” he agreed. “The studio wanted us to marry,” he explained. “My first wife and I met at a cattle call. That’s when a show puts out a casting call, and every young actor and actress in town comes. It was fun. It was the seventies. We were still old-fashioned enough to get married when we decided we wanted to have sex and share an apartment.”

“Did you love her?” Nina wanted to know.

“To this day I’m not quite sure,” Bob admitted. “She was a terrific girl. But then I got my first big break in a Broadway show. I was the hot new young actor. Lots of publicity and parties. Then Hollywood beckoned. She got scared because she realized it wasn’t the kind of life she wanted after all. We divorced after two years.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” Nina asked.

“We stayed friends,” he said. “She eventually married a nice businessman. They live in the suburbs of the city and have three kids, all grown now. I stayed a bachelor in Hollywood, the man about town with this starlet and that up-and-coming actress on his arm at all the important parties and events. That’s how I met Sallie. We did a few movies together, and then she began to get bigger and bigger roles. Suddenly she was a star of the first magnitude with a capitol S, but she had a secret, and the moneymen controlling the studios by then didn’t want her secret revealed.

“Since I was considered a nice guy in a not-so-nice town, I was approached. If I would marry Sallie Blair and remain a good husband, at least publicly, my career would continue to bloom. If I didn’t, my career would be in the toilet, and my reputation would be smeared so that I couldn’t get work anywhere on either coast. I said I would agree if my physical needs could be met discreetly. You see, Sallie Blair is gay. I knew it because we had become friends. In fact, it had been she who suggested I would make her an excellent husband.

“Everything was worked out so that she kept her lover, who was her personal assistant, by the way, and I got what I needed when I needed it. We staged a two-month courtship. The columns got planted with all kinds of items about it. And then we eloped to Vegas, where we were married in one of those amazingly tacky wedding chapels. Several paparazzi were tipped off, and we were caught coming out of the chapel.”

“Ah, now I understand a little bit better,” Nina said as the waitress arrived with their breakfast, plunked down the plates, and retreated. “That’s why she didn’t come with you when you returned East.”

“She had her own life,” Bob replied. “She and Nancy had been together for years. Her career is still booming. She likes living in Malibu. The roles offered me were becoming fewer and fewer. My agent told me that the playwright Arthur Billings had a new play going into production and wanted me for the lead. I took it. We obtained a quiet divorce, to which her people didn’t object. The publicity about it simply said we had grown apart and would remain the best of friends. No scandal. No story. The end.”

“It sounds so dispassionate and chill,” Nina said softly as she cut a piece of blueberry pancake.

“I’m a New Englander and a practical man. I never fell in love, so it never mattered. With Sallie’s proclivities, there was no chance of a child. We were the perfect professional Hollywood couple. Two actors. Talented. Well liked. Well groomed. Well matched. We made money for the studios we worked for, we caused no trouble, and unlike so many of these young actors today, we didn’t end up in the middle of unsavory scandals. Our marriage was a business arrangement first and foremost.”

“And here I thought you were the perfect Hollywood couple,” Nina said with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Hell,” he said and laughed, “we were. Old school, of course.”

“How long have you been back in New York?” she asked him.

“Eight years now,” he said. “I’ve done five plays in that time. Only one of them bombed. But straight drama and comedies are becoming rarer. It’s those odd musicals like
Les Miz, Phantom,
and
Cats
that bring in the dollars today. Those and the revivals of the fifties and sixties musicals. There’s a chance they may do a revival of
Kismet
next year, and if they do, I’ll be playing the role of the wazir.” He laughed. “There would have been a time, and it doesn’t seem that long ago, when I would have been asked to play the role of the young caliph. Now it’s the villainous older man.”

“I think you would be a great wazir,” Nina said. “You’ve always been a terrific character actor.” She set her knife and fork down and began to sing softly, “ ‘When they caught the seven hundred men, and hung them in their prison pen. Who said suspend them by their fuzz? Was I wazir? I was!’ ”

He chuckled. “You know the words to that song?”

“
Kismet
was one of my favorite musicals,” Nina admitted. “I know the words to all the songs in that show. Some of the lyrics are seriously meaningful and poetic.”

“I’ll have to give you house seats, then,” he said.

“Opening night,” Nina replied with a sassy grin, “and I’ll expect an invite to the cast party afterward.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Parsons?” he asked her mischievously.

Nina laughed. “I think I might be,” she said. “It’s been so long since I flirted with anyone, I’m not quite certain. Do you think I am?”

“Yeah, I do. And it’s nice,” Bob told her.

“Tell me about the house you’re building?” Nina said, turning the subject back to him. Her cheeks felt warm, but she couldn’t believe she was blushing at her age.

“I don’t know what I’m building yet,” he said. “Want to drive out to the property and tell me what you see there?”

“I’d love to,” Nina answered.

He paid the bill, leaving their taciturn waitress a generous tip, which had her calling out, “Thanks!” behind them as they exited the luncheonette. Bob helped Nina into the car, and they drove off. He knew his way from Egret Pointe’s Main Street to the old Oliver property, driving two miles down the town’s major road, finally turning off onto a narrow paved path that led through a thick wood. Nina knew the Oliver property bordered the main road. It was a lot of property.

“You’re keeping it wooded,” she said.

“I like the woods, but I may clear some saplings and brush so the big trees stay healthy,” Bob replied.

“We have a lot of deer,” Nina told him. “They do have rather gourmet appetites for plants like hostas and day lily buds.”

“Duly warned, but the truth is, I like the deer. What’s that saying by Confucius? If God made them, there must be a use for them.” He brought the car to a stop. “We have to walk from here, Nina.”

“No problem. I don’t wear heels,” she told him as she got out of the car.

They walked about a hundred feet before coming out into a large clearing that overlooked the water. The sun was sparkling on the waves and the bay was full of boats.

“Well,” he said, “what do you think? What suits this property? A mansion like the Mulcahys’ or something else?”

“I would build low to blend into the natural landscape,” Nina said without any hesitation at all. “It doesn’t have to be small, but this piece of property is different from Ashley’s home, which has stood on her hill for over two hundred years.”

“There was a house up here once,” he reminded her.

“It was in the woods,” Nina said. “It was big, dark, and gloomy. You want to take advantage of the spectacular view, but you don’t want your home sticking out like a sore thumb. ‘Oh, look! There’s the McMansion that actor built,’ ” she trilled.

“Single level, then?” Bob asked, thinking as he had earlier how pretty Nina Parsons was. Especially standing here with the sunlight touching her hair.

“I would, but then I’m not you, and this isn’t my property,” Nina replied.

“Know any local architects?” What was it about her? She was normal, he thought. In Hollywood few people were normal, and in New York everyone he knew was in the theater or an allied industry. But Nina was a nice normal woman, and he found himself very much at ease with her. He wanted to know her better, he decided. “I have to go back into the city later today,” he said, “but could I see you when I come back?”

“Of course,” Nina answered. The movie star wanted to see her again, and this wasn’t one of her fantasies. This was reality. He drove her home, parking in front of her cottage. Nina leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for a lovely day,” she said. Then she gave him a mischievous smile. “Now I can say I kissed a movie star.”

His hand reached out to cup her face, and his mouth closed over hers in a deep, warm kiss. When he finally released her, he said, “
Now
you can say you’ve kissed a movie star, Nina Parsons.” Then he got out of the car and went around to open the door for her.

When he had touched her face, she had been startled, but when his lips pressed against hers, Nina had practically swooned away like some Victorian maiden being kissed for the very first time. But now she had to swing her legs out of the car, stand up, smile, and let him escort her to her front door. How she did it without collapsing amazed her.

“See you next week,” he said casually, turning to go.