Premiere: A Love Story (15 page)

“Sam, I’m not doing anything to you or anyone else. It’s only a play. It’s a perspective. I’m trying. Please stop.”

“Only a play, huh? Then why not make it fiction? Why put in just enough to hurt me? And when I call you on it, you hide behind your artistic license. Are you trying to tell me something, Peter? Why rehash all of this? What’s wrong with you? You went to New York, stay there.”

“Please, can we please have this conversation without an audience?”

“Why? You do great with an audience, right? Isn’t this how you like it? Let’s tell the story in front of everyone. Isn’t that what this damn play is all about, Peter?”

“I’m not going to do this.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Sam walked past his,
God, look at those cheekbones,
friend from New York.

“Sweetheart, run and run fast. He’ll take you and . . .”

Sam made a bomb with her hands and made it explode in her face. She had lost her mind. She was not sure what was fueling her, but it was powerful.

“Samantha, is it?”

Ms. New York in one fluid motion uncrossed her legs and stood to try and help.

“I assure you that we’re only . . .”

“Friends, right. I get it. Peter’s friends with everyone. It’s all so damn friendly. Good Old Peter, my buddy.”

Sam walked back down toward the stage and slapped Peter on the back. He sent her a warning look. She was dialed in and pushing his buttons now.
Good!
she thought.

“Sam,” Carmen said from the stage.

“Honey, you’re really tired. You’ve been running around for me and keeping up with your own stuff. It’s too much, you need to sit down.”

“Carmen, thank you, but I’m sick and tired of sitting down. I
am
tired. Tired of smiling while everyone else gets to say whatever they want.”

Sam looked at Peter. He had had enough.

“Spencer, can you take over here? Work a different scene for the rest of the morning?” Peter asked.

Of course he would work a different scene. It wasn’t every day you got to watch a woman have a complete meltdown. Spencer nodded, they all did. Peter took Sam by the arm and tried to gently move her toward the lobby.

“Go away, go home. You don’t want any of us, right? So why the hell . . .”

“All right, that’s it.”

Peter tightened his grip on and pulled her toward the door. He glanced back and caught Spencer’s eye.

“Sorry for interrupting everyone. Sam obviously has some feelings, so we’ll take this . . .”

“It’s all good, Sam. Get some sleep,” Spencer added as Peter pulled her out of the theater.

She was already beginning to feel incredibly foolish. She’d lost her mind, she’d let him back in. Sure enough he’d messed with her calm, ordered life. Now, worst of all, he had messed with her job. He did this. He couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Let me go, you jackass. I can see myself home. I don’t need you. Everything was fine, we were all fine. Then you . . .”

“Really? Everything’s fine? It sure as hell doesn’t look fine. I said it right at the very beginning, when I first got here. If this was going to be too much, maybe we should . . .”

“Oh Christ, don’t flatter yourself. Too much, I really don’t need you right now, Peter. I have my own responsibilities, my own life. I can’t play good old reliable, understanding Sam. The one who is there to help with everything Peter’s going through. I don’t have the room. I’ve got my own problems and right now . . .”

“Right now you’re playing the woman scorned, is that it?”

“The woman what? Jesus, you’re so self-absorbed. I’m not the woman scorned. What would that make you in this stupid play? The misunderstood hero? Please! I’m the friend, the girl who grew up with the boy. He was her very best friend in the whole world and he took everything she had to give. And then, because he’s a self-centered jerk, he ran off to New York. I’m the friend who never fully understood the rejection, was left with no answers from the guy who changed everything. But you know what? I have made a life for myself and lo and behold the big ass comes back into town with his sophisticated New York set and his award-winning play tucked under his arm. Woman scorned? Hell, that’s the least of my . . .”

Nothing was working, so he grabbed her, needed to kiss her. He’d managed control for weeks, but she was standing there yelling at him, and damn it he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had tried talking, approaching the topic from different angles, he was trying to make amends, but she kept ignoring or avoiding or getting pissed or pissing him off, so he grabbed her. He grabbed her and kissed her.
Holy Christ!
He was starving for her. Soft lips, hair spilling through his fingers, and when a gentle moan drifted past his ear, he felt like a king, no better than a king . . . he was a god. Her hands feathered through his hair and then she pulled, she pulled his hair hard. He opened his eyes to a breathtakingly pissed woman. Peter went from a god to a gnat in three seconds.

“Ow!”

Sam pushed him away and stared. Her lips were raw, as she begged for breath. God help him, all he wanted to do was gather her back in his arms and do it all over again.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I was in the middle of a sentence and you can’t . . . well, you don’t . . . damn it, Peter you can’t . . .”

“Kiss you?”

“No! No, you can’t kiss me.”

“You gave up, you quit, and I’m sorry but I’ve moved on and it’s inappropriate. Now I know that my tirade in there was an unprofessional mess, but your play is not . . .”

“It hasn’t actually won any awards.”

He tried humor, humor always worked for with her before. He could usually make her laugh.

“What?”

She was confused.

“The play, you said award-winning play tucked under my arm, and it hasn’t actually won any awards, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Sam blinked.

“You’re making a joke? Right now? After you? Do you think that’s wise?”

He moved toward her, and she pushed him away. He tried grabbing, he tried humor, and then realized he was all out of options. Peter took her shoulders and said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Sam started to cry. Just like that, her eyes spilled as if they had been brimming for weeks. Peter wanted to die for the hundredth time.

“At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. It was four years ago, and I was, I’m sorry. Please let me drive you home.”

Peter felt a flood of relief, and he wanted to cry with her, but he’d given up crying a long time ago. He had finally gotten it out, told her he was sorry. Such simple words, but they needed to be said if he was ever going to reach her.

“No, I can drive myself home. I, I can’t do this.”

Sam wiped her eyes and walked away. She had made a complete ass out of herself, and if she still had a job, there would be plenty of apologies tomorrow, but at least she let some of the ugliness out. The damn play was the last straw, it was too much. She finally blew up, and as the wind hit her face, she somehow felt better.
How
’
s that for keeping up appearances, Peter? Queen, my ass!
She hissed and tried desperately to ignore his apology and forget that kiss. 

Chapter Fifteen

S
am had been home almost an hour. She was in her favorite boxer shorts and a tank top, sitting on the couch watching
The Bourne Ultimatum.
Action was always good for a confused heart. Her friends Ben and Jerry joined her and she was feeling better. She didn’t fool herself, she could still feel his hands on her face, that kiss, but she had this strange realization that angry had felt better than sad and hiding. She hit the pause button after the knock on the door. Opening the door and getting cash from her wallet, Sam fully expected to see some high school student with her takeout Chinese. Peter walked right through the door and stood in her living room. He looked a little wound up, like he still had something to say. He took a deep breath.

“So what went wrong with the acting, why’d you move back?” he asked.

“Well, hello, Peter. Come on in, and, um, go screw yourself.”

“All right, you’re mad. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. I’m not too happy either. That was quite a scene, and I’m not much for airing my business in front of other people.”

“Weird, I thought that’d be right up your alley, Mr. Man of the World. Who cares what anyone else thinks, right? Careful Peter, caring what people think is very Pasadena.”

“I said I was sorry. I’m sorry for my comments during the scene, I got carried away, but it is a perspective piece and you’re personalizing it. Most importantly, I’m sorry I left. There, it’s out. Thank God! I screwed up, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m not sorry I kissed you.”

“Yeah, well you kissed your little friend in the audience too while poor Sally was getting her ass kicked up there. Someone had to come to her rescue.”

“I kissed Alexis on the cheek. I missed your cheek by a mile, Sam. Alexis is my friend, and she’s also my agent. When did I ever say you were Sally?”

Sam laughed.

“Alexis, of course her name is Alexis. Listen, I know us sheltered set are a little dense, but seriously? Phillip, Sally, and Greg? Hmm . . .”

“Fine, not incredibly creative, I’ll admit, but they’re only based on us. There are differences. The play is written to address larger themes than simply growing up. Sam, I’m not talking about the scene. Did you hear me? I’m sorry for . . .”

“Don’t! I can’t, I’m not ready to hear it. I’ll probably never be ready.”

“Sam, we need to be able to move past . . .”

“I liked my LA life. Well I lived in the house my parents bought right by campus, so what’s not to like, but it was different being out of school.”

Sam changed the subject, and while it caught Peter a little off guard, he was willing to go in any direction with her at this point.

“Maybe if I’d been in another part of the city. I don’t know, it didn’t work, and yes, I missed home. I was a mess during that time. I was searching and . . .”

Sam sat in the chair across from him and folded her legs to the side. Peter didn’t push it, he knew she’d been a mess. He would wait.

“It is a great city. Remember when we were in college and we went out for a night in Hollywood on fake IDs and pretended we were foreign. Shit, life was so simple then.”

Sam laughed remembering she had used the name Isabella and kept dropping her Spanish accent.

“Did you . . . ?”

“Fail miserably and come crawling home to mommy and daddy? Yeah, yeah I did.”

“I’m guessing there’s more to it than that. Come on, who’s having the pity party now?”

“It was different from what I expected. I mean, sure I went on auditions at UCLA, but back then there wasn’t the desperation to get a job. When I was out on my own I found myself trying for anything just to land a job, and eventually none of it felt like acting anymore. Fresh out of UCLA drama and ready to tackle the world. After all, I’d grown up Samantha Cathner, Queen of Pasadena, right?”

Peter started to say something, but she continued.

“Well, that’s not quite how it worked out. I worked my ass off. Dance class, voice and movement, headshots, and audition after audition. I got a few things, but I missed the theater, I didn’t want to hope for a sitcom or a soap opera.”

Sam’s arms were flailing around, she was smiling, and then her face would fall in sadness. She was a jumbled mess, letting him in, and what Peter had thought impossible happened. He loved her more.

“My parents knew something was wrong, but I kept trying to make it work. I’d convince myself I was spoiled and that I needed to work harder. It eventually got ugly. I was still reeling from you, and I spent a good two weeks on Henry’s couch before he took me to lunch and introduced me to his gym. I started spinning like a mad woman, and eventually I realized I was in the wrong place.”

Sam took a deep breath.

“I took a step back, worked at a flower shop for a while, finally called my parents, and spent the next six months in Europe. So, I guess you’re right Peter, I am really a spoiled, sheltered . . .”

“Stop. I said I was sorry. Sam, I’m sorry things were so hard on you, I didn’t know . . .”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t here, you weren’t here to know. You’d moved on, and there was no way I was going to lower myself . . .”

“Oh, come on. I went to New York. You still could’ve called.”

“You’re joking, right? What number should I have called? And said what? ‘Hey, Peter, I realize you dumped me because I was obviously a mistake, but I’m having a hard time adjusting to the real world. Even though I was invincible in my little world, the big bad city chewed me up and spit me out.’ Is that what I should’ve said?”

“Not exactly, but . . .”

“You never called me. I waited. I couldn’t see how we were never going to talk to each other, never see each other. It wasn’t just the sex. Not having the friendship actually hurt more.”

“I know. I spent some time on the couch too, Sam. The professional kind, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

They sat in silence again. So many questions swirled in her head. Why was she telling him all of this now? Why hadn’t he called? And, most importantly, what was wrong with her that she continued to let him into her life?

Choosing her heart over self-preservation, she let him stay for lunch. Sam looked in the kitchen for some chopsticks and tried to push away the thought that she was never going to be able to show her face in that theater again. Well, Julie should be happy. It was now clear who Sally was, no more suspense there.

“What are all of these?” Peter flicked the little Post-it notes Sam had on various things around her kitchen.

Peter looked comfortable in her home, and that was unnerving.

“Italian,” she answered, while finding the chopsticks and taking two waters out of the refrigerator.

“I see that, but why are Italian words all over your kitchen?”

“They’re in my bathroom too.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah, well, I’m teaching myself Italian.”

Sam walked back into the living room.

Peter laughed.