Redemption (12 page)

Marcus Gaines was one of the store personnel on duty while the film crew occupied the building.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I sure didn’t know making movies was so much work.” He shook his head. “It always looks so easy, up on the screen, but those movie people spent one whole night just making that poor woman walk through the third floor. I could’ve told ’em, don’t nobody spend that much time shopping nowadays. In and out, that’s what they do now. Just in and out, all the time in a hurry.” He shook his head again at the perfidy of today’s shoppers.

Claire smiled. “You’re right. Our market researchers could probably learn a few things from you about changing customer habits.” She stuffed her gloves into her bag, then made her way across the rotunda, where she ran into “those movie people.” She stepped aside as several grips lugged equipment past her, then noticed the crew members huddled under the palms near the fountain. Matt and a few others she didn’t recognize were deep in conversation.

Apparently the enemy was just breaking camp. Claire searched the foliage for possible cover, but she was caught in the open.

Matt looked up. His bloodshot eyes locked on to her from twenty feet away. “Claire,” he called, breaking away to amble toward her. “I was just going to call you,” he said when he reached her. “We need to reschedule the shoot we had planned tonight. It might mean an extra day. I hope that’s not a problem.” He glanced toward the entrance, where a few lagging snowflakes still fell on a determined stream of traffic. “Mother Nature’s decided to smile on us, so we have to take advantage, shoot a snow scene out in Love Park.” He leaned wearily against the trunk of the palm branching out overhead. It offered a hint of seclusion.

She had forgotten the effect he had on her senses. Ten years ago, her heart had swelled with infatuation when she saw Matt; now she was better able to control her skittering pulse.

She glanced down, not wanting to be caught in the web of his gaze. “Your contract included the possibility of extending your time here. It shouldn’t be a problem, though I could call legal and make sure.”

“Do that. You can let me know when we meet—in twenty minutes? I just need to get cleaned up, grab a cup of coffee—”

“All right.” She glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot. “You know how to get to the theater?”

“Yeah, but I have a better idea. We just finished blocking the next scene, but I need to go back and do a quick run through, as long as the store will be empty another hour or so. Why don’t we meet there? It’s the perfect place—no one would overhear a conversation.”

Claire frowned. “You’re supposed to be filming in the second-floor ladies’ lounge.”

“That’s right.” He flashed her a grin. “It’s perfect. Think of the symbolism…We can flush away the past, so to speak.”

Claire shot him a skeptical look, but she had to admit the idea was a good one. The ladies’ room was about as private as they could get, at least until the customers showed up in an hour and a half. There weren’t even CCTV cameras mounted there. “The janitors will be there—”

He shook his head. “We’re responsible for cleanup, remember? Our people took care of that an hour ago, after we struck the set in the men’s department.” He took her silence for agreement. “I’ll meet you up there—say, nine sharp?”

At her reluctant nod, he walked away, flexing his shoulder muscles as if working out the kinks. Claire’s gaze followed him, almost against her will, watching as he was swallowed by the loose-knit entourage lingering near the entrance. Then she turned and hurried past the fountain. This time, the goddess of Fortune merely smiled benignly as she passed.

Claire swabbed at the splatters on her wool skirt with a damp towel, hoping Matt would find a way to enter the ladies’ lounge discreetly. His crew had done their cleanup well; no lingering signs indicated the recent descent of a movie crew. A smile tugged at her lips as she envisioned the scene they would film here. How incongruous Matt Grayson would appear, a testosterone-drenched cowboy, hiding out amid a pastel harem.

Kaslow’s Ladies’ Retiring Room, as it had always been known, was spacious enough to bivouac a small army. A sitting room, separate from the modern restroom area, held several comfortable sofas and a dozen dainty chairs standing ready to assist with any overflow. On the pink brocade walls were a series of prints depicting Kaslow’s transformation to a modern department store. Claire found them fascinating but knew that they were scheduled to be replaced by floral prints during the renovations.

The door opened, and Matt strode in, somehow not as out of place as she had imagined. The preponderance of pink only seemed to emphasize his maleness.

His rugged good looks didn’t seem to be affected by a sleepless night. But then, all-nighters were probably routine in the circles he traveled in.

He flashed her a sample of his thousand-watt smile, the same one that slayed women in their seats before the big screen, but instead of swooning, Claire crossed her arms and gave him the same look she’d give a contrary executive.

“You look like you’ve just swallowed a mouthful of that rose-scented soap,” he said, pausing in front of her. “Relax. This isn’t going to be as bad as you think.” He reached out and touched her cheek. She could feel them flood with heat.

She lifted her chin. “I still don’t see the need for this. We said everything we needed to in my office, when you were here before.”

“No, we didn’t. For instance, I don’t even know what you’ve been doing these last few years. You aren’t married—I’ve gathered that much. Tell me, how have you been?” He pulled out a chair, inviting her to sit.

Stiffly, she took the seat he offered, though exchanging chitchat was the last thing she wanted to do. The plan, she reminded herself, was to give him a figurative pat on the back, then politely and firmly suggest that he never call her again.

“I’ve been fine,” she told him. “As you pointed out last time we met, I’ve done well for myself. Put the past behind me.”

“I have to admit I still have a hard time picturing you in a boardroom. I don’t mean that as sexist. I consider myself an enlightened guy most of the time. But my memories of you…” He shrugged, then dropped into the seat across from her, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You just seemed so young.”

“I
was
young. Twenty-one.”

“I guess so. That makes you…what, thirty-one now?” He gazed at her quizzically.

“Thirty-two,” she corrected him.

“That’s right. You told me your birthday was in October. On Halloween, right?”

She blinked. “Yes, it is. I’m surprised you remember.”

She shifted uneasily in her seat, feeling unprotected without a desk in front of her. Despite his friendly remarks, she didn’t trust the conversation to keep to safe channels.

Matt linked his booted ankles and gazed at her thoughtfully. “I remember quite a lot about that week,” he told her. Then, as if he’d rehearsed the best way to rattle her, he added, “I remember meeting you. Expecting to see another starlet with more ambitions than scruples, and instead finding a shy accounting major who just happened to be a natural-born actress. And I remember our date, when we went to that little diner. You told the waitress to bring a birthday cake, as soon as you found out it was my birthday. Chocolate, wasn’t it?” The smile he gave her could have melted granite.

Claire averted her gaze. “If this is going to be a game of ‘remember when,’ I don’t want to play.”

He gave a short laugh. “You don’t want to be reminded we were once attracted to each other? Is that it?”

“It was a long time ago and has absolutely no bearing on our present circumstances,” she said tightly, focusing on the flocked wallpaper.

“Come on, Claire. Our present circumstances are a direct result of what happened. If we hadn’t been so goddamned attracted to each other…Christ, we practically did the deed right there on the set.”

“I didn’t come here to have my youthful indiscretions thrown in my face.” She moved to get up, and he put a hand out to restrain her.

“I’m not blaming you for anything. Certainly not our ‘youthful indiscretions,’ as you call it. You have to admit, though, the chemistry went both ways. I didn’t seduce a woman who wasn’t interested.”

“I’m not saying you did!” Claire turned, finally, and faced him. “But I hardly knew what I was getting into. I had no idea you were involved with Hayley James. I never read the tabloids—at least not until my picture started selling them.”

He released her arm and gazed at her skeptically. “Everyone in America knew we were living together. You mean you had no idea?”

“None.” She laughed bitterly. “And not everyone cares what goes on in Hollywood. I was busy trying to finish my degree. The opportunity to act in the film practically fell into my lap. I told you then, remember, that I had never acted in front of a camera. That’s why you offered to ‘give me a few pointers,’” she said, a mocking edge to her voice.

But she couldn’t blame him. She’d been eager, hadn’t she, to know everything he could teach her, not just about acting, but about living—and loving. He had made her feel, for the first time in her twenty-one years, like someone special, someone put on the earth for a reason, rather than a mistake. Someone deserving of love, even if it was only the physical kind.

Matt shrugged and said wryly, “I know pro ball players who’d have acted with more propriety than I did.” Then he sobered. “It was a bad time for me. I’m not trying to excuse everything that happened, but Hayley and I had just had a big fight. She was in Vegas, getting an abortion. At least, that’s what she told me. Turned out she didn’t go through with it.”

Claire looked away, not sure she was entitled to hear the intimate details of his and Hayley’s life together. But somehow she realized he needed to explain, to confess, as if he knew she was the least likely person to condemn his actions.

His gaze focused on his boots as he continued, his voice ragged. “I wanted her to keep the baby, even though I knew a kid was the last thing she needed. The last thing
we
needed. But I still thought…” He swallowed, the planes of his face twisted in remorse at the memory. “Hell, I don’t know. I think somehow, deep down, I thought I could be like my big brother, Mark. They had two kids, were expecting a third. They seemed like the perfect family. So fucking normal, so un-Hollywood.”

He laughed in self-derision. “I wanted that—with Hayley, with anyone. But it was too much pressure for her. I didn’t know this at the time, but she was ill. She had a mental illness. Bipolar disorder. She never told anyone.” He made a scornful sound. “I guess she thought it would hurt her ‘image.’”

“Oh my God!” Claire covered her mouth in shock, filled with sympathy for the woman whose life had been portrayed as ideal. A mental illness—and the stigma—could have ruined her career, as it obviously had her life.

“She had quit taking her medication. Maybe because of the baby.” Matt shook his head ruefully, slumping lower in his seat. “She wasn’t herself, I can see that now, but back then, I just thought she was working too hard. I tried to get her to take some time off. That was another thing we had it out over. I didn’t think she should do
Bed of Roses
. But she refused to hear of me going off to do a film without her. She had never been the jealous type, so I was surprised. Annoyed by it, I guess. I told her she was just being paranoid.”

“As it turned out, she had good reason,” Claire said quietly. “My God, when she heard the rumors—”

Matt shook his head. “Before filming even began, it was all over between us. I was sleeping on the couch at that point. When she went off to Vegas, I told her I was moving out just as soon as the film was finished. We agreed to be civilized about it, not let it affect our work.” He shrugged. “At least, I thought we had agreed.”

“Somehow I don’t think she expected you to jump into bed with the first woman who came along.”

“I didn’t expect to, either. Not with you or anyone.” He gave her a wry look. “But you have to admit, things got a little heated between us. Even that first night, while we were filming our first scene together.”

Claire blushed, remembering. And their “chemistry” had been obvious to everyone, she had realized later, prompting the rumors—rumors that had eventually made their way to Hayley’s ears. “Things never should have gotten out of hand. Especially since you knew she was due to show up the next day.”

“I didn’t care. Sure, that was callous of me. Maybe I wanted to hurt her.” He made a derisive sound. “I’m sure a therapist could have a field day analyzing my motives. But I had already realized our relationship was dead in the water. I guess, subconsciously, I wanted to end it with a clean cut.”

“Oh, you did that, all right.” Claire laughed humorlessly.

Matt leaned his head on the back of the seat, gazing unseeingly at the crystal chandelier that hung above their heads. He didn’t say anything for a long while. Claire wanted to comfort him, offer absolution somehow. But when it came to erasing guilt, the only lesson she knew was a harsh one. Living with it was easier.

Finally, he spoke. “I went back home. Punished myself every way I could.” His lips twisted at the memory. “Stayed drunk most of the time, dared every hothead in a hundred-mile radius to use me as a punching bag.”

He pointed to his nose, glancing at Claire. “See that? Ran into a beer bottle, unfortunately before it got drank. Second time I broke it, I don’t even recollect how.” He gave her a tired grin. “But at least I was too far gone to feel any pain.”