The One That I Want (5 page)

Rosemary jumped in and belatedly reminded the crowd that we were to ask the cast members only about acting and the current production. “Please, let’s stick to inquiries about the show.”

“My apologies, Mr. Tyler,” the reporter behind me said with an unmistakable edge of mocking in her voice. She stood up this time, resting her hands on the back of my seat, as if to include us all in this discussion. “Let me rephrase that. Will Emily Brennan be coming to see
the show?
”

“That would be a better query for her social secretary,” Dane replied tartly. “I have my hands full just keeping track of my own engagements.” He laughed it off, but there was a hard glint in his light-blue eyes. And, as he ran his fingers through his wavy blond hair, I saw him sneaking a glimpse at his watch. Couldn’t say I blamed him for wanting this Q&A session to end.

If that was his wish, he got it after just a few more questions. The director gathered together some of the technical experts on the crew—particularly lighting and sound—to answer a few student questions specific to those specialties. Dane and the other actors slipped offstage.

“C’mon!” Elsie said to Sharlene and me. “Rosemary said she’d introduce us to Dane.”

“What?!” I nearly shrieked, instinctively smoothing down my hair. “Oh, God, no. I can’t actually
meet
Dane Tyler.”

“Of course you can,” Shar said.

Kristopher leaned past me to address the other two women. “It’s always been her dream to meet him face to face. Make her go.” Then, to me, he added, “Look, Jules, even
I
want to meet the guy, and he was my high-school rival for your attention.” He winked.

Elsie raised her eyebrows at this and Shar broke into a wide grin. “Really?” both women said together as they all but pushed me out of the row and toward where Rosemary was standing. She was far off to the right side of the stage with Dane next to her. The two of them were speaking privately.

“We don’t want to interrupt them,” I murmured, trying to pull away.

“Nonsense,” Elsie said. “Rosemary is expecting us.”

“But—”

Before I could finish protesting, the stage manager in question spotted us and waved us closer.

“Dane, I’d like to take just a moment to introduce you to my good friend Elsie Whitcomb and her social group.” Rosemary smiled warmly at all of us, even though she didn’t yet know some of our names.

Dane, looking visibly drained but not irritated, reached out to shake hands with Elsie, who grasped his limb with exuberance.

“We’re a singles’ group!” she exclaimed. “Totally unattached.”

He chuckled. “Excellent. Did you all want to get in on my Twitter survey? Have any thoughts to share on the subject of my moral depravity or, perhaps, some words of wisdom on relationships going forward?”

Bill grimaced comically and shook the actor’s hand. “Pretty sure you don’t want relationship advice from
us
.”

“Hey, you couldn’t have crashed and burned more often than me,” Dane said, his smile growing more genuine and his body language loosening a bit, too. He seemed to finally start to relax and realize he was among friends.

Bill introduced both himself and Kristopher, while Elsie made the official introductions between Dane and Shar. Then it was my turn.

“And this is our newest member, Julia Crane,” Elsie said.

My hands, which were an embarrassingly clammy cold when I shook Dane’s, began to tremble slightly under the scrutiny of his gaze. His hands were, by contrast, so steady, so smooth, and so warm. Initially, I thought, “Okay, I can do this. He’s probably used to people being nervous around him all the time.”

But once he took a good look at my face and my shaky hands, his expression changed. His eyes took on a wary cast and he gave me such an odd stare that I couldn’t interpret it.

I managed to mumble something about what a pleasure it was to finally meet him but, unlike the way he’d been with the other members of our small group, he just nodded curtly at me and suddenly seemed to clam up. He didn’t make any further jokes and he no longer looked as relaxed as when he’d greeted the others. I took a step away from him and let Elsie and Bill continue the discussion, which turned out to be very short anyway.

The director strode up to us and pulled Dane and Rosemary aside for a minute. While we were standing a couple of yards away from them, waiting to see if Dane would rejoin us for a few moments more, that obnoxious reporter lady, who’d been sitting directly behind me during the play, tapped me on my shoulder and pulled me away from my friends.

“How’d you score a private introduction to the hotshot?” she half hissed, half snickered in my ear.

I said simply that one of my friends knew the stage manager.

“Think she can swing me a few words alone with him, too?” the woman asked conspiratorially, leaning closer as if we were good friends.

I shrugged and leaned back. “I don’t know.”

Dane glanced over at us standing together, and his eyes narrowed. The director walked away after a minute more, but Dane bent toward Rosemary and whispered something to her. Both of their eyes turned toward me and the rude reporter woman.

“Look, I’ve got to go,” I told the press lady, feeling self-conscious and judged for reasons I couldn’t justify. I broke apart from her and told Shar and Elsie that I needed to use the restroom. Then I bolted away.

In the ladies’ room, I tried to collect myself and get a handle on this strange nervousness. It wasn’t so much the celebrity factor that had me feeling this awkward. Rather, it was that I’d felt appraised by him, and that I could tell the result of his observations had left me wanting in his eyes. Simply put, there was something about me that my movie-star idol just didn’t like.

When I emerged from the restroom, the clusters of people in the auditorium area had shifted. Dane wasn’t out there anymore and my friends were nowhere in sight.

One of the heavy dark-red curtains, which had been closed during the performance, was now pushed open, exposing a hallway with several doors on either side. I thought, perhaps, Shar and Elsie may have walked back there, especially if that was where Rosemary had her office.

A few of the actors who’d played in the smaller roles came out of one of the doors, doubled over laughing about something and leaving the building quickly. Too fast for me to ask them if the stage manager and my friends might be back there.

So, I meandered a little farther down the hall, discovering a different passageway that broke off from the main one. It had doors, too, and some of them were labeled. “Dressing Room,” said one. “Green Room,” said another. There were voices within both, but none of those voices sounded like they belonged to my friends.

There was yet another door, this one without a label, and it was ajar by about three inches. I peered inside and was about to push it open a little more when I heard an angry voice behind me say, “What the hell are you doing back here?”

I swiveled around.

Dane Tyler
.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was just looking, um, for—”

“Looking for what?” he demanded. “Hmm? Messages? Information? Incriminating photo opportunities?”

I shook my head
. Incriminating photo ops—what?

“Don’t tell me you just happened to get lost backstage.”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I was—”

“Snooping?” He crossed his lean, muscular arms and looked royally pissed off. “You’re with the
Tinseltown Buzz
, aren’t you?”

I shook my head again. “Um, no.”

He shot me a disbelieving look. “I saw you talking with Caryn Dizinger,
Julia
—or whatever your name really is. Dizinger might not think I remember her, but I do. Painfully well. And Rosemary said she’d never seen you before. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a pushy reporter wormed her way into a social club just so she could get an inside scoop.”

“I’m not with the press. I’ve never talked to that reporter before tonight. And I am here with the singles’ group. I’m new, though—”

“Is that so?” He pointed at my left hand. “You joined a group for singles, but you’re wearing a wedding ring? Not too good at subterfuge yet, are you?” He took a few menacing steps forward. “I’m sure you’ll learn fast enough. Now, tell me, which fucking magazine or newspaper do you write for if, as you say, you’re not with the
Tinseltown Buzz
?”

I just kept stupidly shaking my head, saying the same thing over and over again. “I’m
not
a reporter at
all
.” I rubbed the gold band on my finger. Until he mentioned it, it hadn’t occurred to me that I should have taken it off. In the months since Adam died, I’d thought about it a time or two, but I was never ready. I still wasn’t.

Dane glowered at me, and all I could do was stare back, trying to reconcile the sexy fantasy hero I’d had in my mind all of these years with the man—the
very angry
man—who was standing right in front of me.

I noticed a few things:

His hairline was just starting to recede. It wasn’t so noticeable yet, but it would be in a few years. Twenty years ago, gobs of moussed dark-blond hair was one of his hallmark features. Now, not so much.

His jaw was clenched tight in fury, an image I hadn’t seen outside of a few onscreen moments in his more dramatic work. Twenty years ago, he’d sparkled with the good humor of youth. Now, not so much.

And then there were his eyes. In movies and in TV interviews they’d always mesmerized me. Twenty years ago, his penetrating light-blue eyes indicated a shrewd intelligence and a mind that was working overtime to figure out the world around him. Now…well, that was virtually unchanged.

He leaned very close to me, his eyes continuing to search and judge with an intensity that was both hypnotizing and paralyzing.

Finally, he blew out a long stream of air and asked, “What are you then?” with accusation coloring his tone. “An Actor’s Equity rep? A wannabe actress? A closet playwright?” He paused. “No, I know—you’re an Official Dane Tyler Fan Club member, right?”

He’d been speaking sarcastically, but my jaw dropped open nonetheless. I couldn’t seem to speak or defend myself to save my life.

Suddenly he laughed and with no small degree of derision. “Too bad you’re not. I can always tell who they are.” He looked me up and down deliberately. “I usually reserve a kiss for card-carrying members.”

As I looked into that knowing, mocking face that I’d once considered as dear to me as a family member’s, I was consumed by a desire so powerful to slap him that I had to squeeze my palms closed to stop myself. And in that second, I got my voice back.

“My name is Julia Meriwether Crane, and I’m a junior-high English teacher,” I informed him. “I threw out my Fan Club card at least a decade ago,” I lied, “but my number was 49202. Should’ve burned it, right along with my high-school love letters and those rude notes from asshole guys at summer camp.”

I began to walk away, but I made the mistake of glancing back. Just once.

It was only then—and only for an instant—but I suddenly saw Dane Tyler’s defiant pride. The man who hadn’t made much of a blip on
Entertainment Monthly
’s newsworthy-o-meter for the past couple of years (at least not for his acting, just for his personal life) was looking at me like a petulant, aging has-been, vying for a flicker of the fire he’d once ignited en masse from his fans. Perhaps he’d spotted it in me for a second, but then he doubted it, lost it, and refused to be pitied for its absence.

Oh, God. Dane Tyler was a human being after all.

He was also a callous, self-centered douche bag. Couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

I stalked out into the open auditorium and, after a quick scan, found my friends at last. They had congregated by the entrance, and Shar waved as soon as she spotted me. Before I reached her, though, Kristopher jogged up alongside of me and said, “So, what’d’ya think? You finally met your teen fantasy.” He grinned.

I did my best not to scowl. “It was…enlightening.”

“Yeah? He was nicer than I thought. Still too much hair gel, but—”

I didn’t want to talk any more about freakin’ Dane Tyler. “Hey, I’ve got to leave immediately. I kept Elsie and Shar waiting for too long, but I’ll look forward to seeing you this week for coffee. Maybe Wednesday?”

Kristopher looked pleased as we approached the other three people who’d been in our row. “Sounds great. I’ll give you a call in a few days and we can set up a good time.”

“Lovely. Thanks.”

I waved him off and said goodbye to Bill as well, glad to at last be nearly out the door of the Knightsbridge Theater.

Then, turning to Shar and Elsie, I summoned up every bit of acting ability in my possession, plastered a delighted grin on my face, and said, “What an incredible night, ladies! Shall we go home?”

Never was I so happy to escape such a “magical” place.

Chapter Five

I had RSVP’ed via email to the Franklin College Educators Reunion the day after Vicky told me about it and had received an automated confirmation, so I hadn’t expected any further communication until the event itself. But fourteen days before the reunion, my email pinged with a new message, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Ben Saintsbury’s name as the sender.