Extreme Bachelor (23 page)

“Believe me, I have asked myself the same
question many times. Why aren’t I the star?” she joked heavenward,
flinging her arms wide.

Adolfo clucked his tongue, dropped his hand,
and looked away. But then he shifted a sparkling brown gaze to her
from the corner of his eye. “I should very much like to give you
wine.”

Leah laughed.

“I mean this. I should like to give you wine
and learn your name.”

“My name,” she said, smiling up at him, “is
Leah.”

“Leah
,” he said on a long sigh. “The name is nectar for my
lips.”

She couldn’t help but laugh again. “But I
can’t have wine with you, I’m afraid.”

Adolfo frowned and demanded, “Why? Why, why,
why, Leah? I adore you, I seek you out, and yet you barely give me
a name by which to call you. Do you find me repulsive?”

“Not at all,” she said with a smile. “But I
don’t know you, Adolfo. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”

“But how shall you ever know me if you do
not let me give you wine?” he protested.

“I don’t know,” she said with a cheerful
shrug. “Maybe I’ll see you doing the light thing when production
starts,” she said, drawing an invisible light thing in the sky
before picking up her gun. “I’d love to stay and chat, but this
uniform is really hot, and I’ve got shoes to buy.”

“Hasta
luego
, Leah. I shall whisper your name to
the stars,” he said, gesturing poetically to the clear blue sky.
And he smiled so warmly that she actually felt her skin tingle a
bit. She waved at him, and slinging her fake gun over her shoulder,
she walked on, laughing skyward when she heard him begin to sing
her name to the stars.

Subject: My First Movie Premiere

From: Leah Kleinschmidt

To: Lucy Frederick

Time: 7:15 pm

So guess where I’m going. Okay, okay, you
can tell from the heading. Can you believe it? It’s the premiere of
The Hero, and you will not believe the dress I am wearing. It’s
turquoise blue, and I found these really fabulous CFM shoes (you
will NOT believe where) that are almost the exact same shade. Isn’t
that cool?

Subject: Re: My First Movie Premiere

From: Lucy Frederick

To: Leah Kleinschmidt

Time: 10:20 pm

Okay, start with where you got the shoes,
then at least tell me how you are managing an actual movie premiere
(and isn’t Ewan McGregor in that movie? I LOVE LOVE LOVE him!). And
when you get through telling me all that, then maybe you can
explain why you can suddenly decide on a color for your stupid
movie premiere dress, but you can’t seem to help ME settle on a
color for the bridesmaids’ dresses! Speaking of bridesmaids, when I
take into account my cousins, and my friends from Holyoke, and a
couple of women I work with, who I cannot leave out, that gives me
10 bridesmaids, including you. What do you think? Is that
enough?

Oh yeah, BTW, just in case you think I’m an
idiot, I am not. I know that because you are skirting around the
central question of HOW you are going to the premiere, it can only
mean one thing: Michael. Leah, have you lost your mind? How can you
not see that you are setting yourself up for a huge fall?

Subject: Re: Re: My First Movie Premiere

From: Leah Kleinschmidt

To: Lucy Frederick

Time: 8:21 pm

Thanks for understanding. Did I tell you he
says he loves me? Don’t bother writing back to tell me how crazy I
am because I already know it. Anyway, I have to go. I told Brad I’d
go with him for pizza to celebrate his getting a commercial today.
It’s regional, but it will definitely pay his share of the rent,
and frankly, I was beginning to sweat that. Check you later, L.

P.S. I was just kidding about the turquoise.
I am fine with whatever color you choose.

MICHAEL was growing increasingly
exasperated. Budget woes and problems with the location where they
would be shooting, and even bigger woes getting visas for the
Italians to do some extreme hiking in the Peruvian Andes, were
keeping him from boot camp and Leah.

He and the rest of the guys worked late into
Wednesday night, so he never saw her around camp that day. But he
called her on his way home.

She picked up on the third ring, and her
sleep-heavy voice said, “Hello?”

“Leah,” he said, sighing into the phone.
“Did I wake you?”

“No. Maybe a little,” she admitted groggily.
“What are you doing?”

“I just finished up with the Peru thing,” he
said. “I’m sorry I missed you today.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said through a yawn.
“I was pretty busy learning how to avoid getting hit by paint. And
might I add, that paint hurts.”

He smiled into the phone. “I know. Go back
to sleep, baby. I just wanted to say hi. Are you ready for the
premiere Friday?”

“Are you kidding?”

“I’ll pick you up around six.”

“Okay. Bye, Michael,” she said sleepily, and
hung up.

He clicked off the phone, tossed it into the
passenger seat, and drove up Santa Monica Boulevard, remembering
one night in New York when he’d come home late from work to find
her snoozing away on his couch. She had let herself in, obviously
intending to surprise him by donning some of the sexiest lingerie
he had ever seen. But she had fallen asleep waiting for him, and by
the time he came home, she was laying half on and half off the
couch. One foot was missing a stiletto, and the gauzy little teddy
had twisted around her body, leaving several delicious parts of her
uncovered.

Personally, he’d never seen a sexier woman
in his life.

Thursday, he at least got to have lunch with
her and then worked with her team during paintball training.
Thursday night, Leah trotted off to acting class, and Michael was
going to turn in early, but Jack called him, begging him to come
along on another date with Lindsey and her friend Ariel.

“You’re kidding,” Michael said flatly. “What
is this, middle school?”

“I don’t know. Look, just do it, will you?
Lindsey is taking it slow.”

“Tell her to take it slow with someone
else,” Michael said irritably.

“Mike, I really like this woman. Come on.
It’s the last time, I promise.”

With a weary sigh, Michael agreed.

On Friday, one of the Starlets broke her leg
during the paintball training. The poor girl just tripped and fell
and broke her leg. He spent the rest of the day at the hospital, on
the phone with OSHA and studio people who were not very happy
(particularly with the over-bloated budget situation), and then
with the casting agent, trying to find a quick replacement for
Soccer Mom #8. They lost an afternoon, which prompted an all-call
for Saturday morning to make up for lost time.

Michael barely made it home in time to
change for the premiere.

He arrived at Leah’s house in a stretch limo
promptly at six. He stepped out, walked to Leah’s door, and hoped
like hell that Brad didn’t answer.

Of course Brad answered.
But at least the dude was fully clothed this time, dressed in dirty
jeans and a dirtier T-shirt that said
Rock
On
across the chest. “Dude,” Brad said,
his eyes widening at the sight of Michael in what was a very
expensive tux, purchased a couple of years ago for occasions such
as this. “Nice threads.”

“Thank you. Is Leah here?”

“Yeah,” Brad said. He stepped back and
shouted “Leah!” as he motioned for Michael to come in.

This had the feel of prom night, Michael
thought uneasily. He stepped into the foyer, glanced around the
house. Someone had picked things up a little. There was a pile of
clothes on the end of a worn couch, and the peacock had been moved
to stand below the massive TV. It had lost the boxer shorts and was
wearing an L.A. Clippers hat. The kitchen table was stacked high
with papers and a couple of scripts.

“You want something to drink?” Brad
asked.

“No, but thank you,” Michael responded, and
shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Suit yourself,” Brad said, and padded
across to a cabinet on a windowless wall. He squatted down, opened
the doors, and surveyed a litter of liquor bottles, finally
selecting Smirnoff vodka.

Brad stood up, turned around and gave
Michael the once over. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Michael Raney.” He extended his hand to
Brad, who padded across the floor and took his hand in a
surprisingly firm grip.

“I’ve been wondering about you,” Brad
said.

“Oh?”

“You don’t know much about cars, do
you?”

“I don’t?”

“There wasn’t anything wrong with her
distributor cap.”

Michael almost laughed. “You’re right. I’m
not big on cars.”

Brad nodded, took the vodka to the kitchen,
got a small glass, and then adjourned a full three feet away, onto
the couch. “Wanna watch some baseball?”

“Ah . . . well no, we’ve got to be some
place.” He glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway, then
back at Brad. “Are you sure she heard you?”

“She heard me.”

And as if to confirm it, Michael heard the
click of her heels on the hardwood floor. He turned around, his
heart skipped a beat.

Leah looked absolutely stunning. She was
wearing an ass-tight turquoise dress, the color of it reflected in
her eyes. Her hair was pulled back and done up in a very artistic
coif at the nape of her neck with thick strands of blonde curling
in and out, making it look like an elaborate love knot. She was
wearing teardrop crystal earrings, and her shoes, glittering with
turquoise rhinestones, were just about the sexiest thing he’d ever
seen.

He must have been staring, dumbstruck,
because Leah started to laugh. “You remember me? Leah Klein? Your
date for the evening?”

“He’s speechless,” Brad helpfully pointed
out.

Leah beamed a smile at Brad that Michael
wanted all to himself. “You’re beautiful,” he said low, dragging
that smile to him. “More beautiful than ever.”

“Really?” she asked, and twirled around for
him. “Do you like it?”

He glanced at the dress again—the plunging
neck and back line, the sheath of a skirt, the long, shapely legs
beneath that. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I like it a lot.”

“I really owe your friend Beverly. She
wouldn’t even let me pay her.”

He certainly hoped not, as he had paid
Beverly handsomely for the privilege of putting Leah in her
dress.

“She even lent me these,” she said, flicking
one of the earrings with her finger. “So are we ready?”

Was she kidding? Michael couldn’t wait to
get her out of that dump of a house, to put her somewhere where the
world could admire her as she deserved to be admired, and
immediately moved to her side, his hand possessively on her
waist.

Leah grabbed a small silver bag from a
console near the door and looked over her shoulder at Brad. “Bye,
Brad. Be sure and tell Alice how fabulous I look.”

“You bet,” Brad responded without taking his
eyes off the TV.

Leah shifted a sparkling gaze up to Michael,
who opened the door, guided Leah through it.

She stopped on the porch and gave a squeal
of delight. “A limo?” she gasped, twirling around to Michael.

“Of course. Nothing but the best for you,
baby.”

Her hand flew to her throat. “I feel like
Cinderella,” she said wistfully, and then grabbed his hand, pulled
him toward the car. “Let’s go!” she said eagerly.

Inside the limo, Leah took in the various
bottles on the mini bar, the console TV, and the velvet seats.
“This is so damn cool,” she said excitedly.

“Have you been in a limo?”

“Yes—exactly twice, the
same number of times I’ve been a bridesmaid. But those limos had
blue shag carpet and cheap scotch.
This
,” she said, reaching for the
bar and lifting up a small bottle of Grey Goose vodka, “is really
uptown.”

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, shifting
forward.

“I think I would,” Leah said brightly.
“Something to settle my nerves.”

“Don’t be nervous,” he said as he got a
glass, some ice, and mixed her a vodka tonic, just like they’d
never been apart. He handed her the drink. “All eyes will be on
Vincent Vittorio and Ewan McGregor. Kids like us will be a bunch of
background noise. It’ll be fun to watch.”

“It’s already fun—I don’t have many
opportunities to wear a dress like this. Actually,” she said,
looking down at the dress, “I’d say I’ve had zero opportunities to
wear a dress like this.”

“You should wear dresses like that every
day,” Michael said sincerely. “You should have the best of
everything. I never thought you would be even more beautiful to me
than you already are, but Leah, I’m absolutely breathless.” And he
meant it. She looked like a star in that dress. Her carriage, her
smile—everything about her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day,
red carpets and dresses like that are a normal part of your
life.”

“Oh stop,” she said with a roll of her eyes,
then quickly slanted him another look. “You really think so?”

“I think so.”

Her cheeks turned a very
appealing shade of pink, and she looked down. “Well hey,
you
look pretty good,
too, Raney. Some men are born to wear tuxedos, and you are
definitely one of them. The photographers will think you are one of
the stars.”

He laughed. “I don’t think so. And anyway,
men are meant to fade to black when women appear, and that’s just
as well by me,” he said. “I’d much rather do the admiring than be
the admired.”