Incidental Happenstance (54 page)

            Three more weeks passed, each of the players surviving in their own private hell. For Tia, it involved going through the motions at work, hiding her feelings, and trying to appear cheerful on the outside when her insides felt raw and shredded. She’d had a fair amount of practice when she’d first lost Nick, but this was different—Nick had been taken from her, but Dylan had made the choice to remove himself from her life. None of it felt right to her, and no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that it was over, she couldn’t help holding out at least a shred of hope that he’d come to his senses and come back to her—regardless of the evidence staring her in the face constantly, she couldn’t make herself believe he would chose Penelope to spend his life with. 

            She’d taken off the Eiffel Tower necklace and placed it in her jewelry box, but people at work noticed and asked why she wasn’t wearing it so she had to put it back on to keep up the façade. It pained her whenever she caught sight of it in the mirror and she’d remember what Dylan had said as he put it around her neck that night in Paris. It was supposed to help her remember that no matter how far apart they were, she was always close to his heart.

            She refused to go into any store or even the gas station for fear out oeing confronted with another picture of Dylan and Penelope smiling or embracing on the cover of a magazine. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t escape it. She was in the dentist’s office when she saw the headline that read, ‘
Engaged?’
above a picture of the two of them, their foreheads touching, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. She’d had to leave and reschedule the appointment.

            The television was quickly becoming a source for reminders, as well. There were so many tabloid TV shows, commercials for tabloid TV shows, entertainment news during regular broadcasts—but as bad as it made her feel, she couldn’t help but stare whenever Dylan’s image was projected on the screen. She wanted to hate him for what he did to her, and the hurt and anger were still close to unbearable, but there was still that little part of her that just couldn’t make sense of it—she still had too much trouble believing that Dylan would just dump her without an explanation—it just wasn’t the kind of person he was. As the weeks went by however, and she turned her calendar over to December, staring sadly at the little hearts and smiley faces she’d drawn all around the words
‘Dylan in Australia!’
over the bottom half of the page that would be her Christmas break, her hopes faded into fog and drifted away, and she realized that she was going to have to completely rethink her New Year’s resolutions. She was going to have to decide to go on with her life without Dylan.

            Penelope was incredibly frustrated by Dylan’s lack of interest. She was running out of time—her goal was to be in his bed before Christmas, and to have him ask her to join him in Australia for the holidays. Obviously, Tia wasn’t going to be showing up, she smiled.

            Penelope didn’t speak to her family at all; her mother was a demanding bitch who always wanted something from her, and her father hadn’t been part of her life until she started acting, showing up suddenly and wanting to be a daddy again. Yeah, right. Her older sister was so jealous of her younger sibling’s success that she refused to speak to her. She was probably still furious that Penelope had stolen her husband, but she’d given him back, hadn’t she? What it meant was that she had no plans for the holiday; no wonderful get together to share old times and hand out presents. She’d told Dylan that she was going to spend the holidays with her favorite aunt, she of the famous French toast casserole, and she hoped that when dear old auntie kicked the bucket, if nothing else, Dylan would take pity on her and invite her to his celebration. That was the last resort; of course, she’d planned to be a couple by then and get a real invitation. But that was only a few weeks away now, and she hadn’t made any headway in getting him to make a move on her. She’d given him plenty of opportunity and made it obvious that she was willing, but he was still stuck on that stupid girl. He was still writing her letters nearly every freaking day, hoping that she would give in and respond. Maybe it was time for him to lose her address, as well as all her other contact information. She needed him to get his mind cleared of her once and for all. She’d have to look into that.

            It was killing her that he was nothing more than professional with her on the set, too. Their first kissing scene was downright depressing for her—she meant to screw something up so they’d have to reshoot the scene and she could kiss him again, but when his lips touched hers, she just melted. She tried to intensify the kiss, but he gave it exactly what the scene called for and refused to accept her tongue. When the director yelled “cut,” he turned and walked away without a word, wiping his lips letters nethe back of his hand where her tongue had touched him. There were still a couple pretty hot scenes coming up before the break though, and the big ones in Bora Bora when they got back. She was already dreaming about that.

            She grew increasingly flustered that Dylan hadn’t shared the break up with her, too. He had to know that she was aware that the letters had stopped coming, although Angela had confirmed that they were still rolling in regularly. She wanted him to confide in her, to let her know himself that he was available again. It bothered her that he was still wasting time and energy on such a plain and ordinary person—he was a big star and could have anyone he wanted, and he was still writing her, begging her in his letters to just call him; to give him an explanation. He still loved her, he wrote, and he refused to believe that they were over. At least he wasn’t writing twice a day anymore, so perhaps he was finally getting ready to move on. She’d have to make sure he had every opportunity to do just that—and soon. It was already December and they had just a little over a week of filming left before they broke for the holidays, and she had every intention of spending them in Australia with Dylan.

            Dylan was getting through the days, but barely. He still hadn’t heard anything from Tia, and it was eating at him. Angela had arranged a bouquet for him days ago—big tropical flowers like the ones he’d sent after their first goodbye, when things were still uncertain between them. She’d have received it by now, and he thought it might prompt her to call him. Hell, he didn’t know if she was even reading his letters.

            He just couldn’t get it out of his head that everything had been perfect—or at least as perfect as it could be for two people living so far apart—the last time he’d spoken to her.  He still couldn’t convince himself that Tia would dump him with a two paragraph email and never look back—she had too much compassion for that. The letters she wrote him were never less than three pages long, and the tone of the email just didn’t sound like her, which kept nagging at the back of his mind. He’d already decided that he’d find her again when he was through with the movie—he needed to get an explanation from her face to face, one way or another. If she looked him in the eyes and told him she was through with him, he’d walk away; but he couldn’t do it just yet.

            He had to face the facts though, he supposed. If she didn’t want anything more to do him, there was damned little he could do about it from the other side of the globe. He wouldn’t be back in the states until February, and he was scheduled in the studio with the band in early March. He’d hoped to write the songs for the new album while he was here, but all he managed to write were mushy love songs for Tia. A few would make the cut, but he needed a lot more variety to bring to the table. The guys had sent him some tracks, but he hadn’t had the heart to work on any fun music. He needed to get his head out of his ass and move on, he thought. Tia had made her decision, and apparently, it was final. What kept him hoping, though, was going home. She had to have gotten the ticket before the shit hit the fan; maybe she’d feel guilty enough or lonely enough or something to come and see him after all. That was what he couldn’t get out of his head; why he couldn’t just move on.

            Penelope was driving him crazy, too. It was obvious that she knew something was up—she had to have noticed that there weren’t any letters coming in from Tia, and he hadn’t spoken to her on the phone in what seemed like forever. She seemed to be pressing things too, trying to make something happen between them that was never going to happen. Even if he’d never met Tia, Penelope Valentine was far from his type. No matter how nice she’d been he still believed that she was out for herself at all costs, and he wouldn’t put it past her to use his breakup with Tia to her advantage. She was already pushing the envelope whenever she could, trying to make a lot more of their on-screen scenes than there should be, making suggestive comments, pressing herself against him in ways that were more than friendly. They’d had to film several scenes that were fairly intimate, but the biggest ones were yet to come, especially when their characters traveled to Bora Bora, where their broken romance would take a serious U-turn. He worried a lot about her level of professionalism when it came to being nearly naked with him on the beach.

            There was another, smaller love scene that they’d shoot next week, just before they broke for the holiday, and he was already dreading it. Penelope was really trying to up the ante during rehearsals, insisting that they run through the love scenes—that she needed some practice before the real thing. “There’s more to filming a love scene than knowing the words, Dylan,” she’d said, “we have to know how and when to touch each other, where to change our breathing, which way to turn our bodies—you can’t just get on set and wing it.”

            He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. He needed the practice more than she did—he’d never performed a heavy love scene, and really didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Being in character wasn’t enough—he had to feel something to make it come across as real, and lately, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything. His whole life had become an act, and he was doing a pitiful job just playing himself.

            They were in his trailer running lines when Angela came in. Penelope threw her a hard glance. “We’re rehearsing, Angela,” she said coldly. “I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted.” “I’m sorry,” she said, eyes down, “but your sister is trying to get a hold of you. She said it was very urgent, but she keeps getting your voice mail.” 

            Penelope threw her hands up in frustration. “What does that little bitch want?” she spat, pulling out her phone and punching the power button.

            “I don’t know,” Angela said, “she just said that it was extremely important that she talk to you.” As scripted, Angela walked out, apologizing again for the interruption.

            “She never calls me,” she explained to Dylan as she waited for her phone to come on line. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure it’ll only take a minute.”

            “No problem,” Dylan said, grabbing a bag of chips from the counter and munching a few as he dropped onto the couch. If she needed privacy, she could walk out, he thought. It was his trailer.

            Penelope punched a few buttons on her phone, and waited for the connection to go through. “What?” he heard her say into the phone, without so much as a greeting. 

            Dylan watched as Penelope’s face fell and went pale. Her voice changed to a whisper. “No,” she breathed. “She what?... ”When?...” I can’t believe…and you’re just telling me now?” She listened intently for a couple moments as the color rushed back into her face with fury. “I can’t believe you would do that!” she screamed. “I know you hate me, but…you bitch!” She stumbled, and Dylan jumped up to catch her fall. She sank into the sofa where he’d been sitting and dropped the phone to the floor. He reached down and picked it up, but hearing no one on the other end, pushed the disconnect button and set the phone on the arm of the couch.

            “What is it?” Dylan asked, genuinely concerned. She looked as if she were about to pass out.

            Penelope just stared straight ahead, unseeing, and tears began slipping from her eyes. Dylan took her by the shoulders and shook her a bit to get her attention. “Talk to me, Penelope, what’s going on?” he demanded.

            “It’s my aunt,” Penelope croaked, “the one who’s French toast I’ve made you? She’s… dead! Heart attack…and those bitches already buried her!” She inhaled sharply, and the tears flowed steadily. “She was in the hospital for almost a week, and they didn’t even call me to tell me…” She broke down into sobs, and threw herself into Dylan’s arms. He held her and let the tears come; he knew the sorrow of loss, and regardless of his feelings for Penelope, he couldn’t let her suffer alone.

            “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he breathed as he held her. “If there’s anything I can do…”

            “I just can’t believe she’s gone!” Penelope gasped. “I just talked to her last week—oh God, it had to be just before it happened—and she was fine! Now she’s dead?” She stood up and paced around the room, angry. “They didn’t even tell me! I could’ve called her! What the fuck? I couldn’t even send flowers to her funeral! It’s not right!” She opened the door and yelled for Angela, who appeared within seconds.

            “I need you to check on something for me,” she sobbed to Angela, giving her the details. “Find me an obituary—did they really already bury her without even telling me?”

            Angela left quickly to verify the obits, and Penelope sank back onto Dylan’s couch. “She was the only family I had,” she sobbed, leaning into his chest and crying on his shoulder. “The rest of them are horrible, horrible, people who hate me because of my success…”