Let Me Call You Sweetheart: Come Rain or Come Shine (7 page)

“But I can’t make you believe it. I can’t
make
you trust me. Hell, I can’t even make you like me.” He rocked back on his heels, rubbing his palms over his cheeks. “What I need right now is a really good script writer because I have no idea how to go forward from here.”

Charlie finally sacrificed her sleeve. “I’m not usually like this. I’ve never been one of those women who hates her body. It’s just that…”
 

This conversation felt more intimate than anything they’d shared yet. Even talking about the stabbing hadn’t made her feel so vulnerable. Maybe because that was in the past, and this monster was here now. In her present. Screwing up her life.
 

“How can I trust this? Jeeves—be reasonable. I know I’m messed up. I accept that. But you decide one day you don’t want to be the guy you’ve been for twenty years, so you pack up and change everything about your life in what…two weeks?” His cheeks changed from slightly angry pink to stark white. “You bought a house, a dog, and a lawnmower. That doesn’t mean you’ve changed. It means you’re trying to fit in Port Grable just like you were always trying to fit in Hollywood. You’re doing all the right things, but they are on the outside. Have you given any thought at all to who you are on the inside?”

“On the inside? On the inside, I really do love you, Cleaver.”

Charlie reached for his hand. “Maybe you really do. But maybe I’m another accessory to your small town persona. I have a lot of issues—but I don’t think you have any fewer. You left your old life because you were tired of pretending to fit in. What if that’s what you’re doing now? What if this isn’t the real you any more than the guy on TMZ was?”

Jeeves stared at their hands without speaking for a long time. Finally, he asked, “God, what if I really am that shallow?”

Wounding him was not what she was after. “You came here to find yourself—there’s nothing shallow about that. But I think…I think you’ve been an actor for so long that maybe you’re mistaking a set for a life, and Port Grable is your new soundstage. The person you are on the inside shouldn’t be dependent on your props.”

His nostrils flared and his brows slammed down. “You,” he said firmly, “are not a prop, Charlie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you mad or tell you how you feel. I’m emotionally stunted, I get that now. I wasn’t willing to admit it before, but you’re right—I’m still holding on to a lot of fear. But—”

“But I tried to rush us into something neither one of us is ready for.”

The look on his face cracked Charlie’s heart in a million places. Of all the things Jeeves had made her feel—this longing to erase his distress was the one that shook her the most. She ached to pull him close and…and what?
 

Unbreak his heart?

Charlie stared at his face. He was suddenly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. His eyes—none of the photographs or videos ever captured them the way they looked right now, while looking at her. They must have always airbrushed those smile lines before—she’d never understand Hollywood, erasing the best of a face away like that. Lines were the proof of a life well lived.
 

She wanted to draw him, capture him with her pencil so he would always be hers. She’d leave the bump in his nose and the stubble on his cheeks and the lines around his eyes and mouth. Suddenly, all at once, in a crystal moment of unlikely clarity, Charlotte Jeeves fell hopelessly, irrevocably in love. Her heart stretched and grew, waking up from a twelve-year nap.

She had to tell him. It was bubbling inside her. It needed to come out. Charlie opened her mouth to say the words, but Jeeves interrupted her.

“I think we need to take a break.”

Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost needed to be stabbed in an alley, left for dead, struggle with severe post-traumatic stress for twelve years, and then have his still-beating heart torn directly from his chest. Because it was not better. Better was never knowing that you
could have had
something brilliant and wonderful, but waited too long. Better was protecting your heart so it never hurt. Better was never having loved.
 

Charlie swallowed hard around the tears. “A break? We aren’t dating, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
 

She felt herself go on lockdown, heard every click as she bolted shut her emotions. If he would move, she could get up and away. Charlie would not fall apart. She was a strong woman. Jeeves had been in her life for four months—she survived before him and she’d be just fine without him.

Just fine.

“One month.”

“What?” she asked.

“And I think we should be pen pals,” he said amicably.

The words didn’t sink in. How could they? They were ridiculous. “Pen pals?”

“Yes.”

“We live next door to each other.”
 

He still held her hands as he got off the floor and back to the couch. “It will be great. We can get to know each other without me sneaking looks down your shirt every day.”

Charlie needed a Dramamine to keep up with the ups and downs of this day. “There is absolutely nothing sneaky about the way you look down my shirt.”

“Think about it, Cleaver. A long, friendly courtship through the mail. No pressure, no Marvin Gaye—just you and me tearing down walls.”

“You’re serious about this.”

“And none of that electronic mail garbage. I want long, flowery letters written in your own hand.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Should I spray the paper with my perfume too?”

“You don’t wear perfume.”
 

“Jeeves, I don’t see how this is going to solve any of our problems.”

He rubbed her hand gently. “Let’s just give it a shot. I can work on my issues, you can work on your issues, and I’ll build a dog run between our houses so Medusa can have joint custody of us.”

He was serious. At least he was portraying it pretty earnestly.
 

“So, what happens when I see you at Mel’s? Or the post office? Or…outside? Am I supposed to ignore you?”

Jeeves pondered that for a minute. She could tell he was pondering because he stuck his tongue in his cheek and frowned. “We can wave.”

“Wave,” Charlie repeated.

“And polite small talk is okay if we’re in public. I don’t want to give those old coots at the bar any more ammunition.”

“Right. This is weird, you know that, right?”

Jeeves helped her to her feet. “Do you know how many courtships carried on via love letters during world wars?”

“Yes, lots. Because those people were separated by oceans and countries, not a strip of grass.”

Jeeves steered her to the door, of all things. “This is going to be great. You’ll see.”

“So now you’re kicking me out?”

He leaned his forehead into hers, staring into her eyes, his hands cupping her head. “Charlotte Jeeves,” he began, his voice smoky and deep. “You have one month to prepare. I’m not playing around anymore. One month…and then…”

“And then what?”

He moved his mouth to her ear and he whispered low and dangerous. “And then I’m going to do things to your body that will make you blush for a year. And I’m going to do them slow, real slow.”

The bones in her legs softened to wet noodles.

“And I’m going to do them hard.”

Her breath hitched.

“And I swear to God, I’m going to do them until you beg me for mercy, and then I’ll do them some more.”

She was sure she was about to melt on the entry rug.

Jeeves kissed her forehead. “And you’re never going to wonder again.”

Chapter Seven

February 1

Dear Jeeves,

I’m not sure, exactly, how it worked out that you had this idea—but I have to go first. As usual, you manipulated me into doing something I don’t want to do.
 

I don’t even know how to start. I’ve never had a pen pal before. I can’t catch you up on gossip because we live in the same town and ninety percent of the town’s gossip is about the two of us anyway. We already know each other, so I don’t need to tell you where I came from or what I look like.
 

And, no, I’m not about to tell you what I’m wearing either.
 

In the spirit of this exercise, I guess I will try to tell you something that you might not know…I began a sketch of you last night. I was going to pull up some of your publicity shots to make it authentic—but I decided I wanted to sketch you the way that I see you. The way nobody else can.

And that is all you are getting from me today.

Sincerely,

Charlie

Dear Charlie,

There are no rules. You can tell me anything you want. Especially if it’s what you are wearing. Especially if the answer is “not much”.

Love,
 

Jeeves

Dear Jeeves,

That is not a letter. That is a post-it note. Try again.

Regards,

Charlie

Dear Charlie,

Sorry. This sounded like a great idea until I sat down with a pen and paper. I don’t usually write my own material, and it suddenly occurred to me that I might not be very good at it.
 

Look at that—I just gave you a glimpse at my insecurities. Maybe this is going to work after all.

I want to see the sketch. Not as much as I want to see you. This is going to be much harder than I thought. Whose idea was this anyway?

Love,
 

Jeeves

February 6

Dear Charlie,

For the last time, I’m not lying. Jeeves Allencaster
is
my real name. I swear. It’s the name my mother gave me. If I had changed my name for Hollywood, it would have been something manly like Brick or Hunter. Or Vladimir. You know…something that drives the women wild.

I found your first Blaze comic on eBay today for, well, more than I wanted to pay. But it’s on its way. Collector’s edition now, you know. Blaze has quite a following. Did you know they have whole fan-fiction sites about her?
 

I miss you. Now I know why nobody ever likes my ideas—this pen pal thing is crazy stupid. Why did you go along with it in the first place? I have this overwhelming urge to borrow a cup of sugar. I’m going to be strong.
 

It’s just that I’ve never missed anyone before. Not like this. And knowing you are right there—it’s killing me.
 

Love,

Jeeves

February 10

Dear Vlad,

I realize it’s winter, but can you go back to getting your mail with no shirt on?

Yours,

Charlie

Dear Charlie,

In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s raining sideways. The wind took out one of the trees in my backyard last night. I don’t take off my flannel shirt to shower anymore—it’s just too damn cold.

And that was not a letter. Please try again.
 

Love,

Jeeves

Dear Jeeves,

I saw the tree—I would call Ray Saget to come out with his chainsaw. He doesn’t charge too much.
 

It’s always windy in February—actually all winter. But it never snows. So don’t be such a baby, and take your clothes off.
 

I’ve been thinking a lot about you being naked, and I’m for it. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the last few weeks of letters and stolen glances across the yard and at the grocery store, because I really have. I’m just ready for naked. I miss making out on your couch, and I’m frankly a little annoyed that Medusa has become so well adjusted.
 

Did I mention that I’m ready to take off our clothes now?

Instead, I guess I’ll stoke up the fire. If the wind keeps up, we might lose power. It would be really great if I had someone to snuggle with if that happened.
 

And by snuggle, I mean naked.

Yours,

Charlie

February 11

Jeeves,

You lying son of a bitch. Please, just don’t write or call. I should have known better—I did know better. But no, instead of listening to my instincts, I trusted you.

C

Charlie,

Knock it off. It’s only six weeks. I’m not moving. I’m not even going to Los Angeles. We’re shooting in Vancouver and I’ll be back. I promise.

I love you.
 

J

Dear Bootlicking Toad,

Then why are you bringing the dog?

Charlie,

She’s my dog. I can bring her if I want to.

And I may be a bootlicking toad, but I’m your bootlicking toad. Still. Always.
 

I’m coming back.

J

P.S. I really thought you’d be happy for me. This is a great role.
 

February 13

Dear Charlie,

Please—I don’t want to leave like this.
 

These letters have come to mean so much to me. I’ve learned a lot about you—but I’ve also learned a lot about myself. And one of the things I learned was that I still want to be an actor—I just don’t want to live the part 24/7.
 

I’m not going back to my old life. My life is here now. With you—eventually. I’ve even talked to the school board about doing a play with the kids this fall. I’m not going to turn into the guy I was before because I’ve evolved. I thought that
we
had evolved, but now I see it’s just me.

Wait, no. I didn’t mean that.
 

I guess what needs to happen is you need to trust me. If you can’t, well, I guess you can’t.

Not that I’m giving up.

Love,

Jeeves

P.S. I’ve left you a box of addressed stamped envelopes. Please use them. I’ll miss you. I already do.

February 16

Jeeves,

I’m sorry I’m such a bitch.
 

I’m sorry I let you leave without saying goodbye.

I can’t believe I let my insecurity get the best of me. You deserve better than that. I’m really, really sorry. You know I don’t apologize well, so I hope you understand that I really mean it.