Midnight Encounters (23 page)

So she would have a career, so she’d spend her afternoons doing something meaningful, but what was the point if she didn’t have anyone to share it with?

“I miss him,” she finally admitted. “I miss talking to him, and joking around with him. I miss kissing him.

Hell, I even miss listening to him sing along to the Beach Boys.” A knowing smile curved Summer’s mouth. “It’s a pretty amazing feeling, isn’t it? Being in love?” She paused. “Listen, I know this probably isn’t the time to tell you this, but…Tygue and I are getting married.”

For a moment, all of Maggie’s problems whisked out of her tired brain. “Really?” Summer blushed prettily. “He proposed on the last night of our trip. We’re thinking a Christmas wedding in Jamaica.”

“I’m happy for you, Summer.”

“Thanks.” She paused again. “Why don’t you call him?”

“Tygue? I can just congratulate him in person.”

“Not Tygue. Ben.”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I asked him to leave.”

“So ask him to come back.”

Maggie swallowed. “It’s not that simple. Look, even if I do tell him how I feel, the media won’t stop harassing us. And as long as reporters are interested in me, Gloria won’t let me work at the center.” Summer’s expression softened. “Then you need to ask yourself this—what’s more important to you, your job or the man you love?”

“C’mon, Summer, don’t make this about me having to choose.”

“What if that’s what it comes down to?”

Maggie grew silent. What if it
did
come to that? She wasn’t sure what she’d do if that happened. She wanted to be with Ben, but she wasn’t ready to give up everything she’d worked so hard for either.

And what if she did decide Ben was worth being hounded by the paparazzi, worth risking her job for? If they ended up breaking up someday, she’d be left with nothing. She’d be no better than her mother, a woman who’d left her responsibilities on a sidewalk in Queens for a man and a relationship that—knowing her mother’s flakiness—probably hadn’t even worked out.

Did her mom regret leaving her? It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was the question that always kept her in line, always urged her to make something of herself.

Because if she did get Ben back, and if it didn’t end up working out, the last thing she wanted was to be left with regrets.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she finally blurted, too confused to think. “Tell me about your trip. How did the steel drum performance go? Did you get along with Tygue’s family?” As if sensing Maggie had officially dropped the subject of love and Ben Barrett, Summer finally sighed.

Then she smiled. “Actually, his family loved me.
And
everyone at the reception gave me a standing ovation after I finished my song.”

“Now that I’ve got to see to believe.”

“Don’t you worry, Doubting Maggie. Luckily for you, Tygue got it all on video…”

“Ben, have a seat,” Alan Goodrich said after the two men had entered the spacious living room of Goodrich’s ten-bedroom mansion in Beverly Hills.

Ben assumed a relaxed demeanor and sank onto the plush black leather sofa situated in front of a forbidding stone fireplace. He’d visited the Goodrich home only once before, when Gretchen first contacted him six months ago, but the luxurious surroundings still made him a little uncomfortable. Hell, being in Alan’s presence made him uncomfortable. The man was one of the most esteemed directors in the business, recipient of two Oscars, not to mention a list of nominations and critic nods as long as the Nile.

He still wasn’t sure why Alan wanted to meet with him, but he hoped it didn’t have to do with Gretchen.

Of course it has to do with Gretchen
, his brain argued.
Why else did he ask you to come?

“I have two matters to discuss with you,” Alan announced.

“Okay,” Ben said, slightly unnerved.

With his big, beefy body, a head of white hair and piercing green eyes, Alan Goodrich was nothing if not intimidating. Lowering his body into a leather recliner, Alan folded his hands in his lap. “First, you should know that my wife’s estate has been settled. Since the will was uncontested, you should receive a check very soon.”

Ben swallowed. “About that…I don’t feel comfortable keeping Gretchen’s money, Mr. Goodrich.”

“Call me, Alan.”

“Okay. Alan. Well, I’ve decided to donate the money to charity.” When Goodrich didn’t object, Ben went on. “I also wanted to ask you something. I’d like to give a statement to the press, about Gretchen’s connection to my father.”

Alan grew silent.

“That is, if you don’t mind,” he added quickly.

“Actually, I think it’s a fine idea.” Goodrich’s strong, somewhat harsh features softened. “Gretchen would’ve hated it if she knew your inheritance caused a media circus. She really did feel awful about what your father did to you and your mother. I don’t think she would’ve ever written you into her will if she knew the kind of negative attention you’d receive.”

“I know.”

“So clear it up, son. It’s about time the press cut you some slack.”

“Thanks, Alan.”

Goodrich gave a brisk nod. “Now, the second matter at hand. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m currently working on a war epic.”

“I’d heard, yes.”

“I’ve just approved the screenplay, and we’re scouting locations and beginning to cast as we speak.” Ben crossed his ankles together, suddenly remembering the words Maggie had said to him in the Bahamas.
Nobody’s going to give it to you. If you want something, you go after it.

He wasn’t sure where Goodrich was heading or why he’d mentioned his latest film, but Ben knew he couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip through his fingers. Maggie was right. He couldn’t sit around and wait for a meaty role to fall into his lap. If he wanted it, he needed to go out and get it.

“About your film…” he ventured quietly. “I was actually going to ask you if you’d let me read for it.” Goodrich chuckled. “Ben—”

He tried not to bristle at the director’s laughter and hurried on. “I’m not asking for a leading role, Alan.

I’ll read for any part you want, as small as you want.”

“Ben—”

“Just give me a shot.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Alan said, chuckling again. “If you had let me finish, you would have heard me offering you one of the supporting roles.”

His jaw fell open despite his attempt to keep it shut. “Pardon me?” Alan offered a faint smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve told you before how much I enjoy your screen performances.”

“Yeah, but I thought…” he trailed off.

“You thought I was bullshitting?” Alan finished, his smile widening. “I wasn’t. You truly are a fine actor, son. And the moment I finished reading the script, I knew I wanted you to be in the film.” Before Ben could answer, a mechanical rendition of a Beethoven symphony broke out. With an apologetic look, Goodrich reached into the inner pocket of the navy-blue blazer he wore and extracted a cell phone. “I need to take this.”

As the director stood up and exited the room, Ben rubbed his forehead, still a little stunned. Alan Goodrich had just offered him a role in his new movie? Sure, there was bound to be action in the war epic, the gunfire and explosions he’d grown used to, but there would also be depth to it. Not to mention the respect and prestige working with a director of Alan’s caliber provided. Just having his name attached to an Alan Goodrich project would certainly make the critics take him seriously, even if he was Bad Boy Ben Barrett.

Hell, with all that recognition, maybe the media would finally drop the alliteration-heavy nickname and see him as simply Ben Barrett, actor.

“I’m going to have to cut this meeting short,” came Goodrich’s rueful voice.

Ben turned to see the director standing in the doorway, still holding his cell phone. Getting to his feet, he walked toward Alan and extended his hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.” Alan gave his hand a firm shake. “I’ll be in touch about the film. We’ll probably start shooting at the end of the summer. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Ben left the Goodrich estate feeling like he was walking on air. During the past half hour an enormous weight had lifted off his chest, the weight of discontent and frustration over a career that had strayed off in a direction Ben had never wanted. But it was back on track again, and soon the other pieces of his life would fall back into place.

First things first, though. He had a press conference to attend.

Maggie approached the front steps of the Broger Center the next morning and spotted a half dozen reporters milling about, a sight that made her frown. Didn’t these people have lives? Homes to go to, kids to take care of? Fortunately she’d finally showered and changed her clothes, but at this point she’d rather look grimy and gross on television than listen to more accusations from the press.

She hadn’t slept a wink last night, not when she still missed Ben, not when she was swamped with regret about asking him to leave. After lying in bed until one a.m., she’d finally decided enough was enough.

She’d reached for the phone, intending to call Ben, only to realize that she didn’t have his damn phone number!

She’d dragged Summer out of bed to help her search the Internet, and though they’d spent hours looking for a contact number, all they got was a fan mail address. And when they’d finally hit pay dirt and learned the name of Ben’s agent, it had been too late to call.

Of course, that meant another sleepless night, which only got worse when she rolled her exhausted body out of bed this morning and heard Gloria’s voice on her answering machine.

Now, seeing all the reporters on the front steps only made her bad mood a hundred times worse.

“Did you know Ben Barrett was donating his inheritance to the community center?” one of the reporters shouted at her approach.

She stopped for a second. What the hell was this guy talking about?

“Maggie,” someone else called. “Were you aware that Ben’s father was a bigamist?”
Huh?

Not bothering to respond, she walked into the center and immediately headed for the main office, her head swimming. How did they find out about Ben’s father? And what on earth did they mean he’d donated his inheritance to the center?

“Maggie, I’m glad you came in!” Gloria chirped when she entered her office.

The expression on the facilitator’s olive-colored face was so jubilant, Maggie’s confusion doubled. She sat in the visitor’s chair and tried to paste on a cheerful expression. Hard, when she was feeling anything but cheerful.

“I take it the reporters are still harassing everyone,” she sighed, avoiding Gloria’s eyes.

The older woman waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll go away sooner or later.” Maggie’s eyebrows shot to her forehead. Had she somehow been transported to a different planet during the night? A few days ago, Gloria had spoken of the media’s presence as if it were the anti-Christ.

This morning, she seemed unperturbed and relaxed about the entire situation.

“One of the reporters outside mentioned Ben donated some money to the center?” she began, feeling a little awkward about her ignorance on the subject.

Gloria’s dark eyes lit up. “Five million dollars is not some money, sweetheart. I’m still overwhelmed by Mr. Barrett’s generosity.”

Five million dollars?

“I must say, I’m very impressed with the man,” Gloria added with a smile. “That he donated half of his recent inheritance to various child service agencies across the country is commendable, but giving the other half to the center? It’s unbelievably generous.”

“I can’t believe he did this,” Maggie murmured. Then a frown reached her lips. Ben’s gift was so incredible that for a moment she’d forgotten about her last encounter with the woman in front of her.

“Gloria, Ben’s donation means that the reporters won’t be going away for a while…” Gloria’s face softened, remorse reflecting in her gaze. “Maggie, I may have overreacted during our last meeting. My biggest concern at the time was what the attention would do to the center, not to mention how the parents would feel. Turns out most of them are thrilled by the free publicity.”

“They are?”

Gloria nodded whole-heartedly. “Many of them feel this will be good for the community, maybe spur the city counselors to take notice of what’s happening outside their offices. And now, thanks to Mr. Barrett’s generosity, we’ll be able to bring about a lot of changes.” Leaning forward, Gloria rested her palms on the desk, her expression growing excited. “His donation will allow us to completely renovate the center, and we’re planning on building a new playground and an on-site tutoring center for kids with learning problems.”

“What about the shelter?”

“That’s the best part. We’re going to use a portion of the money to build a women’s shelter, in a separate location. More space, more counselors, it’ll be wonderful.” Maggie was speechless. Well, considering her last meeting with Gloria, she hadn’t expected the woman to be so pleased about the turn of events.

“So you’re okay with the media hanging around?” she asked warily.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Gloria replied with a dry smile. “With a donation this size, it’s expected. Besides, it really is good publicity, which is something I failed to consider when we spoke last time.”

“I’m glad something good came out of all this,” Maggie finally said.

“Something great, you mean,” Gloria corrected. “I also forgot to mention, we’re going to offer after-school workshops for the kids. Drama, music, art. In fact, we’ve just hired a drama teacher. He’ll be working with the kids all summer.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Gloria rose from her chair. “I’d like you to meet him.”

She furrowed her brows. “You would?”

Catching her mystified expression, Gloria offered a slight smile. “Humor me, will you?” Still a bit perplexed, Maggie stood up and followed Gloria out of the small office toward the main corridor. Most of the rooms in the Broger Center were miniscule, but they did have a large indoor gymnasium the kids used during the winter and on rainy days, and Gloria led her in the direction of the gym. They paused in front of the splintered double doors.