Remember When 2 (17 page)

   And that’s pretty much the moment I was sure my spine abandoned my body, as every inch of my flesh turned from solid matter into a melted, gelatinous goo.

   “Okay. That’s it. We’re outta here.”

   I broke free of his grasp and grabbed my purse and jacket, did The Movie Theater Sidestep out of our row and headed for the door. Trip was at my heels, and I could hear the low laugh escaping from his throat. It wasn’t until we were out on the street and halfway down the block before I whirled on him, ready to give him a piece of my mind, fighting against the urge to give him a piece of my ass. I was angrier at myself than I was at him, but from my tone, you’d never know it. “I’m
engaged
, Trip. So are you, in case you need reminding!”

   “What? Layla. We weren’t
doing
anything. Are you really mad?”

   “Hell yes, I’m mad! And you’re right.
We
weren’t doing anything.
You
were!”

   “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

   “Oh, don’t Shakespeare me, buddy. You know exactly what you were doing in that theater.”

   He cocked his head to the side, aiming those baby blues right into my eyes as he asked, “Trying to enjoy a movie with an old friend?”

   I paused, my breath heaving, and stared at him, registering that his eyes were mysteriously tinged with what very well may have been confusion.

   I suddenly realized that just because my heart had been beating out of my chest all evening didn’t mean that his was. Maybe he
was
innocently holding my hand. Maybe he was only being his funny, flirty self when he made those comments about “being bad” and “seducing” me. Maybe I’d only imagined our knee kiss.

   Maybe I looked like an idiot right now.

   I deflated, trying to calm down, kicking myself for berating him for my own frazzled nerves. I’d clearly worked myself up more than
he
had. It’s who he was. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t his fault if I couldn’t get a handle on my own response.

   I swiped my hair behind my ear and crossed my arms. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry.”

   He mirrored my pose, arched an eyebrow in my direction. “Hell of an apology, there, Lay.”

   That made me laugh for real. I took a deep breath and turned back to him, processed his determined stance.  “You’re right, you’re right. Okay, I’m sorry for yelling in your face. And for making you miss the end of your movie. I really am.” I reached out and untangled his crossed arms, wrapping both of mine around his good one. “Forgive me?”

   I bit my lip and gave him the puppydog eyes, imploring him to go easy on me.

   “Sweetheart, you keep looking at me like that, and I can forgive you almost anything.”

   I let out a little chuckle, relieved to know he’d accepted my apology. He only ever called me ‘sweetheart’ to tease, when he was feeling playful.

   So, okay. Let’s go play.

   “How’d you like to get some pie?”

   His lip curled, but before he could answer, a young couple walked out of the theater past us. We watched as the guy stopped his stride and tugged at the sleeve of his girlfriend. He turned back, looking at Trip, skeptical. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re not... Are you... that guy we just watched in that movie?”

   Trip looked at me and I gave him a shrug.

   “Actually, yeah, yes. Nice to meet you.” He offered an outstretched palm to Boyfriend for a handshake as Girlfriend started getting all wide-eyed and gaga. “Oh my God! You’re really him! You’re Trip Wiley.”

   Boyfriend looked at her questionably, astonished that she knew his name, but said, “Dude. You were great! The movie was awesome! We already decided we’re coming back to see it again when it opens next week.”

   Trip shot a look at me, both of us startled by this news. He responded, “Well, thank you, that’s... unexpect-”

   “Hey! Can we get an autograph?” Girlfriend asked. She rummaged around in her purse and came up with a pen and a piece of paper, which she held out to him with shaky hands. I was completely flustered by this whole scene, but Trip managed to make it look like it was no big deal; sure, of course, no problem, it happens all the time. “Who do I make this out to?”

   Some other people had started filing out of the theater by then, but they walked right by the four of us without a second glance. I overheard snippets of conversation from the exiting moviegoers, from the group of teenaged girls who were giggling, “What was his name?” to the two middle-aged women who were actually fanning themselves as they laughed and discussed that “gorgeous blond hunk”. If they only knew.

   Trip finished his writing, and Brandi-with-an-i took her prize back from him, gazing at it as though she were in possession of the Holy Grail. I was watching the steady stream of people, thinking that we’d better get out of there before he got recognized again. Trip must have been thinking the same thing. He grabbed my hand and said, “Okay, Brandi, have a nice night.”

   She gave him a dazed thank you, and Trip started walking backwards, offering, “No problem. And hey- Thanks for coming out to see the film.”

   We got a few steps away, blending back in with the general populace again, when I heard Brandi yell, “Wait! Is that your girlfriend? Do you
have
a girlfriend?”

   I shot a
yikes
look at Trip before checking over my shoulder to see what appeared to be a brewing argument between his two new friends. Brandi’s boyfriend probably didn’t appreciate his girlfriend throwing herself at another guy. Go figure.

   Trip either was unaware, or had simply chosen to ignore his newest fan’s desperate questions, because the only commentary he offered about the encounter was, “I really gotta work on that parting line. ‘
Thanks for coming out to see the film’
? God, I sounded like an idiot.”

   I laughed, still struck by what had just transpired back there outside the theater. “No you didn’t. You sounded humble. People like when famous people are humble. I thought you handled it great. Does that happen a lot?”

   “Not really. Well, sometimes. But I expect it at premieres and stuff or whenever I’m at a Hollywood party or something. Not so much just living my life. You know, when I’m just being
me
and not...
him
.”

   I couldn’t really appreciate the magnitude of that statement, because right then, I was just happy to be with whatever version of Trip was holding my hand.

Chapter 17

BEAUTIFUL CREATURES

   I’d originally suggested going to Lindy’s for some of their famous cheesecake, even though I knew it was basically a tourist trap. But who cared? Trip was kind of a tourist, and it was one of those places out-of-towners liked to go. But he was a little uneasy about going to such a sightseeing landmark and being put on public display. After our encounter with the couple at the theater, he didn’t want to take the chance of being recognized again. Plus, with his ripped jeans and baseball hat, he’d felt he was underdressed. I thought that with a mug like his, no one in their right minds would even notice, must less flinch at the sight of him wearing even a Hefty bag out in public.

   It was sad that he had to concern himself about such things, already sacrificing any sort of private life because of his chosen career. From what I’d been able to absorb from his newest movie, I figured the fame situation was only going to get worse. His role in
Swayed
was a star-making performance in a blockbuster movie. When it officially premiered the following week, there would hardly be a person left on the planet who didn’t know the name Trip Wiley.

   But for the time being at least, we were able to sit in relative obscurity in a booth at some no-name eatery on 45
th
, polishing off the rest of our late-night snack. Seemed like old times, just sitting in a diner with Trip, as we licked the last remnants of whipped cream off our lips.

   Off our own lips. Just wanted to be clear on that.

   I’d had the Snickers pie, and Trip had opted for the apple. With vanilla ice cream. And a side order of cheese fries with gravy. And an egg cream, the last of which he slurped out of the bottom of his glass.

   We’d stopped off at a liquor store on the way to the diner, and I saw the fifth of Jack Daniels make another appearance from under his jacket as he spiked his gazillionth Coke.

   I watched him in amazement, wondering where he put it all. He’d commandeered the majority of our vat of popcorn during the movie, then proceeded to down a junk-food feast of epic proportions at the diner. “You better watch it, Chester. You’re gonna get fat and then no one’ll ever hire you again.”

   He leaned back in his seat, patting his hands across his taut belly. “Impossible. I am a study in superior genetics.”

   Yep. That he was.

   “Besides,” he continued, “I have to take advantage of the food while I’m here. California cuisine is not great.”

   I scrunched up my nose in agreement, even though I’d never been out there myself. But I knew we had great food here and I just figured he knew it, too. I mean, come on. Disco Fries?
Yum.

   He’d lived in a bunch of different places in his life, but he told me it was only when he was back in Jersey or New York that he found himself checking off a list of things he needed to eat while he was here. Then he shot one of his trademarked smirks in my direction, and in another lifetime, I would have registered the look on his face as suggesting
I
was the next thing on the list.

   “And hell,” he added, “DeNiro packed on sixty pounds for
Raging Bull
, and it won him an Oscar.”

   That made me chuckle. “His
acting
won him the Oscar. Not his fat.”

   Trip unabashedly popped the top button of his jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure. I caught a sliver of skin just above his waistband. And crap. I felt my stomach flip.

   Trip countered, “Don’t be so sure about that. Yes, he was amazing in that role, but Hollywood people can’t comprehend the thought of deliberately messing up their looks.”

   He’d said that last part with disgust (and with more than a bit of slur to his speech), his contempt not hidden for the very people he was forced to schmooze on a daily basis. But he’d just begun the tirade.

   “I mean, look at Cameron Diaz. She explodes onto the screen in
The Mask
, this beautiful blonde young thing. Instant stardom based mostly on her great looks and the sexy role she played. I’m not trying to take anything away from her talent, mind you. She’s a pretty decent actress to begin with. But then she goes and does
Being John Malkovich
last year. Did you see it?”

   “No. Should I?”

   “Yeah. No. Well, maybe. You might like it. Anyway, she does this Malkovich film,
without makeup
, frizzy hair, just completely au naturale, and suddenly, she’s being lauded as a
great actress
.” He took a swig of his Jack and Coke to continue. “Again. Not taking anything away from her performance. She did a good job. But the point is, the majority of that role required nothing more than for her to show up to the set every day looking “ugly”. Everyone in the industry just about fell all over themselves to shower praise on her for her
bravery
.”

   I’d considered that it does take a certain amount of bravery to break the standard mold of Hollywood glam. But I got where he was going with his rant. Just in case I hadn’t grasped what he was trying to say, he punctuated, “I mean, it shouldn’t be like that. It should just be about the actual performance an actor puts out there. That’s it. But it doesn’t work that way.”

   I gave him an “
oh really
” look.

   “What? What’s that face?”

   I pointed out the obvious. “Trip, come on. You think if you didn’t look... well,
like you look
, that you’d be enjoying the kind of career you’ve got going for yourself right now? You think it would have happened as quickly if you looked like, well, John Malkovich, for example?”

   He rested his forearms against the table and focused his sole attention on me. “What exactly is it that you’re trying to say?”

   The bite in his voice didn’t register until after I’d already answered, “Well, look at you! Dammit, Trip. You’re gorgeous!”

   I’d meant it as a compliment, but the icy look he shot my way turned me to stone. “You can’t be serious. Layla, for fuck’s sake, tell me you’re not serious right now!” He slammed a fist down on the table, making the dishes and silverware rattle and causing a few heads to turn. He leaned forward ominously and practically spat out through clenched teeth, “Do you have any fucking idea how hard I work? I bust my ass every day, every
minute
trying to do the best job I can! And you think I’m lacking? You just sat through one of my movies and
that’s
what you took away from it?
This
?!” He made a circular motion around his face with his index finger, and that’s when I realized what I had said.