Stripped (28 page)

Louise has recovered a bit of her equilibrium. “Is this really who I think it is?”

I nod. “Louise Eldritch, this is Dawson Kellor. My boyfriend.” I’ve never introduced anyone using those two words before. I go a little giddy.
 

Louise laughs nervously as she shakes Dawson’s outstretched hand. “My lands, Grey! However did you meet him? He’s even more handsome in person than in his movies!”

I frown. “Why, Louise, do you mean to tell me you’ve seen his movies? I wouldn’t have pegged you for those types of films.”

Louise blushes scarlet and waves her hand dismissively. “Well, you see, I…my Iris wanted to go see those movies that were so popular, you know the ones, about the magic and what-have-you. So of course I had to see them to make sure they were suitable for my daughter. I didn’t let her go see them, mind you. They were just too filled with needless violence and sexuality, and—well, no offense, Mr. Kellor, but we don’t hold stock in that kind of behavior.”

Dawson smiles evenly. “No offense taken, Mrs. Eldritch. I know some of my films aren’t for everyone. If I had a daughter, I certainly wouldn’t let her see much of my work until she was old enough to understand and be discerning.”

Louise nods seriously, and then turns to me. “So, Grey. What brings you back to town? I was under the impression that you’d relocated to Los Angeles more or less permanently.”

Which was Louise’s way of saying that she knew about my falling out with Daddy, and wanted the inside scoop.
 

“Is Daddy in his office? I’d like to see him.”

“He is, you know he is. He’s just…well, I’ll let him tell you.” The affable, genteel exterior fades, and I’m afforded a glimpse of the sharply intelligent, protective, and rather judgmental woman beneath. “Things haven’t been the same since you left, Grey. I must say. And your father…well…he’s changed. Your poor mama’s passing changed him, and not for the better. And when you left…. He hasn’t been well, you know. But I’ve said too much. It’s his story to tell. Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you to him.”

She leads Dawson and me through the maze of hallways and interconnected offices to Daddy’s expansive corner office. His door is closed, and Louise knocks once, perfunctorily, and then opens it. She pushes through, and I follow behind. What I see shocks me.
 

Daddy is sitting on the floor of his office, stacks of reference books piled around him between empty boxes. The built-in shelves are empty, and a carefully arranged pile of boxes sits in one corner, taped closed and labeled in Daddy’s neat script. He’s got four or five thick books on his lap, and he’s flipping through another, which he then sets aside on a smaller pile, picks up one from his lap, checks the spine, flips through it, and sets it in a different pile. He doesn’t hear us knock or enter. Music plays loudly from a small Bose iPod dock: “Hibernia” by Michael W. Smith. The distinctive and beautiful piano chorus with the orchestral backing washes over me, sinks into me. This was one of the few songs by him I actually liked, mainly because there weren’t any words.

I watch Daddy flip through another thick reference book. He has changed. He’s thinner, much thinner. His hair is more silver than blond, and it’s thinning, and the bald circle at the top of his head has expanded significantly. He looks…old. And frail. Louise bends over near him and whispers in his ear. His head snaps up, and his eyes lock on me.
 

I swallow hard at the welter of emotions I see in his gaze. I should have called. I should have checked on him. There’s so much between us, and I have no idea what he’ll say, how he’s going to react to my unexpected return.
 

He struggles to his knees, and then to his feet. Louise catches his elbow and helps him, and I see something in the way they look at each other briefly, in the way she helps him to his feet. Louise is a widower, too, her husband having passed of a heart attack about three years before Mama died. I’m frozen in place as I put two and two together. Daddy brushes his hands down the front of his pressed Dockers, smoothing the creases, and then takes three hesitant steps toward me. He moves slowly, as if stiff.

“Grey?” His voice is unchanged, still deep and powerful and stentorian. “You came back?”

I glance at Dawson, who just smiles encouragingly at me. I look back to Daddy, and take a single step in his direction. We’re separated by a few feet still, but I can see his features working, his eyes taking me in, searching me. “I…I just, I wanted to—I mean—” I have no idea what to say. I hadn’t meant to come back.
 

Daddy’s face crumples, and he rushes to me, wraps his arms around me, and holds me. He’s crying loudly. “I’m so sorry, Grey. I’m so sorry. I was so stubborn. I should have…I should have loved you. I never thought I’d see you again. I’m so sorry, Grey.” He takes a step back and wipes his face with a hand. “Forgive me, Grey.”

I never, ever expected this from him. “I—of course, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes and slumps, stumbling into Louise’s side. She holds him up and pats his shoulder. “I never…I thought I’d lost you forever. I’ve missed you so much.”

I look past him at the stacks of books, the boxes, the desk cleared of papers and pens and the computer. “What’s going on? Why are you packing up the office? And—the house. You sold it?”

Daddy straightens, and then moves around behind the desk, visibly strengthening and reassuming some of his old authority. He clicks off the Bose stereo, cutting off “Hibernia” as it begins a second play-through, and then he roots in a drawer, finds a key ring with a circular tag and one key. “Yes, I’m—I’ve retired. Doug is taking over as full-time executive pastor. I’ll still do a few sermons here and there, but…yes. As for the house…I moved out a few months ago, into a condo a few minutes from here. The house was…it was too hard to live there. It was too big, too empty.” He looks down and rubs at the desk surface with a thumb. “There were too many memories. I saved all your things, though. Your belongings, along with what I didn’t bring to the condo, are in a storage unit a couple miles from the condo. This is the key.” He hands the key to me, and I take it.
 

Louise is still in the room, hovering in the door. “Are you okay, Erik?”

He nods, and smiles tenderly at Louise. “Yes, I’m fine, d—don’t worry.” It sounded to me like he was going to say “dear.” He must see my questioning expression as I look from Daddy to Louise and back, wondering. He winces. “Louise and I…we’re—what I mean to say is, we—”

I interrupt. “Daddy, that’s your business.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’ve—”

“I’m not ready for that conversation. I’m just not.”

He nods. “Yes. I see. Perhaps you’re right.” He glances past me to Dawson, who is leaning against the door with his phone in his hand, idly checking emails or something. “Who is this young man?”

Dawson steps forward immediately, shoving the phone into his pocket and extending his hand. I see Daddy scrutinizing Dawson, and I see when recognition hits, seconds before Dawson introduces himself.

“Dawson Kellor, sir.”

“Erik Amundsen.” Daddy takes Dawson’s hand, and the two men shake. “How do you know my daughter?”

“We’re working on a film together.” My heart skips as Dawson seemingly dismisses our relationship, but then he continues. “That’s how we met, at least. I love your daughter, sir. Grey is the most amazing person I know.”

Daddy clears his throat. “Nice to meet you.” He has a million questions, and he doesn’t like the situation, and my old Daddy is probably still in there, but he’s keeping it to himself.
 

It’s an improvement, it’s a beginning, and I’ll take it.

Chapter 15

“…And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to…Dawson Kellor!” Channing Tatum claps his hands, the sound too loud in the microphone, his hands hitting the envelope. Beside him, Emma Stone claps as well, holding a smile as Dawson rises to his feet and makes his way down the aisle.
 

As he passes me, he leans over and whispers,
I love you
, in my ear, kissing me quickly. He trots up onto the stage, gives Emma a gentle embrace, and then does the back-slapping man-hug thing with Channing. My heart is pounding, and I’m on my feet, screaming and cheering as Dawson accepts the golden statue.

I’m overwhelmed, but that’s nothing new. Tom Hanks is a few rows back, Ted Danson is at the end of my row, and Jay-Z, Beyonce, and several of their friends sit directly in front of me. I see famous faces wherever I look. And then there’s me.
 

Gone With the Wind
was a box office smash, tying with
Avatar
for the highest-grossing film of all time. I wasn’t even in the credits, but I couldn’t care less. I worked on it, I helped make it. I sat next to Jeremy Allen Erskine during most of the shoot and watched, listened, and learned. I ran errands for Dawson and Kaz and Jeremy, and I took lots of notes. Through it all, Dawson and I worked things out. He hasn’t proposed yet. I try and tell myself that I’m not in a rush. I love him, and that’s all that matters but deep down, the doubts pick at me. What if he doesn’t? What if he’s changed his mind about marrying me?
 

He had his contract modified when we got back to L.A. from our trip to Macon. He would kiss Rose, but he wouldn’t do any explicit love scenes, and that also went into his rider. So, even though the remake was much darker and grittier and more graphic, including a sex scene that nearly got us an NC-17 rating, it was almost entirely a body double and computer effects, after the initial kiss.
 

And that kiss between Dawson and Rose? I kept it together despite my stomach thinking otherwise. I had to watch it, over and over again, take after take, until Jeremy was finally satisfied. Dawson was just as upset about it as I was, which was all that really got me through it. If he has any other roles that demand a kiss, I might have to take a long vacation and not see the movie.
 

Except I’ll probably work on all his movies.
 

All this runs through my head as Dawson shifts his weight in front of the podium, adjusts the mic, and clears his throat. “God, this is awesome. Thanks so much, everybody. The Academy, obviously. Jeremy, you rock. Rose, Armand, Carrie: You’re the best co-stars I could ask for. Dad, for getting me into movies when I was four.” He holds up the statue, and my heart is in my throat. Will he mention me? “Um, so…I know I don’t have long, but I’ve got something else to say, and you’ll just have to adjust your schedule, ’cause I’ve got the mic.” People laugh at this, and he licks his lips, a sign of nerves.
 

What’s he doing?

He finds me, his eyes locking on mine. “Grey? Get up here, babe.” I shake my head, but I can’t deny him. I get up, shake the skirt of my dress loose, and approach him. He comes to the stairs and hands me up, then takes his place by the mic, my hand still in his. He digs his free hand into his pocket, and his eyes burn into mine. “Grey, baby. You’ll probably get mad at me for this but…I’m doing it anyway. I love you. So much. You’ve given me my life back.”

The crowd is chattering, whispering laughing,
awww-
ing. I hear, but I’m not aware of them, except as background noise. I realize what’s coming. I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. I can only watch as Dawson pulls out a black box from his pants pocket, opens it, and shows me a huge, glittering diamond ring. It’s got to be at least four carats, but even the brilliance of the ring can’t keep my gaze from Dawson’s.
 

“Grey? Will you marry me?” He says the words, then sinks to one knee, holding the box up to me.
 

I stare at the ring, then at Dawson. There’s only one answer, of course. “Yes.” I say it quietly, and my voice cracks at the end. I try again, louder, leaning toward the mic. “Yes, yes! Dawson, baby…you’re crazy, but yes, I’ll marry you.”

The audience howls and cheers, and for the first time I glance out at them. It’s a mistake. There are thousands of people, famous people, important people, all watching me. I’ve never been in front of a crowd like this, and my knees buckle. Dawson catches me as I stumble, and he laughs as I stare up at him in perplexed shock. The reality of what he just did, what just happened, is sinking in. He just proposed to me during his acceptance speech at the Academy Awards. He just proposed to me. At the Oscars. Most of the world is watching. Live.
 

I start to hyperventilate.

And then warm wet strong lips touch mine, and I give myself over to the kiss, to Dawson’s mouth taking mine, giving me my breath back. I hold on to him, to his broad shoulders that are hard beneath his silky suit coat. He breaks the kiss, slips the ring onto my finger.

And then Morgan Freeman is beside us, tall and imposing, speaking to Dawson in that amazing voice of his. “Well, John Travolta and Rachel McAdams were supposed to be the next presenters, but you and your new fiancée here might as well do the honors.”

Dawson’s arm clamps me to his side, and I lean against him, trying not to look out at the crowd or the cameras. Dawson reads from the prompter, introducing the next award, for Best Actress. My head is whirling and spinning, so I hesitate when Dawson nudges me with his hand. Then I realize he wants me to read the list of names. I clear my throat and read the words on the prompter, the names of the actresses and the movies they were in, which includes Rose for her role as Scarlett.
 

I’m proud of myself for getting through the presentation without stumbling over my words, and then Dawson is taking an envelope from a black-clad stage hand with a headset on. He rips it open, flips the flap up, and reads.

“The Oscar for Best Actress goes to…Rose Garret!” He grins and points with his Oscar at Rose as she rises in her seat. “Rose, you’re amazing. You deserve it. And now, I’ll finally leave the stage. Y’all can have your program back now.” Everyone laughs at him, and then he’s sweeping me off-stage and into the darkness of the back-stage area. We’re in a far back corner beneath a red-lit exit sign, and his features are bathed in the glow. He’s deliriously happy.