“Okay, so what if I am? You just look so gloomy. But hey, who’s getting the dress? And what shoes are you going to wear with that? Okay, here’s what I am going to do for you. I am going to take you to Goodwill to get some shoes—”
“Goodwill?” Leah cried as they got in the car.
“Yes, Goodwill!” Trudy replied, clearly affronted. “Do you have any idea what the fine ladies of Brentwood and Bel Air toss out to Goodwill?”
Actually, Leah had no idea.
THAT afternoon, the women suited up in camouflage again (with a lot of grousing at the wardrobe guy about how fat they all looked), took up empty paintball guns, and walked through the blocking. Tomorrow, they would take the blocking into an old back lot set that had not been struck and still had housing facades up from the last film.
When they broke for the day, Trudy stopped to talk to Michele and Jamie, and Leah walked back to the locker room. As she neared the commissary tent, a familiar face stepped out into the sunshine, grinning broadly, his arms wide. “There you are, the flower without the light for the cigarettes.”
“Hello, Adolfo. Still lurking about looking for a light, I see.”
“No, no, this is not true. I am waiting for you.”
“Me?”
“Si. You do not recall? You did not give me your name.”
Leah laughed, put the tip of her gun to the ground, her elbow propped on the butt. “I don’t know if I should give you my name. What are you going to do with it?”
He smiled—a very lovely smile, in all honesty—and said, “You will not give me your trust, no? Ah, but if I have your name, I will do nothing but whisper it to the stars when I wish for you.”
“And you said you weren’t any good at lines!” she exclaimed with a laugh.
Adolfo looked positively wounded. “You do not believe me. Why is this? Do you not believe a man can see a woman as beautiful as you and wish for her to be his?”
Leah couldn’t help smiling. Cheesy? Absolutely. Flattering? Hell, yes. “I think that when a man sees a woman, he’s usually interested in something else.”
Adolfo grinned at that. “I did not say that I am not interested in this something else as well, sweetheart.” He winked.
Leah had to laugh. At least the guy was honest, she had to give him points for that, and he had a way of saying sweetheart that could turn a grown woman to jelly.
“If I may, nameless one . . . why do you have this gun?”
She glanced down at her firearm and picked it up, pointed it directly at Adolfo’s chest. He instantly threw up his hands, his eyes going wide. “If you aren’t careful, I will spray you with red paint.”
“You may spray on me whatever you wish,” he said, slowly lowering his arms, and took a tentative step forward and casually reached for the gun, took it from her, and turned it around, pointing at the tent. He brought it up to his shoulder as if he meant to fire it, looked through the site, pulled the trigger—and of course nothing happened. He laughed and lowered it. “This is useless,” he proclaimed.
“I should hope so. It’s a prop.”
“Prop? What is prop?” he asked, handing the gun back to her.
“An inanimate object used on a movie set,” she said, and cocked her head to one side. “What did you say you did around here, again?”
“I did not say. But now that you have expressed such keen interest, I shall tell you. I am the person with lights,” he said, and gestured heavenward.
“Lights?”
“Yes, lights. The things that hang down from the sky while you make the movies.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Which film are you working on?”
Adolfo smiled. “Which film? Many, many films. And which film are you?”
“War of the Soccer Moms.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “A very fine film. You are the star, no?”
She laughed roundly. “No.”
“No? How is this possible?” he asked, and touched her chin with his fingers, admiring her face. “You must be the star.”
“Believe me, I have asked myself the same question many times. Why aren’t I the star?” she joked heavenward, flinging her arms wide.
Adolfo clucked his tongue, dropped his hand, and looked away. But then he shifted a sparkling brown gaze to her from the corner of his eye. “I should very much like to give you wine.”
Leah laughed.
“I mean this. I should like to give you wine and learn your name.”
“My name,” she said, smiling up at him, “is Leah.”
“Leah,” he said on a long sigh. “The name is nectar for my lips.”
She couldn’t help but laugh again. “But I can’t have wine with you, I’m afraid.”
Adolfo frowned and demanded, “Why? Why, why, why, Leah? I adore you, I seek you out, and yet you barely give me a name by which to call you. Do you find me repulsive?”
“Not at all,” she said with a smile. “But I don’t know you, Adolfo. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”