Thursday, he at least got to have lunch with her and then worked with her team during paintball training. Thursday night, Leah trotted off to acting class, and Michael was going to turn in early, but Jack called him, begging him to come along on another date with Lindsey and her friend Ariel.
“You’re kidding,” Michael said flatly. “What is this, middle school?”
“I don’t know. Look, just do it, will you? Lindsey is taking it slow.”
“Tell her to take it slow with someone else,” Michael said irritably.
“Mike, I really like this woman. Come on. It’s the last time, I promise.”
With a weary sigh, Michael agreed.
On Friday, one of the Starlets broke her leg during the paintball training. The poor girl just tripped and fell and broke her leg. He spent the rest of the day at the hospital, on the phone with OSHA and studio people who were not very happy (particularly with the over-bloated budget situation), and then with the casting agent, trying to find a quick replacement for Soccer Mom #8. They lost an afternoon, which prompted an all-call for Saturday morning to make up for lost time.
Michael barely made it home in time to change for the premiere.
He arrived at Leah’s house in a stretch limo promptly at six. He stepped out, walked to Leah’s door, and hoped like hell that Brad didn’t answer.
Of course Brad answered. But at least the dude was fully clothed this time, dressed in dirty jeans and a dirtier T-shirt that said Rock On across the chest. “Dude,” Brad said, his eyes widening at the sight of Michael in what was a very expensive tux, purchased a couple of years ago for occasions such as this. “Nice threads.”
“Thank you. Is Leah here?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. He stepped back and shouted “Leah!” as he motioned for Michael to come in.
This had the feel of prom night, Michael thought uneasily. He stepped into the foyer, glanced around the house. Someone had picked things up a little. There was a pile of clothes on the end of a worn couch, and the peacock had been moved to stand below the massive TV. It had lost the boxer shorts and was wearing an L.A. Clippers hat. The kitchen table was stacked high with papers and a couple of scripts.
“You want something to drink?” Brad asked.
“No, but thank you,” Michael responded, and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Suit yourself,” Brad said, and padded across to a cabinet on a windowless wall. He squatted down, opened the doors, and surveyed a litter of liquor bottles, finally selecting Smirnoff vodka.
Brad stood up, turned around and gave Michael the once over. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Michael Raney.” He extended his hand to Brad, who padded across the floor and took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip.
“I’ve been wondering about you,” Brad said.
“Oh?”
“You don’t know much about cars, do you?”
“I don’t?”
“There wasn’t anything wrong with her distributor cap.”
Michael almost laughed. “You’re right. I’m not big on cars.”
Brad nodded, took the vodka to the kitchen, got a small glass, and then adjourned a full three feet away, onto the couch. “Wanna watch some baseball?”
“Ah . . . well no, we’ve got to be some place.” He glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway, then back at Brad. “Are you sure she heard you?”
“She heard me.”
And as if to confirm it, Michael heard the click of her heels on the hardwood floor. He turned around, his heart skipped a beat.
Leah looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing an ass-tight turquoise dress, the color of it reflected in her eyes. Her hair was pulled back and done up in a very artistic coif at the nape of her neck with thick strands of blonde curling in and out, making it look like an elaborate love knot. She was wearing teardrop crystal earrings, and her shoes, glittering with turquoise rhinestones, were just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He must have been staring, dumbstruck, because Leah started to laugh. “You remember me? Leah Klein? Your date for the evening?”
“He’s speechless,” Brad helpfully pointed out.
Leah beamed a smile at Brad that Michael wanted all to himself. “You’re beautiful,” he said low, dragging that smile to him. “More beautiful than ever.”
“Really?” she asked, and twirled around for him. “Do you like it?”
He glanced at the dress again—the plunging neck and back line, the sheath of a skirt, the long, shapely legs beneath that. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I like it a lot.”
“I really owe your friend Beverly. She wouldn’t even let me pay her.”
He certainly hoped not, as he had paid Beverly handsomely for the privilege of putting Leah in her dress.
“She even lent me these,” she said, flicking one of the earrings with her finger. “So are we ready?”
Was she kidding? Michael couldn’t wait to get her out of that dump of a house, to put her somewhere where the world could admire her as she deserved to be admired, and immediately moved to her side, his hand possessively on her waist.
Leah grabbed a small silver bag from a console near the door and looked over her shoulder at Brad. “Bye, Brad. Be sure and tell Alice how fabulous I look.”