“It warms my heart to see your smile,” he said. “I shall buy you a drink, si?” he asked, looking at her near-empty wineglass. “I shall bring you a Spanish wine that will make you sing.”
“Please, no, I’m tone deaf. It’s best that I not sing.”
“But a good Spanish wine will give you new ears,” he said, gesturing toward his head. “You will wait for me here, no?”
Like she could possibly shoehorn herself out of the packed bar. Like she’d even want to. “I’ll wait,” she said, and smiled back.
Okay, she was seriously going to have to reassess, she thought as he moved to the bar. Adolfo was wearing black slacks and a cool blue silk blouse. His black hair, slicked back, brushed over his collar. He was a very nice-looking man. Very nice. Okay, not as nice-looking as Michael—please, like anyone could compare—but he was pretty damn close.
Close enough that her spirits were picking up as Adolfo turned from the bar and headed back, still wearing that charming smile, holding two glasses in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.
A whole bottle. She really wasn’t that much of a drinker.
“Wow,” she said, laughing a little. “That’s a whole bottle.”
“A bottle yes, a bottle of fine Spanish wine for the most beautiful woman in all of the mountains and beyond.”
“Applause, applause, Adolfo,” she said. “Your lines are improving all the time. I’m even beginning to believe them . . .” She glanced at the bottle, then squinted at the label. “But that isn’t a Spanish wine, it’s a California wine.”
“Spain, California. It is all the same,” he said, pouring a glass for her. “Now. The time for lines is gone,” he said, handing her the glass and pouring another for himself. He set the bottle aside, then lifted his glass, touched it to Leah’s. “Now is the time for honest amor.”
The timbre of his voice sent a very delicious signal to her groin, and Leah blushed and looked at her glass. “Well, at the very least, it is time for wine,” she said, and tasted the wine he had given her. “Excellent,” she said.
“Of course it is excellent!” he said, sounding a little miffed, and took a rather big swig of wine himself. “Pity we are not in Spain now,” he said, shifting closer, propping his arm against the wall beside her head. “For the Spaniards, we are lovers of fine wine, fine food, and fine women,” he said. “You have the amazing eyes,” he murmured.
There was the blush again. “Thank you. You have amazing cologne.”
Adolfo chuckled and glanced at the wineglass she was holding. “Drink it, mi amor, drink it all, for wine is the elixir of life.”
“And all this time I thought it was merely a complement to beef,” she quipped. But she drank. Adolfo watched approvingly, and when she had sipped a couple of times, he tipped the bottle into her glass, pouring in a little more. “Drink, drink,” he urged her again. “Let us celebrate the night, for the moon is full, and there is love in the air.”
The wine was definitely making her feel mellow. “Did you learn to speak English from Broadway musicals?” she asked as she sipped from the replenished glass.
“Ah, Broadway,” he said longingly. “I have spent many hours on Broadway.”
“You have? Lighting?” she asked.
“What?” He seemed confused for a moment, then laughed. “Si, si, of course,” he said, and began to tell Leah about the period of time he’d spent in the United States, working on Broadway and taking in as many Broadway shows as possible, because he was mesmerized by them. How funny, she thought, that she never ran across him when she was working on Broadway. Oh well. New York was a big city.
“What fascinates you?” she asked.
“The costumes, the singing. The joy.”
“How about your parents? Do they ever come?”
Adolfo clucked his tongue. “They are gone,” he said, and told her about a young boy, growing up in Madrid, longing to come to America, and how, as an adult, after his parents had passed away, he had come to the United States to pursue a career in filmmaking.
“One day I shall direct a great movie,” he predicted.
“Welcome to the club,” she said, clinking her glass to his.
Adolfo’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “You, too?”
“In a way. I want to star in movies, not direct them. But look around, Adolfo Rafael. Almost everyone in this bar wants a piece of the pie.”
“Ah, but you are the only one of them who could be a star,” he said, signaling the waitress. “Tell me your story, Leah. Tell me how you come to Hollywood, like me.”
“Well—”