“No,” I correct him. “What are you doing around here?” I gesture toward my office.
“Oh, I reckon it’s just the usual repairs and whatnot,” he reflects softly, staring past me at my building. “Same old stuff I’m always doing round here, Ms. O’Neill.”
Ms. O’Neill? I’m not sure whether he’s being sarcastic, or trying to put a professional distance between us, but I don’t wait to find out. I begin walking quickly away from him, but he follows behind me in the cart, still chatting.
“Been thinking of a job change, actually. Maybe getting back into production work.”
I stop, turning toward him. “Leaving the studio?” If he changes jobs, I’ll probably never see him again.
“Actually, one of the shows that’s crewing up for the fall, right here on the lot,” he explains, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I’m on a short list. I figured it was time I got a better-paying job. Made a little more of myself, you know.”
“What about Andrea? Aren’t those long hours?” I’m wondering about his motivation, and it occurs to me that I’m no longer privy to these thoughts of his. To what drives and motivates him, to the nuances of his world.
“Hours are pretty good, except on taping days. I can get Inez to stay then,” he explains with an off-handed shrug. “And I need a change. Trying to make a lot of changes in my world right now, Becca. I think it’s time for that. And I wanted you to know that…well, that I’m trying to overhaul myself.”
He’s pressing in too close, trying to work me back against an emotional wall—open up the silence that’s barricaded between us. “I better go.” I give my watch a nervous glance, backing away from him. “I’ve got a meeting in five minutes.”
“I’m changing that dark crap inside of me…the stuff that drove you away. I know why you couldn’t see how I feel, Rebecca. I understand. And I’m working to change that in myself.”
I feel tears burn my eyes. He’s looking at a new job to…impress me? Making big life transformations so I’ll, what, feel wooed?
I shiver a little, angry at myself that I do feel wooed. That’s exactly what I feel, dang it.
“How’s Andrea?” I ask. I’ve been worrying about her quite a lot over the past month; I’ve been concerned that she didn’t handle my sudden departure very well.
He thrusts the cart into park, turning to face me. “She misses you. Talks about you all the time.”
I step much closer. “But she’s doing okay?” The words come out more urgent than I intend, filled with genuine love for his daughter.
“She’s doing good,” he assures me. “Really good.”
I finger my meeting notes nervously. “I’m glad. Tell her I send my love, okay?”
“I love you, Rebecca.” He swings his long legs out of the cart, rising to his full lanky stature right in front of me. “You won’t take any of my calls, so I’ll just say it here. Right now. I love you.”
“Michael, we’ve talked about this,” I explain, feeling my face flush. Looking down, I wave my folder. “I’ve got a meeting.”
He studies me, smiling incongruously in the face of my rebuff: how is it possible that he seems more handsome now than any other time previously? It’s almost like some tension, always there around his eyes before, has vanished.
“You do realize it’s the third of August,” he tells me, kicking at the tire of his golf cart. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I say, “No, Michael. I don’t know what that means.” I keep my voice cool—as ordered and controlled as the small group of extras being wrangled by some assistant director over in Chaplin Park.
“We have plans on August twentieth,” he reminds me softly. “That fan gathering of yours.”
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “No, we don’t, Michael. You’re relentlessly determined.”
“You’re uninviting me?”
“We’re not dating anymore!” I cry, shaking my head at his unbelievable chutzpah.
“Know what I think would be great?” he says. Stepping into my space—closer than I can endure without squirming—he lowers his voice. “If you and I kept that date. If you put on that little black dress of yours, the one you wore to Cat’s party. And I put on something cool. Like my Armani or Kenneth Cole. Whatever.”
He smiles at me, his golden-brown eyes locking with mine. Seemingly unaware of all the hurt and pain I’ve stockpiled against him these past weeks, he continues. “And then if we went to that gathering and we showed Jake how happy you are. How happy we are together.”
I stare back at him, incredulous. “Are you nuts?”
“Yeah, Becca.” His eyes begin to sparkle. “Probably am. But see, after you left me in Malibu, I decided something really important.” He grows very intense in the way he watches me, amber eyes narrowing. “That I would get you to believe me.”