Aussie: A Bad Boy Second Chance Romance (10 page)

At 5 a.m., unable to sleep, I climbed out of bed. I glanced at the clock and flinched. Earlier than I’d planned to get up, but what’s the point of staying in bed when all it did was leave me frustrated. 

My first thought was to go out and catch a couple of waves, but instead decided to drive up to the Griffith Park Observatory. It’s like I mostly had the place to myself. It was a good place to snap a couple of pictures and sit and think.

The park overlooked the entire LA area. It was halfway up the hill that was home to the Hollywood sign. I took several pictures of the city, but concentrated more on the sign as the sun rose, casting a golden light on the huge letters. I went farther up the hill, and took several shots of LA from behind the sign letters.

I wasn’t much into landscape photography. I preferred action shots or portraits, but this was as good a way as any to start to get my bearings back with the visual medium.

Driving home, I felt like I’d already gotten my day off to a productive start. My phone rang and I thought it had to be Dawn but when I looked at the screen I saw a number I didn’t recognize. I almost ignored it, but for some reason I answered.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to get in touch with you, for fuck’s sake?”

I recognized the voice immediately. Gravelly, deep, and sounding more like an old man than the thirty-odd years he really was.

“Roy.” I hadn’t talked to him in ages.

“How nice of you to remember. You know, when you change your number, you should tell your friends. I remembered the name of that booze distributor—”

“I don’t know very many people who refer to wine as ‘booze,’ but if anyone does, I figured it would be you.” I smiled, knowing exactly the three-word phrase he’d respond with, one that he was very fond of and used almost to the point of exhausting it.

“Fuck you, Dickweed. Okay, fine, so it’s not hard booze. But that’s not the point. I called yesterday. I fuckin’ had to pretend I was a grocery store manager. Managed to finally squeeze your number out of them.”

“How’ve you been?” I asked.

“I’m doing great, just great,” he said. I could hear him inhale. He might’ve kicked the drug habit, but the cigarettes were there to stay. “In fact, I have something you might be interested in. No, check that. I have something you
damn well
better be interested. Don’t make me hunt you down, kidnap you, and force your hand.”

“Quite a sales pitch you’re doing there,” I joked.

Roy inhaled and took another drag on his cigarette. “Look, I promised you one thing when I last saw you, right?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, when I owe someone a favor, I keep my word. So…where are you right now?”

The sun was up, LA was starting to bustle, traffic was increasing rapidly. “Headed home.”

“Out all night? Just snuck out of some chick’s place?”

“Nah, just an early start to my day.”

“Where’s home?” he asked.

“Santa Monica.”

“Well, fuck Santa Monica. How fast can you get to Studio City?”

I paused for a moment. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m paying off that favor. Just trust me on this, okay?”

I had no idea what he was up to, but after giving me an address, I told him I’d meet him. I added the location into my GPS and followed it.

The favor. He thought he owed me a favor. Looking back, the memory came back.

I met Roy Capps in rehab. Rehab sucks, but for Roy, not only was he worse off than me, he simply couldn’t seem to connect with anyone. You already feel alone, going through that garbage and are agitated. So he came up to me one day after a group session and wanted to talk photography and videography – right up my alley. I’d mentioned it when we went around the group and had to say something about ourselves.

So anyway, Roy and I talked about it, that day, the next, and so on. We talked about it almost exclusively day after day. It was that or the bullshit, idle chit-chat about what was going on during rehab.

He was a short, scrawny guy, built more like a teenager than an adult with a young face. I was surprised when I found out how old Roy was.

Anyway, Roy was out watching TV one night in the common area. Two other guys, newer to the rehab center, tried to bully the remote out of him, seeing he was smaller.

Roy told them no, so one of the guys grabbed his arm and lifted him up to a standing position. Fuck that. You don’t mess with my friends.

I’d woken up drenched in sweat from a nightmare, and was walking the halls trying to shake it off. I saw what was happening as I came around the corner. Nobody else was around. No nurses. No security.

It’s not that I wanted to fight his battle for him, and honestly, I didn’t know how he’d take it, but there comes a point where you do what’s right. It was when one of the guys pulled Roy’s arm behind his back, and the other punched him in the stomach. The guy’s fist landed with a hard thud. Roy doubled over groaning.

No fucking way. Just no. I jumped in and grabbed the guy who’d just punched Roy and pulled him back. When I let go of him, he spun and took a swing at me. When I shifted to get out of its path, I didn’t get far enough away. His fist landed on the side of my neck.

I was pissed, rage and adrenaline rushed through me. I coiled up and threw an uppercut to his chin. His jaw snapped shut with a pop.

As arms wrapped around me from behind, I struggled to free myself, thinking it was the other guy. Instead, it was one of the security guys. A couple of other security guards tackled the guy I’d just fought with, and Roy was already zip-cuffed and seated on the floor.

Everything moved so fast, in the span of ten seconds, maybe fifteen tops.

The two guys who’d started it were carted out of rehab and sent back to jail where they’d just left. They wanted to treat me, but I refused medical attention. I knew I’d be okay. Roy was taken to the emergency room after suffering a wrist injury. Just a sprain, I learned, when he was brought back later.

I can still hear his voice.

“You saved my ass, man,” he said to me after returning from the hospital. “I owe you. Big time.”

I told him it was nothing, but he obviously hadn’t agreed.

So now I found myself driving into Studio City, finding the address he’d given me. It was a one-story building with a sign out front: BLACKWOOD. Roy was waiting for me on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth, puffing on a cigarette.

After I got out of my car, we shook hands and had a quick hug.

“Goddamn, it’s good to see you, man. You been doing okay?” Roy was Roy, no other way to explain it.

We spent a few minutes catching up before he told me why it was so urgent that we meet.

“Come inside,” he said, opening the door with the swipe of a card.

I followed him.

“I’ve worked here almost a year now. Best job I’ve ever had,” he quipped.

I’d heard of BLACKWOOD studios before, but didn’t know much about the place. Roy showed me around, introducing me to everyone as we passed.

The lobby and hallways were covered with movie posters—some old and classic ones, others newer, and I figured the new ones were produced by this company.

“This guy,” Roy was saying as we walked through the building, “you probably know him.” He named a few movies, telling me the owner of this production company had written, produced, and directed all of them. “They do everything themselves now. No agent. No middle-man. They sell right to the studios. It’s almost unheard of, but when you have his name, you can pretty much do anything you want.”

We came to a suite of offices that overlooked a small green-space that was dotted with palm trees.

A woman came out of the main office and walked toward us with a smile. “Roy. And you’re Luke?”

“Yes,” I looked at Roy. What exactly was going on here?

The woman, who looked to be about my age, extended her hand. I reached out and shook it. “I’m Rebecca. We’re glad you came. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, orange juice?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” I said. Who is the “we” in “We’re glad you came”?

“Well, then let’s get started.” She gave a little follow-me type gesture. I noticed Roy wasn’t coming with us.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he said.

I followed Rebecca into an immense office, trying not to look overwhelmed. There was an incredible view. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up an entire wall. Couches and chairs were scattered everywhere. There were tables arranged all around them. On the tables, there were scripts and notes all over.

A guy joined us. He seemed to have come out of a bathroom that was attached to the office. His eyes were locked on a sheaf of papers, saying, “Did we call this Justin Strong guy back?”

He looked up and saw us.

Rebecca introduced me. “This is Luke.”

The guy walked toward me and put his hand out. “Grant Blackwood. Thanks for coming by.”

The next forty minutes changed everything.

Luke called in the afternoon. “Hey, babe. I want to take you out tonight, somewhere special.”

I’d just checked the mailbox and was walking up the driveway. “Oh, yeah? Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” he said, then hesitated, not wanting to say much more. “Somewhere, nice, okay?”

I stopped and sat on the front porch. The afternoon sun felt nice on my skin, and a light breeze made it a perfect California day. “What’s the occasion?”

He was giving nothing away. “I just want to take you out for a nice dinner. Pick you up around seven?”

“I’ll be ready,” I said and stood up to go inside.

My parents had been traveling a lot lately, sometimes on short notice. This weekend, they’d left for three days, and had only been gone for one of the three.

Each time I asked, they said it was business and shrugged it off. It was odd. They never used to go out of town so often, but I didn’t dig for clues, since I liked having the place to myself. And now, with Luke wanting to take me out, it was the perfect night to ask him to do something I’d been wanting to do since we started seeing each other.

Right around six, I started to get ready. I grabbed a shower and started to dry my hair. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard the doorbell. I turned off the hairdryer and listened again. Definitely the doorbell. I quickly pulled on my dress and went down to answer it, my earrings in hand. I tilted my head and slipped an earring through one ear, then finished the second before answering the door.

I opened the door and smiled, expecting to see Luke. Instead, it was Scott.

“Hey,” he said, when I opened the door. He eyed me up and down. “Wow, you look amazing. Going out somewhere?”

I felt the urge to be sarcastic with him: No, I’m getting all dressed up to stay home and sit on the couch watching reality TV and devouring chips and ice cream. I had no reason to be mean to him, but I was annoyed that he’d shown up unannounced.

With Luke on the way, I wanted to get rid of him. I ignored his question. “What do you need?”

Ouch. That came out harsher than I’d intended, but I really had nothing else to say. I couldn’t fake being happy to see him, so why bother?

“What do I need? Jesus, Dawn.”

Guilt got the best of me. “Sorry. What’s up?”

He lifted his sunglasses and propped them up on his head. “Actually, I do need something. Can I come in?”

I was holding on to the door and I reached for the doorjamb, clearly telling him he couldn’t. “Now’s not a good time. I’m about to go out.”

“I see that. With who?” he asked, trying to draw the conversation out of me.

I was in no mood to chit-chat. “Scott, just ask me whatever it is you need to ask me.”

He pressed his lips together, his mouth forming a line. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. “My birthday is this weekend.”

I nodded. I knew.

Scott sighed heavily. “I need you to come to dinner with my parents and me.” He raised a hand quickly. “Wait, wait, before you say anything, let me explain.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “You haven’t told them we broke up.”

He shook his head. “Have you told your parents?”

“No, but I’m also not asking you to hang out with them.”

He shook his head and snapped at me. “I’d do it for you if it was your birthday.”

He’d crossed a line now. It was one thing to show up without telling me, another to ask me to do something I clearly wasn’t going to do, but it was something entirely different to try to guilt me into going.

“That sucks,” I said. “Sorry to hear it, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not going, okay? End of story.”

“Come on, Dawn. Help me out of a jam,” he said, getting visibly annoyed.

“What’s the point of me going anyway? We’re going to sit there at dinner and pretend everything is okay? Then what? You’ll tell them next week? Or you won’t?”

“Why haven’t you told your parents?” he said, trying to push the issue.

“That’s different,” I said through clenched teeth. My jaw was tense, and my shoulders were tightening. I didn’t want or need to explain myself to him. He needed to leave.

“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “Why you haven’t told them? Tell me the truth.”

“I’ve been busy, they’ve been traveling a lot, I just haven’t—” I glanced away, pissed that I even had to justify myself.

“Come on, Dawn, you know why you haven’t.” He cut me off, taking a step closer to the door.

I closed it a little more. “Scott, seriously, back off. It’s none of your business.”

I heard a car come up the driveway. Scott turned to look. We both watched Luke park his Jeep. He’d gotten out and started walking to the front door.

Scott turned to me. Venom laced his voice. “Are you serious? You’re hanging out with this asshole?”

I looked away and focused on Luke. He climbed up the bricks steps of the porch.

He smiled at me, then went stone cold as he spoke to Scott. “We’re in a hurry.”

Scott looked at Luke, then back at me. “I was just leaving.”

“Good,” Luke said. He brushed past Scott, bumping him with his shoulder. Not hard. Just enough. Luke was a good two, maybe three inches taller, and he was broader, built stronger and more athletic than Scott.

I opened the door wider and let him inside. He kissed me on the cheek, then stood behind me.

Scott started to say something, but stopped. He turned and walked down the steps. I closed the door and leaned my back against it. Maybe it was the shock of seeing Scott, or the dreadful situation of having him standing at my door when Luke showed up, but I hadn’t even realized how Luke was dressed.

Holy shit. He looked amazing. He wore a charcoal suit, white shirt, no tie. I’d never seen him dressed like that. Never thought I’d see him wearing something so…professional. It was an entirely new look for him, and as much as I liked how it looked on him, I wanted to remove every stitch of clothing on his body.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. I wasn’t sure myself.

He arched an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I just… wow, you look amazing.” I said slowly, almost needing to catch my breath. 

Luke stepped closer and kissed me softly. “You’re so fucking hot. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through dinner.”

I laughed and placed my hand on his chest. “Let’s eat fast.”

*****

He’d made reservations at Spago in Beverly Hills. I’d been there once before, years ago, with my parents, but I was too young to appreciate the food and the atmosphere.

Luke pulled up to the valet. We stepped out of his car, and I asked, “Don’t you have to make reservations way in advance here?”

His hand rested on the small of my back as we walked. Passing through the front doors, he whispered, “Not always.”

I wasn’t sure what was going on, but all of it felt off. Something had changed. The way he was dressed, going to Spago. I was about to ask him when Luke gave the maître d’ his name. We were immediately brought to a table in the back corner of the restaurant, away from the kitchen entrance, away from the bar, clear of any server traffic.

What was going on?

I waited while Luke ordered a bottle of wine.

I leaned forward, trying to keep my voice low. “Okay, you want to tell me what this is all about?”

Luke’s eyebrows raised. “What are you talking about? What what’s all about?”

I cocked my head. “This. Spago? Great table. Seated right away. How long have you been planning this?”

He shrugged and squinted his eyes. He was fucking with me, pretending to calculate how long this had been in the works, as if it had been a long time. He finally answered, “About three hours.”

The waiter brought our wine, poured two glasses, and left the bottle. I lifted my glass and took a sip, eyeing up Luke. I waited for an explanation.

Taking in the atmosphere, I swept my eyes past the large pane of glass that exposed the kitchen. The chefs were busy, bustling about. There was an open door leading out to a private garden area. People were enjoying the night air under the strings of clustered lights. They’d been delicately woven and entwined through the leafy grape vines.

Luke’s voice drew me back to him. “How did work go?”

I stared at him blankly as I placed my wine glass back on the table.

“Work? How was work?” he asked again.

I gave him a look, then said nothing.

He tilted his head back as a grin emerged on his face. “Okay, I see what you’re doing. It’s an interesting tactic. Not very mature, kind of stubborn, actually. Reminds me of the way a certain teenage girl used to get what she wanted from her parents. But I’ll give you points for the way you’re keeping that straight face as I mock you.”

I held back, doing all I could not to laugh at that comment. He knew me well. I planned on sticking with it as long as I could until he finally broke and told me what was truly going on. Stubborn I was.

He picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. Placing his wine back down, he said, “So, I guess we’ll eat in silence.”

“Tell me, dammit.” I laughed. “The suspense is killing me.”

“Is that a little sarcasm I detect?” He was still playing with me, twisting me with his cockiness.

“No.” I lowered my voice and straightened my leg out until the tip of my heel found his shin. I nudged him with my foot. “Tell me already!”

What I got in response was raised eyebrows. He was loving the challenge. I was too, but I was getting anxious. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I was desperate to know what all of this was about. What exactly was going on?

“Okay,” he said. “I got a new job today.”

He told me everything, from how his friend Roy got in touch with him, to how he went to the production offices of a major name in Hollywood.

“Have you heard of him?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “No.”

Luke listed a bunch of movies that Grant Blackwood was involved in, between writing, directing, and producing. I recognized several of the movies, one of which was in my top ten favorite movies.

“Oh my God,” I said. “I love that movie. I can’t believe you’re going to be working for him.”

Luke playfully frowned. “Well, thanks for that vote of confidence.”

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “You know what I mean. This is amazing. Do I get to meet him?”

“I’ll try my best.” He wore a proud smile.

All I could do was stare into his eyes, those beautiful eyes that were once dead, had finally been reborn, vivid, wide, and bright. He took my hand in his and caressed it tenderly.

When our meal arrived, Luke talked about his excitement of getting back involved with camera work. “So, my title is ‘First Assistant Camera’. The camera operator does whatever the cinematographer or the director wants. Basically, I’ll be responsible for making sure the entire shot is in focus, and loading new film magazines when we need them.”

“That great, Luke, really. I’m impressed!” I was happy he got to reach his dream, but I was still in my dead-end, boring job at the mall. It felt like I’d never reach my own goal. I hid my frustration at my own failures, while cheering him on.

It was an amazing evening. I was thrilled I got to share in his joy. What had started as a crappy night, turned into something wonderful.

We had no idea what kind of turmoil was waiting for us.