Celluloid Memories (12 page)

Savannah sighed. “Thanks, Taj. What are you working on?” she asked, as a distraction from her own small concerns.

“I'm mixing something I wrote with the lyrics from a friend of mine. It ain't half-bad.”

“Can I listen to it?”

He hesitated. “I'll make you a deal,” he said. “I'll read your work first, and then, after you hear what I have to say, if you still want a shot at getting even, I'll play it for you.”

“I guess that's fair,” Savannah said. “Well, take your time. There's no rush or anything.”

“Yeah. But hurry up,” he added.

Savannah chuckled. She turned from Taj and headed out of his office as he laid the envelope aside and went back to his music.

“Hey,” he called out behind her.

She stopped at the door and glanced back at him silently.

“What's it called?”

“Fade to Black,”
Savannah said, spontaneously coming up with a title to her work.

Taj nodded sagely. “Good title.”

Is this what people go through?
Savannah wondered as she finally walked away. Anxiety and self-consciousness, combined with a false confidence and a starry-eyed fantasy that what they'd created was the greatest thing since chocolate milk?

She felt sick to her stomach. But she also recognized why.

Savannah remembered something her father had said that had never resonated with her until this moment. They'd just returned from a doctor's appointment that had been difficult for him. He was exhausted by the time they'd returned to the house, but he'd insisted on reclining on a lounger by the pool, dozing off and on during the day as it slipped into a magnificent sunset. She'd brought him out a glass of iced tea, ignoring his requests for something stiffer that would have anesthetized some of his pain. He'd stared at her with a sad smile.

“Thank you, Vann, I'm really glad you're here.”

“You don't owe me any thanks.”

“I think I do. I cheated you out of a father. I have a lot to make up for and no time left to do it. Honey, I don't think I had a choice. I had to do what I did. I don't know if you can ever understand that.”

“Daddy? Do you ever have any regrets about how everything worked out?”

“Umph. That's the first time you've called me Daddy since you've been here. Does that mean you've forgiven me?”

Savannah squirmed under his wistful question.

“Vann, regret is expensive,” he'd murmured heavily. “I don't regret coming out here to L.A. and giving it a shot. I did okay. But I missed you and Harris. More than you'll ever know. There's a moral to my story, baby. I want you to hear it from me before I'm gone.”

“What?”

“Hollywood is called an alternative universe for a reason. It's not grounded in the real world. It's all about make-believe. Smoke and mirrors. Pipe dreams. Do or die, maybe not in body, but in your soul. Being out here taught me something. Without dreams to chase after, you're missing out on half of what life's all about. It's not about arriving. It's about the bumpy road to getting there.” He chuckled quietly. “It's been a helluva ride.”

 

Savannah was just pulling out of the parking lot of her studio when her cell phone rang.

She adjusted her earpiece and flipped open the unit as she drove. “Hello?”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Savannah pursed her mouth at the sound of McCoy's deep voice. “Hi. I'm just leaving work.”

“So you're on the road.”

“Yes. Does it matter?”

“I wouldn't want you to have an accident because you're distracted.”

“You don't want to go there,” Savannah said, but recognized that McCoy was teasing her.

“You're right. And I don't want to give you a reason to hang up on me. Tell you why I'm calling. Any chance you're free sometime this week?”

“Depends on why you want to know,” Savannah said, frowning at the slow traffic ahead. She made a spur-of-the-moment decision to get off the expressway and take local streets.

“I thought we'd do a field trip out to Inglewood so I can show you the theater named after your father.”

“Oh.”

“And I thought that as long as we were out of L.A., we'd drive down to Long Beach. There's a junior college there where Will Shelton was an adjunct. That's where I'm from. I know the area.”

“I knew about the college. I didn't think there was any reason to see it.”

“You might be surprised. Interested?”

“Yes, of course. But are you sure you really want to spend your time chauffeuring me around the county?”

“Is that a quaint way of saying you'd rather not go, or you'd rather not go with me?”

Savannah navigated an unexpected end to the street she was on, and quickly made a series of turns. She sighed when she recognized Santa Monica Boulevard.

“Why would you say that?”

“We didn't exactly meet under the best of circumstances.”

“I thought we'd gotten past that. Don't forget, I invited you to my house to use the pool.”

“And I'm going to hold you to it,” McCoy said. “How's this Saturday for the field trip?”

“Well…” Savannah hesitated, then suddenly hit her brakes and her horn as another car attempted to cut her off short.

“I heard that,” McCoy said. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I got off the expressway but the side streets are just as bad right now.”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere near Century City.”

“Wave as you drive by. I'm still at the office.”

She shook her head but smiled at his foolish suggestion. “Where were we?”

“Saturday. Inglewood and Long Beach.”

“It's very nice of you to make the offer. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Are you fishing for a hidden motive?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. “You don't pull any punches, do you?”

“I don't want to sound ungrateful, but you're talking about giving up a day of your weekend. That's pretty valuable time. And I'm sure you have better things to do. And I wouldn't want to interfere with any plans you already had.”

“You know, this wasn't supposed to be that difficult,” McCoy said with dry humor.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Maybe you just don't want to be in my company.”

“That's not it at all.”

“Good. Then all you have to do is say yes, Savannah.”

“Yes, Savannah,” she grinned broadly,

McCoy chuckled in her ear. “See you Saturday. I'll pick you up around ten.”

It began to rain late Friday night, and was still drizzling on Saturday morning. Savannah fully expected McCoy to call and cancel. But by nine-thirty she had not gotten a call from him. Having failed at second-guessing him she hurried to get ready, donning a pair of stretch black pants, a lime-green cami worn under a white blouse that belted at the waist. Her ballet flats were faux leopard skin.

Savannah sat in the kitchen nursing an almost-cold cup of coffee, trying to pretend this little outing was no big deal. However, she was acutely aware of the fact that McCoy had been the one to reach out and touch her and extend the invitation. And she couldn't deny that she was trying to figure out why.

While it was true that McCoy hardly acted like the Hollywood type with an ego and a short attention span, she couldn't quite figure him out. He certainly had turned out to be more relaxed and laid-back than any of the men she'd met recently, here or on the east coast. And he had a sense of humor. And he was good-looking.

What was she missing?

The doorbell rang and Savannah nearly dropped the mug as she got up from the kitchen counter. She hastily placed it in the sink and went to answer the door. Passing a small mirror mounted on the wall near the entrance, she checked herself out. She used her fingers to tease up her short hair, and rubbed her lips together to redistribute what remained of her gloss.

Savannah opened the door.

McCoy was standing under the entrance, holding a closed wet umbrella. He was partially turned away, looking about the surrounding street with interest. He turned to face her, and for just a moment they silently appraised each other. His expression was easy and thoughtful, his eyes showing instant appreciation for her appearance.

Take that, Cherise Too-Gorgeous-To-Be-Real.

Savannah realized that this was only the third time she was actually seeing McCoy face-to-face, but she no longer felt as though he were a stranger. As a matter of fact, she was overcome with a sense of the familiar, and the uncertainty she'd experienced while waiting in the kitchen now gave way to shyness based entirely on something else.

“This is a really nice street,” McCoy opened.

Savannah felt relief at how smoothly he'd gotten them over that tiny awkward moment.

“Yes, it is. I like it here.”

He studied her thoughtfully. “Will Shelton was obviously not into big and pretentious.”

“Thank goodness. His house is not on the map of where the stars live, either,” she said. “Would you like to come in?”

“Another time. I thought we'd get started.”

“Are you sure you still want to go?”

“Are you trying to back out?” he arched a brow.

“No, I…”

“Then let's go.” He deftly popped open the umbrella and held it up.

Savannah reached behind her for her handbag and a lightweight cardigan, on the chair near the door. She closed the door and locked it. McCoy kept the umbrella aloft to protect them both as they headed down the walkway to his car, idling on the curb.

“Sorry I couldn't provide you with a sunny day, but it could clear up later,” McCoy said.

Savannah cut him a questioning glance. “If you had that kind of power I'd address you differently.”

His cell phone rang. He reached for it with one hand, and with the other held the passenger door open for her.

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

Savannah paid no attention to his conversation. She'd just caught a glimpse of a petite woman getting into an older car some ways down the block. The woman looked familiar.

“Is there a problem?” McCoy spoke into his cell phone. There was a pause. “Then I'll speak with you later.” He snapped it close.

Down the block Savannah watched as the car door closed and the female driver turned over the engine. She quickly sat herself in McCoy's car and waited until he joined her. She half turned in her seat to him.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but…could you follow that car?”

He looked at her blankly. “You want me to what?”

Savannah glanced out the rear window. The car was already pulling away from the curb. “That silver car behind us. Quick! She's leaving.”

McCoy put his car in gear and made a U-turn to head in the other direction behind the departing vehicle.

“Yes, ma'am. Follow that car. What movie is that line from?”

“I have to find out who that woman is. I'm sure I've seen her several times near the house.”

“Really. Is she stalking you?”

“Not me. I'm pretty sure her coming around has to do with my father.”

McCoy kept a safe distance, even allowing a car or two to get between his and the silver-gray Infiniti. The driver eventually entered another community of quiet, small but stately looking homes. It was a more modest version of where she lived, Savannah conjectured. The driver of the car now directly ahead of them eventually slowed down and signaled to turn into a driveway. The garage was detached from a split-level Cape Cod frame house, charming and neat, on about a quarter of an acre of land. The front of the house had been painstakingly landscaped with a variety of semitropical plants that thrived in southern California temperatures.

Savannah quickly made note of the street and the house number.

“Got it,” she sighed, settling back in her seat as they continued to roll slowly along the street.

“That's it? You don't want to confront her and find out who she is?”

Savannah felt conflicted. “I don't want to scare her. She's not a threat, and now's not the time. I think it'll be best if I introduce myself later.”

McCoy looked at her, concern etched in his eyes, and nodded his understanding.

“Thanks, Mac,” Savannah said with a wry smile. “I promise I'll let you know what happens.”

“Whenever you're ready. Now you've got me curious.”

Anxious to get past the unexpected detour and the mysterious lady, Savannah asked McCoy where they were headed first.