Incidental Happenstance (55 page)

            Dylan put his arm around her shoulders and let her cry it out. “Penelope,” he said gently, “I can’t believe your own family would really…”

            “Yes they would!” she interjected. “You don’t know them—they hate me Dylan, they really do!” she sucked in a huge breath and let it out with a shudder. “They’d do it just to spite me;” she said angrily, “to see me suffer.” She began sobbing again, and pressed her face into Dylan’s chest once more. Angela returned, and her face pretty much told the whole story. Penelope saw it, as well.

            “It’s true, isn’t it?” she whispered.

            “I’m afraid so,” Angela said, her eyes full of pity. “After I found the obituary I made a few phone calls, and she…” she paused, catching her own breath, “they buried her yesterday morning.”

            “Oh my God!” Penelope wailed, turning to Dylan. “Can you get me some wine, please?”

            Dylan shook his head. “I don’t really think that’s the best idea…”

            She turned to Angela. “Angela, get me some wine, please!” Angela scurried to fulfill her boss’s wish, returning just a moment later with a full glass and the rest of the bottle.

            “What can I do for you, Penelope?” she asked compassionately. “Please let me help. I know how much you loved her, and how much you must be hurting right now.”

            “It hurts so much!” she wailed, grabbing another tissue and wiping at her eyes. “Maybe can you stay with me tonight, Angie?” she pleaded. “I just don’t think I can be alone.”

            Angela’s eyes widened for a second, then softened. “Of course I will,” she said, “just let me go try and reschedule that meeting with that TV exec, and I’ll be right back,” she said, turning to go.

            “Oh no,” Penelope whispered. “Is that the one you’ve been waiting on for weeks? The one it took you so long to get?”

            “It’s OK Penelope,” Angela whispered. “You need me right now—I’ll figure something out.”

            “No way, Angie,” she said. “You’ve worked too hard to get that meeting. You have to go. What time is your appointment?”

            “Seven tomorrow morning,” she said sadly. “I was going to leave here about five.”

            “Oh, and you’ll need your sleep. You can’t spend the night on my love seat and expect to be in shape for a meeting that important. I love that you’d cancel for me, Ang, I really do, but I can’t let you do it.” She looked at Dylan hopefully, the question clearly written in her eyes.

           
Shit
, he thought. He owed her this much—she’d shared her assistant with him, and tried to be kind… and he knew what it was like to lose someone. No one should go through it alone, and she really didn’t have anyone else. “Please, Dylan,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can be alone tonight.”

            He compromised. “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep,” he said. “That’s really all I can do.”

            “Thank you,” she whispered, taking a deep breath and wiping tears from her face.

            He gathered his laptop, his guitar, some paper, and some notes from the guys and walked with her back to her trailer. At least he could get some work done, he thought, maybe pen some lyrics while he had some different emotions running through him. Music had always soothed his soul, so maybe he could play a little for Penelope; help her relax and get some sleep. He managed to convince her that wine wasn’t going to help, and he put on some water for tea while she went to take a hot shower.

                Dylan pulled out his notebook and started scribbling lyrics. The mixed feelings running through him were tugging his thoughts to Tia, once again, and he poued them onto his paper.
The veil hangs over midnight and I’m sitting here alone…Can’t see you; touch you;  face to face can’t even get you on the phone…The moon hangs heavy as my heart blocking stars out from the sky…Alone and dark without you and I can’t figure out just why/ You know you are my heart…I feel all torn up and broken whenever we’re apart…Can’t seem to do the simplest things can’t even start/I need you back I need you near There’s just this veil of midnight when you’re not here…

            He was interrupted by the slam of the shower door. Startled from his thoughts, he turned quickly as she stepped out of the bathroom, completely naked.

            “Bloody hell, Penelope,” he barked, “put some goddamn clothes on!” He quickly moved to a stool at the counter so that his back was to her.

            “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said, “but I always sleep in the nude. I can’t stand clothes when I’m trying to sleep. Besides,” she added, “I have these great Egyptian cotton sheets that are just wonderful against bare skin—you should feel them.”

            “I’m not feeling anything,” he murmured.

            “Oh come on, it’s not like it’s anything you won’t see anyway, I’ll be naked all over you when we do that love scene next month.”

            “Well, it isn’t now,” he said, keeping his back to her. “Just put something on or at least get into bed and pull up the covers.”

            “Oh fine,” she said, climbing into the bed. Dylan stayed on the stool at the counter and took a pull from his beer, turning the pencil over in his fingers. So much for getting some work done, he thought ruefully.

            He could hear Penelope crying softly in the bed behind him, the hitch of her breath shuddering against her sobs, and he was frozen. Going to her wasn’t an option, he wasn’t about to put himself into a situation that she could misconstrue, but he hated hearing someone in pain. He grabbed his guitar and started strumming a few chords—maybe it would help a little. Mentally, he put himself in his mother’s studio and tried to create a mood—something soft and soothing but not sad. He lost himself in the music and didn’t hear her come up behind him. She tugged up his shirt in one quick motion and pressed her breasts against his back, his guitar hitting the counter and digging into his ribs. His mind flashed to Tia, all those months ago, trapped by Bud’s unwanted advances at
Last Stop
.

            “Hold me Dylan, please,” she begged close in his ear. “I don’t want to be alone right now. Please.”

            He wanted to push her back, but gritted his teeth and held his ground, speaking firmly and clearly in a low voice. “Get off of me, Penelope, now, and get back in your bed, or I’m going to leave.”

            She began crying again, but pulled herself away and sat on the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. “Why don’t you want me Dylan?” she whined. “Why are you being this way? We’re both alone here, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t had a phone call or a letter from your little teacher in weeks!”

            Dylan stood, and started collecting his thingTimes Neefinitely didn’t need to deal with this shit right now.

            Penelope continued, her voice desperate. “We’re both adults,  we both have needs, and I need someone right now so desperately—I’m all alone in the world right now, Dylan, and you’re the only friend I have—why are you turning your back on me?” she choked between sobs.

            Dylan turned to face her, trying to keep his face calm. “I thought I made it perfectly clear when I said there wasn’t ever going to be anything like that between us. With or without Tia, I’m not interested in a relationship with you, Penelope.”

            “But you haven’t even given us a chance!” she leaned forward, dropping the sheet and exposing her right breast. She quickly pulled the sheet back up, but Dylan wasn’t at all sure that dropping it had been an accident. Coming here had been a mistake, obviously, and it was time for him to go. He found it unbelievable that she would try to seduce him at a time like this—when she was mourning the loss of her favorite aunt.

            “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. You can call Stan and see if there’s someone else who can come stay with you, but it can’t be me.” He snapped his guitar into its case and tucked his laptop under his arm.

            “Wait!” she wailed. “We’re friends, right?” her voice was desperate now, pleading, “Please just let me come to Christmas with you, spend some time away from work and just get to know each other better. Now that my aunt’s gone, I’ll be all alone for the holidays—no one should be alone at Christmas!”

            He turned to her with his things in his hands. “No,” he said shortly. “Absolutely not—not even an option. Get it out of your head right now.”  He’d never consider inviting her—the thought of introducing Penelope to his parents made him wince. She began crying harder, begging him to stay, but he slipped out without another word and let the door bang shut against her pleas.

            When he got back to his own trailer, Dylan went to his fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the top and taking a long swallow. The day had been exhausting, and he was drained. It was hard enough pretending to be in love with someone on camera, but when that someone kept trying to push things in real life, it became downright aggravating. He’d kept trying to tell himself that Penelope was really changing, that she was really becoming a better person and maybe even a friend, but doubt had continued to nag at the back of his mind. Tonight she’d made it pretty obvious that she still wanted a relationship with him, and that was going to seriously affect the tentative friendship they’d developed. He was looking forward to getting away and getting back home, where at least he’d see his parents and be away from her for a while. There was still the chance that Tia would change her mind and come—she hadn’t sent the ticket back, so he assumed she still had it. Just another couple weeks now and he’d know the truth once and for all, and figure out how to get on with his life.

            Dylan finished off his beer staring out the window, and then hopped in the shower to wash the smell of Penelope off him. She wore some orbearing lotion or something, and his body and clothes reeked of it after the way she’d pressed up against him. He let the water run over him until it went cold, thinking about the last time he’d had Tia pressed against him. Fuck, he missed her.

            He threw on some lounge pants and a t, grabbed another beer from the fridge and flopped down on the couch, jumping up immediately when he sat on something hard. He reached down between the cushions and pulled up Penelope’s cell phone. “Bloody hell,” he whispered to himself. It must have fallen between the cushions after Penelope got the call about her aunt and pretty much threw herself at him. He was about to toss it onto the table until morning when he changed his mind. He could just imagine her finding it missing and slinking over to his place to get it. Even with the dead aunt, he wouldn’t put it past her to wait until he’d turned in and then try again to get into his bed. She’d certainly been shooting for that earlier in the evening. He picked it up and sighed; might as well bring it over to her and make another quick exit.

            It was just dark and the moon hung full and heavy in the sky. This far from town a million stars seemed to twinkle overhead, and he thought maybe he’d take a walk after he delivered the phone and clear his head a little bit. Lights blazed in Penelope’s trailer, and he could hear one of his songs playing through the open window with her voice singing along to the lyrics. She sounded happy, he thought, not at all like the woman he’d left less than an hour ago, crying over a dead relative. He knocked hard so she’d hear it over the music, and the door swung open from the rap of his knuckles; it had obviously not latched when he ran out of there earlier.

            “Hey Penelope,” he called as the door swung open, “you forgot your…”

            Dylan froze in place, his hand still raised from the knock, stunned as he took in the scene before him. Penelope sat on her couch, surrounded by piles of papers, pictures, books, magazines and albums. She sat like a stone, her eyes wide like those of a frightened child caught in a forbidden act. Dylan’s eyes locked on a picture that had fallen to the floor, a picture of him and Penelope at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Except he’d never been with Penelope to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and there was no way she could have this picture. He shook his head for a moment and blinked his eyes, but the image didn’t change. He immediately recognized the sapphire dress that Tia had bought on the Champs Elysee and worn the night he’d first told her he loved her; only it was now Penelope’s smiling face that swam above it. His eyes darted quickly across the table and the couch and he saw other pictures; London, Munich, Glasgow, Rome—all containing his own smiling image coupled with Penelope’s. It wasn’t possible, and it took a minute for his brain to absorb what he was seeing.

            Penelope suddenly regained her power of movement and immediately began scooping the objects into a box. “Oh, hey Dylan,” she said nervously. “Ummm, I’m really busy, can you come back later?” her voice shook with emotion and her face burned red.

            Dylan leaned over and picked up the photograph that lay at his feet. He could see the cut marks of the scissors and feel the change in thickness where another photo had been laid underneath and glued. Tia’s face had been cut out, replaced by Penelope’s likeness.

            “What the hell!” he growled, “how the hell did you get this, and why the fuck did you ut Tia out and put yourself in?”

            Penelope just stared with glazed eyes, and continued shoving things into the box.