Loving David

CHAPTER 1

The late afternoon sun peeked through the majestic redwood trees just enough to make Charlotte squint her eyes and curse the fact that her sunglasses were orphaned on her kitchen counter back home. She’d been in such a hurry to make it to the grocery store for provisions before she got on the road that she’d plumb forgot the most important accessory for the drive.

Charlotte sighed and shook her head before she resumed humming to the Beatles’ “Blackbird” playing on the radio of her Jeep. Balmy winds threaded their way through the open windows, tossing her tangle of long, dark auburn curls into a nest around her head. She came to a stop at a light a block north of Main Street and looked around. Beautiful, sun-drenched days were a given in Southern California, but to Charlotte, there was something enchanting about springtime in Lake Arrowhead, the small mountain town ninety minutes from her home in Los Angeles.

The air was perfumed with the first blooms of daffodils and tulips that signaled the start of a new season; the azure waters of the lake were dotted with water skiers and avid boaters who had counted the days until they could haul their boats down to the shore and launch themselves into the smooth calm of the water. Children of all ages crammed into the Sweet Shoppe for their first ice cream cones, the cool swirls of vanilla or chocolate, sometimes both, sliding down their throats, a salve for still-lingering winter blues.

Charlotte pulled onto Main Street and parked across from the Coffee Bistro, her mouth salivating for her usual skinny latte. It would be a few months before the summer tourists poked through Lake Arrowhead’s veil of tranquility, so the streets remained empty except for a few locals who strolled up and down the brick sidewalks of the town’s quaint shopping corridor. The air was still and serene, filled only with the sounds of chirping birds and the faint murmurings of conversation from the few scattered customers sitting at small metal tables outside Coffee Bistro. Every year, Charlotte looked forward to spending time in Lake Arrowhead and as usual, contemplated moving to the area full-time. Maybe one day…

As Charlotte got out of the Jeep, she grabbed the two small red duffel bags from the passenger seat and flung them onto the floor behind the driver’s seat. She started to cross the street but then ran back to the Jeep and threw her old gray sweater that was sprawled across the backseat, on top of the bags. Not that anyone in Lake Arrowhead would steal anything out of a car in broad daylight, but still. Maybe she
had
been living in L.A. too long. Her suspicious nature never took a vacation.

Charlotte started again for the coffee shop when she saw Dottie Mays, owner of the Book Shelf bookstore next to the Bistro come out pushing a cart of books out to the sidewalk in front of the shop. Charlotte waved and ran over to help Dottie.

“Charlotte! How are you?” Dottie asked as she held out her arms to Charlotte, who gave the woman a hug.

“Happy to be back! How about you? How are things?”

Dottie nodded and removed her librarian’s glasses from the perch on her nose and cleaned them with the hem of her yellow peasant blouse.

“Fine, just fine. A lot of big releases are keeping people coming back every day.” Dottie replaced her glasses and put her hands on her hips as she gave Charlotte the once-over. “Well, you look even more fantastic than usual,” Dottie winked and ribbed Charlotte. “Must be up to something pretty good these days.”

Charlotte shrugged and shook her head before she shoved her hands into the pockets of her faded blue jeans, part of her standard uniform that often included a T-shirt that she’d probably worn two days in a row. People were always telling her how good she looked and often queried her for her “beauty secrets.” Charlotte did so little to maintain her looks that she was almost embarrassed to admit she washed her face only once a day and that was in the morning. No special creams or magic potions. She kept her makeup to the bare minimum of lipstick and maybe a swipe of mascara if she was feeling inspired. Charlotte liked to think of her physique as “just right she wasn’t reed thin, nor was she overweight. She was curvy, with a full, voluptuous chest and softly rounded hips. A few times a week she took a brisk walk around her neighborhood, mostly to keep the old ticker happy. Charlotte often kept her wild auburn curls sequestered in a ponytail, though she’d left her hair loose for the ride up to Lake Arrowhead, wanting to feel the wind whip through it. Though middle age was around the corner, Charlotte could have passed for someone at least ten years younger.

“I swear you were going to tell me you had some cute boyfriend who was keeping you young,” Dottie said as she scratched her scalp through the cotton-candy tufts of her blonde hair.

Inwardly, Charlotte rolled her eyes.
Here we go again
. Charlotte was single by choice and didn’t feel the need to get all dressed up to go on the prowl for a man. She had a handful of close friends but was often happiest sitting at home alone with a good book, a glass of wine, and her phone turned off. She was more than content with her life and didn’t see the need to change anything.

Instead, Charlotte smiled. “Nope, nothing different. Just enjoying life.”

One of Dottie’s employees came out to summon her inside. Dottie squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “That’s my cue. And time to let you get on with work.”

Charlotte winked and hugged Dottie again. “Oh, yeah. Work.” Both women giggled and said their goodbyes as Charlotte turned to head into the coffee shop for her caffeine fix.

The rich aroma of fresh coffee greeted Charlotte as she stepped into the Bistro. The espresso machine whirred at top speed over the faint sounds of the same oldies station Charlotte had been playing in her Jeep. There were a handful of people inside sipping coffee or surfing the ‘net on their laptops, courtesy of the free Wi-Fi. As she waited for the two people in front of her to place their orders, Charlotte licked her lips in anticipation of her skinny latte. She could already feel the foam sloshing across her tongue.

While Charlotte waited for her drink, she perused the display case filled with rows of the luscious golden pastries the shop was known for. She decided to put in an order for a chocolate croissant.

“Did he come in here? Did you see him?” a man yelled out. Charlotte whipped her head around at the intrusion of noise. A stocky man with khaki shorts, gym shoes, and a short- sleeve blue button-down shirt over a wife beater had burst into the shop. Sweat poured down in rivers from atop his frizzy brown hair and down the sides of his crimson face. His eyes darted around the shop in a panic, and a massive black camera hung around his neck.

“Who are you talking about?” the coffee girl asked.

“David King!” he shouted.

“The actor David King?” the coffee girl said, surprised as she set Charlotte’s drink down on the counter.

The photographer let out a snort of frustration. “Yes, David King
the actor
,” his words laced with sarcasm. The man started to search the shop, peering over the countertop and moving chairs as though David King might be hiding under one of the tables.

“A buddy of mine works at one of the inns, says he’s expected. I’m waiting for him, and then I see him walking down this street, wearing a baseball cap and carrying a backpack. I ran to catch up with him and ---” the photographer threw up his hands “he disappeared.” The photographer scanned the room again with no luck. “Damn it,” he muttered before he ran out as fast as he’d run in.

“Who cares?” Charlotte muttered under her breath as she sipped her drink. She tried to catch the girl’s attention so she could order the croissant. But it was too late; Charlotte had lost the girl to her cell phone on which she started to text and hyperventilate about the “hot” David King being spotted in Lake Arrowhead. Without even looking at Charlotte, the girl ran into the street, hoping she’d catch a glimpse of the heartthrob.

Disgusted, Charlotte sipped her latte, but got no joy from it. She didn’t get why people made such a big deal out of celebrity sightings. You’d never have a conversation with them; you’d never see them again. They would have no profound effect on your life. Charlotte sighed. Mostly she was peeved she’d missed out on her croissant.

“Probably God’s way of telling me I don’t need it,” Charlotte mumbled to herself as she headed outside.
Charlotte was stunned at the near-mob scene in front of her. Gone was the peaceful street she’d been on just moments ago. About a dozen or so teenage girls, their moms, and assorted other lookie-loos had gathered in the middle of the street, their camera phones aimed in any direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of David King for all posterity.

Charlotte shook her head and steeled herself for the short jaunt to her Jeep. She clutched her drink holding it close to her chest as she pushed her way through the crowd. Arms and elbows poked at her face as people jockeyed for position to see…anything. Charlotte nonetheless reached her car without losing a drop of the treasured latte. Muttering to herself about celebrities and chocolate croissants, Charlotte shoved her drink into the cup holder and started the car. She revved the engine, expecting the crowd to scramble out of her way. Charlotte gripped the steering wheel in an attempt to keep her cool. Upset that no one made an attempt to move, Charlotte rolled down her window and honked the horn.

“Move it!” she hollered.

The crowd thinned out a bit; one person shot her the finger. Charlotte shifted into gear, and her foot eased down on the gas pedal. The car squealed as it began to creep down the street. Charlotte prayed she wouldn’t run over anyone. She uttered a few curse words to herself until she finally broke free.

“Jesus,” she shook her head. “Un-
frickin
-believable.”

Relieved to be clear of the insanity, Charlotte loosened her grip on the steering wheel and allowed herself to relax. She flipped on the radio and took a sip of coffee. The Stones were on and Charlotte jacked up the volume, pounding on the steering wheel like it was a drum set. As Charlotte zoomed down the highway she sang along to the radio as though she was strutting around stage with Mick. The song began to fade out, and Charlotte thought she heard a noise from the back-seat. Charlotte frowned and turned down the radio, cocking her ear toward the back. Silence. She went to turn the volume back up and glanced in the rear-view mirror. A pair of green eyes stared back at her. Charlotte screamed and jerked the steering wheel, which caused her car to veer into another lane, where she just missed swatting another car.

The blare of the car horn rattled Charlotte, who frantically turned the wheel as she tried to regain control of the Jeep, but it was too late. She ran off the road and straight into a dirt patch. Her body jerked forward as she slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. The seatbelt snapped Charlotte back against the seat. Without stopping to think, Charlotte unbuckled her seat belt and yanked open the glove compartment. She grabbed a can of mace and whipped around to face the green-eyed stranger in her backseat. She stuck her hand out in front of her and aimed the mace at her would-be perpetrator. Charlotte was ready to squeeze when she stopped and noticed a familiar face smiling at her.

“Wait,” she said, her arm starting to crumple a bit. “You’re David King.”

“Last I checked,” he replied, green eyes twinkling with amusement. “Are you okay?”

Charlotte just stared at him in disbelief, saying nothing. She didn’t remember leaving the doors unlocked. How had he gotten in?

“Why are you in my car?” she asked, the mace still trained in his direction.

“I’m quite sorry for doing this to you and even more sorry that I frightened you,” David said, straightening up. “It’s rather funny story if you care to hear it.” He stopped to look at a stunned Charlotte, who couldn’t seem to make her mouth move, so he plowed on.

“I was headed up to one of the inns here when I had my driver drop me off in town and be on his way. Since it was a quiet little street, I figured I’d be able to get a cup of coffee and browse the bookstore in peace before I checked in. No such luck. Next thing I know, some sweaty man is running after me, screaming my name. And inevitably, that means screaming girls will follow. I panicked and happened to notice you’d left your car door unlocked. So I decided to hop in and hide for just a minute, but before
I
could get out,
you
got in and drove away.” He hooked an arm around one of the front seats and grinned at her. “I have to say, I rather enjoyed your concert. ‘Start Me Up’ is one of my all-time favorite Stones tunes,” he said in the charming British accent that made millions of women swoon.

Pink blazed up and over Charlotte’s cheeks; she was embarrassed that he’d been treated to her shrill, off-key warbling. Charlotte had seen him in movies countless times, and now he was sitting in her car. She tried to pull herself together, worried about how ridiculous she must have looked.