Loving David (3 page)

“Well, if they don’t like me, it’s bloody likely I may not have a penis as well!” he quipped.

CHAPTER 2

No one noticed when Charlotte and David opened the door to the dining cabin. Charlotte could hear bits and pieces of multiple conversations throughout the room, but no one stood up and yelled out “Traitor!” because she’d brought a man into the mix. There were eight women in the room, ranging in age from late forties to late seventies. They all struck the delicate balance of looking both intellectual and attractive; there were a fair amount of simple black turtlenecks paired with blue jeans or slim black pants; casual French twists and short, sensible haircuts; bright red lipstick and no-nonsense black-rimmed glasses that were well suited to angular faces with brows furrowed deep in thought.

One of the women, Karen, spotted Charlotte and shot her hand up in the air to signal for her to come over. Now in her late forties, Karen had modeled when she was younger to pay for college; much like Charlotte, she had retained her current looks with scant effort. She kept her bone- straight, shiny black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and wore a multicolored poncho over a pair of jeans, her librarian’s glasses perched on the edge of her pert nose. Karen’s half-moon silver pendant and amethyst crystal earrings flashed in the fading sunlight that streamed in from the room’s windows. Rows of silver rings lined her fingers, filled with a variety of stones and crystals, each with a different celestial meaning. Charlotte braced herself for what she knew would be Karen’s blunt reaction to David. Karen, who was never shy about sharing her opinions stood up as Charlotte got closer and smiled. Her eyes got larger as she focused on the male intruder.

“Charlotte! What the hell?” she blurted out. The room fell silent at Karen’s outburst.

All eyes turned in the direction of Karen’s fury, and several of the women let out small gasps. Karen stood with her hands on her hips, irritated.

“Uh, hello--- did I miss the memo where is says men are allowed to crash our tea party?” Karen said.

Charlotte started to speak. “Well, no, see ----”

“I mean… come on Charlotte; this is supposed to be
girl
time.” Karen continued as though Charlotte hadn’t spoken. “What are you up to?”

Charlotte tried again when Hendra, the leader of the group by virtue of the fact that she owned the cabins, stood tall and imposing, every inch of her six- foot frame filling the room. The voluminous waves of her long white hair fanned around her head like a crown. Hendra drew her slender shoulders up and stared Charlotte and David down like a disgruntled queen addressing naughty subjects.

Charlotte steeled herself as she looked from woman to woman and began to speak. “Hendra, ladies, please let me explain…This is --”

“Charlotte?” Hendra held up her hand like a cop stopping traffic. “Why in the world would you bring a man here?” she said, her tone stern. She motioned toward David. “And David King of all people? We don’t want any Hollywood types here.”

Charlotte gasped, surprised and amused that Hendra knew who he was. Hendra rolled her eyes at Charlotte.

“Oh, don’t look at me that way. I know who he is. His poster is plastered all over my granddaughter’s wall,” she said, disgust punching her words. “He’s some sort of teen idol person.”

Horror flashed across David’s face and he cleared his throat. “Um, ma’am? I am an actor, not a teen idol,” he started before Hendra cut him off with her traffic move.

“Whatever,” Hendra snapped. “What are you doing here young man?”

“Well, it’s really a very funny story,” Charlotte interjected. “See, I was in town, getting a skinny latte – you all know how much I love my lattes -- and I came outside and there was this mob scene of people looking for David and I hopped in my car to come up here and wouldn’t you know,
David
had jumped in my backseat to escape which made me run off the road and I almost maced him and now he needs a place to stay because everyone knows the inn he was going to be staying at and then they’d be hounding him for pictures and autographs and the like, so I told him he could stay here and hide.” Charlotte spilled the story with nary a breath and punctuated her retelling with a lot of wild gestures, hoping some dramatic flair would gain a little sympathy for David. Judging by the grins and giggles it was working.

“He really needs to get away for a bit and just…be.” Charlotte continued. “I would’ve asked you ladies first, but it was an emergency. Anyway, I thought he could just hide here for a while,
if
it’s okay.”

Charlotte smiled at the group, as did David; it was his only defense now. Hendra turned her back to David and Charlotte, her shoulders softening, and faced the group of women.

“Anyone have an issue?” she asked, her voice low.

Some of the women replied no; others shook their heads. Hendra turned to face Charlotte, her shoulders back on point.

“Where will he stay?” she asked.

Charlotte paused for a moment. “Well, my cabin has a spare room; it should be okay for him.”

David nodded and took a small step forward to cash in on the positive momentum.

“Ladies, I promise I will not intrude on your time here. I will probably sleep most of the time anyway. As Charlotte said, I just need to hide for a bit. She’s told me you are all people of integrity, and I can see that you are.” David flashed his impish grin at the crowd. “I would really appreciate this favor.”

His smooth and sexy voice, dripping in British charm to boot, draped itself over the women, lulling them into unconscious swoons; most of the women had already fallen under his spell without even knowing it.

“Wasn’t he voted ‘Most Sexy’ a few years back?” one of the women whispered to Karen, who scoffed, still annoyed. “How old do you think he is?”

David overheard and tried not to laugh. “Yes I was, and I’m thirty.”

The whisperer, embarrassed at having been heard, turned her attention to the table in front of her.

The entire room began to fill with not-so-hushed whispers, which annoyed Hendra.

“Make him do all the dishes,” Karen piped in. “At least he’ll be useful,” she shrugged.

Hendra gave David a curt nod. “Agreed. You will have kitchen and cleaning duties just like the rest of us; just don’t get in our way. None of us will let anyone know you’re here.” She pivoted on her heel and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m bored with this conversation now, so let’s eat.”

The ladies followed suit while David and Charlotte brought up the rear.

David leaned down to Charlotte’s ear. “Thank you, Charlotte.” he whispered.

Charlotte smiled. “Like I said---the least I could do for almost macing you.”

#

The dining area was a long, rectangular room with a single table that stretched from end to end. Dinner was served buffet style and usually featured a theme of some sort; tonight’s was Italian. The table was brimming with heaping bowls of spaghetti and meatballs, antipasti salad laden with ruby red tomatoes, fat, juicy black olives, and thick slabs of creamy buffalo mozzarella cheese, and a basket of crusty, buttery garlic bread that snapped and melted when you bit into it. Assorted bottles of red and white wine stood guard at the end of the table, and each woman took turns filling her glass. As the women loaded their plates, they took their seats and dug in. Charlotte helped Emma with her plate and made sure she made it to her seat safely. At seventy-eight, Emma was the oldest in the group. She recently had her hip replaced and suffered daily with severe arthritis but her pain never showed through her bubbly personality and quick wit. Charlotte then filled her own plate before she joined David, who’d already inhaled half his spaghetti.

Charlotte ribbed him. “Hungry much?” she said in a low voice.

“This is the worst food I’ve ever eaten. Don’t tell the cook,” David said as he popped a bite of bread into his mouth.

As they continued to eat, the woman directly across from David decided to break the ice.

“My name’s Angela,” a brunette with olive skin and a swan-like neck spoke up as she gave him a nod. “We all know just about everything about each other, but all we know about you is what we see on the covers of the rag sheets at the grocery checkout.” Angela munched on an olive. “And we all know those are full of crap.”

The women all laughed as Charlotte explained. “Angela’s ex is managing editor for the ‘
Tattler
’.

Angela confirmed with a nod. “Yeah and he’s more full of crap than his paper.” Angela pointed her fork at David. “Now, go on.”

David grinned. “Well, I’m glad to hear you don’t read the tabloids. As you said, they’re never truthful.” David took a small sip of white wine before he continued. “I was born in England; my mum was a stage director there. When I was ten, we moved to the States after my father died. Mum worked on Broadway for a while, directing and producing. I went back to London to attend the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. Landed a few commercials, got a few telly spots, and then managed to do some ghastly teen angst films and well…” He shrugged. “You probably know the rest.”

The women continued to eat their pasta. “I think my favorite film of yours was the one you did a few years ago where you married the gal for an inheritance and you hated each other, but of course you were crazy about each other? What was it?” Angela snapped her fingers trying to remember.

“
Loves Easy
,” David and Angela both blurted out at the same time. Everyone laughed, and several murmurs of agreement went up around the table. A few women called out the names of some of David’s other films and asked him for gossip about some of his co-stars. He obliged with a few “he wears a girdle” and “she smokes like a chimney” tales to the delight of the assembled group. Charlotte smiled to herself as she speared a chunk of mozzarella. The women had definitely warmed up to David.

David threw down his napkin and looked around the table. “Okay ladies; that’s enough about me. I want to hear about you.” He pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table. “May I ask each of you what you write and what brought you to this group?”

They all tittered and looked embarrassed.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear any of that,” Angela demurred. “It’s not all that interesting.”

“Oh, but I disagree. I have to be honest with you; I find all of this quite fascinating.” He pointed at Emma, the petite woman Charlotte had assisted earlier. Her ash-blonde hair was pulled back in a simple twist and even in her simple uniform of a man’s white dress shirt tucked into slim black pants, a black cashmere sweater splayed across her shoulders, she exuded elegance and confidence. “How about you, love? What’s your story?”

The woman straightened up at having been singled out by David. “I’m Emma Vaughn,” she drawled in a soft Southern accent. “I was an editor for a women’s magazine for about twenty years – the sixty’s through the eighty’s – the fun decades,” she winked. “I’m retired now, but keep busy with speaking engagements. Hendra and I have been friends for more than twenty years, and I’m an original member of this wonderful group of ladies. I’m a widow and hate every minute of it, but my ladies here keep things interesting.”

“You’re from the South then?” David asked.

Emma smiled. “Dallas, born and bred. Twenty years in New York and twenty-five in L.A. and still can’t shake that Southern twang.”

“Oh, honey, I’d love to have a Southern twang,” a woman with a distinct Boston accent, short red hair and milk-white skin, shouted from the far end of the table as everyone laughed.

“Well, I guess it’s your turn, then. And you are…?”

“Samantha Lerner; senior features writer for ‘
What’s the Score’
magazine. I fall in that ‘divorcee’ category. I’ve been gracing these ladies with my presence for about two years.”

“
What’s the Score
?’ I read it religiously. Lovely to meet you.”

David went around the table, querying the women about their stories. They all thrilled at being able to share a little bit of themselves with him and plenty of whoops and hollers went around the room several times. A few were authors, some had written copy for ad agencies or magazines, and others toiled at newspapers. David seemed captivated by the women’s words and asked them numerous questions, an endless well of curiosity. Even Hendra got in on the fun, her earlier animosity towards David melting away as she told tales of her days as literary editor at the
Los Angeles Times.
The hours tiptoed past the group as they plowed through several bottles of wine and even more stories. The party moved to the kitchen where everyone took turns cleaning up.

One by one, each of the women said their good nights. Karen stopped by to give Charlotte a quick squeeze on her shoulder and mouthed, “We’ll talk later,” as she gestured to David. At the end, only David, Charlotte, and Emma remained. They finished the last of the wine before Emma stood up and stretched; she looked at David.

“You wouldn’t mind walking an old woman home would you?”

David whipped his head around several times and feigned looking under the table. “I don’t see any old women here.”

She chuckled and shook her finger at him. “You better be careful; I could be dangerous.”

David took her arm. “So could I,” he said with a wink, which caused Emma to let out a full, throaty laugh. Charlotte had to suppress her own giggles.

The trio stepped outside into the icy night air. Goosebumps dotted Charlotte’s bare arms, and she folded them across her chest in a feeble effort to shut out the cold. A symphony of crickets surrounded them, and the sky blinked with stars. Emma grasped David’s hand as they headed toward her cabin.

“You know, you remind me of Newman,” Emma said as she tipped her head back in remembrance. “First time I met him was when I interviewed him for
Butch Cassidy
.” Emma let out a sigh and shook her head. “Such a charmer. Just like you.”