Oughta Be a Movie: a Sugar-&-Spice romantic comedy (14 page)

He turned back to her. “Where is she?”

“In her room packing to leave when she isn’t crying so hard she can’t stand up.”

His jaw clenched at the image. “Why’s she leaving early?”

“Really? You’re asking that. Let’s see. Maybe because she doesn’t want to watch you with your hands all over your date
du jour
? Or watch you bring another woman to your room?”

“I’d never…” Could Ali really think he’d do that? “I love her.”

There was a pause before Bree spoke, and the disdain in her voice said she already knew the answer. “And when you told her, what did she say?”

He looked out the window.

“You
didn’t
tell her.”

He shook his head.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not the one you should be telling, you idiot.” She walked to the door and jerked it open. “Man up and fix this!”

Fix it. How the hell is he supposed to fix it? He’s the one who broke it.

Broke their friendship. Broke her trust. Broke…broke her spirit, her confidence. It wasn’t supposed to play out this way. He felt as useless as he had years ago when he was some chunky, nerdy, high school misfit. The kid whose own mother couldn’t be bothered with him. The kid who didn’t have the guts to ask Ali to his prom. She’d only been a freshman, too young to date he’d told himself. But…

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shoes and socks, grabbed a t-shirt from his duffle. What was he doing? He tossed the t-shirt on the bed. The last thing he wanted to do right now was go shoot baskets with a lot of guys he only saw at weddings every year or so, Facebook “friends” sharing milestones and restaurant tips. Walking over to the desk, he looked out the window at the terrace below and stared without seeing anything.

If Bree was right, and she probably was, Ali blamed herself, thinking she wasn’t good enough for him. But she had it backwards. He’s the one that had never been enough.

What if he
had
asked her to prom? Would she have laughed? Or would she have begged her parents to let her go on her first date? She’d flirted with him the summer after his freshman year at UCLA. But he never asked her out. Their age difference seemed bigger then with her still in high school, and he was struggling to understand his sexual needs. Knew she’d never want what he wanted.

He glanced over at the room door. The image of her there, naked except for those heels, bent forward, hands on the door over her head, his handprint—he gave his head two hard shakes as if that would fling the vision away. But then he wanted to grab it back. There wasn’t going to be another night.

What if he’d gone to her Vandy graduation? She’d invited him, but it was the spring he’d left the studio and gone out on his own. He could have asked her to come out to LA that summer. And a few years later, if he’d told her Timothy wasn’t good enough for her and he wanted her for himself? Would she have told him it was too late? And now, it was grad school. Something she’d planned on since before she started college.

Always crappy timing…

In slow motion, the lens he’d trained on his memories shifted focus, and awareness and certainty flooded him. He gripped the back of the desk chair, bending double, dropping his head, a sick feeling in his gut.

It wasn’t timing. Never had been.

He swallowed down the bile threatening in the back of his throat. He’d never believed she’d pick him, so he never asked. Even last night, when he’d told her he wouldn’t pressure her, he’d laid it out—take it or leave it, a cold rational choice—as if it made no difference to him. But it had. When he’d opened his door and she was standing there, he didn’t have to take the risk; she had.

He’d spent almost ten years in a cut-throat field where few succeeded, but he had. And he’d never once been afraid to put himself out there and take the risks. A story idea bombs? No big deal. Plenty more where that came from. If a script was turned down? He’d churn out another one. When a client didn’t like an ending? Easy enough. He’d make up a different one. They were only words. Except…except the script sitting on his hard drive for the last three years. He’d come up with every flimsy excuse in the book for not shopping it around, but the real reason was that
that
script mattered.

Ali mattered. A hell of a lot more than any script ever would. Last night had been everything. She was everything.

He’d let Josh’s tirade this morning do a number on him, used it as a reason to bail because…he’d panicked. He knew Ali would tell him about grad school. But what if she told him that starting a long distance relationship didn’t really make sense? Or what if she suggested they hook up for fun when they could? Maybe she’d say “too bad their timing was off.”

His idiotic “plan” hadn’t been for her. It was an excuse to push back the vulnerability of loving her so damn much. His breathing was hard and fast as he straightened. He hadn’t stood up to Josh, stood up for them, but not because he was worried she’d give up her dream for him. He’d been scared witless she’d choose grad school
instead
of him. And witless was the word for pushing her away.

His heart pounded, and he ran both hands through his hair.
Fix this.
What if he couldn’t? What if he’d hurt her too badly, done too much damage? Raw fear grabbed his stomach again as his hand hovered over the room key on the desk. What would he say to her? He needed to stop and think it through, figure out the right words. He’d give them both some time, fly back next weekend, talk when they’re both calmer.

Shit.
Was he really trying to convince himself that the
timing
wasn’t right? Man up, Bree had said. Yeah. He fisted his hands to stop the shaking. Now. Right fucking now before she left the hotel. He swiped his key off the desk, knocking over the desk chair as he ran to the door and down the stairs to her floor.

Dodging the housekeeping cart in front of her open door, he stepped into the room. “Ali?” But it was a housekeeper who stepped out of the bathroom, took one look at him, and immediately took a step back, her eyes wide. He glanced down and saw his unbuttoned shirt and bare feet. He tried to button one of the shirt buttons, but it popped off. He must look like some deranged predator.

“Sir, there is no one here. You shouldn’t be—”

When he cut off her words with a gesture, she took another step back and slipped a hand in her pocket. Probably going for either pepper spray or a phone with Security on speed dial. He kept his voice low and hoped he sounded sane. “The lady staying here…I’m looking for the lady that is—was—staying in
this
room.”

“She checked out early.”

Suddenly deflated, he turned to leave. He’d pull himself together and go find her. “Sir?” He turned back and met sympathetic eyes. How pitiful did he look? “She just left. You might catch her downstairs.”

“Thank you.” He tried not to run the short distance to the stairwell, but he covered it in five strides. The housekeeper’s voice stopped him only a second before he could push open the door.

“You’re her friend?”

God, I hope so. And so much more.
“Yes. I love her.” A groan rumbled up his chest. He’s telling housekeeping? Definitely not what Bree meant when she said she wasn’t the one he should be telling. He needed to find Ali. Now.

The housekeeper smiled warmly, apparently they were friends now, before she reached into a drawer on her work cart and held up the zebra necklace. “Sometimes things don’t find their owner when they go to lost-&-found. The lady forgot this on the nightstand. You’ll get it to her?”

Ali didn’t forget it. She hadn’t wanted it. For a second, he hesitated. Then he took it and put it in his pants pocket. “I’ll see that she gets it.” And if he couldn’t find the words to convince her to give him another chance, he deserved to have her throw it in his face.

Amusement twinkled in the woman’s eyes when she urged him, “You should hurry.”

Right. Hurry. He flew down the stairs and pushed into the lobby. The lobby that seemed to be filled with their friends. What? Was this another wedding weekend event? If it wasn’t, it was about to be. There was Cynthia, her gang, Bree, Hannah, Jack, Jeff, Pippa, Chase. Where the hell was Ali? Then he saw her across the lobby, handing over a claim check and her luggage to a bellman at the street door.

“Ali!”

. . . . .

She turned at the sound of her name. So did everyone she knew. Ben was running across the lobby looking like a madman. Barefoot, shirt only closed with one button—in the wrong buttonhole—his hair spiky. The noise level in the lobby dropped, and everyone was transfixed looking back and forth between them. Then he was standing in front of her, slightly out-of-breath.

“Ali, we need to talk.”

“Not now, Ben. Not today.”

He reached for her arm and raised his voice. “No! That’s just it. Now. It needs to be now.”

The bellman spoke up before she needed to respond. “Ma’am, you know this gentleman?”

Do I know him? Obviously not.
She caught the movement at the check-in desk where the usually invisible security guard was making his presence known. “Yes, it’s fine. He’s…a friend.” She forced herself to look at Ben. “What did you want to say that can’t wait?”

“Say? Right, say. What do I want to say?”

She wanted to handle this now without making a bigger fool of herself. “Look, let me say it. I misunderstood. That’s not your fault. Period. The End.”

“No! You’re—” Shaking his head repeatedly only added to the madman look. “Play Name That Movie with me.”

Her eyebrows rose in a question at the strange request. “My car will be here in five minutes.”

“Just one quote then.”

“Why?”

“Please.”

They were center stage, and everyone was still watching them. “Okay, one quote, for old time’s sake and all that, and then you’ll let me leave.”

He grabbed her wrist and led her to a round bench. When he sat, tugging her arm as he did, she plopped down beside him. But he didn’t release her, just slid his hand down to hers and interlaced their fingers like he had so often last night. She tried to pull her hand away, but he ignored her signal and tightened his grip.

Humor him. Get this over without making any more of a scene. “So what’s the quote?”

He looked around nervously at the crowd. No one was even pretending not to watch the show of the afternoon, and it was standing room only. He swallowed before he began. “Okay, here it is. I fucked up today because I was scared. I love you, and I’m scared you won’t pick me.”

This is too cruel.
Ben was never cruel, but why was he doing this? Picking some obscure quote she’d never heard but saying the exact words she ached to hear. Spinning more words because he’s very good at it. “You win. I don’t know that one.”

“I’ll give you a hint. It comes in Act 3 after all is lost because he’s been such an idiot how can she ever forgive him, but he knows he’s got to try anyway.”

She shakes her head. “I give up, Ben, so just tell me and let me go.”

“I can’t…then the guy says ‘I’ve loved you since you were thirteen’—okay, that sounds pretty creepy—but it’s true.”

She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the burning. Words are too damn easy for him.

“The guy’s name is Ben. Her name is Ali.”

She opened her eyes but was afraid to believe what she saw there. “No, you don’t owe me this.”

“Don’t give up on me, Ali.” He swiped at his eye. “I was stupid and afraid and I panicked. I can’t ask you to forgive me. I
won’t
ask because I don’t deserve it. I’m asking for another chance. A chance to earn your forgiveness and make-up for the hurt I caused. We were in that damn brunch for 76 minutes, and I’ll spend a year making up for every one of them if I need to. I’ll be 107, but that’s okay because I’ll still be crazy in love with you.

Crazy in love with you.
The first tear slipped out. She wanted to believe his words but…

“Cynthia said I look at you as though the sun won’t come up tomorrow if you’re not in my life.”

Ali looked over to where Cynthia was smiling and nodding and tried to smile back.

“But she’s wrong. You’re a scientist. You know the sun will come up tomorrow. But the thing is, unless you’re in my life, I don’t give a damn if it does or not. I know you deserve better than me, but please say yes.” He reached up and brushed the tear from her cheek. “We’ll move to Boston.”

He knows about Harvard?
She glanced at Bree who was looking at Josh crossing the lobby.

Ben was still talking. “I can write there. I’ll commute when a script’s in pre-production or shooting. Directing can wait. There’ll be plenty of time to do that when you’ve finished grad school.” He was searching her face. “Say something.”

Her voice was quivery, but she pushed out the words she’d been too embarrassed and afraid to say. “I’m going to Caltech.”

“Because I know it won’t be easy, but we can make this work. I can…wait. What did you just say?”

“I’m going to Caltech.”

“That’s where I live.”

She almost laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Does this mean you’re giving me another chance?

“You had me at ‘I was scared.’ I’m scared, too.”

“Then we’ll be scared together until we’re not. And it’s Renée Zellweger as Dorothy in
Jerry Maguire
. Ali, I’ll never give you another reason to doubt me.”

Ali nodded yes to the sound of applause.

“Say it.”

He wanted words. “Yes.”

Ben dropped to his knees in front of her just as Josh walked up and boomed, “What the hell’s going on here?”

Three voices answered him. “Shut up, Josh.”

He looked at Ali through narrowed eyes, then smiled and nodded. “It’s about damn time.” Bree’s elbow scored a direct hit, but he asked anyway, “Does this mean I’m off your shit list? No twenty-five-year—”