Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3) (10 page)

  
“
Kidding!
You know I’m only kidding.” He flashed a huge smile, kissed the air between us, and ducked out the door. 

   I fell to the bed, the giggles escaping despite my efforts.
About thirty seconds after he left, I passed out and slept forever.

*
* *

   The next day Trip had some errands to run, but he set a time to come get me later in the evening. My room was a beautiful suite that took over the entire top floor of the hotel. I thought it was a bit excessive, but I decided to shake off my misgivings and just enjoy it. How often would I ever get a chance to stay in a room like that? I didn’t date too many heirs to hotel fortunes.

   I took a l
ook out the front windows and checked out the view of Beverly Hills’ main drag. It was lively and bustling; not quite at New York City levels, but busy nonetheless. It was strange to be in such a populated city and hardly see any pedestrians. The opposite windows looked out over the pool in back. It was a known social gathering place for the young and beautiful set of Los Angeles;
the
place to see and be seen. And my God. Even the tourists were beautiful.

  
I threw on a bathing suit and decided to check out the action poolside. When I headed outside, a young man came up to me and introduced himself as Philippe. He explained that he was my personal cabana boy for the day, which almost made me crack up laughing. A personal cabana boy? What exactly was I supposed to
do
with him?

  
There were blue and white striped tents bordering one side of the property, and Philippe escorted me toward one of them, letting me know that it was reserved exclusively for me during my stay. I peeked inside briefly, took note of the pile of spare towels stacked on the white Adirondack chairs inside, but opted to head out near the pool instead. I needed some
color
. Not only just because my skin was practically blinding white in February, but because I especially wanted to get some sun-kissed glow before the Academy Awards the following week.

  
I settled into a poolside lounger, and whipped out my cell phone to call Lisa. She answered with her usual tact. “How’s the sunshine, bitch?”

  
I laughed. “How did you ever leave this place? It’s incredible!”

   “Well, if you’d ever come out to visit
during the
four years
we lived there, you would have known that already, dipwit.”

   “You know I don’t fly. But after travelling first class, my opinion may have changed on the matter.”

   “Nice, isn’t it?”

  
“Mmm hmm. You know what else is nice?”

   “What’s that?”

   “This fricking hotel! I’m poolside right now on the comfiest lounge chair ever created, a cabana boy at my disposal.”

  
“Mmm. Cabana boy. Is he hot?”

   “He’s adorable. But he’s probably nineteen. Get your head out of the gutter.”

   “Can’t. Pregnant, remember?”

  
“Obviously. Lord knows you never let anyone forget it.”

  
“Shut up, you turd. Oh, hey! Make sure you get their avocado salad. It’s delicious.”

  
My jaw gaped open at her unwitting revelation. “Wait. You’ve eaten here?
Here
?”

  
“Uh, no. I just heard that it’s really good.”

   I wasn’t buying it for a second.
“You traitor! You’ve been to this hotel before, haven’t you?”

  
Lis finally copped to her crime. “Just once, I swear! Pick had some UCLA event and it was held at the
TRU
. We had to go.”

  
When I didn’t speak, she was forced to fill in the empty space.

   “Trip hadn’t even moved out there at the time! This was back in like ’92 or ’93.
I would have told you if we saw him.”

  
Still, I remained silent.

  
“Fine! I’m a traitorous whore! Happy now?”

  
That made me laugh.
“Very. Now put one of your kids on the phone.”

Chapter 13

THE
PERFECT MAN

   At seven o’clock
, the front desk rang my room to let me know that
Mr. Bishop
had arrived. I grabbed my handbag and made my way downstairs. But when the elevator doors opened, Trip wasn’t there waiting for me. I took a lap around the lobby, but I still didn’t see him. I figured he was using the bathroom or something and took a seat on one of the sofas, figuring he’d find me eventually. But after five whole minutes, he was still nowhere to be found.

   I approached the front desk and asked, “I received a
call that Mr. Bishop was here?”

  
The attendant behind the desk offered a knowing smile as he said, “Ah, yes,
Mrs. Bishop
. He requested that you meet him out front.”

   I thanked him and headed out the front entryway.

   And right there at the curb was my gorgeous boyfriend, wearing cuffed jeans, arms crossed over his chest… and leaning against a red Porsche.

  
Sixteen Candles
! I positively melted. I put my hand over my heart and said, “Jake Ryan! You Jake Ryaned to pick me up tonight!”

  
The scene would have been perfect if Trip didn’t look so annoyed. “Christ! What took you so long? I’ve only been standing out here like a jackass, holding this pose for like an hour.”

   I bounded down the few steps and crossed the sidewalk that separated us,
sidling up to his chest and slipping a hand around his neck. His “anger” broke at that, and I watched his lips twitch, trying to contain a smile as I slid my fingers into the back of his hair and said, “Oh my God please just whisper
yeah you
for me. I think I’ll die.”

  
He lost the battle with his smile as his face cracked into a wide grin. “
Yeah, you
have way too big a crush on that guy.
Yeah, you
are really making me jealous right about now.”

  
I pecked him on the cheek and said, “
Yeah, you
are like the cutest thing ever. Even if you forgot the sweater vest.”

   “
I drew the line at the sweater vest.”

   “Well, now my
night is just completely ruined!” I joked.

   He just rolled his eyes and opened the car door for me.

   I slipped into the passenger seat and sank into the soft, white leather as Trip made his way to the driver’s side. I ran my hand over the dash, asking, “Is this your car?”

   Trip started the engine with a glorious, retro rumble.
“Nope. Borrowed it from a friend.”

   I looked at him questioningly. “You happ
en to have a friend that just happens to own an antique Porsche?”

  
“Yep.” He buckled his seatbelt and slid on a pair of shades. “It’s Paul Newman’s.”

   My mouth gaped open as he put the car in gear and we took
off down Wilshire Boulevard.

  
The restaurant Trip chose was not at all what I was expecting. I’d thought we were going to go to some fancy-schmancy eatery where there’d be celebrities at every other table. Where he took me instead was an off-the-beaten-path Mexican place out in Encino. I don’t know why I was surprised. It was such a Trip thing to do.

   He
surrendered the keys to the valet, along with a fifty dollar bill. He saw the look I shot him at that, put his hand at the small of my back, and escorted me into the restaurant, explaining, “I’m not taking any chances with that thing,” which just made me laugh.

   As soon as we were in the front door, I fell in love with the place. Every cheesy, Mexic
an cliché was on full display, from the sombreros hanging on the wall, to the piñatas suspended from the high ceiling, to the mariachi band playing on the small stage along the far wall.

   I absolutely
loved it.

   Trip gauged the expression on my face, and it made a wide grin split his features. He took my hand as the hostess led us through the dining room, but when she started to put the menus down
at a booth near the stage, Trip whispered something to her I couldn’t hear as he slipped a bill in her hand. She changed direction and led us to a private table in a darkened corner instead.

   Once we were alone, I said, “
Hey. Henry Hill. How come we didn’t come in through the kitchen?”

   He got my
Goodfellas
reference and started to chuckle. “What am I, a clown? Do I
amuse
you?”

   Before I could tell him what a
funny guy
he was, he said, “I’ve learned it’s best to tip
beforehand
. You get better service that way.”

   “Fair enough, Mr. Wiley.”

   He looked at me then, frozen in the act of placing his napkin across his lap. “You know, you’ve only called me that once before.”

   I took a sip of my water. “What?
Mr. Wiley?”

  
“Yeah. During our interview. You said that exact same thing to me. You never… You never call me by that name.”

  
“Because it’s
not
your name.”

  
“Yeah. But even people who knew me growing up can accept that I changed it.”

   “Not legally, though, right?”

   He leaned back in his seat and shot me a sham dirty look. “No. Not legally. What’s your point?”

   “That it’s just… all for show. Trip
Wiley
is all just smoke and mirrors. Trip
Wilmington
’s the guy I fell in love with.”

  
I’d never seen him smile quite so big. “And that’s why you’ll always be my rosebud.”

  
That was a new one. “Well, you’ll always be my… tulip…
Dear
.”

   He cracked up at that. “Not my rosebud.
My
Rosebud
. Citizen Kane, remember? You’re my happy thing before the fame, before the money.”

  
How adorable was that? I gave him a shy smile, touched that he thought of me in such an endearing way. I was sure, however, that he was just talking about who I
used
to be for him. After the past few days, I hoped I was coming to mean even more to him
now
than I did
then
.

  
Our waiter came over with some chips and salsa, asking if we’d like something to drink. I was thinking that I should probably just order a soda and was startled when Trip ordered a bottle of house wine instead. But I waited for our server to leave before making a stink about it.

   I had just opened my mouth to
question him when Trip put a hand up. “It’s for you, not me. You had that look.”

   “What look?”

   “That look like you didn’t know whether or not to order a drink. That look like you didn’t know whether or not to even ask me about it. For future reference—and trust me, you’ll encounter plenty of recovering alcoholics out here—you don’t need to curb your drinking just because we can’t control ours.”

   “Is that the general consensus?”

   “Pretty much. One of the first things you learn is that you can’t control other people’s behavior. You can only control your own. Even some guys at the treatment center were classified as
problem drinkers
, not alcoholics. They take their recovery hats off on the weekends and think just because they’re only having a few beers means they’re handling the situation. They’re not. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

  
“There’s a difference between the two? Which one are you?”

   “
For me personally, it doesn’t matter. The way I see it, a problem’s a problem.
If I felt like I could drink, but still had to constantly moderate every drop, I figure I shouldn’t be drinking at all, you know? Believe me. I’ve done lots of trial and error over the years. I’m not about to tempt fate. It’s easier just to avoid all of it.”

   I accepted his assessment. He was a smart guy and been through hell and back.
I had both trust and precedent to know that he wasn’t going to go out of his way to screw up his life again.

  
“Well, I don’t have to have wine, either.”

  
He snickered out, “Yes you do. I plan on getting you drunk tonight and taking full advantage of you.”

   I reached under the table and ran my fingertips down his thigh. “You don’t need to get me drunk for that.”

   He snarled at me across our bowl of chips, took a sip of his water. “You are going to be the death of me, woman.”

  
I was still laughing as I said, “So… I was trying to be cool about this, but I can’t just pretend I’m not blown away, here. Just exactly how do you know Paul Newman well enough that he let you borrow his car?”

   “I told you I’m starting a hockey movi
e in the next couple of weeks. What I didn’t tell you was that it’s a remake of
Slap Shot
.”

   “I love that movie!”

   “Exactly.”

  
He didn’t look pleased.

   “Why do I get the impression that you’re not happy about this?”

   “No, I am. Now, anyway. But think about it.
Everyone
loves that movie. It’s awesome exactly the way it is. A remake might be a really bad idea. I’d been completely paranoid about it, and decided to consult the source before committing to do it. Paul’s doing a cameo, so I was able to finagle his info and get in touch with him.”

   “Membership has its privileges.”

   “That it does. Anyway, after talking to him a few times, we kind of hit it off. For all the dicky characters he plays onscreen, he’s really a great guy. And for some reason, he likes me.”

   “You like him, too.”

   He gave a sheepish smile at that. “Yeah. I admire him. I mean, the guy has had a career that spans six decades, and yet he doesn’t even live here most of the time. He’s been married to the same woman for fifty years, with not even a hint of scandal. The bastard just turned eighty and he still looks great, still racing cars.” I smiled at that, envisioning Trip as a hell-raising octogenarian. He totally would be. “But I think most of all, I admire the work he does with those kids at that camp. Oh. And he created an entire food company just to donate the profits to charity.”

  
I loved that he idolized the man, not just because he’d hoped to emulate his successful career, but because he’d hoped to emulate his successful
life
. “You want to be him when you grow up?”

  
He chuckled as he answered, “Yeah. I guess I do.”

   “Well, taking on one of his most beloved roles might be a step in the right direction.”

   “Or a step in the really wrong one.”

   “You’ll make it work. I know it. You haven’t filmed a stinker yet.”

   “Which one was your favorite?”

   I knew he was
probably digging for a compliment, but I didn’t mind. I hadn’t seen any of his newer films, but there would never be a movie that took the place of the one we’d seen
together
. “I think I’m gonna have to go with
Swayed
. For obvious reasons. I’ve never watched a movie that brought out such…
emotion
in me.” Things had gotten so tense between us while viewing that film, that I still get shivers just from thinking about it. Not only because he’d brought me to near-orgasm just from holding my hand
in the theater that night, but because he’d nearly brought me to tears with his flawless execution of that role. From what little I’d seen of it, I knew that Oscar was well-deserved. “I never did see the ending, however.”

   Trip looked at me
with a quirked brow. Dammit, he was hot. “Me neither.”

   “What? I mean, I know why
I
couldn’t watch it, but it’s
your
movie. You won an academy award for it! And you never even saw the ending?”

   “
No. I only saw it that one time with you. Just that once.”

  
“Twice.”

  
“
Once
. I didn’t stay that night at the premiere. I had to leave early because I was sure I was coming down with the flu.”

  
“The flu.”

   “Je—
My
date
for the evening went to hold my hand, and for
some reason
, my stomach decided to object. I got all sweaty and my head started pounding. We had to leave.”

   “That may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

   We cracked open our menus as Trip tried to contain a smile. I was zeroing in on the chicken fajitas, but I still couldn’t shake the Paul Newman thing from my mind. “So. You think Paul will be at the Oscars?” I asked.