Shine Your Love on Me (19 page)

“I’ll stand here. Tell me.”

“The buyer.” He was gasping for air.

“What?”

“The buyer. The buyer of my screenplay…”

“Go on.” She spoke quietly.

“The buyer was my father.”

“Oh, no. Come on. No.” She shook her
head.

“Yes! See? Right here? On the Internet. It
says Moonlight Productions, but it’s his office phone number.” Pres
rose up and pointed to the computer, his hand shaking. “I even
called to see if he’d had it changed. It’s Carpenter Investments.”
He sank down to his knees. “It’s all a lie. A lie. No one wanted my
script. I’m not a success. I’m a failure. It’s all a lie.” Tears
streamed down his face. “He wanted me to have a sale, stop writing,
and take a job with his company. So, he bought my script under
another name.”

“Oh crap,” she muttered, staring at the
screen.

“That says it all. Shit. My agent doesn’t
even know. Fuck.”

Brooke slipped on her shoes and picked up
pieces of the broken mug. Then, she took a sponge and wiped down
the wall.

Pres cleaned his face with the back of his
hand. “I’ll do that. I made the mess. I should clean it up.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She raised her
palm to stop him.

“Get back. There’s glass everywhere.” Pres
grabbed a fistful of paper towels, wetted them, and then swept them
over the floor, picking up the tiniest shards. “I’m sorry. I lost
it.”

“Understandable.”

He snorted. “We don’t have to worry about
moving to California. When those guys find out the sale was bogus,
they’ll crap out.”

“It wasn’t bogus. Someone bought it. No one
has to know who.”

He raised his head, his gaze connecting with
hers. “You suggesting I lie about it?”

“I’m suggesting there’s no need to bring the
topic up. Don’t volunteer anything. If they ask you, then tell them
the truth. But if they don’t, keep it to yourself.”

“Isn’t that the same as lying?”

“Does the movie world deal with you honestly
all the time? Keeping something back is protecting yourself. They
liked your treatments, and the pilots, right?”

“So they said.”

“Then let it be. Don’t destroy these leads
because your dad did it for you.”

“Did it to me, you mean. He sort of fucked me
up the ass, if you know what I mean.”

She made a face. “Next time could you state
it in different terms?”

“Sorry.” He blushed. “I forget you’re a girl
sometimes.” Brooke frowned, placing her hands on her hips.

“Sorry! Sorry! I don’t mean it that way. It’s
just that I get…comfortable with you. You know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“I mean, it’s not like dad did it to help me
succeed. He only did it so that I’d stop trying and do what he
wanted.”

“But it backfired, didn’t it?”

Pres sank down on the floor and looked down
at his hands. Brooke sat next to him. “It did backfire. Buying your
script made you more desirable.”

“The joke’s on him, I guess.”

“It is. You’ve got a shot now. Run with
it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a
rumble.

“Oh, no! Rain on a beach weekend?” Brooke
looked up at the sky.

“Something had to break the humidity.”

A few drops on the windows soon turned into a
torrent. Pres rubbed his belly.

“How about breakfast?” Brooke asked.

“Why not?”

She cracked some eggs into a pan and put
bread in the toaster. Pres put up another pot of coffee then poured
two glasses of juice. He was quiet, thoughtful.

The food was ready fast. They sat down at the
dining room table, watching the storm pelt the beach and blur the
view. Pres wolfed down his toast and pushed his eggs around his
plate with his fork.

“Eat. Go on,” Brooke encouraged.

“I will. I will.” He gazed out the window,
his brow knitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Then don’t do anything. You’re waiting for
them to get back to you, right?”

“That’s what Max said.”

“So sit back, take some time off, or continue
writing. Don’t fret about it.”

“My dad’s gotta stop messing with my life.
I’m thirty years old. He treats me like I’m six.”

Pres washed the dishes while Brooke curled up
on the sofa with the pugs. Freddy pushed between Ginger and Brooke
while Buddy was at the other end. Pres soon joined them. He drew
her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. Buddy cuddled up
on the other side, using Pres’s thigh as a pillow. Brooke kissed
Pres’s palm and held it to her cheek.

“When this deal falls through, I’m going to
go work for Carpenter Investments.”

“What?”

“Yep. I can’t fight it anymore. If I can’t
make it as a writer, I have to do something. I need to earn a
living, not accept charity from my father.”

“Buying your script wasn’t charity.”

“Same thing. Time to face the fact I can’t
cut it.”

“Don’t say that! This deal is still
pending.”

Pres sighed. “Not for long. Max shopped that
script everywhere.”

“Don’t give up yet.”

“I’m not. I’m being realistic. If this deal
falls through, I’m done. Dad wins.”

Brooke stared at her hands.

“You’ll get your corporate boyfriend. Maybe
then I’ll have money to make an honest woman of you.”
What are
you saying?

“Me? What corporate boyfriend?”

“The one you’ve always wanted. Like that guy,
Lloyd, was it? I’ll be like him.”

She shivered. “That’s not good.”

“Would you turn down a corporate man with
buckets of money, a huge apartment on Park Avenue, hot and cold
running maids?”

“Who said I wanted that?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
Preston, what are you doing? Leave her alone.

“When did this become about me. Don’t leave
writing and blame it on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, one thing I won’t
lose is you. In fact, you’ll be happier because I’ll be
richer.”

“Don’t make this about me. I like you the way
you are. I never said you should become corporate.”

“But if I had been, you’d’ve slept with me
sooner, wouldn’t you?”

She sat up and faced him. “This is bullshit.
You’re making me the bad guy. I didn’t do anything but love you the
way you are. I never said I wanted you to be corporate. I can’t
stand Lloyd and his ass-kissing ways.”

He narrowed his eyes. “This is news.”

Brooke pushed to her feet. “Give up. Go
crawling back to your father because you don’t have the guts to
tough it out or believe in yourself. Do whatever the hell you want,
but don’t blame it on me.”

He reached for her, but she pushed away. She
was out the door, running toward the beach before he could stand.
He took off after her, but she had a good head start. The rain had
become a fine mist. Pres could hardly see more than twenty feet
across the Sound.

Even though he was panting, he caught up with
her. He saw her struggle to hold back tears.
You did that. You
made her cry. Jerk.
He wanted to comfort her.

“You’re right,” he said, trying to catch his
breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not about you. You’re right. I have to
believe in myself. I have to try and keep trying until…until I
don’t want to do it anymore.”

Brooke threw her arms around him and kissed
him. He held her fast and deepened the kiss.

“I love you, Brooke. You believe in me.”

“I do, but it’s you who has to believe in
you.” The wind picked up and a sudden chill in the air made her
shiver.

“You’re cold. Let’s go.” He rubbed her arms
then led her back to the house. He brought the quilt down from the
bedroom and wrapped her up. With a bowl of microwave popcorn in one
hand and the movie,
You’ve Got Mail
in the other, he settled
down on the sofa with her.

“Let’s forget everything,” she said, offering
the snack to him.

“This weekend is about us. I’ll put this in,
and we can relax.” Brooke munched while Pres set up the film. When
he returned, she snuggled into him. Refusing to let worry enter his
mind, he focused on the story unfolding on the screen and the
beautiful woman curled up next to him.

* * * *

The weather cleared, but remained cool.
Brooke and Pres packed up and headed home around six Sunday night.
They stopped in the city for dinner before Pres dropped the car at
his parents’ garage.

Instead of leaving, he walked around the
corner and hopped in the elevator to their floor. The door was
never locked so he walked right in. His mom and dad were having
coffee in the dining room.

“Preston, how nice to see you,” his mother,
Carolyn, said.

“Coffee, son?” Jonathan Carpenter pushed away
from the table.

“No, thanks. Just finished dinner.”

“Dining with your new girl tonight?” Carolyn
raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“We’re not engaged…yet, mom. Back off.”

“Sit down, sit down. Don’t be a
stranger.”

Pres sat where he could easily face his
father. “I have something to say. Please do me the favor of
shutting up until I’m finished.” The way his parents straightened
up, you’d have thought he’d slapped them across the face.

“I found out who bought my screenplay.” He
stopped to watch Jonathan’s expression. While his face seemed
frozen, a telltale red creeping up his neck gave him away. “That’s
right, Dad. I know. I know it was you who bought it.”

“Now, Pres—”

“Did I just ask you to shut the hell up?” His
voice rose as he anticipated some half-assed explanation from his
dad, justifying the dirty deed. His father clammed up. “Good. Yes,
you bought it. You selfishly went ahead and meddled in my life. You
did something unthinkable. You led my agent to believe I was
bankable.”

He snatched up his mother’s full glass of
water and took a gulp. His parents sat motionless.

“But it’s all based on a lie. No producer was
interested in my screenplay. It was only my father and his
underhanded way of trying to get me to forget being a writer.” He
took another gulp. “And it almost worked. I was so mad today when I
figured it out, I was ready to quit.”

Jonathan smiled. But before he could utter a
word, Pres slammed his palm on the table. The dishes and silverware
jumped and clattered, startling his parents. His father retreated
into silence again. “I asked for the courtesy to finish before you
start trying to convince me I’m wrong. Get this. Your plan
backfired.”

“Backfired?”

“Jonathan, shut up,” hissed his wife.

“That’s right.” Pres couldn’t keep the smug
smile off his face. “Backfired. If I hadn’t made a sale, the two
producers now looking at my work probably would’ve slammed the door
in my agent’s face. When he said he’d made a
two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar deal for me, doors opened. On
the basis of that one sale to you, he was able to get two producers
interested.”

Pres took another drink. “I flew to
California to meet with them. They’re considering buying two of my
pilots. Whether I got there honestly or not, my work is now deemed
professional. That’s enough for me. I’m never going to stop
writing. Never going to stop pursuing what I love. And if I don’t
get either of these sales, then I’ll get another one. I’ll do
whatever I have to to make it.”

Pres had never bested his father before now.
Jonathan sat quietly, staring at his son. Carolyn did the same.
“I’m never going into business with you, Dad. So stop trying to
manipulate me, stop trying to coerce me, dupe me, trick me. Stay
the fuck out of my life.”

For the first time, he saw his father’s eyes
water. Pres was startled. He was prepared for anger, hollering,
unrelenting argument, and coercion from the man, but not emotion.
Was that regret he saw flicker in the old man’s eyes? Never did he
expect that. Pres was speechless.

Jonathan cleared his throat. “May I speak
now?”

Pres nodded.

“Let me say—I hope congratulations will be in
order for you soon, son. That I hope to be watching television and
see your name on the screen. That’s excellent news for you. Of
course, you are correct. I did exactly as you said.” There was a
gasp from Pres’s mother. “Your mother didn’t know. She’s an
innocent party. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not sorry, either.
Especially seeing the result.” He stopped to take a deep
breath.

Pres saw him struggling for emotional
control, and it hit the younger man right in the gut.

“Please don’t judge too harshly an old man
who only wants his son to follow in his footsteps, to enjoy the
same financial success and the freedom and pleasure that
brings.”

A blanket of silence fell on the room. Pres
had railed against his father’s control for as long as he could
remember. Nothing he ever did seemed to be good enough. And
Jonathan had worked mad hours, not around for basketball games or
soccer tournaments. He had hated what his dad did for a living and
had resented the older man for trying to push him into the same
trap.

But he’d never seen it from this perspective.
His father had never spoken so openly before.

Jonathan rose from his chair. He walked over
and extended his hand to Pres. “Friends?”

The sting in Pres’s eyes was too great. Tears
broke through. Pres hugged his dad, who returned the affection. It
was brief, but the first they had shared since Pres had been a
little boy.

“With your convictions, Preston, I’m sure
you’ll make it. I’m proud of you, son.”

Hearing words he’d longed to hear but never
had from his dad, emotion choked Pres, keeping talk at bay. He
nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Jonathan
pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed his own, and then handed it to
his son. Pres laughed. Then his father and his mother joined
in.

“Stay for a drink?” his mother asked.