Remember When 3: The Finale Part 9

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, Mexican cliche was on full display, from the sombreros hanging on the wall, to the piatas 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 cla.s.sified 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 a.s.sessment. He was a smart guy and been through h.e.l.l 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 movie 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 d.i.c.ky 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d just turned eighty and he still looks great, still racing cars." I smiled at that, envisioning Trip as a h.e.l.l-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-o.r.g.a.s.m 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.

His smile broke out full-force at that. "Nah. He doesn't go to those things anymore."

"Darn. Now I won't get a chance to hit on him. I might have to slip my phone number in the glovebox or something when we get back in his car. You're okay with that, right?"

Trip didn't even raise his eyes from the menu as he shot back, "Sweetheart, he might be the only guy I'd let you dump me for."

Chapter 14.

HEIGHTS.

After dinner, Trip was intent on showing me his favorite place in Hollywood, so we took the scenic route up Western Canyon and found ourselves at Griffith Observatory. It was after hours, so it's not like we could have gone inside, but Trip only wanted to wander around the grounds anyway.

He took my hand and excitedly pulled me in the direction of the domed building, explaining how, "Parts of Rebel Without a Cause were filmed here. 'I've got the bullets'? Yeah right there by the front doors. C'mon. I'll show you where they filmed the knife fight. And there's a statue here somewhere of Dean, but I don't remember exactly where it is. We'll find it."

We made our way up the white concrete ramp to a walled patio on the second floor. Trip peeked over the side and pointed. "Knife fight. Right there."

I took a look and was surprised that the spot actually looked familiar. "Oh yeah! You're right. It looks smaller than I thought it would be."

"Everything looks bigger on the screen. Except me. I'm just as huge in real life. So's my d.i.c.k."

I rolled my eyes on that one.

He hopped up to walk along the concrete knee-wall, gave a scan across the grounds, and changed the subject. "I haven't been here in a while, but I came here a lot back in the old days."

He was making me nervous, balancing up on that part.i.tion like a Flying Wallenda. I hauled myself up to sit on the edge, waving my hand out to him to get down. "Trip, you're causing me to panic, here. Please come sit with me so I don't have to worry about your brains splattering out all over the concrete."

He chuckled as he jumped down, then sprawled out along the top of the wall with his head in my lap.

I ran my fingers through his golden hair, saying, "You need a haircut."

He closed his eyes and just gave a contented, "Hmmm," smiling and practically purring at my touch.

I breathed in the night air, registered its balmy warmth. Even at night, everything in southern California seemed so green. I was happy to have escaped the winter doldrums of Jersey for a little while. Happier still because I had Trip at my fingertips. I looked down at the smiling, contented man in my lap and nearly sighed. He always looked so young with his eyes closed like that. Always looked like the boy I had fallen in love with all those many years ago. The boy who never stopped loving me.

I tore my gaze from the G.o.d within my grasp and checked out the view. From our vantage point, I could see the Hollywood sign lit off in the distance, and wished I'd thought to bring my camera. It really was a beautiful place. The domes of the planetarium were illuminated by flood lamps, the white, concrete walls surrounding it virtually glowing from the deflection. The grounds of the observatory were abandoned at such a late hour, the flat, green lawns quietly breathing in the faint moonlight. It was peaceful, there. I could see why Trip chose the place as his sanctuary.

I ran a fingertip along his temple, saying, "I get why you come here to escape. It's... quiet." I'd lived in New York for nine years. Trip had been in L.A. for eleven. Quiet was a luxury.

He laced his fingers across his chest and took a deep, contented breath. "Quiet's not that easy to come by these days."

I knew he was talking about more than just the noise level of his city. The guy had been living in a circus for the past five years. I couldn't even imagine. I'd found a bit of "fame" with my line of work, too. But author-fame was completely different from actor-fame. I'd gotten my share of fan letters and notoriety, but I could still live my life without intrusion. I could still go to the supermarket, unshowered and no makeup, without having to worry about some paparazzo jumping out from behind the lima beans. Well, I used to, anyway.

"How do you do it?" I asked. "How do you deal with every detail of your life being so public?"

He shrugged. "Believe it or not, I don't really think about it. 'There's no such thing as bad publicity' and all that. It keeps me working. You always hear celebs b.i.t.c.hing about the latest pictures of them splashed all over the tabloids. But believe me, they get even b.i.t.c.hier when they don't appear in those things. I mean, most of those articles paint me in a decent light. These days, anyway."

I thought about his tumultuous past. "That must have been difficult."

"I was drunk through most of it. I hardly even realized people had noticed me."

"They did. Trust me. It's like one day, you were just Trip Wiley: Actor, and the next, you were Trip Wiley: Superstar. Did you notice the difference?"

He huffed at that. "I don't know. I came back here in... what? October of two-thousand, right? I was at the top of my game career-wise, but feeling lower than I had in my entire life."

I winced at his admission. No matter what he said the other day, I knew I was the reason he'd gotten so depressed.

"Swayed hit the theaters and it hit big."

"I remember."

"Well, the offers kept pouring in. I was already working on Red Nevada and I had already signed on for The Sanction by the time I won the Oscar. I spent Academy Award night in a bar, by the way. I didn't even know I'd won until the next day when my agent, David brought the thing over to my house."

"I spent it in a bar, too. I knew you were going to win, and I couldn't even think about hearing your name get called, much less watch you walk up onto that stage to accept it. Having to see you thank... her."

"There wouldn't have been anything to thank her for." He gave a squeeze to my knee at that admission, but didn't dwell on it.

I knew he was only trying to downplay his relationship for my benefit. But he was engaged to that woman, for G.o.dsakes. I knew Trip better than that to believe he took such a thing so lightly.

His voice was anything but light when he said, "My mother was a wreck. When I think about how selfish I was, drinking like that... G.o.d. She was already dealing with my alchy father, and then her son goes and hits the booze. I'll never forgive myself for doing that to her. To Claudia. They were the ones who got me through that time, you should know. I left you in New York, came back here, and couldn't talk about it for months. I was an absolute wrecked mess. Mom came out to L.A. for a 'visit', but I knew Claudia had tipped her off, and what she was actually doing was checking up on me. She surprised me at my house one day, telling me she came out to help with the wedding planning. Just hearing the word 'wedding' made me sick. I threw up. Right there on the patio, at her feet."

"You did not!"

He smiled, knowing I was such a twisted witch that I actually found the scenario entertaining.