What I Did For Love Part 22

"I'm not in love with him!" Chaz shot up, grabbed the book from Aaron, and shoved it back on the shelf. "I care about him, and I don't like the way she treats him."

"Just because she doesn't kiss his a.s.s like you do."

"I don't kiss his a.s.s! I always tell him exactly what I think."

"Yeah, and while you're cussing at him, you're running around making him special meals and ironing his T-shirts. Yesterday, I saw you jump up to brush some crumbs off a chair before he sat on it."

"I take care of him because it's my job, not because I'm in love with him."

"It seems like more than a job. It seems like your whole life."

"That's bulls.h.i.t. I just...owe him, that's all."

"For what?"

For everything.

She turned away from Aaron and went into her tiny galley kitchen. He was too stupid to know the difference between loving someone and being in love. Chaz loved Bram with all her heart, but it wasn't s.e.x-love. It was like he was the best brother in the universe, one she'd do anything for.

She rooted around in her refrigerator for a Mountain Dew. Aaron had told her he'd gotten addicted to Mountain Dew when he was in college, but she only poured a gla.s.s for herself. Chaz had wanted to go to culinary school, not college. After her stepmother died, she'd saved up enough money to come to L.A., but jobs were harder to find than she'd imagined for someone without a high school diploma, and her plan to earn tuition money by working at an expensive restaurant quickly disappeared. She ended up washing dishes and busing tables at a couple of cheap Mexican places, but L.A. was expensive, and even working sixteen-hour days, she still had to dip into her savings to get by.

One day she came home from work and discovered somebody had broken into her c.r.a.ppy rented room and stolen everything she had, including her savings. She told herself not to panic. She might have to cut out a meal here and there, and she wouldn't be able to buy a car for a while, but she could still make the rent if she worked some extra hours.

She might have done it, too, if she hadn't gotten struck by a hit-and-run driver as she was crossing the street to the Laundromat. She didn't suffer anything more serious than some cracked ribs and a broken hand, but she lost both jobs because she couldn't wash dishes with a cast on. Within a month she was living on the streets.

Aaron came into the kitchen behind her. "Do you have anything to eat? I haven't had anything since lunch."

She had a cabinet full of junk food she wasn't going to tell him about. "Only cereal and some fruit." She nudged her gla.s.s of Mountain Dew behind her toaster where he couldn't see it, not because she was being mean, but because it wasn't diet.

"I guess it's better than nothing," he said.

She pulled out the cereal box and shoved some fresh strawberries at him, but he started tossing them in the bowl without slicing them, so she pushed him out of the way and did the job herself. She wished she had Special K to give him instead of Frosted Flakes.

The kitchen had a tiny, built-in eating counter. She wiped out her silverware drawer while he ate. She'd already noticed he had good table manners, and she thought his neighbor Becky might like that if she ever noticed him. As he finished his last bite, she pulled the cereal bowl out from under him. "I'm going to cut your hair."

"You are not. My hair's fine."

"It looks like a shrub. Do you want Becky to notice you or not?"

"If she's so shallow that all she cares about is looks, then I'm not interested in her." He took in her jeans and black T-shirt. "You're not exactly an expert on fashion?"

"I have my own style."

"Well, I have my own style, too."

"Geek style." She studied the slogan on his green T-shirt. all your base are belong to us. "What's that about anyway?"

He rolled his eyes, as if she should know. "Zero Wing. A 1989 j.a.panese video game. It's historic. Look it up."

"Whatever." She grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer. "Let's go in the bathroom. I don't want your hair all over the place."

"If you want to cut hair so bad, cut your own." He snorted and gestured toward her choppy bob. "No, wait. You already did that."

She liked her hair, and she slammed the scissors on the counter. "You might as well forget about Becky. Or any other woman...because they won't look at you twice."

"Why should I take advice from somebody who doesn't have a life?"

"You think I don't have a life?"

"I haven't seen any guys hanging around."

"That doesn't mean I don't have a life." She didn't tell him she couldn't stand the idea of being with a man. It hadn't always been that way. In high school, she'd had two serious boyfriends, and she'd had s.e.x with one of them. He'd turned out to be a jerk, but she'd liked the s.e.x. Not now, though.

Aaron was looking at her like he thought he was her shrink, and that made her so mad, she charged toward him. "Take off those stupid headphones. You look stupid."

"I'll wait in my car." He headed out her apartment door, then clomped down the stairs to the back entrance.

She rushed over and called down after him. "Fine! But I have potato chips and and Mountain Dew!" Mountain Dew!"

"Good for you." The door slammed, and everything was quiet.

She went back to the couch and picked up the cookbook she'd been studying. She was glad he'd left. She hadn't wanted him to stay anyway.

She reached for the notebook she kept on the end table so she could make a list of everything she needed to do before the party tomorrow. Screw him. Now her apartment was just the way she liked it. All hers.

But the notebook slipped from her fingers, and the cookbook dropped to the carpet. She began to cry.

All morning Bram couldn't seem to keep his clothes on, and by lunchtime, Georgie wanted to hit him in his delectable bare chest. He was either wandering around the backyard in nothing but his swim trunks sipping from one of his bottomless tumblers of scotch or-and this was the kicker-climbing an extension ladder half naked to clean out some gutters he said were clogged, as if anyone in Hollywood cleaned out their own gutters. couldn't seem to keep his clothes on, and by lunchtime, Georgie wanted to hit him in his delectable bare chest. He was either wandering around the backyard in nothing but his swim trunks sipping from one of his bottomless tumblers of scotch or-and this was the kicker-climbing an extension ladder half naked to clean out some gutters he said were clogged, as if anyone in Hollywood cleaned out their own gutters.

He was punishing her for slipping out of bed to spend the rest of the night in her own room. Tough. Their relationship was about debauchery, not the intimacy of nighttime cuddling.

She tried to escape to the kitchen, but Chaz was a total pain, refusing help and ignoring all of Georgie's suggestions. And Meg was no better. When she saw Georgie carrying around her video camera, she draped a scarf over her head and pretended to be one of Michael Jackson's kids, which was funny but not exactly what Georgie had in mind to record. She finally shut herself in her room to reread Tree House Tree House and think about Helene. and think about Helene.

In the afternoon she set the table. Despite the possibility of rain, they were eating on the veranda, which managed to stay dry during all but the biggest storms. She arranged a centerpiece of artichokes, lemons, and eucalyptus leaves in a blue pottery bowl. It was a little lopsided, but she liked the way it accented the bright yellow place mats and cobalt plates. Once she added a couple of chunky candles, it would be perfect.

She sensed Bram coming up behind her just before his hand curled around her bottom. "Why's the table set for seven?"

"Seven?" The time had come to deliver the news, but she acted as though she'd never heard the number before. "Let's see. You, me, Dad, RoryandTrev, Laura, Meg...Yes, that's right."

His hand, which had been exploring her bottom, came to a dead stop. "Did you say...Rory?"

"Uhm..."

"Rory Keene is coming to dinner tonight?"

"You never listen when I tell you things. I swear, my voice is just white noise to you. It's like we've been married forever."

"Rory?" He abandoned her bottom. He abandoned her bottom.

"I'm positive I mentioned it."

"I'm positive you didn't! Are you crazy? Your father hates my guts. I only have two and a half weeks left until that option expires, and I don't want him anyplace near Rory."

"I'll take care of him."

"Like you've done such a good job taking care of him so far."

"I thought you'd be happy." She attempted a pout and wasn't surprised when she couldn't pull it off.

"Rory loves that script," he said more to himself than to her. "If I could just get her to trust me."

"From what she told me, that's probably a lost cause." As he paced the veranda, she replayed her conversation with Rory. When she finished, she said, "Why did you bring those cretins out to L.A. with you?"

The bitterness he kept tucked away escaped. "Because I was a stupid kid. I didn't have a family, and I thought-I don't know what I thought."

Georgie had a fairly good idea.

He hunched his shoulders and looked away. "The guys told me Rory made the whole thing up. I wanted to believe them, so I did, and when I finally wised up, she was long gone. By the time I found her, my career was in the tank, and let's just say she doubted the sincerity of my apology."

"And now she has her revenge."

"It's not over till it's over. She wants that script, and she can get it a lot cheaper working with me than trying to s.n.a.t.c.h it up after my option expires." The same guy who'd once blown off three days' shooting to go deep-sea fishing was suddenly all-business. "We need to be on top of our game tonight. She likes you, and I'm fully prepared to take advantage of that. Lots of touching. Affection. Not a single wisecrack."

"Everybody will think we're sick."

"I'm counting on you to help make sure I get some time alone with her." He took in her lemon and artichoke centerpiece. "See if you can find a florist. I'll hire a bartender and someone to wait tables. And we need to get a real chef in here."

She held up her hand. "Stop right there. No florist, no bartender, and Chaz is making do-it-yourself kebabs. Chicken, beef, and scallops."

"Are you crazy? We can't serve Rory Keene kebabs."

"You'll have to trust me. Remember, I have a purely selfish interest in convincing Rory to back your project. If you screw this up for me..."

"Georgie, I told you. Helene has to be cast-"

"Leave me alone. I have things to do." Mainly she had to help him convince Rory that he was the person to make the film. If Rory saw how well he could behave these days, she might forget his past idiocy.

Unlike Georgie, who couldn't forget a thing.

After he left, she busied herself setting candles around the veranda, but eventually she couldn't resist grabbing her video camera. Today of all days, she should leave Chaz alone, but what had begun as a whim was turning into an obsession. In addition to her fascination with Chaz, she was also falling in love with the whole process of recording other people's lives. She'd never imagined how absorbing standing behind a camera instead of in front of one could be.

She found Chaz in the kitchen making a ginger-garlic marinade. When she spotted Georgie, she slammed her chef's knife down on some garlic cloves. "Get that camera out of here."

"You won't let me help. I'm bored." She panned around the kitchen, taking in the well-organized chaos.

"Go film the cleaning people. You seem to have all kinds of fun doing that."

Did Georgie hear a note of jealousy? "I like talking to them. Soledad-she's the tall, pretty one-sends most of her money back to her mother in Mexico, so she has to live with her sister. There are six of them in a one-bedroom apartment. Can you imagine?"

Chaz rocked the blade over the garlic. "Big deal. At least she's not sleeping on the streets."

Georgie's skin p.r.i.c.kled. "Like you did?"

Chaz dipped her head. "I never told you that."

"You told me about the accident and that you got fired after you broke your hand." Georgie zoomed in. "I know your money was stolen. It's a fairly obvious conclusion."

"There are a lot of kids on the streets. It wasn't a big deal."

"Still...It had to be especially hard for you. All that mess and no way to clean it up."

"I handled it. Now get out. I mean it, Georgie. I have to concentrate."

Georgie should leave, but the turbulent emotions bubbling behind Chaz's tough facade had drawn her in from the beginning, and somehow the camera demanded she record it. She shifted her questioning. "Does fixing dinner for more than one person make you nervous?"

"I fix dinner for more than one person practically every night." She tossed the chopped garlic in a bowl with some peeled ginger. "I feed you, don't I?"

"But you don't put your heart into it. I swear, Chaz, even your desserts taste bitter."

Chaz's head shot up. "That's a c.r.a.ppy thing to say."

"Just a personal observation. Bram loves your cooking, and so does Meg. But then you seem to like Meg."

Chaz pressed her lips tight. Her blade moved faster.

Georgie stepped to the end of the counter. "You'd better watch yourself. Great cooks know that extraordinary food is about more than mixing ingredients. Who you are as a person-how you feel about other people-shows up in what you create."

The rhythm of Chaz's chopping slowed. "I don't believe that."

Georgie told herself to let it go, but she couldn't, not with the camera in her hands, not when this seemed so right. A wave of compa.s.sion overcame her, along with an odd sense of understanding. She and Chaz had each found her own way of coping with a world over which they seemed to have little control. "Then why do your desserts taste so bitter?" she said softly. "Is it really me you hate...or is it yourself?"

Chaz dropped her knife and stared into the camera, her black-rimmed eyes wide.

"Leave her alone, Georgie." Bram spoke sharply from the doorway. "Take your camera and leave her alone."

Chaz turned on him. "You told her!"

Bram came into the room. "I haven't told her anything."

"She knows! You told her!"

Chaz's anger and self-hatred were visceral, and Georgie wanted to understand it. She wanted to film it as a testament to all the young girls consumed by their own pain. Except she had no right to invade her privacy like this, and she made herself-forced herself-to lower the camera.

"She doesn't know anything you haven't told her with your big mouth," Bram said.