What I Did For Love Part 42

"We're not eating," he said. "And I think you're beautiful." He jumped out of the car, transferred a wad of bills to the valet, and muscled his way through the shouting photographers to open the pa.s.senger door for her.

Mismatched T-shirt and wrinkled shorts. Bad hair, no makeup...and a husband who just might love her but probably didn't. With a sense of unreality, she got out.

Mayhem erupted. They hadn't been seen together in weeks, and all the paparazzi starting shouting at once.

"Bram! Georgie! Over here!"

"Where have you two been?"

"Georgie, is Mel Duffy lying about your meeting?"

"Are you pregnant?"

"Are you still together?"

"What's up with the outfit, Georgie?"

Bram wrapped an arm around her and pushed through the crowd toward the brick steps. "Give us some room, guys. You'll get your pictures. Just let us have some room."

Pedestrians gaped on the sidewalk, patio diners craned their necks, and a trio of perfectly dressed purse designers interrupted their conversation to stare. Georgie briefly considered asking to borrow a little lip gloss, but there was something wildly liberating about standing in front of the world looking her worst.

He put his mouth to her ear. "Who needs to call a press conference when we've got The Ivy?"

"Bram, I-"

"Listen up, everybody." He raised his arm.

Georgie felt dizzy, but she somehow managed to curl her mouth in a Scooter-grin. And then she stopped. No more pretense. She was angry, agitated, and sick to her stomach, and she didn't care who knew it. She let everything she felt show on her face.

A crowd blocked the sidewalk. As shutters clicked and video cameras recorded the scene, Bram spoke above the noise. "You all know that Georgie and I got married in Las Vegas three months ago. What you don't know..."

She had no idea how he'd spin this, and she didn't care. Whatever lies he told were his own to deal with.

"...is that we were the victims of a couple of drug-spiked c.o.c.ktails, and we basically hated each other's guts. We've been faking this marriage ever since."

Her head shot up. For a moment she thought she'd misheard. Bram was willing to stand on the front steps of The Ivy and expose it all?

As it turned out, he was. He told everything-a condensed version, but the facts were there, right through the ugly scene on the beach. She studied the determined set of his jaw and found herself thinking of the formidable movie heroes hanging on his office wall.

The paps had more experience with deception than truth, and they weren't buying a word of it. "You're punkin' us, right?"

"No punking," Bram said. "Georgie's got this new thing about living an honest life. Too much Oprah."

"Georgie, are you making Bram do this?"

"Have you two split?"

They attacked like the jackals they were, and Bram shouted them all down. "From now on, whatever we tell you is the truth, but don't count on us telling you anything we don't want to, even if we have a movie to promote and need the publicity. As for the future of this marriage...Georgie's ready to bail on me, but I love my wife, and I'm trying my d.a.m.nedest to change her mind. That's all you're going to hear from either one of us right now. Got it?"

The paps turned rabid, pushing and shoving. Somehow Bram strong-armed the two of them back through the crowd, holding her so tightly that her feet left the ground and she lost a sneaker. The valets managed to wedge the car door open, and she got inside.

As Bram pulled away, he nearly took out the two photographers who'd draped themselves over the hood. "I don't want to hear another word about ulterior motives." His dark scowl and unsteady voice left no room for argument. "As a matter of fact, I don't want to talk at all right now."

That was fine with her because she couldn't think of one thing to say.

A circus train of SUVs followed them back to the house. Bram zoomed through the gates, pulled up to the front, and braked to a sudden stop before he turned off the ignition.

His labored breathing filled the suddenly quiet interior. He opened the console and took out a DVD. "This is why I couldn't come see you earlier. It wasn't done. I was planning to deliver it tonight." He set the DVD in her lap. "Watch it before you make any more big decisions about our future."

"I don't understand. What is this?"

"I guess you could say it's...my love letter to you." He got out of the car.

"Love letter?" But he'd already disappeared around the side of the house.

She glanced down at the DVD and took in its hand-printed label.

SKIP AND SCOOTER.

"Going Underground"

Skip and Scooter had ended after 108 episodes, but the label marked this as episode 109. Clutching the DVD to her chest, she kicked off her remaining sneaker and rushed barefoot into the house. She didn't have the patience to fumble with the complicated equipment in the screening room, so she carried his cinematic love letter upstairs and slid it into the DVD player in his bedroom. She sat in the middle of the bed, wrapped an arm around her knees, and with pulse racing, hit the play b.u.t.ton. had ended after 108 episodes, but the label marked this as episode 109. Clutching the DVD to her chest, she kicked off her remaining sneaker and rushed barefoot into the house. She didn't have the patience to fumble with the complicated equipment in the screening room, so she carried his cinematic love letter upstairs and slid it into the DVD player in his bedroom. She sat in the middle of the bed, wrapped an arm around her knees, and with pulse racing, hit the play b.u.t.ton.

Fade in on two sets of small feet walking across an expanse of vivid green lawn. One set sported black patent leather Mary Janes with ruffled white socks. The other, shiny black boy's oxfords that brushed the cuffs of black dress slacks. Both sets of feet stopped walking and turned toward someone behind them. The little girl whimpered, "Daddy?"

Georgie hugged herself.

The boy's response was fierce. "You said you weren't going to cry."

Another whimper from the little girl. "I'm not crying. I want Daddy."

A third set of shoes came into view. Black men's wing tips. "I'm here, sweetheart. I had to help grand-mere grand-mere."

Georgie shivered as the camera panned up along sharply creased black slacks to a man's long-fingered, manicured hand bearing a platinum wedding band. The little girl's hand slipped through his.

A close-up of the child's face came into view. She was seven or eight years old, blond and angelic, wearing a black velvet dress and a delicate strand of pearls.

The camera pulled back. A solemn-faced boy of about the same age took the man's other hand.

Cut to a wider angle showing the tall, lean man and two small children from the rear as they walked across the manicured lawn. A shade tree appeared, a broader stretch of lawn, more trees. Some kind of stones. The angle expanded.

Not stones at all.

Georgie pressed her fingertips to her lips.

A cemetery?

Suddenly the man's face filled the screen. Skip Scofield. He was older, more distinguished, and perfectly groomed, as all the Scofields tended to be. Crisp, short hair, tailored black suit, a respectable dark burgundy tie knotted at the neck of a white dress shirt. And deep lines of grief etching his handsome face.

Georgie shook her head in disbelief. He couldn't possibly- "I don't want to, Daddy," the girl said.

"I know, sweetheart." Skip picked her up. At the same time, he wrapped his free arm around the boy's thin shoulders.

Georgie wanted to scream. It's a sitcom! It's supposed to be funny! It's a sitcom! It's supposed to be funny!

Now the three stood at the side of an open grave with black-clad mourners in the background. The boy buried his face in his father's side, m.u.f.fling his words. "I miss Mommy so much already."

"So do I, son. She never understood how much I loved her."

"You should have told her."

"I tried to, but she didn't believe me."

The minister began to speak off camera, his resonant voice familiar. Georgie narrowed her eyes.

Cut to the end of the service. Close-up of the coffin in the ground. A handful of dirt landed on the polished lid followed by three puffy blue hydrangeas.

Cut to Skip and the minister-the minister who had no place being a minister. "My condolences, son," the minister said, patting Skip on the back.

Dissolve to Skip and his two weeping children standing alone by the grave. Skip went down on his knees and drew them close, his eyes squeezed shut with pain. "Thank G.o.d...," he murmured. "Thank G.o.d, I have you."

The boy pulled away, looking smug, almost vindictive. "Except you don't."

The girl splayed her hands on her hips. "We're imaginary, remember?"

The boy sneered, "We're the kids you could have had if you hadn't been such a jerk."

Just like that, the children vanished, and the man stood alone at the graveside. Anguished. Tortured. He picked a hydrangea from one of the floral arrangements and lifted it to his lips. "I love you. With all my heart. This is forever, Georgie."

The screen went dark.

Georgie sat there stunned, then shot off the bed and stalked into the hallway. stunned, then shot off the bed and stalked into the hallway. Of all the... Of all the... She raced down the stairs, across the veranda, along the path, and out to the guesthouse. Through the French doors, she saw him sitting at his desk, staring at nothing. As she charged inside, he jumped to his feet. She raced down the stairs, across the veranda, along the path, and out to the guesthouse. Through the French doors, she saw him sitting at his desk, staring at nothing. As she charged inside, he jumped to his feet.

"Love letter?" she cried. she cried.

He gave a jerky nod, his face pale.

She shoved her hands on her hips. "You killed killed me off!" me off!"

His throat worked as he swallowed. "You...uh...didn't think I'd kill me me off, did you?" off, did you?"

"And my own father! My own father father buried me!" buried me!"

"He's a good actor. And a-a surprisingly decent father-in-law."

She gritted her teeth. "I spotted a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. Chaz and Laura?"

"They both seemed to"-he swallowed again-"enjoy the ceremony."

She threw up her hands. "I can't believe you killed off Scooter!"

"I didn't have a lot of time to work on the script. It was the best I could come up with, especially since I had to...shoot around you."

"I'll say!"

"It would have been done yesterday, but your angelic fake daughter turned out to be a diva. Total pain in the a.s.s to work with, which doesn't bode well for Tree House. Tree House. She's playing the kid." She's playing the kid."

"A great little actress, though," Georgie drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I know I had tears in my eyes."

"If we ever have a child who acts like that..."

"It'll be her father's fault."

That stopped him cold, but she wasn't ready to let him off the hook, even though little balloons of happiness had started to rise inside her. "Honest to G.o.d, Bram, that was the stupidest, sappiest, most maudlin piece of cinematic garbage..."

"I knew you'd like it." He couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands. "You did like it, didn't you? It was the only way I could think of to show you I understood exactly how much I hurt you that day on the beach. You understood that, right?"

"Oddly enough, yes."

His face twisted. "You're going to have to help me, Georgie. I've never loved anyone before."

"Not even yourself," she said quietly.

"Not much to love. Until you started loving me back." His hand slipped into his pocket. "I don't want to hurt you again. Ever. But I've already done it. I sacrificed what you wanted the most." His face twisted. "Helene is really gone, Georgie. The contract is signed. That role meant everything to you-I know it-and I screwed that up, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. Unless I signed another actress, I had no way to prove I need you for yourself."

"I get that." She thought of the painful things people did to themselves and to each other because of love, and she knew the time had come to tell him what she'd only recently figured out herself. "I'm glad."

"You don't understand. I can't fix this, sweetheart, and there's no way I can make that up to you."

"You don't have anything to make up." She said it aloud for the first time. "I'm a filmmaker, Bram. A doc.u.mentary filmmaker. That's what I want to do with my life."

"What are you talking about? You love acting."

"I loved being Annie. I loved being Scooter. I needed the applause and the praise. But I don't need that anymore. I've grown up, and I want to tell other people's stories."

"That's fine, but-Your audition? That amazing performance?"