What readers are saying about Another Place on the Planet
…and by far its best quality is its superb character development. Before you are even one-quarter into the tale, the characters are very viable and engaging, and I just had to keep on reading to find out what decisions they would be making…I found myself often "talking" to them as I read - either cheering them on, or warning them off - a true indication that this author had accomplished successful characterization. I could not disengage! …Well done! I look forward to finding out how they evolve in the upcoming sequel.
…I was pleasantly surprised to find really well-developed characters who display depth and process and growth. Their conversations are believable and their development makes it a fast, easy, and compelling read. I found that I cared about the characters, particularly Lily and Charlie…but the sub-characters were substantive as well. While it seems like it's a lighter read, it really does get into some deeper issues and questions through the characters and plot, again, a pleasant surprise. The plot is not complicated…but there is more complexity than I expected, and it was woven together well.
Another Place on the Planet
By
T. A. Munroe
Another Place on the Planet
Copyright 2012 by T. A. Munroe
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Cover design and drawing by author
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Smashwords Edition
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or places is entirely coincidental.
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Editor’s Note: The screenplay page in Chapter 10 may not appear according to accepted formatting standards in the film industry due to e-reader variances and reader’s preferences.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For Keith,
my lifelong Gooch.
Maybe you’ll see some money now.
No guarantees, though.
Chapter 1. Princess Lily Mayfield
Chapter 5. Peaceful Easy Feeling
Chapter 6. Hanging With Famous People
Chapter 7. Further Possibilities
Chapter 15. Welcome to Hollywood, Baby
Chapter16. Stand Straight, Shoulders Back, Chin Up
Chapter 17. Fake It Till You Make It
Chapter 19. Painful Incisive Questions
Chapter 25. So Much For Graciousness
Chapter 29. Marie & Albert Winston
Chapter 31. For a Time Such as This
Chapter 33. A Touch of Revenge
Part 3 Another Place on the Planet
Chapter 42. All That’s Best of Dark and Bright
Another Place on the Planet
PART 1
Lilyland
Chapter 1
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Each passing second in the sleek black town car, as it cruised smoothly through the Arizona evening, brought me further out of my comfort zone. I had never attended such a posh function before. Doug Sandoval, my benefactor, told me this fundraiser for cancer research was the biggest of the Scottsdale season. It was normally attended by many of the athletes of Phoenix’s professional sports teams, local business, entertainment personalities and notable doctors and cancer survivors, as well as some of Hollywood with homes or other ties to the area.
I held no pretense that I was anything but out of my league. As a school teacher and the wife of a construction supervisor, dancing with the stars had never been on my social calendar. I prayed my wobbly ankles could hold me up in the strappy high-heeled sandals I was not used to wearing. I hoped if I was asked to dance, I could remember the little I knew and not trip on my hem and fall flat on my face after colliding gracelessly with my hapless partner, whoever the poor man might be.
“Okay,” I said aloud to encourage myself as the car pulled off Camelback Road onto the winding drive of the Phoenician Resort, “I am no longer a chubby housewife or a mousy teacher but a stunningly breathtaking woman, a mysterious widow with a small personal fortune. I can be whoever I want.”
The driver opened the car door for me. I tried to move my feet from the car to the ground gracefully, like women do in luxury car commercials, then stood and arranged the skirt of my dress. I recalled the advice of the women who dressed me—employees of the shop that specialized in important formal occasions: stand straight, shoulders back, chin up. Smile. All those I did, feeling like a lamppost with a smiley-face sticker.
Cameras flashed nearby, focused on a man who had just tossed the keys of his sporty European car to a valet. A Porsche? A Lotus or Ferrari? All I knew for sure: it was red.
Small white lights adorned plants and palm trees whose branches met high overhead like a starry arch, delighting me. Delight was a rare experience those days. But man’s addition to God’s creation added to the already exotic experience.
Speaking of God’s creation, the man who was being photographed was a spectacular example of it. Oh, my. Tall, but not too, and handsome. No, handsome was inadequate. If I had to draw Adonis of Greek mythology, I would ask this man to be my model.
Smile, don’t gawk, I reminded myself.
Adonis and I approached the door at the same time as a doorman opened it. Cameras flashed again as Adonis stepped aside, smiled, and said, “After you, please.”
“Thank you,” I said simply and smiled the widest I had in years. The man’s pasted-on smile upgraded itself to a real one, his eyes taking on a sparkle because of me. Me?
“Am I to assume no man has the pleasure of being your escort tonight?” he asked, his voice smooth and confident.
I controlled a giggle and said, “It’s true. No man can lay claim to me. I’m the guest of a… business acquaintance.”
His face lit up. “Then allow me, if only for mere seconds, to have the distinct honor of being seen with you on my arm.”
I couldn’t control the giggle after that line. “Of course! Being arm candy to such a charming rogue as you is every woman’s dream.” We laughed together as he held out his arm and I slipped my hand under and around the elbow. His dark blue eyes smiled down at me and I allowed myself to feel beautiful for the first time in years. I walked regally—I hoped—with him across the lobby and into the ballroom while I wondered who this woman was that had borrowed my body. “May I ask what your business is?” Adonis said.
“Well, let me think…I was presented with an unexpected offer today and haven’t really had time to assess my options. I may be changing career paths. Oh, there’s Doug.”
Doug, my angel. Salt and pepper hair, financial success and a youthful smile combined to give him the air of wise amusement. His generous spirit prompted him to uncover resources available to me, the wife of an employee who committed suicide on a job site. Earlier that day his efforts had made me a multi-millionaire. His credit card provided the dress, shoes, luxury hotel and other trappings needed by a mid-forties woman making her social debut,
“Lily! Welcome.” Doug kissed my cheek. His reaction to my appearance comforted me. “You are lovely this evening, very, very lovely. Meet Wendy, my wife.”
Wendy, through Doug, had recommended the dress shop. Attractive, close to Doug’s age, bleached blonde, wearing a strapless black gown with a jeweled belt. Her smile seemed sincere, mostly.
“Welcome, Lily. Thank you for filling out our table,” she said, then turned her stunned gaze to Adonis. I wasn’t sure how to introduce my impromptu escort.
Doug saved me by extending his hand and introducing himself. Adonis returned with his real name.
“Charlie Winston,” he said, grabbing Doug’s hand enthusiastically. Wendy’s eyebrows shot up.
“At least now I know your name is Lily,” Charlie Winston said, turning to me.
“This is Lily Mayfield,” Doug said.
“Lily Mayfield,” Charlie Winston repeated. “What a lovely name. I would be honored to share a dance with you later, Ms. Mayfield.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” I said, knowing my disbelief was showing.
“As do I.” He thrilled Wendy by kissing her hand before taking mine and holding it for a minute. “Until later, then.” He kissed my hand too, allowing his lips to remain on it a second longer than necessary. He turned and swaggered away.
“You do know who that is, don’t you?” said Wendy. “However did you meet him?”
“We arrived at the same time and he offered to escort me,” I said. “Who is he?”
“Charlie Winston, the movie director. I heard he might be here. His friend, Sophia St. Pierre is,” she said.
“He could be Charlie the plumber, for all I know.” But what a stunning plumber!
“I wouldn’t mind seeing his back end sticking out from underneath my sink,” Wendy quipped.
“Nor would I,” I murmured.
“See. I told you you might meet someone.” Doug wagged his finger, reminding me of what he had said earlier in the day when my immediate response to his invitation had been less than enthusiastic.
Doug and Wendy wandered off somewhere, and I stood tall and smiled as I looked around the large lavishly appointed room. Warm gold, the predominant color, cast an air of the opulence and grandeur of bygone days. Chandeliers twinkled as outside the evening darkened into night. Jewels flashed, gowns glittered, laughter punctuated conversations, pleasant fragrances glided by on the forms of elegantly dressed guests. The buzz contained the names of several celebrities that I recognized on sight and more that I didn’t.
I noticed a guest, a young man who looked familiar, had bumped into a college-aged server and loudly blamed her for the water that spilled on the sleeve of his tuxedo. His attitude was way over the top as far as I was concerned, and the teacher in me wouldn’t be denied.
“Excuse me for interfering,” I said to the man, hoping my smile was pleasant and innocuous as my heart pounded wildly, “but I saw what happened. It was you who bumped into the young lady. Perhaps you were in a hurry to see someone.” Hating confrontations, I was astonished at what I found myself doing. I spoke softly, as if trying to keep myself calm.
“Who the hell…” the young man began. I saw how attractive he was. I had seen him in a movie recently. I picked up a napkin from a nearby place setting and dabbed in a motherly way at the water on the sleeve. “A gentleman would apologize for his action, even if it was unintentional.”
“Listen, lady…”
“Did you ever hear what Jesus said?” I ignored his protests, smiled into his dark smoldering eyes and continued in a soothingly quiet tone. “He said, ‘As you sow, so shall you reap.’ I told it to my students like this, ‘What goes around comes around.’ So, if not for the sake of the fellow humans who help you, it’s in your own best interest to be respectful, or you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of equally unpleasant behavior.”
The young man muttered a sheepish apology, and the server gave me a look of grateful vindication. She went on with her work.
“There, that will be fine,” I said as I gave the sleeve a last pat or two with the napkin. “We’re in the desert so things dry quickly. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”
He gave me a look reserved for the eccentric and insane. “Thank you,” he said. I think he surprised himself by saying it. I smiled. Dinner was announced.
I had little experience with five-star resorts and the food of the rich and famous. The meal was well presented, small portions of exotic—to me, anyway—fish and vegetables and fine cuts of foreign-bred beef. Arranged artfully with dainty garnishes and colorful sauces made it appealing to my eyes but not to my nervous stomach.
Dinner companions were friends of Doug and Wendy’s, most were owners of mid-size corporations like Doug’s, but with a variety of products from rubber stoppers for test tubes to adhesive plastic skins designed to add personality to devices like cell phones and laptop computers. The single man to my right, Gordon, had just sold his company to a large conglomerate for a substantial amount. As his alcohol consumption increased, so did the sale price and the occurrence of negative epithets against his newly divorced wife. I was not pleased when he turned his attention to me.
Of course, I was asked what I did with my life. I laughed. “I guess you could say I’m between gigs right now. I used to teach in urban Phoenix and had considered returning to that, but only today, I was blessed with a wonderful surprise that will make that unnecessary if I want it to be.”
“Well, who is he and why aren’t you with him?” a woman asked. Everyone laughed.
“It’s nothing like that. A surprising amount of money found me,” I said, trying to control my smile. I saw Doug grin to himself and look at me, I assumed appreciative for my discretion.
“How wonderful!” and such exclamations abounded for several seconds.
“Money always makes an attractive woman even more so,” Gordon slurred, looking at me with large eyes and a sly grin.
“Yes, thank you,” I said. I wanted in no way to encourage the louse.
“Well,” a woman said, “I think it’s wonderful that you spent time teaching those little immigrant children in the city. It takes a truly benevolent person to give of herself like that.” And the conversation turned to the recently passed, very controversial immigration law.
To escape Gordon and his apparent eagerness to become better acquainted, I excused myself after dinner. The line to the women’s room was long. I supposed each woman’s time was at least doubled due to the trappings of formal attire. It was unusually quiet for a group of women temporarily without the company of men.
“Another restroom designed by men, I see,” I sighed quietly.
“Seriously,” said the woman waiting in front of me. “We can spend half our evening in here just because we have to take a piss.” Some of the older women clucked disapproval at the choice of words, but I smiled, not minding.
“It’s true,” I said. Not that I had anyone to hurry back to, except a drunken Gordon if I wanted. I could wait.
The woman sighed and shook her arms at her side as if the inactivity of the wait would kill her. “My husband insists on dragging me along to these things. He grew up here and he’s such a do-gooder. His younger brother died of cancer before I met him and he has to get involved in anything he hears of that raises money for it.”
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “My mother died of cancer.” I paused. “It can be a very painful way to die.”
I wondered at my uncharacteristic openness.
“That’s what Grant says,” the woman said, seeming to soften a little. “I’m sorry about your mother.” She smiled kindly which seemed to cause a few surprised expressions on some nearby matronly faces.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Well, this gave me a chance to dress up. Something I don’t do very often. At least not to this extent.”
“I get to do this all the time. Premieres and awards and things like that. You’re not in Hollywood?”
“Me? No. Going to a movie is the closest I’ve ever gotten to Hollywood. Unless you count San Diego.”
She laughed merrily. “You’re funny! I should introduce you to Charlie. He’d like you. I’ll make sure he dances with you. He needs a good, honest, cute woman, instead of those baby girls he’s always picking up,” she said as she locked herself into an available stall.
Did she know Adonis? Charlie Winston? I wondered if he remembered his promise to dance.
“You don’t know who you were talking to, do you, dear?” an older woman said to me after Charlie’s friend had left, and I washed my hands, trying to avoid water spots on the silk.
“No,” I responded simply.
“That was Sophia St. Pierre, the movie star.”
“Oh, I thought she looked familiar.”
“You can’t be for real!” her friend said.
“Oh, I’m completely for real. Even my boobs are real.” I adjusted one by slipping my fingers into the strapless bodice and pulling it up a little, then did the same to the other. I finished by placing my hands on the outside and smushing them together only to watch everything sag again. “Even though…”
“Oh, you are funny. If she introduces you to Charlie, be careful with him. He has a reputation with the ladies,” the first one said.
“One look and you can see why,” her friend said.
“I’ll try to remember that,” I chirped.
When, after hours it seemed, I rejoined the party, I stood slightly apart and observed the scene again. Some new part of me was thrilled. All the men, even the portly ones, looked dashing and mysterious in their black ties and tuxedos, a colorful cummerbund revealing a bit of individual personality in some cases. And the women! I was fascinated by the styles and colors of the gowns, the hair and the jewels. Each looked like a queen in her own right. I could have stood there all evening just looking and smiling at the fabulous sight.
Then I spotted the infamous Charlie, who had been looking right at me. An easy smile lit up his face, and mine widened involuntarily. A feeling of pleasure warmed me and I found myself needing to breathe. Sophia St. Pierre walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm. I might have assumed they were married to each other by their casual manner together. Sophia waved at me and I waved back. Charlie simply stood there smiling. On another man I would have thought his grin silly, but I guessed mine was equal to his.
Drunken Gordon asked me to dance. I agreed reluctantly because he was a friend of Doug’s. His hands moved all over me, sampling bits of my body with pinches and squeezes as if I was a piece of fruit. When I told him quietly he was being inappropriately familiar, he gripped me closer. He grabbed my arm and only held on tighter when I attempted to yank it from his sweaty mitt and walk away.
“Please,” I said quietly. “Let’s not do this.”
“You’re just a low-life hayseed from East Dumbfuck,” he growled at me in the middle of the ballroom. “You have no business at a place like this.”
“And you’re an overstuffed, pretentious drunk who’s headed for the slammer if you don’t leave me alone,” I hissed as quietly as I could. “Take your hands off me. Now!”
There I was, dressed to the nines, in a room where I knew exactly one person and in another confrontation. Other people had made a wide area around us, curious to see how it would end, unwilling to interfere. It reminded me of the audience-attracting fights in the middle school where I had taught. Clueless as how to proceed, I wanted to sink into the floor.
“Remove your hands from the lady,” a male voice commanded.
Gordon looked around at my rescuer, scowled, and stomped off. I smiled gratefully at the dark-haired young man I reprimanded earlier.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “I had no idea what to do next.” I looked down at the floor, hard wood and shiny, made for dancing. My face burned with humiliation; I bit my lips and begged my eyes to clear.
“I’m glad I could help.” He seemed pleased with himself as he held out a hand. “Would you like to dance?”
“I would,” I said, grateful for a way out of the mortifying situation.
The people who had been watching me murmured. I heard the name of an actor, David Briggs, repeated. I put my right hand in his extended left, and my left on his shoulder.
“I don’t know where to put this one,” he said quietly, waving the leftover hand.
“My waist. Yes, that’s right.” It felt nice there.
“I guess I really should take some dance lessons in case Charlie hauls me to any more of these things,” he said.
There was that name again. However, I said, “It’s interesting that you should be my rescuer since I yelled at you earlier.”
“You didn’t yell at me. You graciously put me in my place. Thanks again.”
He was, indeed, a very inexperienced dancer. But somehow we found an easy pattern that did more than keep us circling in the same spot. I smiled up into his model-perfect face with its kindly dark brown eyes.
“Can I know the name of my gallant rescuer?” I inquired.
He laughed lightly before answering. “I’m sorry. I’m David Briggs.”
“Dang,” I muttered mostly to myself, “I’m yelling at A-listers.”
“May I have your name, fair maiden?”
Maiden? Yeah, right. “I’m Lily Mayfield.”
“Ah! A beautiful name.”
“Thank you. Let’s see, I’ve seen one of your movies recently. The last one I saw? Freeze Point. Your performance impressed me. And I’m not just saying that because I’m dancing with you.” And looking into your gorgeous young eyes. Heat rose to my face.
He flashed an amused smile. “What did you think of the film?” he asked.
“I loved it! Well, that’s not the exact word. Too many horrible things happened to love it. It was… haunting, emotional. I thought about it for days afterwards, especially the characters and their motivations. It gave me something to think about instead of insulting my intelligence. The visuals were amazing, too. It was a very satisfying experience, which is something I seldom say about a Hollywood studio movie.”
“Charlie will love to hear that,” David said.
“Charlie?”
“The writer and director.”
“He seems to be a very talented man,” I commented.
“Working with him is amazing. He knows everybody and everything about the industry. He’s a really good guy, too, has this huge heart, even though.... So different than lots of people in L.A. He kind of confuses me, though. You know how you mentioned Jesus earlier? He does that, too, but…” David stopped talking and seemed to concentrate on his feet. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”
“You’re doing great,” I assured him. “And I can say I danced with David Briggs and tell everybody what a dashing and kind young man you are.”
“You’re sweet,” he said.
The music ended and David escorted me to the edge of the dance floor.
“Thank you again,” I said, “for rescuing me. Oh, and tell your friend Charlie that the old lady you were dancing with loved his movie.”
“No, I won’t.” His smile grew large and his eyes bright. “I will tell him Lily Mayfield, the glowing woman in the deep purple gown, loved his movie.”
“Well, then also, tell him he promised me a dance.”
“I will.” He took my hand and kissed it. Smiling, he strutted away into the crowd. Adonis Junior.
The room was warm so I stepped through an open door to a terrace that overlooked a section of the golf course. A few stars showed themselves high in the sky, and I walked along a paved path in hopes of seeing them better. The cool air on my bare shoulders reminded me of the few Aprils I had lived in the desert of Phoenix. I loved that time of year there. Of course, April in Pennsylvania was lovely, too.
“Hello, again.”
The sudden male voice startled me. I looked up to see Charlie Winston.
“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think I was so scary. May I contemplate the stars with you?”
“Of course,” I said. “Did you enjoy the dinner?”
“Food at these things isn’t usually very good.”
“It was well presented, though.”
“Mmm. We could see the stars better at my place.” He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets.
I didn’t know what to say.
“They are particularly brilliant from the pool.”
Was that supposed to mean something? “My favorite place to view the stars is on a lake in Maine during the summer.” I looked over at him.
“Maine, huh? Is that where you’re from?”
“No, Philadelphia. But I lived here for a few years.”
Now he looked at me. “How did I miss you?”
“I was married.”
“That never stopped me from noticing a beautiful woman.”
“Maybe you’re not as observant as you think you are.”
He chuckled and looked back to the stars. “Score one for the lovely lady.”
Score none for you, fancy movie director.
“I don’t spend much time here, anyway,” he said.
“Neither do I, anymore.”
We looked at each other and something like a static shock pinged me, exciting my nerves, intellect and emotions. And something else, something intimate we held in common. Something sad.
At the same time we both reached out a hand to touch, but stopped. As for me, what I experienced scared me, thrilled me. I looked back to the stars while my heart pounded with a new wildness. I took in a wobbly breath.
“May I have that dance now?” he asked. Perhaps I was mistaken, but his voice sounded shaky.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He escorted me inside,
Charlie proved to be an amazing dancer, and I was unworthy of him at first. But he was patient, as if he knew something about my dancing ability that I didn’t. Adam, my brief Philadelphia boyfriend, had signed us up for dance lessons and after I got the hang of it, I wasn’t half bad. If I allowed myself the freedom to not worry about messing up or how I looked, I was even decent. And there in Phoenix, where I knew but one person and had attracted the attention of a charming, hot filmmaker, I let loose and became the devil-may-care Lily who had always desired a venue to show herself. It wasn’t like I would see any of those people again.
At first, we chatted about unimportant things. We laughed easily. My eyes sought what I had experienced earlier, hoping to confirm the connection was true. But either it wasn’t or he was a better master of himself than I. I gave up searching and simply enjoyed being beautiful and being seen as if I were the debutant at her own ball.
Then came a slow dance, romantic, dramatic with soft lighting. I thought he would want to leave the floor, but he said, “Please?” and held me around the waist. At first I wanted to resist and run away, screaming, “Too much! Too soon!” but I savored the strength of his arms around me, pretending for a few minutes I didn’t have to be strong by myself. I seemed to fit him well, the way he held me, the way one hand cradled inside his, the way the other rested on his chest and his on my back, pressing me to him, as if he drew comfort from me as well.
I think we stopped moving and simply stood together, strangers making shelter for each other in an unrelenting storm. When the music stopped, I realized I had been crying and was afraid to look up at him. But he tipped my face up with a finger under my chin and I saw his sympathetic smile, his slightly red eyes. He wiped a tear from my cheek with a thumb. My heart warmly pondered the wonder that he had shared his unspoken sadness with me.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
“Sometimes it’s better to say nothing, but simply accept the gift,” I said, as if I knew what I was talking about.
“You are a very wise woman, Lily Mayfield.”
“I have my moments,” I said.
Doug asked me to dance, and it was hard to tear myself away from Charlie. It occurred to me that maybe I was having too much fun for a widow who had come to town for an insurance settlement, sharing too much with a dangerous stranger.
“I’m glad to see you are having such a good time,” Doug said. “I’m sorry Mike’s not here to see you.”
I bit my lips at Doug’s mention of my late husband and looked down at his feet. That confused my steps, so all I could do was look at my benefactor and smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. On the other hand, that Charlie fellow really seems taken by you.”
“Do you think so?” I asked.
“Yes. And Wendy will love you forever because you’re the reason she’s dancing with him now. She’s such a celebrity nut she’ll live off this for a year.”
I also danced with Grant, Sophia’s husband, who cast suspicious glances at his wife as she danced with Charlie. After monosyllabic responses from him to my hard thought-of questions, I resigned to smile and follow the simple pattern of steps my taciturn partner set up for me.
“He really likes you!” Sophia, the superstar movie actress, said to me as she swooped me into the restroom with her, “I can tell you’re special to him. Has he asked you to spend the night with him?”
That bit of straightforwardness shocked me. I didn’t answer.
“Do you want to?”
The woman annoyed me. “No,” I said. “Well, yes, of course, but I won’t. It’s not how I do things.”
“But he’ll forget you.”
“He will anyway. There’s nothing to remember.”
She frowned at me. “But then, they never forget the ones that get away.”
“He promised to get the orchestra to play a waltz for me. I should go in case they do.”
“Lily, I’m sorry if I was pushy,” she said, touching my arm. “He’s the best friend I ever had, and he’s been through so much shit lately. I’m excited to see him happy for a while. That’s all. I get the feeling you could stand a little romance, too.”
I nodded, smiled and left.
Charlie had waited a few steps away from the restroom door. “There you are! I thought you had left.” He smiled again.
From another guy, I would have thought him crazy and desperate. But he spoke with a boyish sincerity making me remember Sophia’s words about him.
“I promise not to leave without saying good night first,” I said, hoping to reassure both of us. “Is that a waltz beginning?”
“Yes. Our waltz!” Boyish again, he pulled me into the ballroom and onto the center of the almost empty dance floor. He bowed to me, took my hand and we were off, twirling around the floor with large dramatic swirls and perfectly timed hops as if we had practiced for weeks. My dress swished and my hair fell out of the clips that had held it up all night. His lead was confident and graceful, never missing a step. His eyes searched mine for approval and I smiled it, laughed it. I felt perfect then. For the first time, for those few fleeting, breathless minutes, I was the woman I was always meant to be.
When the music ended, he bowed to the audience and I curtsied. We held hands for a second and received cheers and applause. Then, as if on cue, we turned to each other, smiled and said, “Thank you!” He surprised me with a kiss, not too much, but perfect. When we drew away and looked at each other I wondered what it would be like to sleep with him, to feel him inside me, to cry in his arms and hear him say, “I love you,” even if he didn’t mean it.
“I should go,” I said, realizing it was so late the orchestra was packing up.
“Will you turn into a pumpkin?” Charlie asked.
“No, a hayseed,” I laughed.
He smiled. “David told me.”
“Did he tell you I loved your movie?”
“Yes. Thank you, Lily Mayfield, for being here tonight.”
“I’ll never forget tonight. You made me feel like a princess.”
“Let me walk out with you,” he said.
As we waited on the portico for my car, we absorbed each other with our eyes. He touched my loose hair and asked, “May I tell you what I thought of when I learned your name?”
“Only if it’s something wonderful.”
“It is, I think.” His voice grew soft and serious. “I grew up in northern Indiana. Near my home, there was a field where there was an old stone foundation of a house that burned down a hundred years ago. People believed the land was cursed and nobody ever built on it. In the spring, in April and May, daylilies bloomed like mad. They had taken over the place. And every year as a boy I walked in the field, through the flowers. Everybody thought I was odd. And that’s what your name reminded me of.”
“That is wonderful.” I reached my hand to his cheek. He kissed the palm and then my lips. As I allowed myself to fall into it, I pictured a slender brown-haired boy smiling wistfully, stepping slowly and carefully among clumps of tall orange flowers, then running, arms spread wide to embrace the flowers, the world.
“Come home with me,” he whispered.
Despite what I had told his friend, Sophia, I was tempted. It had been so long since I felt loved, wanted, needed. It would be easy to do, easily forgotten because I would never be back in Phoenix and Scottsdale, never go to Los Angeles. Make love; catch my flight in the afternoon. People did it all the time, didn’t they?
Doug and Wendy joined us before I could answer. “You were dazzling, Lily,” Doug said. “You may have found your natural element.”
“Oh, I doubt that!” I said, breathlessly. “I happened to be here with the right people.”
“I think, Lily,” Charlie said, “you are a woman of many talents the world has yet to see.”
“Thank you, Charlie. You’re very sweet.” It was time to draw the fairy tale to a close.
Charlie’s friends joined us as well, and we made introductions.
“Thank you again for rescuing me, David,” I said to the young man as he stifled a yawn. “You’ll always be my hero.”
“Then it was totally worth putting on this monkey suit tonight,” he said.
We laughed. Sophia said as their car pulled up, “Charlie, make sure you get her phone number!”
So I exchanged hugs with Sophia and David and a handshake with Grant. I pressed in my number when Charlie handed his phone to me.
“Call me if you ever get to Philly,” I said. “Or if you need a partner for a waltz.”
He took a business card from his pocket and wrote on the back before he slipped it between my dress and my skin, allowing his fingers to linger. “That’s my personal number if you want to call me sometime.”
“Like you’ll remember me after you get back to all the hot girls in L.A.”
“How can I ever forget Princess Lily Mayfield?”
He smiled down at me and kissed me again, but lightly. He helped me into the car and stooped to arrange my dress around my legs so it wouldn’t become caught in the door. As he stood he looked as afraid as I was to be alone again.
“Farewell, Princess,” he murmured. He stepped back and the door closed with a resolutely secure thunk.
~*~
Later, back in my hotel room, after I removed the dress and all the other artifices that had created the very temporary Princess Lily Mayfield, I picked up the small box Doug had given me that morning after proclaiming me a multi-millionaire.
“These are some things of Mike’s we found in his truck and in his office here,” Doug had solemnly said. “I’m so sorry about what happened to him. I tried to help, to keep everything confidential, but he…” Regret shadowed his voice.
I accepted the box with quiet thanks.
I didn’t open it that night. It had been over a year since the nightmare that had become my marriage ended. I had found blame and guilt in that time and had lost God and hope.
A little of Charlie Winston’s magic remained with his scent on my skin. It would be gone with the light of morning. I didn’t want to chase it away.
Chapter 2
~*~
“What the—!” A small red sports car zoomed in front of me from nowhere. I had to slam on the breaks of my BMW to avoid a collision. The male driver of the other car never looked back. He pulled into a handicapped spot by the door. No handicapped plate, no placard hanging from the mirror.
“I hope you get ticketed, you bastard,” I snarled. Why had I decided to live in Scottsdale, land of entitlement? Simply because I now had a few dollars?
It was still a little early to go to the classroom for the non-credit film course I signed up for at Scottsdale Community College. I didn’t want to sit alone awkwardly waiting for it to fill up so I went to the bookstore and bought two optional books about cinema. The college had a pretty extensive film program. If I could dredge up some interest in anything, I could take some classes to add on to my useless filmmaking minor back from my original college days.
When I arrived at the classroom, a small auditorium, I entered and kept my hand behind me on the crash bar so it wouldn’t clatter when the heavy wooden institutional door closed. All the easy-to-access seats in the back were taken, so I reluctantly headed down the long steps to the front row. I sat quickly, hoping to be unnoticed by the man in the front with his back to the class, the instructor, I assumed. The school’s blurb in the Arts section of the Arizona Republic said he was an award-winning film director. If so, what was he doing teaching a free course at a community college?
I watched movies lately. Lots of movies. I knew before my therapist told me it was my way of avoiding my past and decisions needed to build my future. With all the movie channels, DVR, the library, video-on-demand, the constantly coming and going Netflix DVDs and internet streaming, I could have movies 24/7. Once or twice a week I made the effort to leave my apartment to go to a theater, coupling that trip with grocery shopping or other necessary errands. Of course, many of the movies were drivel, but they killed as much time as award winning classics. I never paid any attention to directors, very little to actors, mostly just the story. Maybe if I had someone to talk with about them, it could be counted as therapy.
In the auditorium, groups of people who knew each other clustered together. Some appeared to be retired, and they sat talking about Wisconsin or the Chicago Cubs. There were also several small groups of young people who chatted while they checked their cell phones or tapped in text. I was the only one my age and the only one alone.
The story of my new life.
I pulled a new book out of my tote bag and pretended to read it, trying to ease the perpetual scowl from my face. I was there for one reason: to make my damn therapist happy. Sandra told me she didn’t think she’d be able to help me if I didn’t get out with people.
“You’re letting yourself rot away, Lily,” she had said at a recent session. “I know it’s not the real you I see in here every week with your angry eyes and sad sighs. Don’t kill the Lily I haven’t met.”
I crossed my arms over my abdomen tightly like a petulant child.
“I hate to say this, but we may have to reassess my ability to help you. I hate to waste your money if we can’t make progress.”
“I have plenty of money to waste,” I muttered.
“Well, that may be, but what about time? Nobody has any of that to waste. Here’s your assignment. Go out and do something besides a movie. Sign up for a class or a group. Go shopping and ask the salesperson for help. Go to a bar and get a phone number! Bring me some kind of evidence.”
“Evidence!”
“Yes,” Sandra said. “I need you to be accountable and not just make up something.”
I knew what she was saying. Some of my past students had lied to me all the time. So I signed up for the free non-credit class that ran only eight weeks and got the registration receipt. How much could it hurt?
“Here’s a syllabus you might be interested in. It’s good to have you here. I hope you enjoy the course.” A man’s hand, the instructor I assumed, held a small packet of paper between my face and the book.
Great, more evidence.
“Thank you. I’m sure I will,” I said without looking up.
“Let’s roll!” the same voice called in a commanding tone. The talking immediately ceased and I wished I’d had that authority when I was teaching. The director began the class with a brief introduction of himself while I was still looking over the syllabus.
“If you want credit you’re out of luck because I told the administration I don’t like reading papers. I read enough bad screenplays and don’t need to add any other horrific writing to my life.”
He appreciated the laughs from the audience. After teaching sixth grade for ten years, I knew all about bad writing.
“What I hope to accomplish is to give you some cinematic history along with some of the thinking filmmakers do when developing and producing a movie. A little bit of my history…I’ve been working in Hollywood for just over twenty-five years. I started out…”
His voice seemed familiar…
I glanced at the top page of the syllabus, doing a double take when I saw the instructor’s name. Charlie Winston. My mind skipped back to that evening almost a year ago. That fairy tale evening of that fateful day that had brought both blessings and curses.
I dared a glance at the man, seeing him once again in the formal tux that he wore with casualness. Today, as I observed his bouncy steps, remembering how as we danced, I thought he was so at home in his body, something I had never really experienced. His long slender legs in his well-fitted jeans carried him up and down the steps of the auditorium with graceful easiness. He used his arms and hands dramatically as he talked. I remembered his interest, kindness, humor. I remembered feeling like a princess, feeling beautiful, remembered he had given me his phone number. And kisses.
I shut my mind to that, to focus on the class, trying to pretend he was a complete stranger. He most likely didn’t remember me, anyway. Why would he? But I heard his friend’s voice: “They never forget the ones that get away.”
“I think sharing ideas about film is important,” Charlie Winston was saying as I re-entered reality. “Discussion of what we watch enriches the overall personal and social experience by broadening insights into the story elements as we explore our ideas with others. So, we’re going to do a little icebreaker—”
I rolled my eyes. I hated icebreakers. I think he noticed.
“Find someone you don’t know—make sure you don’t know them—and interview them for a few minutes. Decide who will go first and when I say ‘switch,’ reverse roles. Then we’ll have a few of you share what you learned about each other.”
I hoped to remain unnoticed, an innate skill, so I didn’t stand.
“Oh, no. No wallflowers,” Charlie Winston said and motioned to an older gentleman to come meet me.
“I’m Glen.” The man smiled as he held out his hand to me. The instructor stepped away.
“I’m Lily,” I said and answered Glen’s questions and asked him a few of my own when we were directed to switch roles.
I turned in my seat to meet my classmates as they were introduced, if only to be polite. I wasn’t really interested in Wanda from Iowa, Harris from Detroit, Dean, a student at ASU, or Betty from Indiana.
“Indiana? Where about in Indiana?” Charlie asked Betty with a huge smile.
“Anderson,” the grandmotherly Betty replied.
“I was born and raised in Elkhart,” he said.
“Oh, with the Amish,” Betty said.
I had lived in Lancaster County, PA, another Amish area. Before we moved, before everything went bad. Charlie and I hadn’t talked about our pasts that evening.
“I still miss the food.” He turned to me. I gulped. “Please tell us about your partner.”
Get it over with, I thought. I could tell Sandra I even spoke in front of the class.
I stood and said, “This is Glen. He’s here with his wife, Jean.” A woman in a purple jacket waved. “They’re snowbirds from Wisconsin and this is their second winter here. Glen was a dentist before he retired. I asked how he could stand looking in people’s mouths all day. He replied, ‘Old cars.’”
“That’s my Glen,” Jean called from near the back. People laughed.
“He bought a reconditioned 1968 Camaro at the recent Barrett-Jackson auction and he loves his poodle almost as much as he loves Jean to whom he’s been married forty-five years. His favorite movie is The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”
“Wah, wah, waah.” Dean crooned the iconic first three notes of that movie’s theme, bringing about more laughter.
“Great! Your turn, Glen,” Charlie said.
“All righty. This is Lily. She lives in Scottsdale now, after spending time in Pennsylvania and the West Valley here. She taught 6th grade for ten years and lived to tell about it.”
Everybody laughed.
“She’s single and has a grown daughter in Philadelphia. She plays the piano among other instruments. Her favorite movie—at this time she qualified—is Edward Scissorshands for reasons she declined to expound on.”
“Edward Scissorshands,” Charlie said with a sly grin. “Interesting.” He paused for a second to look at me before he went on. “Great. Let’s talk a little bit about D.W. Griffiths and The Birth of a Nation. Even though it’s over ninety-five years old, it’s still regarded as…”
After introducing the movie and its impact on modern cinematography, he dimmed the lights of the auditorium with a remote. “Damn,” he muttered when the movie failed to start. He relit the room and strode to the projector that was hooked up to a laptop computer.
“I can make the things,” he said, “but evidently I can’t play them. Good thing I’m not a projectionist, huh? Can anybody help?”
It surprised me that not even one of the young people came forward.
I left my seat and took the few steps to the projector and checked the connections.
“I accidentally unplugged something,” he said running his hands through his longish hair. “Maybe I didn’t plug it back in right.”
“Oh, here. I always forgot to do this…press this key. There we go.” We looked at the screen and saw what we hoped for.
Our eyes met and he smiled at me. “Lily. Do I know you?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I lied.
“I think we met at a party in L.A.”
“I’ve never been there.” I said and returned to my seat.
“Let’s hear it for Lily who saved the day,” Charlie cheered, leading the applause. “Here we go. The Birth of a Nation.”
After the movie appeared on the screen in its scratchy black and white, he sat in the aisle seat of the first row, slouched, with the ankle of one long leg resting on the knee of the other. I pondered my reasons for not admitting we had spent some time together. Mostly, I decided, I was more messed up now then I was then, when I was beginning to see myself coming clear of the smoky destruction of my marriage, my life. But one event of the past year rocked the little hope I had in myself, God, life in general. I literally almost let it kill me.
He looked over and smiled at me. During the screening, he made several comments to the audience about camera usage that was innovative at the time but commonplace today. He also whispered a few to me, but I was unsure how to respond so I nodded and looked back to the screen, squinting, hoping I could see what he meant.
“All right,” he said, jumping up suddenly, “we’re going to stop it here. It runs just over three hours. It’s in the public domain and some websites are listed in your syllabus where you can watch it for free. Comments?”
“It’s so racist!” one of the young people said.
“It makes the KKK look like heroes,” one of the older people said.
“There were riots in a few cities when it played,” Charlie said, “so other cities refused to let it show. And at least one murder has been attributed to it.”
“Maybe those religious people who are against movies have a point,” an older man said.
“Ah! Now there’s a topic for discussion,” Charlie said. I could tell he was getting excited as any good teacher does when students begin to make connections. “Should films or any art form, be limited or censored because some people don’t agree with the topic or the way it is portrayed?”
“What if it causes violence or perpetuates hate, like this did?’ someone said.
“It’s just a story,” said Glen, “to be interpreted by the viewer. Any actions taken by the viewer are the responsibility of the viewer and not the filmmaker.”
“Are you saying filmmakers aren’t responsible for the content of their work?” someone else asked.
Glen shrugged.
“You look like you want to say something, Lily,” Charlie said.
I had been making faces, twisting my mouth as I do when I’m thinking and holding back my thoughts. “I think filmmakers, or artists are responsible for telling the truth,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was speaking to the whole class! “At least, as they see it. Then that gets into the arguments of absolute truth verses relative truth. A lot of changes have occurred in our culture, therefore the thinking of individuals has…evolved Since 1915 so the ideas that Griffiths expounded are viewed differently now than they were then. If nothing else, seeing someone else’s version of the truth gives us insight into what others believe.”
“If truth varies from person to person,” said an older person, “it’s not the truth then, is it?”
I bit my lips together to control rising emotion. “I understand what you’re saying.” And with that, I stopped talking.
After class, I went to a coffee shop on campus and sat at an outside table with my laptop, hoping to write a bit of the memoir I had started about the end of my marriage. Sandra suggested it might be a good way to clarify events, to sort them out and put them away somewhere in my psyche so I could move on with the rest of my life. However, I simply sat at a table and sipped my coffee, mindlessly observing life around me. At least I was getting out among people. I had taken enough steps for one day.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Charlie Winston’s voice startled me. Like that night…
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No problem,” I said putting on as large a smile as I could muster. How’s that, Sandra?
“That was a great discussion, wasn’t it?” Charlie said, shoving a small piece of yellow paper in his messenger bag. “Damn parking ticket. Do you mind if I eat?” He sat and unwrapped a sandwich.
“No, go ahead. Is the ticket for parking in a handicapped spot?”
He took a huge bite of his sandwich and nodded, squinted at me and chewed.
“It was you, then. You cut me off in the parking lot before class.”
“I did? Sorry.”
“My wish came true and you got a ticket.”
“Do all your wishes come true?” He put the sandwich down, pulled a paper out of his messenger bag and checked his cell phone as I stared at my computer screen. I felt his eyes on me. I had thought of him a few times and wondered how he would react if I called him. Maybe he would say, “Who? How did you get this number?” or, “If you think I’m your kid’s father, talk to my attorney.” Or maybe, “Lily Mayfield? I remember you! Dance any good waltzes lately?” I closed my computer and looked up at him.
“It is you!” I felt my jaw drop as his smile of wonder grew wider and brighter. “Princess Lily Mayfield. We met last year at some gala—The Cancer Society, I think. We danced! Remember?”
I nodded, looking down at the table.
“Remember that amazing waltz?”
I nodded again. So many tears ago.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“It’s just been a really hard year,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry. It was for me, too. It wasn’t because of that settlement you received the day we met, was it?”
“Not directly.”
“We never called each other, did we?”
“No.”
“Are you in town for a while?”
“I live here now.”
“Right. Can I still call you?”
I paused and looked at his eyes. I remembered them, remembered the magic of the evening again.
“Yes. I would like that. I should go.”
Charlie stood with me and took my hand, looking at me like I could save him.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said. “Really good. I’ll call soon.”
Chapter 3
~*~
At home, in my rented two-bedroom condo, I lay down on the couch and consciously dug up the memories of the gala I had worked hard to bury. I had floated through my life for a few days after that, feeling lovely and worthy of life’s goodness. My pleasing appearance and the attention from handsome, charming and successful men were new experiences for me and gave me hope my life was not over.
In Philadelphia, two days after the gala, I took a taxi home from the airport instead of the train. The Fishtown neighborhood where I shared a house with my daughter, Annie, bloomed with springtime possibilities, although the late afternoon wind chilled the sunshine. The next day, I took Annie and Adam, my former boyfriend, out to dinner to share the news.
Annie’s reaction shocked me. She and her father had been very close. At times I suspected she blamed the failure of our marriage entirely on me and refused to understand that all relationships involve two individuals and both of their choices.
“You what?” she squawked in the restaurant. Her lovely face reddened with rage and she pounded the table once with her fists. “You accepted blood money? Daddy goes insane because of you and kills himself and you get paid ten million dollars?”
“Half of it is yours, Sweetie,” I said.
“I don’t want a cent! How could you, Mother? You’re sick!” she screamed and ran out, leaving poor Adam standing, looking at her receding back.
In the following weeks, Annie moved in with friends, leaving me alone in the row home we rented. Without her, the place seemed dingy and dreary, even with spring all around and funds to do whatever I wanted. She didn’t return my calls. Finally I received a note in the mail telling me she didn’t want to see me ever again.
The final straw occurred one day three months after she had moved out. On Frankford Avenue, we found ourselves coincidentally walking toward each other. She looked at me, swept her long honey blonde hair behind her shoulder and crossed over to the other side of the street. My heart gave up and crumbled into a million pieces.
At times I found myself holding a sharp knife over my wrist in the kitchen. Or standing on a subway platform and wondering what it would feel like to be hit by a train. I rented a car for a week and drove to the town in Lancaster County where Mike and I raised Annie and looked at old farmhouses, thinking I could buy and renovate one and be among friends. But my friends were the same and I was different. Even though it was beautiful and quiet and familiar, it would never be home again.
So I decided to return to Arizona and moved to the East Valley of the greater Phoenix area instead of the West where I had lived with Mike. The sunshine mocked my depression but I decided to give counseling a try before I gave up hope for good, so I could tell myself I did everything I could. Sandra was the third therapist I met with. I decided to stick with her. For some reason, she didn’t piss me off as much as the others.
When Charlie’s movie, Freeze Point, came out on DVD, I bought it and watched it over and over, sometimes freezing it on his face during a scene where he appeared in a cameo as some directors like to do. I wondered what would have happened if I had accepted his invitation to go home with him to look at the stars from his pool. Sometimes I wondered if that evening really happened at all, or if it was simply a figment of my lonely bored mind and underutilized imagination.
But it wasn’t, because a year later he remembered me and admitted it. I didn’t expect him to ever call so I was very surprised when he did a few hours after the class.