Savannah snorted. “Hardly. She’s too girly.’’
“I don’t know. She’s part Gypsy. Very hot-blooded.’’
Savannah cocked her head. “You didn’t really believe that load of crap she tries to sell, did you? The woman’s family roots go back generations in Fort Wayne, Indiana.’’
“You’re kidding.’’
“Nope; she’s a hundred-percent, milk-fed Midwesterner. You gotta be careful, Mace. Stick with the Hollywood people who don’t lie. Like me. Just as friends, of course.’’
“What the hell?’’ I finally said. “Working cattle in Wyoming sounds pretty good.’’
I tipped my bottle to hers. We clinked to seal the deal.
_____
The hands on the bucking bronc clock behind the bar were almost at midnight. Suddenly, I felt the weight of the day’s events dragging me down toward exhaustion. I still had a long drive ahead of me to my cottage.
I yelled down the bar. “Can I get a Coke over here?’’
The bartender brought me a tall glass with ice, and two cans of soda. “Drink ’em both, Mace. I want you wide awake driving way out there on State Road 98.’’
I peered at his face. His cheeks were ruddy. Broken veins crisscrossed his bulbous nose. He had a lot of miles on him. If I had to guess, I’d say a lot of them had been driven drunk.
“I’m sorry.’’ I smiled. “Do I know you?’’
“Name’s Clyde, from down in Clewiston. I used to date your mama.’’
“Who didn’t?’’
The activity at the bar was winding down. Savannah was about to depart. “I have to be up early to pack,’’ she said. “The shoot’s almost over. I’m leaving in the morning.’’
Toby had abandoned the girls on the dance floor. He sat now at Johnny’s table, leaning close and listening to the assistant director. Toby’s presence made Johnny look so absurdly happy that I felt sorry for him. I hoped the young star decided who he wanted to be before he broke the poor guy’s heart.
An excited murmur moved through the bar, heralding the arrival of a Hollywood VIP. Poised at the open door, Kelly Conover prepared to make a dramatic entrance. Stealing a glance at himself in the mirror, the bartender spit on his thumb and then used it to smooth his unruly unibrow. Too bad he didn’t have time to trim the stray hairs from his nose and ears, too.
I wondered just how long ago it was that Mama dated him.
I was just about to tease the barkeep about his Kelly crush—No fool like an old fool—when I saw her grin over her shoulder. She laughed, that famous sweet-dessert-and-a-side-of-sex giggle. Whoever was behind her, holding the door open, must have said something really funny.
A moment later, I saw Kelly’s companion, hand placed possessively at the small of her back. If I hadn’t grabbed the bar rail, I would have tumbled off my stool from the shock.
Kelly either didn’t know or didn’t care that she was with my painfully recent ex-beau. She sent me a cheerful wave across the Eight Seconds barroom. Carlos seemed too captivated by the radiance of this star to even glance my way.
I felt all those peanuts melding into an iron cannonball in my stomach. Offering Kelly a curt nod, I turned back to count the ice cubes in my glass of soda.
Please, God, don’t let them come over here.
The man upstairs must have taken pity on me because the two of them headed for a booth in the back. Most people stared openly as they passed. Only one other patron in the bar watched as surreptitiously as I did. From his vantage point a few stools down, Sam Dobbs also tried to make it look like the last thing he was doing was following Carlos and Kelly’s progress in the mirror.
As soon as they ducked into a high-backed booth, I caught Sam’s eye. Leaning past a tattooed redhead next to me, I lifted my glass to him. Sam returned my toast, and added a dejected shrug.
Poor Sam. Poor me. What a couple of saps.
On the jukebox, Willie Nelson began to croon “Always on My Mind,’’ stirring up all kinds of memories. Carlos and I danced to that tune at Mama’s wedding, which was just about the last time things felt right between us.
The movie star and my ex got up to dance to what had been “our song,’’ I felt like the mule in the movie company’s corral had just kicked me in the gut. When the song ended, Savannah left me with a pat on the back and a pitying look.
I’d had all I could take. I left a five for shaggy brow, and scooped my keys off the bar. I cut across the far edge of the dance floor, but it wasn’t far enough to avoid the sight of Kelly gazing up into Carlos’s face with adoration. His hand low on her back pulled her close, as he stared dreamily into those famous green eyes.
I couldn’t compete with her body or her looks. But she was Hollywood-style nutty, wasn’t she? Would Carlos really choose a shallow, mixed-up starlet over me?
Of course he would; especially when the starlet was the same All-American beauty who once gave a come-hither smile from a poster on the wall of his bedroom. Kelly was older, maybe, but she was just as beautiful as the teenaged boy’s fantasy she used to be.
As I pushed open the barroom door, I thought I caught a reflection in the small porthole window. I thought Carlos was watching me leave. I spun around, only to realize he wasn’t looking after all.
A breeze brushed my face as I stepped outside. I was grateful. Maybe the clean night air would help dry the tears that had begun to wet my cheeks.
I stumbled over a chunk of rock in the gravel parking lot, nearly falling on my butt. I wasn’t drunk. I’d ordered light beers, which went down like water. Nope, I was blinded by tears. I brushed them away, angry at myself for letting Carlos get to me. Of course he’d prefer a screen idol. Who wouldn’t?
Well, me for one. Greg Tilton had been interested. But all I could see was Carlos when the movie star looked at me. I wished I could take back that moment in the fake graveyard, when Carlos asked if we were truly broken up. I wanted to say no. Instead, I said nothing. If only I could have a do-over, I’d make things right again.
Wending my way through the rows of parked vehicles, I looked for my Jeep. That’s when I spotted Barbara’s gleaming Jaguar at the lot’s far corner. Among the beat-up cars and mud-splattered trucks, it looked as out of place as a high-fashion model at the Walmart.
The driver’s door was open, and the interior light lit. Barbara leaned against the door, facing me. Even though Paul had his back to me, I recognized him by the long gray ponytail snaking down the back of his motorcycle jacket.
Her arms were crossed over her chest as she listened to him, a scowl painted on her face. Taking cover behind a hulking Chevy Silverado four-by-four, I inched close enough to hear them. The cab on the massive truck was taller than me.
“The fact you’re throwing away money isn’t even the main thing, Paul. You’ve lost your touch. ‘’
“But …’’
She hissed, “The dailies look like crap. You’ve lost your touch. You may have been a great director, once. But you’ve become a no-talent hack.’’
Paul’s face reddened. He leaned into her. “How would you know? The only talent you ever had was for marrying the right man way back when.’’
“You’ve pegged one thing: I did marry right. And my ex-husband would have never stood for what’s been happening on this set. Over budget. Bad PR. Out-of-control stars …’’
He stepped menacingly toward Barbara, his face inches from hers. “Well, Norman’s not here anymore, is he?’’
Drunken laughter carried our way. Paul stepped back, and both of them turned their heads toward the sound. Two cowboys wove through the parking lot. The shorter of the two propped up his buddy, who was about to lose the straw Resistol teetering on his head. As the men passed by, Paul and Barbara glared at each other, eyes spitting sparks.
A truck door slammed nearby, and then the short cowpoke came back alone. His buddy was probably already snoring from the front seat, sleeping it off.