Page 76 of Forget About Me

I pull out all my sense memory training, and do my best to impose Lucy’s voice, Lucy’s scent and Lucy’s smile over Court’s, but it’s no good. I’m stuck in my head, judging what I’m doing, chasing my tail trying to hit my marksandstay loose while showering Court with my attention. The scowl I catch on Don’s face tells me my fake version of a guy in love without a care in the world isn’t cutting it.

Thankfully, Court asks for a break just when my head’s about to explode with the effort of trying to look I don’t have a care in the world.

“I feel like I’m getting shiny. Am I shiny?” Court waves at Ricky, the makeup artist, who comes trotting over.

“You’re gorgeous, darlin’ but I’ll powder you up.” After dusting her, he gives me a swipe and mutters, “There’s a girl over by the honey wagon who’s claiming to be a friend of yours, but don’t worry, we’ve got her corralled.”

“Thanks, Ricky.” We’ve been dodging tourists all day, but thankfully no one has been too obnoxious. “Oh, wait. Does she have a little gray dog with her?”

He purses his lips. “Maybe? I can check.”

“If her name is Lucy, then she is a friend—my girlfriend, actually—and she might need to drop off my dog. She’s had him all morning.” Lucy doesn’t have to work at the vet’s today—naturally the one morning we both have off this week I end up having to do this—but she has clients this afternoon.

“I’ll check.”

“Thanks, man.”

Moments later, a familiar face peeks around the edge of a lighting flag and she’s got a wicked glint in her eye. At first, I’m not sure what she’s up to when she puts a finger to her lips and mouths “shhh.” Ducking behind the flag again, just her fingertips reappear, followed by stiff arms, and then her torso. She’s doing the mime thing where you pretend to be flying, the goof. Looking over at me, she waves like she’s surprised to see me and then zooms off again. In the next few minutes, she runs through every cheesy thing I used to do to get her to crack up when we were kids—pretending to walk down stairs, having a pencil stuck in your throat, having your face stuck in the elevator door.

And it’s works. When we go again, I’m still smiling.

“There we go! That’s what I’ve been waiting for!” Don’s camera cranks and I’ve got it now. Even though I can’t see her anymore, I manage to hang on to the feeling.

It’s not just that I love her. In the past few weeks, she’s helped me bridge a gap between old Ben and new Ben and right now, I’m riding on a wave of hope that I can bring the two halves of myself—and my life—together. That I can feel pain and guilt but also joy. That it’s okay to be alive.

Finally, we get a break and I can’t get to her fast enough. When I find her waiting on a park bench, I haul her to her feet and capture her gorgeous face in my palms, whispering, “How did you know I needed that?”

She takes my hands from her face and presses them to her heart. “Because I know you Ben Porter.”

She’s right. So fuck the makeup—Ricky can fix it—I need my girl so gather her close to kiss her, breathe in her scent, and crush her curves in my hands. The sound of Puck barking and the popping of flashbulbs barely register. All I can think is that I don’t want to leave her behind ever again.

Late the next night, after our Thursday night show, after we’ve made love and I’ve got Lucy spooning in my arms, just as I’m about to let this long day go and fall into sleep, my phone rings. “What the fuck?” I groan. “It’s after midnight.”

The answering machine picks up. “Ben. Man, what did I tell you about being careful with your image. There’s a photo of you kissing that nobody—”

Sprinting to the kitchen, I grab the phone before Kirk can say anything worse. “Kirk! Shut the fuck up, man. I told you, Lucy is my girlfriend, not some”—I can’t believe he’s calling her fat again, Lucy had enough issues with that when she was a kid—“random woman. I’m not going to hide that.” He goes on for a bit about how we’re in the National Enquirer and some other crap until I cut him off, saying that it’s late and there’s nothing I can do about it now and I’ll call him tomorrow.

When I crawl back into bed, I discover that my wish that Lucy slept through the whole thing has not come true.

“Why do you work for a guy like that?” she asks.

Thankful that she doesn’t seem to be too hurt by his words, I sigh and take her hand. “I know he’s kind of a jerk—”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, he’s a huge asshole. Or he can be. He’s just got tunnel vision. All he knows is that world out there.” I wave in the general direction of California. Taking Lucy’s hand, I pull it to my chest. “Thing is, when I first moved out west, I was a mess, and he really took care of me. Gave me a job when my internship ran out, helped my find a place to live, even lent me a car until I could afford to buy one. So I think he still kind of thinks of me as this kid he has to look out for. He forgets that now he works for me.” I squeeze her hand. “I forget, too. But I’m going to work on that.”

“Is it true what he said? Do you have to be careful about being seen with me?”

I blow out a breath. “I mean, sort of? If I want to try and have a career as a leading man in movies or something, I guess I have to maintain a certain image. But I still don’t know if I want to try for that. I want to keep acting—real acting—but I don’t know if I can live like the guys here do. Will and Randall, I mean. I don’t know if I can bartend to support my acting career. But nobody here can make a living just doing theater.”

I smooth the wrinkle that has formed between her brows during my monologue. “I need to figure it out, but whatever happens, you’re in on the plan. I’m not hiding us. Not this time, I promise.”

After a big yawn, she nods. “Okay, I guess.”

Sliding my arm around her shoulders, I pull her in close. “No more secrets, right?”

Except that one big secret that I still haven’t managed to spill.

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