“I’m more prone to hang back and wait too long,” I said. “Sometimes I hesitate. Wish I knew what was coming next. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds like we need to meet in the middle.”
“Maybe. But I’m glad you’re here, Tia. I think you’ll be a breath of fresh air. We need a new vibe.”
Jason coughed. Loudly. I looked his way and he turned his attention back to the camera. Hmm. Maybe he didn’t care for the new vibe.
“Just hope people will accept me.” She glanced at Jason then the other tech guys. “Might not make much sense to some of these people that I’m here and Mark’s not. Women still have to fight for their place in the industry.”
“Tell me about it.” I paused. “But the way I look at it, things don’t always make sense to us. They don’t have to. That’s part of the adventure. Some things in life defy explanation.”
“Right. Like my crazy family, for instance.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that exactly, but I smiled anyway.
She dove into a conversation about how great it was going to be to work with a live studio audience again. Then she went off about something having to do with the multicamera setup, but she lost me when she got to the part where she started discussing camera angles. To be honest, my focus was on Grandma Lenora, who’d cozied up to us in her eye-popping red gown. Her eyeliner was a bit wobbly, as always, but she looked dazzling in every other respect. More than dazzling, actually. If someone turned a spotlight on her, she’d light up the city.
Tia, God bless her, managed just one word: “Wow.” I’d have to explain later. If she wanted to be part of the Stars Collide family, she had to accept Lenora Worth as a substitute grandmother figure.
Athena passed by with scripts in hand—a welcome distraction. The dark-haired beauty gave me a little wave, then turned her attention to Grandma and let out a whistle. “Who are we today, Lenora?” she asked.
My grandmother grinned. “Ethel Merman. There’s No Business Like Show Business. 1954.”
“Ooh, love that one!” Athena said. “Watched it over and over with my mom when I was a kid.” She continued to pass out scripts, handing one off to Scott, who watched all of this with a smile.
“So did I,” Jana called out.
“Me too!” Tia added, now joining in.
“I auditioned for a role in that movie as a teenager, fresh off the farm,” Grandma said with a wave of her hand. “I was always a little jealous that Ethel got the role and not me. But I was a nobody back then. Just a silly little Midwest girl with dreams of grandeur. Had to wait another four or five years before I got my big shot.” Grandma giggled. “Those were the good old days, though. Back then the men were so suave and debonair. Why, they practically swept the women off their feet.” A dreamy-eyed look came over her and for a minute I thought we’d lost her. For more than a minute, actually.
“Oh, but I must disagree,” Scott said, dropping his script into a chair. He swept her into his arms and danced with her across the set. “These are the good old days.” He began to sing “There’s No Business Like Show Business” in an upbeat, rhythmic way, and before long she joined in.
Grandma gave an Ethel Merman–esque performance that made everyone on the set cheer. Scott played along every step of the way, even when she changed keys a couple of times. Man. This guy continued to amaze me. Who knew he could dance? And had such great pitch? Best of all, he’d made my grandmother’s fondest memories a current reality. I had to give him credit for that. He really knew how to make a lady feel special. That much was obvious from the look of bliss on Grandma’s face. And the rush of warmth that passed over me as I watched.
Something about seeing her in Scott’s arms reminded me of that Scripture about God singing over us. If I closed my eyes, I could almost envision the Almighty—so loving, so sensitive to my needs—sweeping me into his arms at just the right moment for a waltz around the dance floor while he sang words of love over me. His timing was even more perfect than Scott’s. And his pitch was certainly better than my grandmother’s.
I looked over at Scott and happened to catch his eye. He gave me a boyish smile, and I felt that catch in my throat. Sure, I’d been taken in by his good looks and great acting. That’s what had drawn me to him initially. But what held me steady now was his heart. I had no doubt it really was made of gold. Only a man with a heart after God could be so sensitive to the needs of others. If I’d learned one thing about Scott Murphy over the years, it was that he truly lived to serve—and love—others.
Right now, he kept my grandmother mesmerized with his singing and dancing. Who knew we had a Donald O’Connor in our midst? Round and round they went, Grandma’s eyes closing as she allowed him to fully take the lead.
Tia watched all of this, clearly mesmerized. So much for being all business. So far we were anything but. Then again, we hadn’t started filming yet. In fact, we hadn’t even read this week’s script.
A couple of the kids took Scott’s actions as a cue and flew to the set to begin performances of their own. Candy burst into a rousing rendition of “Memories” from Cats, and little Joey began an interesting—albeit loud—tap routine. Maddy took Ethan by the hand and they began to dance in silly circles, soon growing dizzy. A few of the others began pounding along with makeshift drumsticks, and one boy even started a funny, nonsensical rap.
Before long, Scott and Grandma had incorporated the kids into their dance, and within minutes they all formed a conga line around the set.
Tia watched all of this with a look of—what was that, horror?—on her face. Well, until Scott extended a hand and asked her to join the line. She looked at me, eyes wide, and I shrugged.
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” I called out.
And with that, we both jumped in line.
7
Real People
On Saturday morning, Scott took me for a drive to Laguna Beach. As we headed south on the Pacific Coast Highway, I leaned my head back against the seat and listened to the worship music coming through his amazing stereo system. Nothing soothed the soul like great worship tunes.
A slight tilt of the head and I caught a glimpse of the Pacific to my right. Who could ask for more? God surely knew what he was doing when he created those fabulous waters, and merging them with songs of praise only made the whole experience more spectacular.
Scott interrupted my moment of reverie. “Want to stop for food first, then take it to the beach?”
“Sure.” I turned to him with a smile, my heart still filled with thoughts of worship. “What did you have in mind?”
He grinned. “Johnny Rockets okay?”
“Are you kidding? It’s one of my favorites. I love their chocolate shakes.”
“So that’s how you keep your slim, trim figure.” He waggled his brows at me and I laughed.
“I won’t be slim and trim much longer if I eat at Johnny Rockets, but a little won’t hurt, right?” I gave him a wink and he reached to squeeze my hand.
“Right.”
After locating a place to park—never easy near the PCH, especially in Laguna—we made our way to Johnny Rockets. The tiny room was crowded, as always, but I loved the ambience. The ’50s decor really made you feel like you’d stepped back in time, and the individual jukeboxes at each table offered that extra oomph.
After ordering a couple of burgers and shakes to go, we walked across the traffic-heavy PCH to the most gorgeous stretch of white sand on the planet. Well, close. I’d loved this area of Laguna for as long as I could remember. And with the tourist season in full force, we were surrounded on every side. Usually I worried about being spotted or harassed in some way—and I knew Scott did too—but today we just ignored that possibility. Between the baseball caps and sunglasses we’d both donned, we could pass for ordinary beachgoers. Hoped so, anyway.
As soon as we reached the beach, I pulled off my sandals and carried them in my left hand. My right held the chocolate shake I’d ordered.
I caught a whiff of that familiar scent of coconut suntan oil. Mmm. A lingering breath escaped, and I paused to wriggle my feet deep into the white sand. “I love the feel of the sand between my toes.”
“See, that’s the difference between growing up in Arkansas and growing up in California,” Scott said. “The only thing between my toes back home came courtesy of the critters we kept in the barn at night.”
My laugh that erupted morphed into an ungirlish snort, and a couple of people glanced my way. I ducked my head and kept walking, trying to blend into the crowd. I took a sip of my chocolate shake, savoring its creamy goodness. Could this day possibly get any better?
“What about that spot right there?” He pointed to a space off to our left with more sand than people, and I readily agreed.
After settling down onto the warm sand, I breathed in the salty air. Closing my eyes briefly, I listened to the sound of the waves as they moved in ribbons over the sand, changing its texture. My thoughts sailed away once again as the majesty of the water meeting the shore held me in its grasp.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I said after a few moments of reflection. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the beach.”
“You’re welcome. I live to please.” He grinned. “Next time we’ll go to Dana Point. I’ve got a boat docked there.”
“A boat?”
“Well, a yacht.” He shrugged. “But don’t be too impressed. It’s a small one.”
“Small or not, that’s pretty impressive.” I leaned back, wondering what it would be like to board his yacht. We would sail off into the sunset, just the two of us.
After a few moments of pondering, I closed my eyes, the waves now playing in my ears like an unexpected symphony. “There’s nothing like the Pacific,” I said at last.
Scott chuckled. “You’ve apparently never been to Mud Creek.”
“Mud Creek?” My eyes popped open. “Where’s that?”
“Half a mile from my parents’ place in Alma, Arkansas. Just off of Little Frog Bayou.”
I withheld any comments, thinking he might be teasing me.
“We’ve always called it Mud Creek because it’s more mud than water,” Scott explained. “But what it lacks in charm, it more than makes up for in mosquitoes. Oh, and the biting catfish. They’re entertaining.”
“Biting catfish?” Now he’d hooked me. Pun intended.
Scott gave me a knowing look. “Yeah. Don’t let folks tell you a catfish’s bark is worse than its bite. I happen to know the opposite is true. Don’t ask for details.”
I was dying to know more—about biting catfish, about his life before L.A.—but didn’t ask. We’d have time for that later. As I turned my gaze back to the waters of the Pacific, I did think of one quick comeback. “At least it wasn’t a shark.”
“Try telling that to a nine-year-old boy in swim trunks.” He reached in the bag and pulled out the cheeseburgers, passing one my way.
I opened it up and peeked at it, my nose wrinkling. “Ugh, no way. Ketchup.”
“Wrong burger.”
We swapped, and I opened the one with mustard and pickles and offered up a sigh. “Perfect. Just like I like it.”
“Everything today is just like I like it,” Scott said.
As he flashed a boyish grin, I realized we weren’t talking about cheeseburgers anymore. It felt good to have him say such sweet things. A girl could get used to this.
“Everything is just like I like it too,” I whispered in response.
We settled into an easy silence, chomping away on our burgers. Felt good to let the quietness cradle us. Well, quietness in theory. Just yards away, tempestuous waves crashed against the shoreline, children squealed in high-pitched voices, mothers called out marching orders, and vendors hawked their wares. Other than that, this place was sheer bliss. So was the burger, actually. It had been a while since I’d allowed myself the calories of a sloppy cheeseburger. Yum.
I’d nearly finished mine when Scott broke the silence. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” He pushed the burger’s wrapper back into the sack.
I squinted and put my hand up to block the burst of sunlight as I turned his way. “What’s that?”
He reached for my wrapper and stuck it into the bag along with his, then wadded the whole thing up into a ball. “My brother and his fiancée work with a Christian organization in Ensenada, just a few hours south of Tijuana. They oversee an orphanage there.”
“Wow. That’s admirable.”
“Yes, I’m very proud of him.” Scott paused, and for a moment I read something else in his expression. I couldn’t tell what, exactly.
I took another sip of my chocolate shake, wondering why he paused. “You okay?” I asked finally.
“Yeah.” He snapped to attention. “Anyway, the home is in need of renovating and Bryan is trying to raise the money to do it. I’ve already pledged a certain amount but would like to get others interested too, so I thought maybe we could do a talent show, using some of the kids from the cast. Maybe people could pay to get in, or just make donations or something. What do you think?”
“I think you’re amazing for thinking of this. It’s brilliant. I’m sure the parents will be thrilled. They love watching their kids perform. Maybe they’ll even invite their friends and family members.”
“I’m counting on that.”
“It’s great that you want to help your brother,” I said. “And it gives the rest of us a way to contribute too.”
His expression shifted to one of concern. “Oh, trust me . . . if you saw the pictures of the children from that orphanage, you’d be even more excited.”
To our right, a little boy let out a whoop, and seconds later a beach ball came flying through the air. It whacked Scott on the side of the head. Instead of getting upset, he laughed and tossed it back, hollering, “Here you go!”
The boy grabbed it and waved, then went back to playing.
As I observed all of this, I thought about what a good person Scott Murphy was, inside and out. What you saw was what you got with him. And I liked what I saw. A lot.
“I’d be glad to help with the fund-raiser,” I said, coming back to the matter at hand. “Have you thought about a date? And a venue?”
“Yes, I’ve already talked to my pastor. Our church has a huge fellowship hall with a decent-sized stage at one end. They’re going to let us use it at no cost. They’ll even provide snacks.”
“So we just have to come up with the various acts then get the word out?”
“Exactly. And as for the date, I think we’ll need a few weeks to pull it off.”
“True. Sounds like fun, though. Maybe we could act out a scene.”
He laughed. “We do that every day, Kat. Aren’t you tired of acting?”
“Maybe something completely different . . . like a parody of Stars Collide, or maybe . . .” I snapped my fingers. “Something totally random. Like Shakespeare. Or Jane Austen. We could do a Saturday Night Live take on it, though. Something really wacky.”
He rolled his eyes and I laughed.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll give it some thought. And I’m sure we’ll come up with a ton of others who want to participate, including your grandmother. You know she’ll want to get in on the act.”
“Oh, no doubt.” I nodded, thinking about how she would react to this news. “We’ll have her reprise something from one of her old movies. I can see it now. She’ll need a love interest, though. Someone her own age, preferably.”
“Let’s pair her up with Rex.” Scott gave me a knowing look. “I’ve seen the way they look at each other.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “It’s so funny you should say that. I thought I was the only one who’d noticed the chemistry between the two of them.”
He shook his head. “You’re definitely not the only one. I think they’re both smitten.”
I paused, wondering who else might have caught on. “I think there’s mo
re to it than that,” I said at last. “Rex told me that he actually knew Grandma back in the ’50s.”
“Interesting. Wonder what the story is there.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I paused, looking back over the ocean. There were so many mysteries in life. My grandmother was one of them. She was a treasure chest of stories, some obvious, some hidden. I’d made it my goal to read every one while I still had her with me.
Scott moved closer, putting his arm over my shoulders. I cradled close to him, still holding tight to my chocolate shake.
“Hollywood is filled with drama. Some of it on the set, some off.” He grinned. “Your grandmother is quite a character.”
“No kidding. You’re not going to believe what she said to me the other day.”
“What’s that?”
“She said, ‘Let’s take a dip in the cement pond, Elly May.’ ” A chuckle escaped. “I guess she’d been watching The Beverly Hillbillies on TV or something. Still, I do worry about her fading memory. She can remember things from years ago, but not what she saw five minutes ago. That alarms me.”
“I don’t blame you for being nervous,” Scott said. “But maybe some of her eccentricities are just that—eccentricities. I mean, did you ever think about that? Maybe that Elly May line was supposed to be funny and you just read too much into it.”
“Probably. She even had Elly May bathing suits for us to wear.”
“Some people have a bizarre sense of humor. Your grandmother is a hoot.” He paused. “So . . . speaking of fun-loving people, my parents are coming to town for a hardware convention.”
“Hardware convention?” I couldn’t help the chuckle that followed. “Should I bring my tool belt?”
“You own a tool belt?” He grinned. “Seriously, if you did go, you would be stunned at what a big deal it is. People are coming from all over the world to look at the latest, greatest inventions.”