Three o’clock in the morning, and Hank was still awake. How could he sleep with Ella next door? He never slept well the night before he first joined a movie set anyway.
There was a knock on the wall behind his headboard.
Ella.
All kinds of ideas swirled through his head, every one of them totally inappropriate. Get real, Rogers. She’s not going to jump in the sack with you.
Nevertheless, he felt some hope that maybe, just maybe, Ella was at least thinking about him too. Even if she just wanted to chat, he took that as a good sign. He reached up and knocked back. “Hey,” he said in a daytime voice, “you’re up too?”
But there was no answer. That was weird.
Maybe he should check on her.
He got out of bed, threw on a robe—because he was in the habit of sleeping in the buff now that he could afford luxury Egyptian cotton bedsheets—and opened his door. Good. No squeaky hinges. He padded ten feet to his left to her door, which was closed, like his.
He thought back to just a few hours before, how she’d gone upstairs after she’d sat at the kitchen table with him and Pammy. They’d talked about Samantha and how she and Pammy had stood outside the yacht club after dinner and waited for Samantha’s assistant to come pick her up. Samantha had told Pammy all about her ex-husbands. But when the assistant drove up and Pammy offered to take Samantha out to play pool at the Blind Tiger, Samantha had clammed up and ignored her. Didn’t even say goodbye after Pammy opened the car door for her.
They all decided that Samantha was insecure. Bada-boom. Instant analysis. And then they’d gone out for one round of pool at the Blind Tiger themselves, and had a couple of drinks when they should not have, but it had been a lot of fun. Especially with Ella, even though she was doing her best not to talk directly to him. Pammy was her buffer.
Even so, she beat both him and Pammy at pool, and according to the bet they’d made, that meant she didn’t have to do the dishes the next two days back at the house, a heady prize to win.
Now Hank wondered, should he open her bedroom door? Or just knock?
He’d better knock. Of course. What was he thinking? He needed to consider her a virtual stranger. That night, at the dinner table, he’d been mesmerized by how much she didn’t need him. In his head, in between bursts of conversation with his tablemates, he’d cursed the worst curse words he could think of and downed more Scotch.
The truth was, he kept finding out over and over in the two days since he’d come to Charleston, Ella was great without him.
Really great.
Her door remained closed. He stared at the panel probably thirty seconds more, imagining her in a silky negligee, and then headed back to his room.
But right before he crossed the threshold, her door opened, and she poked her head out. She looked very sleepy. Her hair was every which way. He saw the edge of a floral nightgown, the strap sliding down her shoulder.
He stopped. Tensed.
“What’s going on?” she said in the throaty midnight voice he remembered so well. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, sure.” He tried his best to sound like a good guy who didn’t have errant sex thoughts. “I heard you knock on the wall. So I thought maybe you needed something. You know, like a glass of water.”
She drew in her chin. “A glass of water?” She gifted him with a small grin. “I can get that myself. But thanks.”
“No problem,” he said.
“Besides, I never knocked.” She sounded perfectly serious.
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Isn’t your bed on the other side of our connecting wall?”
She shook her head. “No. Between the two windows.”
“Oh,” he said. “I forgot. So … you didn’t get out of bed?”
“No.”
“Did you hear the knock on the wall?”
She shook her head. “I was in a deep sleep until I heard you knock on my door.”
That was right. She always used to sleep like a log.
He scratched his head. “Maybe I was dreaming.”
“That was probably it.” She paused. “You did that a couple of times when we were … together.”
“Oh, yeah.” It seemed like an intimate memory to talk about.
“Good night.” She lingered a second longer than he expected she would, which meant his mind went back to its very debauched thoughts.
“Good night,” he said back.
She smiled a little shyly and pulled her door shut.
That was that.
When he got back to bed, Hank pulled the sheets up very carefully and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was thinking about Ella, about the old days, when she’d had the occasional nightmare and would wake him and tell him about it. Most of the times she’d snuggle up next to him and go back to sleep. And other times, she’d want him to make love to her, when the city was quiet, save for the occasional siren and muffled laughter or talking coming from the street four stories below. Either way, he’d made sure she was happy again. And then he’d always wait until he heard her even breathing before he fell back asleep too. He’d felt it was his duty as her boyfriend to ensure her a sweet, untroubled slumber.
Now he thought back on those nights and realized he’d never been happier. He’d loved feeling needed by her. He’d mattered.
They’d mattered.
The ceiling was boring. Hank’s eyelids started feeling heavy. He lifted his head off the pillow and took one last glance at the portrait of the three little boys on the wall, in deep shadow now. They must have been brothers. Or cousins. He thought about how the canvas had looked in daylight, how the boys had stood so plainly, their faces holding nothing back, that staid black carriage and the house in the background.
Every day was a new adventure, their expressions said.
Had they been going somewhere in that carriage? Or had it been bringing a visitor to them? Either way, they’d have been able to create a make-believe quest around whatever was being commemorated in the painting, Hank was sure.
He yawned and remembered feeling like every day was an adventure. He remembered being a boy who had brothers. He was lucky to still have them. He needed to call them more.
The final words he thought before he fell asleep were I need to pay attention to the people in my life. The last vision he had before he nodded off was Ella’s face at her bedroom door.
* * *
Tuesday morning, Hank’s alarm went off at seven. He and Ella had to be on the set at eight, and it was a ten-minute drive. They were playing it close. Luckily, Hank could get in and out of a shower fast. And there was no need to get too worried. Today was only a read-through. A half day at most. He sat up, grabbed the robe at the foot of the bed, and heard a distant, steady pelleting of water against tile coming from the downstairs shower. Must be Ella. Pammy had told them last night she didn’t have to be at Beau and Lacey’s big house until nine and that she’d wait for the bathroom until they were done.
So Ella was totally naked and in the same house, and Hank never thought that scenario would happen again. But here they were. He hadn’t even heard her wake up and walk past his bedroom door.
He stood at the top of the stairs and smelled coffee percolating. Ella again, no doubt. He’d seen a Mr. Coffee in the pantry. Sometimes it was nice to skip the coffee pods and drink the freshly brewed stuff from the pot. He’d have to grab a cup before she got out so he could have some without hazelnut creamer in it.
What an idiot he’d been to concoct that story.
He was standing there gulping it down when she whizzed by the kitchen in a short towel, her hair dripping wet, and took off up the stairs without a word. Maybe she thought he was still in bed.
Seeing her like that was enough to torture him for the rest of the day.
And then he heard the hair dryer start up, and she was humming a song from the musical she’d just finished. The song about her rotten ex-lover whom she’d gotten completely over.
“That’s me,” he said aloud as he rinsed out his cup and put it on the side of the sink. He usually had two, but he’d get the second one at the set. There’d be food there too. All he had to do was jump in the shower and get dressed in half an hour.
Entirely doable.
Unless you have three ladies show up at your door, unannounced, with a box of Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnuts and chocolate-covered ones. With sprinkles.
Man oh man.
“Well, hey there, Hank Rogers, you handsome thing,” said the oldest one in a thick Southern drawl. She was very attractive, probably mid-forties or so. “Don’t mind us. We’re here to tell Ella to break a leg on her first day on the set. You too.” She beamed in her yellow suit. “I’m Miss Thing.”
So this was Miss Thing!
She fluttered her fingers at him in a little wave and grinned.
He was glad he’d just had his first cup of coffee. “Come on in,” he said, and grinned back.
The other two were Ella’s age, beauties both. One wore a flowery skirt and white blouse, her hair in a ponytail. The look was very romantic and feminine.
“Hello, Mr. Rogers,” she said with a warm smile in a lighter Southern accent than Miss Thing’s. She was carrying the boxes of doughnuts. “I’m Macy.”
“And I’m Greer,” the third woman cut in with a twinkle in her eye. She wore a sleek pantsuit and her hair loose in a sexy wave. “We’re Ella’s colleagues and BFFs.”
“Nice to meet you all,” he said. “And please call me Hank.”
“Hank,” they all said at once.
It made him happy, somehow, that they said his name all together. Like three sweet angels, he couldn’t help thinking. Or enforcers. He couldn’t decide. These were Ella’s colleagues and best friends … he’d better be on his best behavior. He wanted them on his side.
“I hate to leave you, but I need to shower,” he said.
Miss Thing started fanning herself. “Lawd, it’s hot in here.”
“Do you want a glass of water?” he asked. Her two friends didn’t seem too worried.
“I’m fine.” Miss Thing walked to the sofa and perched on the edge, her feet turned demurely to the side, her hands folded in her lap. “I’ll just sit here a minute.”
“Good,” he said. “Make yourself at home. Ella and I have to leave here in”—he looked at the old clock on the mantel—“twenty-five minutes.”
“We understand,” said Macy. “We’ll head upstairs to see her, if that’s where she is.”
“Yes, she just ran by in a towel,” he said.
“Oho!” Miss Thing chuckled.
Greer made a face at her that Hank caught, then redirected her gaze to him. “You go shower, Hank. We will see you again, I’m sure.”
He grinned again. “I’m sure too. See you soon. In about five minutes, actually. I gotta move fast.”
“Ta-ta ’til then!” Miss Thing called after him. “We’ll save you a couple of doughnuts.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Bye, Hank!” Macy said too. “Have a good shower!”
It wasn’t as if he had to go far. Just down the hall. But they were sending him off like he was going to war or something.
He waved awkwardly. “Yeah. See ya.”
The whole time in the shower, he thought about how Ella had just been in it before him. And now she must be upstairs laughing and chatting with her friends. Was she still in that towel? Why didn’t she have a robe? Maybe she’d left it at home by accident. He hoped she’d never go back and get it.
The door swung open a second with a small whine, and he felt a slight draft.
“Hello?” he called from behind the vinyl curtain. He was in the middle of washing his hair.
Then it swung shut again.
He could swear he’d locked that door! But it was old. Maybe the latch mechanism didn’t work right. He scrubbed under his left arm. And then his right. Maybe it was Pammy getting up. All that noise out front had probably woken her and she stumbled half asleep into the bathroom, forgetting he was in there.
It was time to get out anyway.
He rubbed down with a small white cotton towel, more like a washcloth. It was too small, but it was also nice and rough, the way he liked towels. None of that fabric softener stuff for him. He’d buy a good set of towels for the house today online—a small gift to Beau and Lacey—and get them sent overnight. He’d wash them himself in the big house tomorrow. That was one thing he still knew how to do: use a washer and dryer. Too many of his assistants ruined his clothes, at least the ones he didn’t send to the dry cleaner.
He looked around for his robe. Damn. He’d left it upstairs.
“Wait a sec—” he murmured. He hadn’t forgotten his robe. He’d been naked underneath it. He’d met the women at the front door in it. He’d walked to the bathroom in it!
Whatever had happened to it, he had no choice now. He’d have to do the towel thing too.