Page 66 of Reel Love

“Don’t make me drive up there and get you, because you know I will.”

“Believe me, the last thing I want is for you to drive up this hill. I’ll be down in a bit.”

We hang up. I set my book aside, slip into the pair of sandals I keep near the door and take a leisurely walk down the hill past the other larger properties surrounding mine. I know who most of my neighbors are. A few of them may know it’s me who lives in my home, but we don’t really interact outside the occasional wave when we collect our mail or see one another out on the street.

In the neighborhoods below ours, darling beach bungalows and a few larger homes dot properties. Picket fences frame the small front yards. No one needs much of a yard when the beach is only a few blocks away. I pass the Corner Market and turn toward Mila’s Place, a bed & breakfast owned by Phyllis’ niece.

Phyllis is on the porch swing waiting for me.

“There she is! There she is.” Phyllis comes down the porch steps and pulls me into a hug. “Oh the beauty! If Hollywood hadn’t already snatched you up, they would do it today. Tell me how you are, Alana. Is it junket time for that next picture of yours?”

“We just got through that this week.”

“Through it? No. No. We both know that’s only the drop of the flag at the races. You’re in the thick of it for a few months now, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And my next film starts production only a few weeks after the release ofBlasted.”

“Oh, this business. They’ll eat you alive if you let them.”

“You didn’t let them,” I smile over at her.

“Nearly, dear. Nearly. But, I made it out by the skin of my teeth. And here I am—a testament that you can survive fame and live to tell about it. Of course, I wasn’t famous like you. Never a household word. Not where there was a feeding frenzy whenever Ishowed my face in public. No. I didn’t have to mess with all that nonsense.”

“Nonsense, huh?”

“Give me a better word for it, and I’ll use it.”

“I can’t find one off the top of my head.”

“And that’s coming from you, the wordsmith.”

“I’m not a wordsmith. I just like playing word games.”

I think of Wordivore. There’s a real possibility he’s right here—on this block, as we speak, or even next door for all I know. The idea thrills and overwhelms me in equal parts.

Mila steps out onto the porch. There’s a glow to her these days—something peaceful and magnetic. She’s always been sweet and welcoming, careful about keeping my anonymity and privacy. And she never overstepped the fact that her aunt and I are close. I respect her for that.

“I made chicken salad,” she announces. “It’s my recipe with grapes and celery, not the savory one.”

“I like them all,” Phyllis says with a flourish of her hands. “And this one needs to eat.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze before leading us up the steps to the inn.

I smile at Phyllis. Always trying to feed me.

“How about we eat out on the back terrace?” Mila suggests.

“Perfection! Perfection!” Phyllis says, not waiting for me to chime in with an opinion.

“So, dear, tell us what’s new,” she says to me as we all pull out seats at a pre-set table. The sandwiches are on a tea tray in the middle with bowls of fruit salad and a green salad flanking the stand.

“Wow. This looks amazing. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“She did,” Phyllis glances at me with a faux warning. “Her favorite aunt is here for lunch. Don’t dissuade her, dear. I love being pampered.”

Mila and I laugh.

“You sure you don’t want to get back into acting?” I offer.

“Are you kidding me? No, thank you, and that’s that. I adored my time in the biz. Most of it. Even took a husband from the experience as a parting gift. Lost him just as quickly, as Hollywood romances go. You know.”

---