Page 95 of Reel Love

“Hello, Mother. It’s great to hear from you.”

“Alana. Please.”

“I’m kidding. How are you?”

“I’m great. And I had your dress taken to your condo. Everything is set up there. Hair and makeup will arrive at three tomorrow. Do you have everything you need?”

“I always do.”

“True. True. That Brigitte is an asset, isn’t she?”

“She’s a wonderful person. And she’s funny and amazing. I gave her a raise this week.”

“Good. Good. You want to keep the good ones, Alana.”

“Anything else you wanted to tell me?”

“Do I need an agenda to call my own daughter?”

“No, but you usually have one. Right?”

“Touché. No. I have no agenda, but to tell you I saw your interviews and they were fabulous. You and Rex look perfect together. The ideal Hollywood couple. He’s a nice man, you know. You could do much worse.”

“We aren’t in love, Mother. He’s a friend. A colleague. We respect one another. We’re not actually dating. We never were. You know that.”

“I think he’d be glad to come to an agreement, darling. A union between the two of you could be like Hepburn and Tracy.”

“They never married, you know.”

“Yes. But they were a force. Nine films together and a twenty-six year affair. That’s common-law marriage nowadays. You and Rex could be like that. Iconic. And powerful. It’s so good to have an ally in this business, Alana. It softens the blows, gives you someone on your side of the fence. And you like Rex. Feelings can grow.”

“Not happening. I appreciate your concern. It’s just … not happening. Please drop it. I already told you he and I are only doing this until our premier. Then it’s over.”

“Maybe you’ll reconsider.” She hums. “I’ll back off. I’m patient and I can wait.”

There’s a knock at the door—Stevens.

“Mother, I have to go. We’ll talk when I’m there, okay?”

“What’s your rush, dear?”

“My … uh … yoga instructor just arrived.”

I open the door and smile at Stevens. Then I step back so he can come in. He’s carrying his octopus book and a paper bag identical to the one my tacos came in. His hair is a little windblown. He smells clean, and he looks amazing in a white T-shirt with a surf logo and khaki shorts.

And he’s wearing his glasses. Good night. This man will be the death of me in those glasses. And we both know he only wears them for reading, so he’s wearing them just to taunt me now. And I am here.for.it.

He slowly removes them down his nose and then, as if he didn’t just tease me, he says, “Hey, should I put these in the kitchen?”

“That’s your yoga instructor? I thought she was a woman,” Mother says from the other side of the phone.

“Yeah … She … No … He … It’s a man. Okay. See you tomorrow! Bye.” I click my phone.

It rings immediately and I turn off the ringer.

Stevens stands there with an amused half-smile on his face as though seeing me stammer through my goodbye to my mother was the best part of his week.

“My mother.”

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