Page 62 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

But it’s not the random guy looking me up. It’s Livia from the bed-and-breakfast. She hurries forward, the plume bobbing on her hat, holding her long skirt up to keep it out of the way.

She’s a picture in her vintage outfit, that’s for sure. She sits next to me. “You okay?”

I don’t get a chance to answer. A man leans down between us. “Livia, did you call this man Zachery Carter? Like Zachery Carter from that comedy?” He snaps his fingers, trying to recall the title.

I don’t help him.

“No relation,” I say, but Livia bumps my arm.

“Of course it’s him, Sam. He’s staying at my bed-and-breakfast.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes flash with recognition. “Beer Junket Bingo! I loved that movie. You were so great in it. That part where you farted in that old lady’s face when she got a bingo on G-23! Classic.” He erupts into laughter.

Several other people surround us. “I have a G-23 T-shirt somewhere,” another man says. “My wife bought it for me to wear to bingo. Some of us still laugh when they call G-23.”

Great. My worst comic moments are coming back to haunt me. I personally burned all my G-23 memorabilia, but it sold hard and fast ten years ago. The studio made a fortune in merch. And so did I. This elderly gentleman’s wife helped buy my house.

Livia leans in. “I haven’t seen it.” She seems to understand that I really don’t like reminiscing about the less savory moments of my old career.

But the men are on a roll. “Remember when ol’ Zach here pisses in the fountain in the town square, and the mayor’s wife ends up getting a picture of his schlong and hangs it in her bedroom to look at when she—”

I stand up. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I was going to escort Livia to the games. You may recall I was rubbish at pitching a ball.”

One of the men slaps his knee. “That’s right! You had to throw the opening pitch in that other movie—what was it? And it only went halfway, and the whole crowd tried to keep the cheer going as it slowly rolled across the field.”

The original man wipes his eyes. “I think of that every time my son Homer tries to pitch in his Little League.”

Yeah, this is a laugh a minute. I hold out my arm to Livia. “Shall we?”

She is perfectly willing to go. “Yes, let’s.”

We leave the men behind.

“Does that happen a lot?” Livia asks.

“Being the butt of old men’s jokes?”

“No, getting recognized as famous.”

I shrug. “Not as much as it used to.”

We turn down the main row of booths. I scan for Kelsey, but I don’t spot her bit of sunshine anywhere.

“Where is your cart and horse?” I ask.

“They were done for the day. They’re getting a well-deserved rest.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of her house.

“Good for them.”

“I apologize that I’m not up to date on your career. Have you done anything recently?”

“No, I retired years ago.” I sometimes say something more amusingly self-deprecating, like, “Nobody seems to need their fountain filled,” but I’m not up for it tonight.

And where is Kelsey?

“That must be nice,” Livia says. “How do you spend your time these days?”

“I work in casting. We help up-and-coming actors get their footing.” I look between every tent as we pass. Still nothing.

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