Page 11 of Places in Time
I felt a little guilty, but then I reminded myself that making my kidnapper happy shouldn’t be a concern. Still, I found myself squirming in my seat when I saw her disapproving expression from the corner of my eye. Then the car jerked forward and my focus shifted.
“Seriously, Ginger, you need to tell me how my car’s doing this. I mean, it’s not like it’s a souped-up DeLorean or anything.”
“Oh, an actor making movie references. How original,” she said dryly.
“You did it first!”
She ignored me. “We’re here, dear. Let’s give it one last shot.”
I looked out the window and saw Jude’s beach house. My instinctive reaction was relief. She’d brought me home to Jude. But then I worried that she’d given up on me, which should have been great, because I’d be released from the involuntary trip through time, but somehow it didn’t feel so good.
“Are we…are we done, then?”
She must have sensed my emotions because she stopped frowning and something resembling a smile crossed her face. “No, not yet. I promised you one last trip. I know you recognize this place, Ethan. But this is home from a different time.”
Then she was out of the car, and I scrambled for the door handle so I could follow her.
Past Me was sprawled across Jude’s couch, reading a script. Jude was pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, watching me and chewing on his thumbnail.
“So, what do you think?” he asked anxiously.
I remembered that scene. It was the day Jude brought home the script that had won me a Golden Globe. And in a couple of days, I’d know whether it also made me a contender for the Best Actor Oscar.
“Where did you say you got this?”
Jude laughed and sat on the coffee table. He spread his thick, muscular thighs and rested his forearms on them.
Before my brain registered what I was doing, I was moving toward the couch, looking at where Jude’s loose shorts hung open and hoping to see inside. Past Me darted his gaze in the same direction. Well, apparently my reaction to Jude in that pose today was the same as it had been two years ago. The difference was that today, I actually noticed the reaction and wondered about it.
Why did I have a driving urge to look at what my best friend was packing underneath his shorts?
“I was getting tea at the Bean ’n Bag, and this clumsy guy ran into me. He dropped a whole stack of papers and I helped him pick them up. It took a while because they were everywhere, and then we were organizing them and, I don’t know, I happened to notice a few lines. The next thing I knew, I was sitting next to him, reading through the whole script, and I saw you in that role, E. It’s like it was written for you.”
“Has anyone else seen it?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, Gage Fillmore—that’s the writer—said he sent it to tons of producers and agents. From what I understand, he couldn’t get a bite. But if you sign on, everyone’ll want to pick it up. You know the drill—a top actor means a lot of willing investors.”
I sat up on the couch and flipped through the pages, not because I was looking at anything in particular, more because I didn’t want to meet Jude’s gaze. “This is a really different role from anything I’ve done, J. I’d have to gain a bunch of weight for most of it and shave off my hair.” I gnawed on my upper lip. “I’m sure my agent will lose his shit and go on and on about what looking like that would mean for my brand.”
Jude took my chin in his hand and raised my face. “Listen to me, Ethan Baker. These roles you’ve been taking are fine. They’re well-received movies with good directors and they’ve turned you into a household name. But you’re bored. You know it and I know it. You’re a phenomenal actor, best in a generation. And in this role, you’ll finally be able to show it. You’ll shine.”
“Yeah?” Past Me asked. And I remembered how good I had felt that day, gazing into Jude’s eyes, seeing his admiration of my craft. “You don’t think the weight, and the hair, and the—”
“I think,” said Jude, “that you’re the sexiest man alive, and a little extra padding and some hair loss won’t change that.”
All the anxiety left Past Me’s face in response to Jude’s declaration. “Let’s call this Gage Fillmore and tell him he’s got a leading man.”
Jude smiled at Past Me and I watched myself smile back. I looked happy, relaxed, engaged. All things I felt only when I was with Jude.
Realization struck me hard and fast. With my heart racing, I swung around, looking for Ginger, desperate to get back to my own place in time. But suddenly, I was alone in my car in the same spot I’d been when I first met my guide. That meant Jude’s house was just down the street.
“Thank you,” I said, not knowing if Ginger could hear me. But I wanted to express my gratitude in some way and sending flowers to “Ginger at Someplace in Time” wasn’t an option. Then I turned the key and started the final leg of my long journey home.
