Another Place on the Planet

Another Place on the Planet

A novel by

T. A. Munroe

Lilyland Book 1

To my husband, Keith

Maybe you’ll see some money now,

but I wouldn’t advise holding your breath

until you do.

Love recognizes no barriers.

It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls

to arrive at its destination full of hope.

—Maya Angelou

Part I

Lilyland

1

One Enchanted Evening

The room spun, the warm golds of the walls and drapes swirling into a blur because all I saw were the blue eyes of my dancing partner. I was not as great a dancer as he, but as long as I didn’t look at my feet or think about what I was doing, I was good enough. As if we had practiced for hours, my body knew what his would do next. He smiled his approval or flipped up an eyebrow when I followed his complicated lead into a move he might have designed for me to miss. Perhaps he wanted to test my waltz skills, or even social graces if I failed and landed on my butt on the floor. He was a hot shot movie director with a reputation. I was a nobody with a new little fortune.

We deserve a drink after that, Charlie Winston declared. And a breath of fresh air. On the way to the patio, he ordered a scotch, neat. I asked for ice water.

So, Lily Mayfield, he said as we strolled a path along a golf course at the Phoenician Resort, do you live in Scottsdale?

No. Dancing was easier than conversing. But I used to live in Litchfield Park, in the West Valley here.

Maybe that’s why I never noticed you before.

I was married then.

That never stopped me from noticing a beautiful woman.

Maybe you’re not as observant as you imagine.

He laughed. Touché! One point for you.

And none for you, fancy movie director.

Where would I have to go to find you gracing the streets with your beauty and charm?

Philadelphia.

Would I have to fight off any knights sworn to protect you?

Now I laughed. No. But my daughter might have a few questions for you. She can be quite formidable.

She must be as lovely as you.

Even more so.

That’s hard to imagine.

A dozen ways to refute that compliment fought for my tongue, but I allowed his words scent the air with a rare sweetness. Thank you.

He stopped and with a lopsided smile, looked at me. You’re not going to disagree with me, so I have to think up more to convince you of your loveliness?

It would have been normal for me to do that, but I suspect you have a pile of lines to refer to.

I’m that transparent to you, Lily Mayfield?

Charlie Winston, I don’t get out much, but even I recognize a player when I see one.

He set his empty glass on a utility box and swept his fingers along my cheeks and into my hair. For once I truly regret being seen like that. For once I wish I was as innocent as you.

As if I were a new species, his eyes searched mine as my heart’s pounding grew louder in my ears I wasn’t used to that kind of attention from a man, and I wanted to run away before my curiosity betrayed me. Even though I trembled, I stayed and put one of my hands on his.

There was enough light to see questions pass through his eyes, then doubts, then a longing that went beyond lust. It was like mine, a desire to be known and loved without conditions and limitations.

My chest burned remembering what it had felt like to fall in love with my husband many years ago. As much as I wanted to fall again, I closed my eyes against Charlie’s and the invitation they now held. His lips brushed mine, and his hands dropped to my bare shoulders.

I’m not right for you, Lily. I wish I were, but I’ve never been that man. But let me pretend for the rest of the evening that I am a good man who can make a pure woman like you happy.

You don’t know what kind of woman I am. I threw my shoulders back in what little defiance I could scrounge up.

I know you’re not the kind of woman I’m used to. I’m glad you’re not. You’re lovely and refreshing and don’t want anything from me.

I don’t even know what you have to offer. Besides…

No, not that. Not you. Not tonight.

I was pretty sure I he meant the same as me, but like I’d told him, I really didn’t get out much. My husband had been my one and only until the destruction of my marriage that took several ugly years to play out. But I granted that stranger his fantasy because he was giving me mine. For once in my life I was desirable and beautiful and with someone who mysteriously knew a part of me I’d never shown the world.

We danced until the orchestra stopped although Charlie shared me with his young actor friend David, and Grant, the husband of his good friend Sophia St. Pierre, a well-known actress. He partnered with Wendy so I could dance with her husband Doug, my late husband’s employer and now my benefactor who had invited me to the fundraising gala. Charlie did most of the talking, which was fine by me. His experiences traveling to make his popular movies were much more exciting than the tales of a formerly pudgy sixth-grade teacher, for that was what I had been.

The inevitable last danced arrived, a slow one. We were one of the few couples left, but unlike the waltz where we used much of the floor, this one kept us wrapped up together. I decided to ponder the oddness of that later so I could immerse myself in the strength of Charlie’s arms around me and the sound of his heart in my ear. He shuddered and sniffed once or twice, but I didn’t want to embarrass him by looking up. Emotion leaked from me, too.

Finally, at the end, I had to look at him and his red-rimmed eyes. He had a secret, a sadness, the details of which he would never share with me.

I’m sorry, he muttered. I don’t know what to say.

Sometimes, it’s good to say nothing and just quietly accept the gift.

He drew his thumb along my jaw. You’re a wise woman, Lily Mayfield.

I suppose I have my moments.

The resort’s staff started tossing looks at those of us who remained as they stripped the tables. Charlie walked me to the entrance, and I called for my car. While we waited in a corner under a magical archway of lighted palm trees, he said, Please allow me to tell you what your name reminds me of.

Sure, but only if it’s lovely.

It is. He drew the backs of his long fingers against my cheek as he began. There was an abandoned property near my home when I was a boy. Before I was born, a house fire had killed the family who lived there, and the heirs never sold or rebuilt on it. But every year in April and May, it filled with tall orange day lilies. And misfit that I was, every year I would go there at least once and walk through the flowers. It was a wonderland to me.

That is lovely, Charlie. Thank you.

His eyes again took me in and sent something out. Just before he kissed me, he closed them, shifting his expression to his lips. The kiss started soft and slow, but I was surprised to realize I was ready. There were no feelings of shock or guilt or ineptitude to push away. I let his lips explore me, then his tongue. I whimpered at the pleasure, something I had not expected from the evening. He intensified exactly when I wanted him to. Like the dance, he seemed to know how to bring out the best of me.

His embrace tightened, and I managed to grab a breath. His hand rounded my head, knocking hair from the pins onto my shoulder, adding to the luxurious sensations I already drowned in. He pressed my body to his, lowering his head and bending me backward a little. My neglected womanly parts sang in response, a glorious chorus of pulsating warmth and well-being creating goose bumps in the cool air, embarrassing evidence of deep delight.

Although part of me knew it was there, of course, his erection pressed against my abdomen unsettled me. I swear I moaned, No, when he loosened his hold and stepped back, his lips still remaining on mine. I wondered what it would be like to sleep with him, to feel him inside me, to hear him say, I love you, even if he didn’t mean it.

As Charlie stepped back, he fingered my hair. I got carried away. I’m sorry. He dragged a thumb over his lips.

I’m not. I’ll remember it forever.

You give me too much credit.

In my life, I’m sure I’m not giving you enough.

There came another one of those looks that hit my core. You underestimate yourself, Lily. The world had yet to see the depths of your talents.

A few dances, a great kiss, and you know me? But he had touched a truth in me.

I’m trained to see things in people and to bring them out. For whatever reason, you have buried your passions. Sexuality being just one. He smiled and took a business card and pen from an interior pocket of his tuxedo jacket. He jotted a phone number and tucked the card between my dress and breast. Call me from Philadelphia some time.

Get hers, too! His friend Sophie suggested, breaking the spell of only us.

Right! He took out his phone, tapped and swiped it, handed it to me. I pressed in my phone number and returned it.

Sophia beamed like Charlie had just said, I do. Nearby, David drew his hand through his dark curls, snickered, and shook his head.

When Doug and Wendy appeared, I said, Thank you again for everything. I felt like a fairy-tale princess all evening, goofy as that may sound.

It’s been my pleasure. Doug loosely hugged me. You and your daughter can relax and enjoy life now.

Raw emotion pulled my hands to my face to cover it. If only that could be true.

You all right? Charlie whispered.

Nodding, plastering on a large smile, I hoped I could shake the newly awoken grief. Here’s my car.

More handshakes and hugs and it-was-great-to-meet-yous, and I found myself seated in the car. Call me if you ever get to the east coast, I said quietly to Charlie as he carefully tucked my dress into the car.

Farewell, Princess Lily Mayfield. He kissed my hand and closed the door with a resolute thunk.

A little later in my hotel room, after I removed the dress and all the other artifices that had created the very temporary Princess Lily Mayfield. I picked up the small box Doug had given me that morning in his office after he handed me a check for an insurance settlement and proclaimed me a multi-millionaire.

These are some things of Mike’s we found in his truck and in his office here. I’m so sorry about what he did to himself. I tried to help, but he… Regret shadowed Doug’s voice.

I understand. I took the box from him. Thank you for being his friend. And for being mine.

I didn’t open the box that night. It had been over a year since the nightmare that had been my marriage ended by Mike’s suicide. I had found blame and guilt in that time and had lost God and hope.

A little of Charlie Winston’s magic remained with his scent on my skin. It would be gone with the light of morning, but I didn’t want to chase it away. Closing my eyes, I pictured a slender brown-haired boy in a sea of tall orange flowers, walking arms outstretched and alone.

2

Princess Lily Mayfield

About a year later…

What the—! A small red sports car zoomed in front of me from nowhere, causing me to slam on the brakes of my BMW to avoid a collision. The male driver never looked back. He pulled into a handicapped spot nearest the door. No handicap plate or placard hanging from the mirror.

Jerk! I hope you get a ticket! I snarled. But that was Scottsdale, land of entitlement. Snotsdale.

It was still a little early to go to the classroom for the non-credit film course I signed up for at Scottsdale Community College. I didn’t want to sit alone waiting for it to fill up, so I went to the bookstore and bought two optional books about cinema. The college had a pretty extensive film program. If I could dredge up some interest in anything, I could take some classes to complement my useless filmmaking minor from my original college days. Back when a video camera was the size of a case of wine.

When I entered the small auditorium, I made sure the door didn’t clatter. All the easy-to-access seats in the back were taken, so I reluctantly headed down the long steps to the second row. Sitting quickly, I hoped to remain unnoticed by the man in front with his back to the class. The instructor, I assumed. The school’s blurb in the Arts section of the Arizona Republic said he was an award-winning film director. Really? What was he doing teaching a free course at a community college?

I watched movies then. Lots of movies. I had known before my therapist told me it was my way of avoiding my past and decisions needed to build my future. With all the movie channels, DVR, the library, video-on-demand, the constantly coming and going Netflix DVDs and internet streaming, I had access to movies 24/7. Once or twice a week I exerted the effort to leave my apartment to go to a theater, coupling that trip with grocery shopping or other necessary errands. Of course, many of the movies were drivel, but they killed as much time as award-winning classics. Thanks to my former interest in cinema, I paid some attention to directors and actors, telling myself at least I was becoming more film literate. As if that was a reason to wake up in the morning.

Groups of people clustered together. Some appeared to be retired, and they sat talking about Wisconsin or the Chicago Cubs. Snowbirds. There were also several small groups of young people who chatted while they checked their cell phones or tapped in text messages. Students. I was the only fortyish-looking person and the only one alone.

The story of my new life.

I pulled a new book out of my tote bag and pretended to read it, trying to ease the perpetual scowl from my face. I was there for one reason: to make my damn therapist happy. Sandra told me she didn’t think she’d be able to help me if I didn’t get out with people.

You’re letting yourself rot away, Lily, she had said at a recent session. I know it’s not the real you I see in here every week with your angry eyes and sad sighs. Don’t kill the Lily I haven’t met.

I crossed my arms over my abdomen tightly like a petulant child.

I hate to say this, but we may have to reassess my ability to help you. I hate to waste your money if we can’t make progress.

I have plenty of money to waste, I muttered.

That may be, but what about time? Nobody has any of that to waste. Here’s your assignment. Go out and do something besides see a movie. Sign up for a class or a group. Go to a bar and get a guy’s phone number! Bring me some evidence.

Evidence!

Yes. Sandra lightly pounded her legal tablet for emphasis. I need you to be accountable and not just make up something.

I knew what she was saying. Some of my past students lied to me all the time, and I believed them. I made sure to keep the registration receipt when I signed up for the free class that ran only eight weeks. How much could it hurt?

Here’s a syllabus you might be interested in. It’s good to have you here. I hope you enjoy the course. A man’s long-fingered hand held a small packet of paper between my face and the book.

Great, more evidence. Thank you. I’m sure I will. I the offering without looking up.

Let’s roll! the same voice called in a commanding tone. The talking immediately ceased. The director began the class with a brief introduction of himself while I was still looking over the syllabus.

If you want credit, he said, you’re out of luck because I told the administration I don’t like reading papers. I read enough bad screenplays and don’t need to add any other horrific writing to my life.

He appreciated the laughs from the audience. After teaching sixth grade for ten years, I knew all about bad writing.

What I hope to accomplish, he continued, is to give you some cinematic history along with some of the type of thinking filmmakers do when developing and producing a movie. A little bit of my history, I’ve been working in Hollywood for just over twenty-five years. I started out—

His voice seemed familiar. I had only ever met one Hollywood movie director before.

I glanced at the top page of the syllabus, doing a double take when I saw the instructor’s name. Charlie Winston. My mind skipped back to an evening almost a year ago. That fairy tale evening of that fateful day that had brought both blessings and curses.

I dared a glance at the man, seeing him once again in the formal tux he had worn with casual ease on his lean, tall frame. Today as I observed his bouncy steps, I remembered how as we danced he appeared so at home in his body and in the world, something I had never really experienced. His long slender legs in his well-fitted jeans carried him up and down the steps of the auditorium with an attractive masculine grace. He used his arms and hands dramatically, his face alive as he talked about the work he seemed to genuinely love.

Holy cats. Heat leaped up my face. That man kissed me. Even more, I kissed back.

I shut my mind to that to focus on the class, trying to pretend he was a complete stranger. He most likely didn’t remember me, anyway. Why would he? A sexy accomplished guy like that could have hundreds of women if he wanted.

I think sharing ideas about film is important. Charlie Winston’s voice washed over me as I re-entered reality. Discussion of what we watch enriches the overall personal and social experience by broadening insights into the story elements as we explore our ideas with others. So, we’re going to do a little icebreaker—

I rolled my eyes. I think he noticed.

Find someone you don’t know—make sure you don’t know them—and interview them for a few minutes. Decide who will go first, and when I say ‘switch,’ reverse roles. Then we’ll have a few of you share what you learned about each other.

I hoped to remain unnoticed, an innate skill, so I didn’t stand when everyone else did.

Oh, no. No wallflowers, Charlie Winston flashed a smile at me and motioned to an older gentleman to come meet me.

I’m Glen. The man smiled as he held out his hand to me. Charlie stepped away.

I’m Lily. I answered Glen’s questions then asked him a few of my own.

I turned in my seat to meet my classmates as they were introduced if only to be polite. I wasn’t interested in Harris from Detroit, or Dean a student at ASU, or Betty from Indiana.

Indiana? Where in Indiana? Charlie asked Betty with a huge smile.

Anderson, the grandmotherly Betty replied.

I was born and raised in Elkhart, he said.

With the Amish! Betty said.

I had lived in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, another Amish area. Before Mike and I moved west, before everything went bad. We hadn’t talked about our pasts that evening.

I still miss the food. He laughed then turned to me. I gulped. Please tell us about your partner.

Get it over with, I thought. I could tell Sandra I even spoke in front of the class.

I stood and indicated my partner. This is Glen. He’s here with his wife, Jean. A woman in a purple jacket near the back waved. They’re snowbirds from Wisconsin, and this is their second winter here. Glen was a dentist before he retired. I asked how he could stand to look in people’s mouths all day. He replied, ‘Old cars.’

That’s my Glen, Jean called. People laughed.

"He bought a reconditioned 1968 Camaro at the recent Barrett-Jackson auction, and he loves his poodle almost as much as he loves Jean, to whom he’s been married forty-five years. His favorite movie is The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly."

Wah, wah, waah. Dean crooned iconic notes of that movie’s theme, bringing about more laughter.

Great! Your turn, Glen, Charlie said.

All righty. This is Lily. She lives in Scottsdale now, after spending time in Pennsylvania and the West Valley here. She taught sixth grade for ten years and lived to tell about it.

Everybody laughed again.

"She’s single and has a grown daughter in Philadelphia. She plays the piano among other instruments. Her favorite movie—at this time, she qualified—is Edward Scissorhands for reasons she declined to expound on."

"Edward Scissorhands. Interesting. Charlie paused for a second glance at me before he went on. Great. Let’s talk a little bit about D.W. Griffiths and The Birth of a Nation. Even though it’s almost a hundred years old, it’s still regarded as important because…"

After introducing the picture and its impact on modern cinematography, Charlie dimmed the lights of the auditorium with a remote. Damn, he muttered when the movie failed to start. He relit the room and strode to the projector that was hooked up to a laptop computer.

I can make the things, he said, but evidently I can’t play them. Good thing I’m not a projectionist, huh? Can anybody help?

It surprised me that not even one of the young people came forward.

I left my seat and took the few steps to the projector and checked the connections.

I accidentally unplugged something earlier, he said, running his hands through his longish hair. Maybe I didn’t plug it back in right.

Oh, here. I always forgot to do this…press this key. We looked at the screen and saw what we hoped for. There we go.

Our eyes met, and he smiled at me. Lily. Do I know you?

No, I don’t think so, I lied.

I think we met at a party in L.A.

I’ve never been there, I said and returned to my seat.

Let’s hear it for Lily who saved the day, Charlie cheered, leading the applause. "Here we go. The Birth of a Nation."

He sat in the aisle seat two seats away and slouched with his legs crossed, ankle on knee. I pondered my reasons for not admitting we had spent some time together. Mostly, I decided, I was more messed up now than I was then when I was beginning to see myself coming clear of the smoky destruction of my marriage, my life. But one event of the past year rocked the little hope I had in myself, God, life in general. I almost let it kill me.

He looked over and smiled at me, the light from the screen describing the planes of his face. During the screening, he made several comments to the audience about camera usage that was innovative at the time but commonplace today. He whispered a few to me, but I was unsure how to respond, so I nodded and looked back to the screen, squinting, hoping I could see what he meant.

All right! He jumped up suddenly. We’re going to stop it here. It runs just over three hours. It’s in the public domain, and some websites are listed in your syllabus where you can watch it for free. Comments?

It’s so racist! a young person said.

It makes the KKK look like heroes, an older person said.

There were riots in a few cities when it played, Charlie said, so other cities refused to let it show. And at least one murder has been attributed to it.

Maybe those religious people who are against movies have a point, an older man said.

Ah! Now there’s a topic for discussion! Charlie grew excited as any good teacher does when students begin to make connections. Should films, or any art form, be limited or censored because some people don’t agree with the topic or the way it’s portrayed?

What if it causes violence or perpetuates hate, like this did? someone asked.

It’s just a story, said Glen, to be interpreted by the viewer. Any actions taken by the viewer are the responsibility of the viewer and not the filmmaker.

Are you saying filmmakers aren’t responsible for the content of their work? someone else asked.

You look like you want to say something, Lily, Charlie said.

I had been making faces, twisting my mouth as I do when I’m holding back my thoughts. I think filmmakers or artists, in general, are responsible for telling the truth, I said after sucking in a deep breath. At least as they see it. A lot of changes have occurred in our culture, and the thinking of individuals has…how should I say it?…evolved? since 1915, so the ideas that Griffiths expounded are viewed differently now than they were then. If nothing else, seeing someone else’s version of the truth gives us insight into what others believe.

If truth varies from person to person, said an older person, it’s not the truth then, is it?

I bit my lips together a moment to control rising emotion. I understand what you’re saying. And with that, I stopped talking.

After class, I went to a coffee shop on campus and sat at an outside table with my laptop, hoping to write a bit of the memoir I had started about the end of my marriage. Sandra suggested it might be a good way to clarify events, to sort them out and put them away somewhere in my psyche so I could move on. However, I idly sat at a table and sipped coffee, mindlessly observing life move around me. At least I was out among people. I had taken enough steps for one day.

Do you mind if I join you? Charlie Winston’s voice startled me, and I jumped a little. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. He bent and smiled directly into my face.

No problem. I put on as huge a smile as I could muster. How’s that, Sandra?

That was a great discussion, wasn’t it? Charlie sat and shoved a small piece of yellow paper in his messenger bag. Damn parking ticket. Do you mind if I eat? He unwrapped a sandwich.

No, go ahead. Is the ticket for parking in a handicapped spot?

He took a huge bite of his sandwich, nodded, squinted at me, chewed.

It was you, then. You cut me off in the parking lot before class.

I did? Sorry.

Didn’t his mother teach him not to talk with his mouth full?

My wish came true, and you got a ticket.

Do all your wishes come true? He put the sandwich down, pulled a paper out of his messenger bag and checked his cell phone as I stared at my computer screen.

I had thought about him a few times over the past year and wondered how he would react if I called him. Maybe he would have said, Who? How did you get this number? or, If you think I’m your kid’s father, talk to my attorney. Or maybe, Lily Mayfield? I remember you! Dance any good waltzes lately? Feeling his eyes on me, I closed my computer and looked up at him.

It is you! His smile of wonder grew wider and brighter as my jaw dropped lower and lower. Princess Lily Mayfield. We met last year at some gala—The Cancer Society, I think. We danced! Remember?

I nodded, looking down at the table.

Remember that amazing waltz?

I nodded again. So many tears ago.

Are you all right? His question is soft, personal.

It’s just been a gruesome year, I whispered.

I’m sorry. It was for me, too. It wasn’t because of that settlement you received the day we met, was it? Remember you told me about that?

Partly.

His smile fell a little, and he rubbed his jaw with the backs of his fingers. We never called each other, did we?

No.

Are you in town for a while?

I live here now.

Right! Can I still call you?

His deep blue eyes captured mine. I remembered them, experienced the magic of the evening again, a chill splashing up my spine. Yes. I would like that. I should go.

Wait a sec. He worked his phone and handed it to me. Is this still your number?

The listing read Princess Lily Mayfield. And my number. I couldn’t help but smile. That’s me.

Charlie stood with me and took my hand, looking at me as if I could save him. It’s great to see you again, Lily. I’ll call soon.

3

A Guy From Indiana

At home, I went online and looked up Charlie Winston on the Internet Movie Database. Born Charles Hitchcock Winston, he was forty-three, had attended UCLA and directed twelve feature films, the five most recent of which he wrote himself. He was in pre-production of a film called House of Straw and had numerous producer credits. His only marriage had been to Alexandra Lindstrom, go figure, an actress. I knew there would be more information elsewhere, but I didn’t want to feel like a stalker. If he called me, I could learn more about him in person. If he didn’t, I didn’t need to know. Or I could simply be a fan.

While on IMDb, I looked up David Briggs, the young actor friend of Charlie’s I had met that same unusual night. He was busy with a few films in various stages of production. Same with Sophia St. Pierre, Charlie’s platonic friend. For one evening only, I had mingled with movie stars and others of an echelon I never dreamed of attaining. But they were merely well-dressed people who were nice to me.

In my closet, I found my file box of mementos. Tears welled as I touched beloved objects from my past. The scrap of security blanket my daughter Annie had loved to shreds. Her favorite stuffed toy. Photo albums that I should scan into the digital realm. Mike’s old baseball caps from the Phillies and Diamondbacks. A letter of apology after the last time he beat and raped me and before he killed himself.

But I wasn’t there for those things that I still couldn’t look at without being sucked into a vortex of guilt and shame. I grabbed the small rhinestone encrusted clutch, covered the box and shoved it back under a row of hanging garments.

The clutch contained only one item. The business card Charlie had slipped between my dress bodice and my breast after he wrote his personal phone number on it. I had looked at it during my lowest points of the last year, wishing I had the guts to fake bubbly happiness and call just to hear the voice of someone I had once connected with. But I knew that was simply last chance optimism, the final desperate step before hopelessness. Once or twice I looked at it to remind myself the evening actually happened, that my memories weren’t overblown fantasies. I had danced a fabulous waltz in Charlie’s arms, and for a few hours I had been breathtaking and charming.

So why now, if I merely mustered up adequate and regular, was I having a good day? Sandra was right. I was wasting my time.

My phone beckoned from my bag in the kitchen. I hoped it was Sandra’s office canceling my appointment for tomorrow. Not that it ever happened before. Wishful thinking. I tapped my phone to answer.

Lily, hey! It’s Charlie!

Charlie Winston? What? He actually called?

Yup, that one.

H-h-hi. I-uh-I didn’t expect you to call so soon. Or ever.

Is it all right? He sounded almost as uncertain as I did.

Uh, yeah, sure.

I guess I thought it was just so providential that we met again. I’ve been thinking about that evening, you know, how amazing and lovely you were.

It was…really different for me. I raked fingers through my hair and plunked into a kitchen chair. I haven’t been anywhere near close to that amazing since then.

You were today. And very lovely.

He hadn’t been over-the-top charming that afternoon like he had been on the evening in question. I ate it up that night, blaming it on the atmosphere. I had nothing but reality now.

Not really. Just plain old me.

Well, allow me to take plain old you to dinner so I can further expound on all the loveliness I see in you.

Dinner?

If not dinner, lunch then. How’s tomorrow?

I accepted. When we ended the call, I put in the DVD of his latest movie Freeze Point and advanced it to his cameo scene. He played a bookstore employee stepping between a female coworker and her irate lover, acted by David Briggs. I repeated the scene several times.

Stop being stupid! I flicked the player off and tossed the remote on the couch. It’s just a class. It’s just lunch with a potential friend. God knows I could use a friend more than a boyfriend at this point. I stomped to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

But let’s be honest here, kiddo. A boyfriend would be great.

Before the lunch, I had my weekly appointment with Sandra, who was pleased when I handed her evidence that I was attending a class. She tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear and examined the syllabus.

And I participated in the discussion as well, I said without prompting. I’m having lunch with the instructor today. When she frowned, I explained Charlie, and she nodded her head.

That’s a big step. She hand the syllabus back to me. Tread wisely.

Charlie’s face lit up under his sunglasses as I crossed the parking lot toward him standing outside the restaurant. He wore a beat-up Dodgers cap, a T-shirt with a trendy graphic print, jeans, and sandals. He grabbed a hand and kissed my cheek as I tried to breathe.

It’s great so see you again so soon! He led me inside to a table he had held for us and thanked the server who instantly appeared with water and menus.

We ordered drinks then looked at our menus in awkward silence. My eyes saw words but didn’t read as I processed the fact that here I was having lunch with this famous man. What to say?

How are Sophia and David? I asked.

Both are well. David started filming this week. Soph is taking a little time off to be with her daughter who keeps getting into trouble in school.

Oh dear. I saw her on the cover of Vogue a few months ago.

She complained over and over that it was ‘The Age Issue’ they finally put her on.

I chuckled. She was beautiful, nonetheless. The article about her was very interesting. We placed our orders, sipped our drinks and looked at each other.

I think it’s more than coincidental that we met again, His smile looked like he was unsuccessful in controlling it.

I suppose it is, considering all the people and places in the world. I wrap a paper straw wrapper around my finger.

I’m sorry I never called you. His hand extends toward mine, but doesn’t touch. Now that I see you again, I remember how amazing that evening was.

Sometimes I doubted it even happened. It was so completely off the charts for me. I’m surprised someone like you would remember me.

Someone like me?

You know. Hollywood and all.

I’m just a guy from Indiana, who happens to make movies. That’s all.

"I bought Freeze Point on DVD."

Ka-ching! He motioned as if pulling the arm of a slot machine. Thank you.

But I watched your other movies on Netflix or borrowed them from the library.

I hope you enjoyed them.

I asked questions about his films and career. He seemed to enjoy talking about himself, which didn’t surprise me, of course. Actors and directors are generally assumed to have big egos. But he lacked that degree of arrogance that can make self-assured people annoying to the rest of us.

Enough about me! He slaps the table and sits back. Now I want to know all about the mysterious Lily Mayfield.

I am what you see.

What I see is lovely as I told you on the phone yesterday. He dipped French fries into a puddle of ketchup on his plate and pointed them at me. But I want to delve into the depths of your soul.

I smirked. That’s what I pay my therapist to do.

You mentioned yesterday you had a rough year.

My voice caught when I tried to say something. I took a few deep breaths until I could trust myself to speak. It’s been rough for the past few years, but I’m trying to let all that go and figure out who the new and improved Lily Mayfield is.

Female midlife crisis?

Initiated by the very ugly end to my marriage that also resulted in my daughter hating me. And that’s all I’m saying about that. I shoved a piece of chicken into my mouth and chewed.

Fair enough. Would you mind talking about your music? In class Glen said you play.

It’s been awhile. I was never professional or anything. I auditioned for Julliard and a few other conservatories way back when, but didn’t make it into any of them, so I settled for a small state school and got a Liberal Arts degree with a major in music and a minor in filmmaking.

Filmmaking?

"Yes. My short film won several top awards at a few student