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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Erica finally answeredRoberta’s call and was told to vacate the premises immediately. Rigid and fuming, Roberta stood on the front porch to oversee as Erica piled her things into her car and left, teary-eyed and apologetic. She couldn’t feel bad for kicking the girl out without warning, not after finding her cat so horribly neglected. Badly abusing her home was one thing, but abusing Bling was unforgivable.
A flurry of phone calls straightened out the other issues, despite it being Labor Day weekend, resulting in a neatly cut lawn, weeded garden beds, and a house cleaning crew that left the place so shiny clean, it sparkled, for an outrageous price of course. Even Bling received tending, however much she didn’t care for her bath.
Erica had denied calling anyone about a water problem. When Roberta called, the Tanner Water Company never answered their phone. Another company came out but could not find anything wrong with the system.
While Roberta supervised the activities, Taylor stayed upstairs out of the way, enjoying the chance to sleep. Or so he said. It was not until later Saturday night that his real motive became evident.
He seemed to time his words for the moment her mouth was full of salad. “Some are really great. A little work and we can get them out there.”
Her eyes watered as she choked on the mixed greens and balsamic dressing. Swallowing hard, she pushed back from the Formica topped table. “We? You read my work?” she was finally able to croak out.
Taylor didn’t even have the decency to keep the smirk off his face. “Yeah, you didn’t say I couldn’t.” He happily sawed his steak before popping a grilled chunk in his mouth. His smile continued as he chewed.
Her insides squeezed into a fist as Roberta flung her fork down. It ricocheted off her plate with a clang. “I didn’t think I had to reiterate the same rule I gave you back in Pennsylvania. Of course, it didn’t seem to stop you there either.”
His fork flashed in mid-air as if sweeping aside her remark. “I really liked the screenplay you calledKing Louis’s Daughters. They need a little work, but I think you have salable screenplays there. I want to send that one and the comedy about the pet psychic to my agent in Pasadena.”
Roberta’s blood pressure skyrocketed. “No. Capital N. Capital O. Got it, Taylor? I’m not interested in selling anything. I don’t want your help. I’m not one of your pretty little Hollywood groupies looking for favors to get my career going. Period, end of this conversation.” Cheeks aflame, she picked up her fork again and started to flip romaine around her plate. Her appetite evaporated, as did her patience with Mr. Nosey.
Taylor looked stunned, eyes wide, brow furrowed, and mouth hanging open, speechless. The silence dragged on until he cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. Setting his utensils aside and wiping his lips neatly, Taylor backed away from the table. “Too late. I faxed them to Steven Hoge. I’m expecting him to call with an offer.”
Giving him a hard stare, Roberta reeled back as if he had slapped her. Afraid of what she might say or do, she flung her napkin down on her plate and walked out of the kitchen, stalking out the front door.Why doesn’t he get it? Why can’t he understand I don’t want his help, and I especially don’t want other people reading my work.
The night breeze cooled her temper slightly as she stomped across the lawn. A trail of hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked for someplace to settle. A clear sky twinkling with stars brought lightness to her head. The Adirondack chair out by the brook gave her respite for quite a time before Taylor’s silhouette approached from the house. He stopped and kneeled beside her. Grinding her teeth, she turned away to look at anything in the opposite direction. Her hand, gripping the armrest, disappeared in the warmth of his larger hand. She tried to resist, to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly.
“You have talent, Roberta. What’s so wrong with that?” His thumb caressed the back of her hand.
She snatched her hand away. “You took more liberties with my works. How dare you? After the first one, I’d have thought I made my wishes clear.”
“Bertie,” he drawled. “I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t want your help, Taylor!” She folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “How do I know for sure my work is being liked because it’s good, not because you are presenting it?” she asked, staring into his eyes, direct and unwavering. “I don’t know these people you’re consulting. Maybe they’re just yes men. I don’t know. I’ll never know. It’s safer to not do this. Don’t continue with this, please. I don’t want to go where you’re leading. I know you mean well, but I’m not interested in putting these pieces of myself out there. Ever. Why can’t you understand that?”
Taylor took her hand again and dropped a kiss on the back of it. “I trust them. They wouldn’t do that. They know I expect complete honesty. Besides, I would rather see you writing than doing lab work. Why can’t you understand my motive?”
“I just can’t trust you,” Roberta whispered, tears sliding down her face. She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. “You took my manuscript without asking. Sent it off to LA and won’t get it back to me. And now you faxed my screenplays.” She shook her head. “What have you done to make me believe that you are being honest now?”
A stretch of silence between them left them accentuated the night sounds.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks with his finger, Taylor said, “I’m getting cold. I’m going in. Care to join me?” When there was no reply, Taylor laid her hand down on the arm of the chair before returning to the house. She watched him cross the yard as the crickets, cicadas, and tree frogs sang out their longing, wishing her life could be as simple as their song.
Sometime later, Roberta’s heart started galloping. There was a smell of wood burning in the air. Her throat tightened, as did every other muscle in her body. Jumping up, she whirled around, eyes searching for the fire. Not finding any, she looked back at the house. Gray-white plumes of smoke poured from the chimney, highlighted by the moonlight. Sweating profusely, Roberta broke into a run for the house, charging in the front door.
She ran into the living room to find Taylor kneeling before a blazing fireplace, a fireiron in his hand. He turned toward her; his eyes widened in surprise when she burst into the room.
Roberta advanced on him, wringing her hands, screaming, “What are you doing? Stop! Put that out!” She flew over to the front door, then back again.
“What? Why?” His brow furrowed as he eyed her standing in the living room and visibly trembling head to toe.
“Put it out! Please, please, put it out!” Roberta pleaded, backing up until she pressed against the wall beside the front door. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Taylor rushed over and took her in his arms, hugging her to him as she continued to sob hysterically, all the while her eyes never leaving the flickering flames in the grate. As if aware of the depth of her terror, Taylor picked her up and carried her outside the house to the front lawn. He tried to release her quaking body, but she clung to him, not venturing from the confines of his arms as she continued to cry in wrenching sobs. He whispered her name repeatedly, holding her tight, but the panic held her in a firm grip.
At last, she quieted, still nestled in his arms. Under control, she pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes. “You have to put it out. Please. I can’t go in there.” Her lips quivered while the rest of her body shook. “Not until the fire’s gone.”
“All right, I’ll do whatever you want. Please, tell me what’s going on.”
