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‘You’ve been told?’ she said, not even attempting to hide her astonishment. ‘You don’t know? Haven’t you watched any of Falcone’s movies?’ Surely he must have. His father had been one of the greatest actors of his generation. If not the greatest. Hailed as the successor to Brando and Dean and on par with De Niro and Pacino. A rare talent who had blazed across the screen like a comet, captured the zeitgeist and the hearts of millions, won an Oscar, been nominated for several more, changed the face of screen acting and then faded and died far too soon.
‘No,’ he said, the cutting tone slicing through her Falcone reverie like a machete.
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘They’re all brilliant. Well, apart from The Tangri-La, but that was just a blip. And he was your father, Luke,’ she added, going the full Darth Vader. But seriously, this man was the only child of a legend and he’d never even seen any of his father’s movies? It felt like a crime, somehow, a crime against everything she and Matty had held dear.
Instead of answering her perfectly valid question, though, his frown eased and he tucked his hands into the back pocket of his jeans. His lips curved in a cynical half smile as he tilted his head to one side – studying her in a way that didn’t feel entirely complimentary. ‘Funny, I didn’t spot you for one before now. But I guess it goes with the territory.’
‘Spot me for what?’
‘A Falcone nut,’ he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ‘Never ceases to amaze me how many of you there still are, even sixteen years after the old ham died.’
Old ham? What the fuck?
Ruby’s tongue swelled, her outrage on behalf of movie lovers everywhere choking her.
‘Well, of course it amazes you,’ she replied. ‘How could you possibly know how cool and incredible he is? I mean was?’ she corrected herself, feeling oddly flustered. She knew Luke Devlin had none of his father’s brilliance or sensitivity, but this whole scenario felt a bit too close to Mia Farrow’s predicament in The Purple Rose of Cairo when Jeff Daniels had literally stepped out of a cinema screen and invited her to Egypt. Surreal, Ruby decided, didn’t even begin to cover it. ‘Especially if you’ve never actually bothered to watch any of his movies?’
‘Uh-huh! And how would you know what a self-absorbed asshole he was,’ came the lookalike Falcone’s deadpan reply. ‘If you never actually met him?’
***
‘Your father was an asshole? Really?’ The mossy green eyes widened, Ruby’s avid curiosity making them even more luminous than usual. And Luke wanted to kick himself hard in his own ass.
Never engage, never discuss. Not with the Falcone nuts.
How had he forgotten the law he’d laid down when he was a thirteen years old? Ever since the last time he’d sat in the lobby of his mom’s LA mansion, on a sunny Saturday morning, with his soccer boots on and his heart bursting with excitement and pride and a foolish sense of hope that this time would be different. Sure the great Falcone would have to show eventually, because he’d promised Luke on the phone only the day before that he would.
But then he’d waited … and waited … for two endless hours, while the Falcone nuts amassed by his mom’s gate – also waiting – shouted at him to ask when his father was arriving.
It was the last of the many no-shows. And af
ter that he’d finally had the sense to tell his mom he didn’t want to schedule regular meet-ups with his father anymore. On the rare occasions he did show, they had to sneak around and do everything in secrecy anyway – to avoid the paparazzi and the Falcone nuts. He’d rather be playing with his friend Mitchell down the block. Or even his hyperactive kid brother, Jack. Hell, he’d almost rather kick a ball about with his toddler sister, Becca, who was only just out of diapers, than be caught dead waiting for a man again who half the time – no, three-quarters of the time – never bothered to keep his promises. And when he did …
He pushed the bitter memories aside. Yeah, definitely not going there. Especially not in front of a Falcone Nut. Time to change the subject.
He glanced past Ruby at the eight-foot high gate. ‘Move aside,’ he murmured, because getting arrested for dumping the ashes of some guy he didn’t know seemed like a much better option than reminiscing about his asshole of a father.
Ruby dutifully stepped back and he ran at the gate. Grabbing hold of the top bar he strained the muscles he’d first begun developing years ago at Harvard, flung his leg over the top, scrambled up and over and landed heavily on the other side – luckily, without breaking anything.
The rattle of the gate didn’t drown out her astonished shout.
‘How did you do that?’
‘Excellent upper body strength courtesy of Varsity crew,’ he said, as he shoved his hands through the railings and formed a stirrup. ‘Now it’s your turn. I’m not getting arrested on my own.’
‘We won’t get arrested,’ she said, as she puffed out her chest, grabbed the bars and stuck her muddy boot into his palms.
He boosted her up and she managed to get her foot over the top but was then perched precariously on the gate, her legs dangling.
‘Bloody hell.’ She leaned forward, trying to steady herself, he guessed, so she didn’t tumble off headfirst. ‘It’s a long way down.’
‘Don’t look.’ He grasped her ankle, above the boot. Her short skirt had ridden up. Damn, he could see … He squinted into the darkness. Not nearly enough. ‘Bring your other leg over,’ he instructed. A nearby street light was shining on her cascade of curls like a spotlight. He’d noticed a cop when he’d headed into the park after her. And while there didn’t seem to be anyone about now, if the cop chose to do a tour of the park they’d both get busted.
‘But if I do that I’ll fall off,’ Ruby squeaked, sounding a lot less sure of herself. Clearly, she wasn’t a habitual felon.
‘I’ll catch you.’ He placed his hand as high as he could reach on her thigh, to reassure her. Mostly. The muscle bunched and quivered beneath his fingers. Ruby worked out. Either that or managing a movie theatre was more strenuous than he’d thought. Because her thigh felt toned and warm and hot as hell.
‘Really?’ She peered down at him, still holding the gate in a death grip, but the look on her face – wary but full of hope – sent a ripple of sweetness through him to go with the heat. Not cool.
