“My car, yes. Steve was driving.”
“And you got in a fight with a fan?”
Matt flexed his hand. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I can’t stand it. You rich man-boys. Matt, you’ve got to grow up, honey.” Barely in her mid-thirties herself, Amelia was “Mama” to all her clients. “It’s biting you in the butt. The drag racing is one thing, the fighting another. But, darling, you left Cindy Canon behind. You abandoned her at some seedy bar. She was terrified.”
“Abandoned? Come on, that’s not ... like me.” It certainlywaslike him.
“She’s furious. Her agent called me at three in the morning. Do you know how much I hate to be pulled out of a good dream to be yelled at? Do you know how often I havegooddreams?” Amelia leaned to see something moving on the carpet, made a face, and jumped to the lanai doors. “Matt, you’re one of my favorite clients, but, sweetheart, you’ve got to stop sabotaging yourself. You’re taking me down with you.”
“Amelia, I’m sorry. Truly. We were, shew, um, I remember there were tequila shots and—why did her agent call you and not Cosmo?” Cosmo Gilcrest, agent to the stars, all but discovered Matt twelve years ago.
“Oh, he called Cos too.” Amelia inhaled a deep breath. “Matt, you’re thirty-two years old. Stay out of the clubs. You’re fine for months on end, even years, then bam! You blow all your goodwill in a weekend. You’re not a drinker, Matt. Shoot, you’re not really a partier. Stop this nonsense because it’s not killing whatever’s eating you.”
“Nothing’s eating me.”
“How little we know ourselves.” She smiled, patted him on the cheek, wished him luck in his future endeavors, and left. He staredafter her, trying to find the words to explain how a single letter riled up so much inner strife.
Grabbing a trash bag and a pair of work gloves from his immaculate garage—he may have to live there while the house was fumigated—he gathered discarded clothing, bottles, and carryout bags stained with grease. He’d give Amelia a few days, then call her and repent. And he wasn’t above begging.
He shoved a ratty T-shirt that had been thrown over his answering machine into the trash bag. It blinked up at him. He had a message?
Matt pressed play. The first voice was from Tom Cruise, back whenFlight DecksurpassedTop Gun. Matt hit delete, unsure why he’d even saved Cruise’s humble response to Matt’s gloating and taunting.
Matt,be better.
Next was a message from Cosmo, but they’d talked since then, so ... delete.
The next voice was so sweet, so familiar, so emotionally stirring. Granny. “Matty? Can you call me?”
The recording ended abruptly, with a time signature from twenty days ago.Twenty days?Then a second message played from ten days ago.
“Matty, I think the Starlight is in trouble. We need you.”
What? How could the Starlight be in trouble? The old rink was the heart of his hometown.
Another beep, and Dad’s voice played from the machine. “Matt, it’s Saturday night so you’re probably out but don’t ignore your grandmother. Call her.”
I will,I will.How did he miss her messages? He was about to dial Granny when Cosmo rang in.
“Hey, is this about last night?” Matt asked. No use beating around the bush.
“Are you sitting down?”
“That bad?”
“You’re off the movie with Cindy. She didn’t appreciate being left alone, and I quote, ‘at a dark cave with werewolves and vampires.’ She was scared, and in her mind, made to look a fool.”
“Werewolves and vampires?”
“Her metaphor, Matt. But did you hear me? You’re off the movie.”
“Yeah, I heard you. Isn’t that a bit drastic? Cindy and I are great together. She’s just mad. I’ll send her twelve dozen roses, apologize, and promise to never do it again.”
“Amelia tells me you missed the Beverly Hills luncheon.”
“I overslept.”
