What did you mean, me being dense?"
Amelia, sipped her Orangina, and answered. "I've been dropping hints for the last two weeks hoping you'd kiss me."
"What hints?" I asked, casting my mind back.
"See? Dense."
That night, as if we'd been together forever, Amelia slipped into my bed. Rufus leapt onto the foot and settled. Amelia smiled, leaned into me and kissed me.
"Night, Mike," she said, eyes twinkling. Then she settled against me.
I fell asleep with a smile on my face. I'd never felt better in my life.
AMELIA LISTENED TO MIKE'S slow breathing. Her hand on his bare chest tracked each breath. She smelled him; the woodsy scent of new paper and underneath, the scent of a guy, undefinable but distinct and very nice.
She smiled to herself. It was true what they said. Guys could be thoughtful and considerate, but they really were clueless in getting subtle messages.
Since seeing Mike standing in her music class with Peter and Rufus, and seeing the expression on his face when she sang, the adoration in his kind eyes, she'd been overcome with the desire to kiss him. She couldn't remember being adored so much.
But, Mike was clueless. So she'd planned the song today and decided if he wouldn't make the first move, she would - fourteen years old or not.
And, God, was the kiss wonderful; a kiss that rocked her world, gentle yet full of love, tender yet exciting; her first kiss and it couldn't have been better!
She smiled again. That strange old man had been right. Her voice had brought Mike to her, and she was never going to let him go.
Glancing up at him, his face relaxed, so handsome, his dark hair unruly, she whispered, "I love you, Mike," something she did every night. She could never tell Mike she loved him too much.
THE LATE JUNE SUN, even at five-fifteen in the afternoon, was still hot enough to make me sweat lightly under the expansive cream-colored canvass umbrella.
I jotted some changes to the script for Even Angels Cry, trying to ignore the report on the glass-topped table next to me, but it was like a spoiled actress with airs - pouting at me for attention.
I was a wimp. I didn't like having serious conversations with Amelia when the serious subject was her grades.
She'd amassed a plethora of C's and D's, the lone exception being an A in Music. I wasn't prepared to let her ride her music talent through her schooling. Yet,
even so, I couldn't help but find it amusing. I'd uncovered another weakness with her. She was evermore normal with each discovery, and more enchanting for it.
The cordless phone saved me when it trilled into life.
"Hello?"
"Why don't you answer your phone?" an irate Peter asked.
"In case it slipped by you, I am answering my phone," I pointed out pleasantly.
"Not this phone. Your cell phone."
"I lost it."
"Again? Where?"
Did he understand how Kafkaesque this conversation was becoming? "If I knew that, it wouldn't be lost."
"Oh. Right. I'll get you another. This makes three, Mike. Maybe you should consider a lanyard."
I didn't want to tell Peter the truth. Rufus had found my lost Smartphone in plain sight on the coffee table.
Being the considerate puppy he was, he'd tested it to make sure it was working. Gorilla Glass didn't live up to its hype; it couldn't withstand a teething Labrador Retriever.
"I'll think about a lanyard. What's up?" I asked my fickle assistant.
"I got a call. Ryan Reynolds' agent called. Ryan's interested in playing Cory in the lead role."
"How the hell are they getting my script? I haven't even finished it."
There was a guilty silence at the other end.
"Peter, stop handing it out!"
"But it's Ryan Reynolds!" he shot back. "Do you have any idea how hot he is right now? We could play Ryan off against Chris and lower the fee."
The sound of silence was loud. "So that's a 'no' for Ryan?" he asked.
I sighed. Peter was, despite his recalcitrance, an enthusiastic fan of my work. "Tell the agent we'll consider it ... WHEN I've finished the script. What else?"
As he talked, my attention was drawn to Rufus. Covering the mouthpiece, I yelled, "Rufus! Stop eating the flagstone!"
Rufus paused, looked back at me and grinned, tongue hanging, wagged his tail, and went back to chewing the patio.
" ... so we could move preproduction up to November if we find a director."
"What?" I asked.
"Warner Bros. wants to target for a summer release, when girls are out of school."
"You've been discussing release dates with Warner Bros?" I asked incredulously.
"They called after reviewing the script," Peter informed me. "What was I supposed to do? You weren't answering your cell."
Lord have mercy!
"Tell them we'll discuss timing once I've polished the script."
"Okay. How's Amelia?"
"In trouble with school grades," I answered.
"Oh-oh. I better go. The other line's about to ring."
The phone went dead. I had to smile. If left on my own, I'd happily write scripts and never bother producing them.
I loved the creative process, but movie production was a yearlong headache. I'd decided to take the summer off to be with Amelia and finish the script.
Peter was resisting, especially when I'd told him he was running the office in my absence. When he complained, I reminded him he was the highest paid assistant in Hollywood.
That shut him up. But, clearly, he was trying to hustle the project along.
Glancing at the report on the table, I yelled, "Amelia Destiny!" and girded myself.
"You don't have to yell," Amelia announced, stepping out through the open sliding glass wall. She wandered over.
"I..."
Rufus! Stop eating the patio!" she ordered.
Rufus looked back at her, his eyes so alert to her voice. He froze. His tongue started pushing pieces of stone out of his mouth, his expression talking, "This stuff tastes awful. I was only doing it as a favor to Mike."