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Chapter Four: Oscar Oops

Posted on Saturday, 16 April 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

Steve fell asleep on the sofa that night. Just sat down, made himself comfortable, and passed out. Gramma walked in as I was staring at him, his dessert plate still in his hand, the last few crumbs of cheesecake dyed pink from the strawberry juice. I was surprised he hadn't licked the plate clean, actually, since he'd eaten nearly a quarter of the cheesecake all by himself.

Gramma got a pillow and blanket from the storage chest while I set the plate on the table and pulled his shoes off. Nice shoes, too, black leather with tan stitching. What was interesting was that they were the same size I wear. I've got big feet, yeah, but they're perfectly proportionate to my body. Steve's at least six inches taller than me. I don't know why I'm talking about his feet. The first thing I usually notice about people is their hair.

Anyway, he fell asleep on my sofa in my house. He was so cute! He curled up on the sofa, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders and getting all warm and snuggly. It was just plain adorable.

I found a travel alarm and set it for eight, knowing full well that it would probably be pitched across the room in the morning, turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed. I wondered what it would be like, waking up and finding one of the most in-demand actors sprawled out on the sofa. Then I figured I'd find out in the morning.

He was awake before I was. I found him in the kitchen, barefoot and dishevelled (Fangirl Moment #3, there), trying to figure out the coffee maker.

"Sleep all right?" I asked. I was quite glad I had showered and dressed before coming downstairs.

He whipped around, eyes still sleepy and unfocused. "Well enough. How do you work this damn thing?"

"Wouldn't know. I don't drink coffee. You'll have to wait for Gramma to wake up, and that might be a while."

He groaned and I took pity on him. Gramma had shown me once and I prayed I'd remember. I checked; Gramma had it ready for the morning. I pressed a button and it started.

"Ah, I could kiss you!" he said.

"I'll take a raincheck," I replied, a billion baby butterflies freaking out in my stomach. "Traded one addiction for another?"

"More or less. I just got a new machine right before I left for New York. Makes cappuccino too, but I haven't figured out how to work it yet."

"Did you try reading the instruction book?"

"Only a girl would make that suggestion."

I grinned. "So that's a no?"

"No. I haven't read the instructions. That's the first thing you get to do when we get to London."

"Right. How do you like your eggs?" I rummaged through the fridge and found the egg carton, milk and bacon.

"Uh, scrambled." A spoonful of sugar and a dollop of creamer went into the mug, followed by a generous amount of coffee.

"Good. I can't cook anything else."

The frying pan went on the stove and I opened the package of bacon.

"Hold on a minute, girlie, no bacon. It's Friday, remember?" he said. He took the package from me and chucked it back into the fridge. "Is this something I'll have to watch out for? You cheating on the rules?"

"I hate Lent," I grumbled.

So I cooked him breakfast and made the phone calls I said I would. Reservations were at 1 p.m. under the name Santia. Steve went back to his hotel and he made his phone calls. I went to work and was drilled for details.

From what I understand, the meeting of the minds, also known as Lunch with Evan, Steve, and Caesar was uneventful. Dinner with Maggie, Brian, and Dylan was likewise. Steve, Dylan and Brian played video games. Maggie and I talked and drank coffee. It was like Steve had always been around, which was pretty cool.

"Dylan's list of favourite people is growing by the minute," Maggie said. "James, Brian, Liam. Now Steve. At this rate you and me'll be off the list in a heartbeat."

"That list is overrated. And short. At least Dylan's got taste."

"Yep. He gets that from me."

"Most definitely. But you know, Brian has taste, too. At least good sense."

"Brian has excellent taste," Maggie said. The arch of her eyebrow gave it further meaning.

"More than I wanted to know, babe."

She grinned. "Still. I'd like to find out how much taste Steve has, though."

"You're married!"

"Which is why I'm depending on you to find out for me," she said, her eyes twinkling.

And playing was over. "There's nothing like that between us, Maggie. I've known him for two days. Yeah, I had a crush on him for a while, but it'll pass. They always do. And I work for him. A whole lotta mess, getting involved with your boss."

"Very true. But he is Steven Knight. If I weren't with Brian and Steve asked me out, I'd say yes whether or not I was working for him."

"That's it. Brian! You'd better get over here. Maggie's thinking about leaving you for Steve."

"You'd better run," Dylan said to Steve. "Brian beat the crap out of my other dad 'cause he tried to take me away."

"That's enough," Brian said. "We don't need Steve thinking I'm a brute and you're a spoilt brat. That being said, I'm watching you, Knight."

"Duly noted," he replied, grinning. He knew Brian was joking.

"We all know Dylan's a spoiled brat," Maggie said. "It's part of his charm."

That was how group conversations went. Lots and lots of banter. For my part, I listened. There was always something to learn.

"How long have they been married?" Steve asked later.

"Three years this coming May. No, Dylan is not Brian's biological son. Brian adopted him just before he and Maggie got married. There's a love story for you. I'll tell you some time, if you're interested."

"Let's save it for the plane ride to London. I'll need something to occupy me or I'll drive you mad."

At least I'd have that to look forward to... Though I was surprised that he and I would be taking the same flight, since I thought he'd have gone ahead while I'd be spending Monday being briefed at Baumhaus for what was expected of me as Steve's assistant.

Saturday morning found Steve asleep on the sofa yet again. Mom had coffee going and was gone again before any of us were up, so there was a cup ready for him when he woke.

Of course, I had fun with that. I sat down opposite him and stared until one eye opened.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he grumbled, sitting up and taking the cup from me.

"It has occurred to me that I've been a bad hostess and a bit of a witch the last few days. You came all this way out to get to know me and I treated you like crap. For that I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Thanks. Now, I've noticed that you seem to lack the inclination or the ability to make it home to your hotel room-"

"The words 'home' and 'hotel room' are not synonymous and should never be used in the same sentence."

"Fine. Since you never seem to make it back to your hotel room, it occurred to me that I should ask if you wanted to stay here. We can get you a bed and everything."

"Really?"

I wasn't ready for the look of supreme joy that spread across his face. I had to laugh-not at him, but his reaction. I just hadn't expected it.

"Yeah. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Don't laugh. I've been living out of a suitcase for as long as I can remember. I've owned my flat for three years and I think I've been in it three months total. When can I move in?"

"As soon as you can get your stuff. Now, it's not the Hyatt. It'll be either a sofa bed or an air mattress, and there's no room service, no premium cable-heck, aside from my room and the living room, no cable period-and you have to schedule showers. But you do have unlimited access to the kitchen. Anything not labelled 'Don't Eat Me!' is fair game."

He looked at me for a minute, sipping his coffee.

"Is there any leftover cheesecake?"

Again I laughed. Typical. "Yeah."

"I love you!" he said. "Thank you!"

Steve moved in to one of the spare rooms that morning, right after he finished his coffee. I had the incredible pleasure of seeing him walk the five steps from the bathroom to his room one morning with only a towel wrapped around his waist, resulting in Fangirl Moment #4. I shut my bedroom door quickly, myself inside it, and squealed.

"Okay, so the man is living with you, in your house, showering in your bathroom, eating your food. Have you jumped him yet?" Katie asked as we flipped through clothing on the clearance racks, looking for misplaced items. It was the next Friday, almost one week until I left for London.

"No! It's my grandmother's house. And besides, he's sleeping on an air mattress. The thing'd pop."

"What about your bed?"

I shook my head. "Springs creak too much."

"I thought my ears were burning," the now familiar voice of Steve Knight said. Katie and I looked up and there he was, just this side of a rack of petite suit coats.

"Well, hello!" Katie said, beaming, while I wished I could disappear into the clearance rounder. "What brings you to our fine establishment today? Interested in getting a jump on Christmas shopping?"

"No," he said. "Need a dress."

That stopped Katie from speaking for a moment. I just stared.

"Why?" I asked.

"I need to talk to you about that. Got a moment?"

"Yeah. Katie? Think you'll be okay?"

"Gee, you know, we are really busy," she said. A deaf man could hear the sarcasm. "I'll give a shout if there's a rush. There may be something over there for you," she said to Steve. He made a face.

"What's all this about needing a dress?" I asked. "I mean, I know a guy, if you're looking for that sort of thing. Legends doesn't really cater to that sort of clientele."

"That's not what I meant. I've got ... an event coming up and my date bailed on me. I'd like you to come."

"What 'event'?"

I had forgotten that it was late February and that the majority of major awards had been given; the Grammies, the SAGs, the Golden Globes. I had forgotten that that year he had been nominated for his first Academy Award. He only had to say the word and it all came crashing back.

"Oscars."

"Oh man! The Oscars! On a week's notice? I can't do that! These things take months to plan!"

"Please?" he asked. "I can't go alone."

I looked at him. His shoulders were drooping and his grey eyes had gone all big and soft. He looked like a kicked dog.

"Shouldn't you like take your mom or sister or someone? I mean, I'm your assistant."

"My mum wouldn't come if I gave her three months notice, and my sis's a teacher just outside London. She'd jump at the chance, but she couldn't make it out in time. You're here and I don't give a rip that you're my assistant. The only reason I'm going at all is because I'm nominated. I- I can't go alone, Marlowe. I just can't."

That was the first time he used my name since the interview. I studied him, trying to figure out if he was just trying to con me into going with him or if he was serious. He looked around and shuffled his feet a bit. "I'm scared," he mumbled, just loud enough to hear. And he was.

I sighed. "Okay. Against my better judgment, okay. You've got yourself an Oscar date."

And he hugged me. That's all it was, a hug, but it was nice.

"Thank you," he said. Five seconds later he was back to normal. "Let's find you a dress!"

The pickings were thin at Legends as far as formals were concerned. There were only a handful of gowns that I would even consider wearing to the Academy Awards. I tried each one on in turn, with the express permission of Frankie, seeing that I only had a week left to work and we were abysmally slow.

The first four were met with severe disapproval. The last one he liked. It was a red strapless number, frilly mermaid cut thing that didn't fit all that well. Too tight in the skirt and too loose in the bust-I'd need to gain a cup size to make it fit right, and that's not something I was interested in doing, not that I could in a week.

"There, now!" he said. Of course he'd like the one that didn't fit. "That's the dress!"

"No, it's not!" I replied, fists on hips. "It's dead common, for one thing, and for another-" Before I could say more, the bust of the dress fell down and I scrambled to cover myself. He laughed.

"I guess not. Pity. You look like a mermaid."

"That's the point. Besides, why does that matter?"

"It doesn't, really," he said. He leaned in and whispered, "But I find mermaids incredibly sexy." He walked out, leaving me to change.

My knees just about gave out and I sagged against the wall. I was going to have to tell him not to do that to me ... Eventually.

"Well, that was a bust," I said to Katie as I dumped the armload of dresses on her wrap stand.

"Yes, it was," Steve chimed in, though with a different meaning entirely. All I could do was glare at him while Katie sniggered.

"So it was Marlowe looking for a dress and not you, huh?" Katie asked Steve.

"Yeah, but nothing here works for what I need it for," I said, still glaring at Steve. He just raised his eyebrows in mock-innocence.

"The one dress that could have worked was a bit too big in ... certain areas and too small in others. We're going to have to have something made."

"Where're you going? Am I allowed to know?" Katie asked.

"You'll find out," he said. "With everyone else."

Luckily my day was over a minute later, and we were able to leave as soon as I hung the dresses back up.

"Make something?" I asked as he buckled his seatbelt. "In a week, make something? I don't know about you, but I'm no seamstress."

"We'll find someone. Your Aunt Sofie mentioned a sewing circle."

"They make quilts. I know someone who can do it, I think, but- We'll see. Maybe he can re-work my prom dress."

"'He'?"

"Lexi. Oh, you're in for a treat!"

Steven Knight

Ryan had been less than pleased when I called and told him about the two actors I had discovered.

"Please tell me again why? Why you want me to drop everything, fly out to Michigan to see two graduate students in a regional production?"

"Because they're damn good," I said for the twentieth time.

"Does this have something to do with your new assistant? Friends of hers?"

"They are, but she didn't ask me. It was my idea completely. You could look at it as repaying a favour. Wasn't it Jeremy Irons who tipped you off about me? Why are you raising such a stink about it? You sign two more actors, that's more money for you."

"Fine," he snarled. "I'll make a trip out next week. They better be worth it."

"Trust me, they are."

He didn't reply, instead saying "Are you ready for the Oscars? Have your tuxedo ready and everything?"

"I think so. You were making all the arrangements."

He swore and called for his own assistant, asking about a file or something.

"Yes, everything's in order. I'll have to change your flights, though, since you decided to move to Michigan. Still want the suite?"

"Yeah."

Then, a week later, my girlfriend called. My on-again, off-again girlfriend, my date for my first ever Academy Awards. She decided that she didn't want to go with me after all, and that was it. No explanation, no apology, just "Sorry, Steve, can't make it." I had the distinct impression that she was calling the shots in this relationship.

So I asked Marlowe to go with me, 'cause I sure as hell wasn't going to go alone. Biggest night of my life-I was only 32 and to have earned an Oscar nomination five years into my acting career meant a lot. Sure, younger actors have been nominated, but they'd been in the business since their early teens and before. I started acting at 24 and was picked up by Baumhaus at 27. This was big for me, and I didn't want to go alone. I wanted someone to share it with, and Marlowe made the most sense.

We didn't find a dress at Legends, but Marlowe said she knew someone that might be able to make something for her.

"Lexi. Oh, you're in for a treat!" she said.

I heard half a conversation stating that we'd be there in an hour. Where 'there' was I had no idea, but we stopped at Marlowe's house, where she ran in and out in ten minutes, returning to the car with a bundle of fabric cleverly disguised as a garment bag.

We drove for another forty-five minutes through rush hour traffic and failing light, all without really talking about anything important. She wouldn't tell me anything about this Lexi person, saying that I'd just have to wait, that there was no way to prepare for Lexi Buchev.

From the outside the house was like any other; painted white with dark trim, garage, driveway. The name on the mailbox said "Lexi Buchev By Design."

I followed Marlowe through the open garage door and into the house and was stopped at the doorway. Stopped by a very tall man I had to look up to, a man with close-cropped fuchsia hair.

"Hello," I said. "Are you Lexi?"

"Yes, I am. You're Steven Knight. Come in. I've been expecting you."

Alexander "Lexi" Buchev was also known as Honey Golden, a headliner at a local alternative nightclub, a female impersonator appearing three nights a week to rave reviews. He was also a designer, having created his own costumes as well as various formal wear (this is two words) for those who asked nicely. Marlowe was one of those people.

"So I get to thank you for getting Marlowe into clothes that fit. I've been trying to do that for months but she wouldn't listen."

"No problem," I muttered. This was something that I hadn't expected, or experienced, ever. I was in the home of a drag queen, for Pete's sake, and about to ask him to make a dress for my assistant.

Lexi looked from me to Marlowe and shook his head.

"Not the person I would have thought to see you with, darling," he said, "But not bad. I'm sure you'll tell me just how you managed to meet him without wetting yourself, given your obsession, but that can wait. What do you need this dress for again?"

"Oscars," she said. "Wonder Boy here's date ditched him and he asked me. I thought maybe you could take in my prom dress. It's nice enough."

Wonder Boy?

"It's seven years old, darling, I don't remember what it looks like. And didn't you swear you'd never wear it again?"

"If you remake it, it's not the same dress."

"Very true. Go put it on, we'll see what we can do. I'd rather try to fit it to you than start something new. A week isn't really enough time for new couture."

She grabbed the garment bag and took off, leaving me alone with Lexi. My apprehension must have been evident.

"You don't have to worry," he said. "I'm not going to molest you. Foreign guys don't do anything for me. I prefer to be the intelligent one in the relationship. Thankfully Marlowe isn't like that."

"It's not like that between us."

"Not right now, anyway," he smirked.

I cleared my throat and changed the subject. "How do you know Marlowe?"

"I worked for a regional theatre company up north for a while. She was in a show I designed costumes for and we hit it off. I designed and made her prom dress, then moved down here. They don't exactly roll out the welcome mat for people like me up there."

"All right, here goes," Marlowe said, stepping back into the dining room in a silver gown that could only be described now as voluminous.

"Dear God, four of you could fit in that!" I said.

Lexi took a more critical view, circling her and taking in every possibility. He pulled at the fabric to fit it to her, but the cut of the gown didn't give much. He frowned, brow furrowing, and shook his head.

"I'll have to make something. I'd have to pull the whole thing apart, and it'll take as much time to make something. You have to look fabulous or those vultures will tear you to shreds. Go change. We've got a lot of work to do."

"Can you do it?" I asked.

"When do you leave? I mean, unless they've decided to hold the ceremony at the New Civic theatre, you'll have to get out to LA before Sunday. When do you leave?"

"Saturday, I think. I'm not sure, my manager hasn't gotten back to me with the details. Yeah, I think Saturday."

"You think, huh?" Lexi raised one fuchsia eyebrow. "Cutting it a bit close. Yes, I can do it. I can have a dress made for her by Saturday. It won't be cheap."

"I'll pay for it. It's my fault she needs the dress anyway. Whatever it costs."

"Well, then," he replied, rubbing his hands together. "Even better."

"Okay, now what?" Marlowe asked, returning again.

"Now we need a design. I think I have just the one."

"You think, huh?" I said, mimicking Lexi's earlier tone. He looked at me and snorted.

"Anyway," he said, "One moment, let me find it."

It was a fantastic gown of ruby silk, cut and sewn to make her look like a goddess. I stared at the final unveiling Thursday night, when Lexi had done up her hair and makeup, even lending her sheer black stockings and strappy black sandals. For jewelry she had delicate black and ruby earrings, with matching necklace and bangle. She was beautiful.

"I think you've got an admirer," Lexi whispered to her, intending for me to hear. She blushed. I smiled and stopped staring.

"We can discuss payment later," he said to me, before turning to Marlowe. "Now, you think you'll be able to replicate this Sunday? I don't think Wonder Boy made any arrangements for you."

"Crap!"

"I can do it," Marlowe said. "It's simple enough."

"Are you sure? All else fails, wear it down and hit it with some hairspray. I know you hate it, but get over it. This is bigger than your vanity issues."

"You look amazing," I said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, a sweet smile on her face. For one split second a spike of warmth shot through me, something that hadn't happened before. I smiled.

"Okay, honey," Lexi said, "You're ready. For the Oscars at least. Are you packed yet?"

"No! Oh, nuts!"

"You move to London in three days and you're not packed? Darling, you're insane."

"But we knew that, didn't we?" she said, rushing back to the bathroom. "Okay, Steve, we gotta go! You gotta help me pack!"

"I'm not touching your underwear!" I shouted.

"I'm not touching that," Lexi said. "It's too easy."

Between the two of us we got her room packed into boxes, ready for storage and shipping. I couldn't believe she had so many books and movies! Not as many as some people I know, but still a lot. She had a lot of stuff, period...

Her family threw a party Friday night with more food than I could eat and a cooler full of beer and wine, which I avoided studiously. Aunt Sofie was a gourmet, and Brian almost there, so everything was amazing.

Marlowe disappeared, though, just as the party was winding down. It was late, and I went looking for her. I checked my room and made sure I was all packed; some of her younger cousins liked to get into things and my stuff would be a prime target. I wouldn't put it past some of her older younger cousins (I was amazed at just how many relatives she had) to take a souvenir or two.

She was in her room talking with Maggie. I was about to knock and go in but something stopped me.

"Do you think you'll be okay?" Maggie asked. I stood quietly outside the door and listened, guilty about eavesdropping, but unwilling to interrupt.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Not true. She didn't sound fine.

"This isn't about the job. I know you'll be great. This is about moving to London-"

"I've always wanted to go. I'll be fine!"

"You have problems sleeping over at my house! I live three miles away. London is three thousand."

It dawned on me what they were really talking about. Marlowe had told me when I first came out that she got homesick. I just didn't think it would be that serious.

"I know this! I'll be too busy to think about it. And I'll have my own place. I'll be okay."

"I'll give you busy, but you don't need your own flat," I said, finally entering the room. Maggie looked up and smiled. Marlowe hugged a pillow closer. "You can move in with me. I've got plenty of room, and you can decorate however you like. It'll save you some money. Just have to kick my brother out."

"That's a great idea!" Maggie said. "Not too great for your brother, but good for Marlowe."

"Eh, he's a doctor. He can afford his own place. What do you say, girlie?"

"I'll think about it," she said quietly.

It was strange. This girl, this woman, this young woman who was normally so confident and assured of herself was fighting back anxiety and maybe even tears. I had to say something.

"I'll take care of you, girlie. I won't let anything bad happen to you. You can trust me."

"I know. I'm going to LA with you tomorrow, aren't I?" She smiled up at me, and whatever vulnerability she had shown was back behind her defensive shields.

"Yeah, you are," I said, returning her smile.

There was a moment while we stared at each other, prompting Maggie to say "Should I leave you two alone?"

I spent much of the flight to LA fidgeting. I flipped through magazines, books, radio stations, CD play lists. Everything I could get my hands on was played with until Marlowe slapped my hands.

"You're distracting me," she hissed.

"Sorry."

We were met at the airport and whisked off to the hotel, where Marlowe practically went into raptures at the state of our suite. Ryan didn't know about the change in plans.

"Do I need to get you a sedative?" Marlowe asked. I couldn't sit still for more than three seconds together.

"Let's go for a walk. Get some coffee or something."

"How about lunch? The last thing you need is coffee."

So we walked. Lunch was tacos from a stand, eaten while we walked. Marlowe talked, about anything and everything. She did it to keep my mind off the next two days, and I thanked her. I couldn't think straight. I don't know where all her words came from, all the stories and all the ideas, but they helped. I only had three cigarettes. Without her I would've smoked the whole pack.

Finally it was Sunday. I spent the morning on my knees in church, praying for a win or at least that I didn't embarrass myself. Marlowe slept in. I hadn't realised she didn't fall asleep until early that morning.

By the time we were both ready, the limo was waiting and had been for quite some time. And it wasn't Marlowe's fault, either. She had perfected her hair and makeup, and her gown was flawless. My tux, however, was wrinkled and the in-house seamstress was just able to take them out right before we had to leave.

The ride was interminable.

"I'd kill for a cigarette."

"You'll have to. I'm not giving them up, bucko," she said. I stared at her satin clutch holding my cigarettes. Why had I given them to her?

"I can't go through with this," I said, moving to sit across from her in the limousine. "I can't. I don't want to. I can't. Let's go back to the hotel, go swimming. Watch a movie. Anything. I can't- I'm going to make a fool of myself, I know it!"

She took my face in her hands and stared at me straight in the eye.

"You're going. You're going to be fine. Anything you say will be considered charming, because you're Scottish and your voice itself is sexy. You're the handsomest man in the industry. People will gladly watch you dipped in poo and rolled in cracker crumbs. People will pay to hear you read the phone book. I'm one of them. You'll be fine. If anyone should be freaking out it's me. I'm the nobody from the middle of nowhere, merely cute. I certainly don't belong here, yet. Compared to these other women I'm a cow-"

"You're beautiful," I said.

"Thank you," she grinned. She looked out the window. "We're here- Are you ready?"

The limp oozed to a stop.

"Here goes," I sighed. "Smile."

The door opened and we stepped out, flashbulbs going off in our faces. People were shouting from every direction, and we tried to smile at everyone, but I know that my cheeks hurt halfway down the red carpet.

"Can we not smile anymore?" Marlowe muttered.

"I don't know," I replied. "I can't feel my face."

A journalist stopped us, a woman, I don't remember who or what outfit she was with.

"Steven! Oh, Steven! Your first nomination, how's it feel?"

I'd been asked that question more times than I cared to remember, but I had to answer it anyway.

"Overwhelming!" I said. "I never expected so much attention from such a little film."

"Well, you certainly deserve it! Now, who's your date? I don't recognise her."

"Uh, a friend of mine. Marlowe Santia."

"You're lovely, dear," the journalist said. "Your dress is gorgeous! Who are you wearing?"

"Um. Lexi Buchev by Design. He works- He's new," She said, a perfect smile on her lips.

"Absolutely stunning! Oh, I should let you go, the show's starting in a few minutes. It was lovely meeting you, Miss Santia. Best of luck, Steven."

"Thanks," I said. We made it into the Kodak Theatre and I asked "Who was that?"

"Joan Rivers," Marlowe replied. "We passed inspection. For now, anyway."

I exhaled, still not quite sure what was all going on. We were ushered to our seats and a few minutes later the ceremony began.

I don't remember who we sat by. I don't remember who won what. I don't remember who hosted. All I know is that by the time they announced Best Actor in a Leading Role I was holding Marlowe's hand. In fact I was gripping it so tightly her fingertips were white, but she didn't complain.

"...and Steven Knight as Pietro Callum in Severing Ties," the girl said. I don't even remember who was presenting. "The Oscar goes to... Kevin Kline, Gone to Lunch!"

I clapped as loud as anyone else, putting on a happy face for Kevin Kline and trying to get past the disappointment of losing.

"You were robbed," Marlowe whispered while Kline gave his acceptance speech. "I saw Gone to Lunch and Severing Ties. You were so totally robbed."

"Thanks," I muttered. "Let's get out of here."

"Not yet. The show's not over yet. And we're expected at the Governor's Ball."

"Says who?"

"Says Mr. DeNiro, who's sitting right in front of you." She pointed, but barely. He was, after all, right there.

"Tough luck, kid," he said, turning around in his seat. "I agree with your date."

"Thank you, sir."

"Any time. Better luck next year."

I managed to sit through the last half hour of the ceremony, even if I sulked a bit. Marlowe insisted on putting in an appearance at the Governor's Ball, which I would rather have avoided, but we compromised and agreed to treat it like the red carpet pre-show and walk through.

We didn't get far before we were separated. Marlowe had to go to the bathroom and took off, leaving me alone to face a room full of people I barely knew, if at all. I wandered through, pretending to know and care about these people-I was tired and depressed, not in any mood to party. I'd be over it in a day or two, but for the moment I was in a funk.

Then I saw her. Bella Nostrata, my girlfriend, hanging off the arm of someone who was not me.

"Bella?" I asked. I wasn't sure if it really was her.

"Steve!" she said, letting go of her escort. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I thought you said you couldn't come-"

"I said I couldn't go with you. Mr. Koeniger asked me so nicely, I couldn't say no."

Mr. Alfred Koeniger was a casting director with a major firm. It was easy to see that Bella and I were now off again, and she'd set her sights on someone a bit more influential than me.

"If you'll excuse me," I said a little stiffly, "I've got to go find my date."

I walked away, numb, and tried to put that scene out of my mind. How could she do that to me? I know my work schedule was hectic, but- Koeniger was in his mid-forties, and she was only 28.

Marlowe was standing near Robert DeNiro's table, talking with him and his wife, as well as Sean Penn and Robin Wright.

"So you're a writer, then, Marlowe?" Sean Penn asked.

"I like to think so."

"Have any parts for me?" he continued. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"I might," she said, blushing and trying not to giggle. "I haven't written much lately. It's not very good-"

I went over and stood by her, wrapping one arm around her waist. She was someone who'd be there for me.

"It is so," I said. "I read that short you submitted to Smith Union's magazine. You've got talent."

"This coming from one who knows," DeNiro said. "I've been watching you, Knight. You're good."

I nodded, tongue tied.

"Send us some stuff, and we'll go from there," Penn offered.

"We'll see," she said. "I'm in the middle of moving, and it'll be a while before I can actually get anything written."

"When you can," he shrugged.

"Oh, we've got to get going," Marlowe continued, looking up at me, then back to the assembled actors. "Got an early flight tomorrow. It was an incredible pleasure meeting you, Mr. Penn, Ms. Wright, Mr. and Mrs. DeNiro. Thanks."

Marlowe invaded the bathroom separating her room from mine once we got back to the hotel. Her makeup washed down the sink, the dress was draped over the shower curtain, stockings balled up and tossed in a corner.

"God, I feel better," she said, toweling her face dry as she walked into my room, comfortable in her pajamas. "Those shoes are killers. I swear, it was a man who invented high heels."

I fiddled with my shirt. The cufflinks wouldn't come undone, so I was standing there in boxers and tuxedo shirt, arguing with two bits of metal. She dropped the towel on the bed.

"Here," she said, deftly removing them from my wrists. "It's late. You okay?"

I grunted a response. She smirked, walking back and picking up the towel before chucking into the bathroom. A hand went to her hair and she pulled out two pins, letting a heavy coil of dark brown hair fall around her shoulders. Now, I had seen her hair down before, but I had never actually seen it fall like that. The room got very warm as she shook it out and I experienced my very first Fanboy Moment. It was longer than expected, as she called me into the bathroom.

"Some help, please," she said. "I can't get the clasp on this necklace."

So there I was, standing behind her, my hands buried in her hair, her soft, silky hair. I could barely breathe but I managed to undo the clasp. I looked up into the mirror and our eyes met there, if only for a moment. We both looked away immediately.

"Are you tired?" I asked.

"Exhausted, but not enough to sleep yet."

"Let's watch a movie, then. I don't want to go out, and everything else is closed."

"Sounds good to me."

The mini bar provided soda and microwave popcorn, and the hotel's cable service provided movies on demand, so all we had to do was sprawl out on the bed and get comfortable.

We were both asleep before the opening credits finished.

Chapter Five: A Rude Awakening

Posted on Wednesday, 27 April 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

It was the persistence of a ringing phone that woke me up. I was fully prepared to ignore it. I was perfectly comfortable where I was, under the covers, wrapped in Steve's arms, my head on his chest...

Oh no!!

I practically leapt out of the bed and did a quick check. Still fully clothed, not hung-over, no pain anywhere other than my feet, just a little whisker burn on my temple from Steve's beard. He slept on, snoring a little, while the phone continued to ring.

"'llo?" I asked, voice still thick with sleep.

"This is a wakeup call for Mr. Charles. The time is now 5:30," the all too cheerful woman said.

"Thank you."

Double crap! We had to be at the airport in less than an hour. I shook Steve, trying to get him to wake up. There was no time to swoon at how cute he is when he's disoriented. We had to go!

"Come on, Steve, wake up! Our flight leaves in an hour and a half and I'm supposed to be at Baumhaus-" not the best time to do mental math, "NOW!"

"Whatimeizzit?" he asked, not quite on the same page as me-maybe not even the same book.

"5:30. Come on!"

"Coffee?"

"We'll get some on the way. Oh, God, what is Mr. Treyvant going to say?"

I found out sooner than I wanted to. My cell phone started ringing while Steve dragged himself to the bathroom. It was Baumhaus.

"Hello, Marlowe Santia."

"Miss Santia, are you aware of what time it is?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where are you?"

"LA, sir."

"Are you supposed to be in LA right now?"

"No, sir."

"What are you doing to fix that?"

"I'm trying to get Steve out of the hotel and to the airport, sir. Our flight leaves at seven."

"This is going in your file, Miss Santia."

"Yes, sir."

Triple crap! Not one day on the job and I'm being written up.

"Get a move on, dammit!" I snapped at Steve. He was just coming out of the bathroom, considerably more awake than he had been three minutes before.

"You're a right witch in the morning," he grumbled. "Who was that? Ryan?"

"Yeah. I'm late to my first day. I'm in such deep doodoo!"

"That wanker. Did you even read the contract, girlie? You work for me, not him. Don't let him get to you like that. Ryan Treyvant is a parasite, living off his clients' celebrity. As far as I'm concerned, you're doing a bang-up job. Now, calm down. If you'll notice, the bags are packed and all you need to do is put your contacts in and get dressed. Then we can check out, get coffee, and get to the airport in plenty of time."

"You didn't pack my things," I exhaled unbelieving.

"I did. You kicked me in the shins at three in the freaking morning and woke me up. I don't know why, but I pulled everything together. Now, go. You're the one that wants to get out of here."

"The sooner we get to New York, the sooner we get to London. The sooner we get to London, the sooner you get to your flat."

There was a pause.

"Right. You're wearing your glasses."

I made a pit stop at the airport since Steve ushered me out of the hotel as soon as I could dress. Contacts went in and my glasses were stowed in my carry-on. That got me thinking about luggage and how much thought had to go into packing it. It wasn't until we had boarded the plane that I said anything.

"I have a question," I said, plopping down in the seat next to Steve. He handed me a doughnut and my latte.

"And I have an answer."

"I'm sure you do. Why did you get back into bed with me?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"You're beginning to sound guilty. You got out of bed, packed our things and got back in. Why?"

"Look, don't get all high-and-mighty and righteous with me. It was three a.m. and I was cold and half asleep. It doesn't take as much brainpower as you think to shove clothes into a bag. There's probably a couple of towels in there too."

"It was inappropriate."

"I didn't hear you complain until now! Nothing happened."

"You had the presence of mind to go into my room and pack my stuff! You could've gotten into my bed or slept on the couch."

He got very quiet, infusing his voice with an intensity that I'd only ever heard in his movies.

"Listen to me. I don't know why I did what I did. All I know is that it felt damn good crawling back into bed and I got two and a half hours of the best sleep I've had in a long time. Nothing more than that happened and nothing ever will. It was a fluke, that's all."

I sighed and let the subject drop. I had been overreacting.

"By the by," he said as the plane taxied out onto the runway, "You make a very comfortable armful."

I elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"There's a thin line between a compliment and harassment," I said, even as I felt my ears go red. "That was a warning."

He grumbled, muttering something about kicking a man when he was down.

"Ooh, here. I snagged these last night. Figured you'd enjoy them." From my carry-on I pulled out a plastic baggie containing four miniature chocolate Oscars. "Wolfgang Puck makes them every year. I couldn't leave without taking a few."

"So you're a thief too, huh?"

"Eh, maybe. Want 'em?"

He took one and studied it, then bit it in half.

"Feel better?" I asked.

"A bit. I wonder if the real ones are made of chocolate too."

I laughed. "I doubt it."

It was an uneventful flight, thankfully, with only a bit of turbulence to keep me from sleeping comfortably. Steve passed out once we had taken off and had all but laid his head on my shoulder-another elbow to the ribs and he moved away.

There was a driver waiting for me, for us, at the airport. I was assured that our luggage would be taken care of and ready for our flight, which left at 7. Then it was a long drive into the city and Baumhaus.

"I'm in trouble," I muttered.

"No, you're not. Who do you work for again?" he asked, exasperated, frustrated with having to tell me over and over again.

"You. It's just- I know he's going to yell at me, and I don't want that."

"I don't either, if it's going to make you upset. I'll go in and talk to him first, if you like. Tell him how great you handled yourself yesterday."

"No, I'll be okay," I said, shaking off any residual apprehension. "After all, if I can talk to Robert DeNiro and Sean Penn without freaking out, I can handle an agent."

"There's my girl!" he grinned. "Hey, do you think we'll have time to meet up with James?"

"I don't know. You probably will. I'll probably be stuck in some boring lecture detailing how your image reflects upon the company, and how I'm going to have to keep your image impeccable. I'll be hard pressed to keep from saying that you're an adult and fully capable of making your own decisions, knowing full well that your image reflects the company."

"That sounds about right."

The car stopped and the door was opened for us once again. The sun may have been shining, but we couldn't tell through the thick haze that passed for the sky. I pulled my coat closer as we walked up to the building.

"So, is it a smart idea to nod and smile, and take their crap all the while ignoring the fact that they're insulting my intelligence?"

"You don't have to ignore it, per se, but don't let on that you know they're full of it. Yeah, that's the best idea."

"Goodie."

More doors opened as we were shown inside. This time I wasn't frantically running to the elevator and punching the button that would send me to the 20th floor. This time I wasn't out of breath, cursing myself for only bringing one copy of my resume to an interview, rushing into the boardroom and making the worst possible impression.

No, this time I was walking calmly to the elevator with Steven Knight, knapsack slung casually over one shoulder, ready for whatever Ryan Treyvant could throw at me.

Yeah. Right.

"What time is it, Miss Santia?" Ryan asked no sooner than I had stepped through the doors to his office. He was sitting behind his desk, up against a window that looked out over the city. Not intimidating in the slightest.

"Ah, um, 1, sir."

"And what time were you supposed to be here?"

"9, sir."

"Are you aware that I had to push back several important meetings in order to be available for when you decided to show up?"

I knew he was trying to intimidate me, and it was working. But somewhere, way back in my subconscious there was a little niggling voice, goading me to action. It sounded suspiciously like Steve. I couldn't let Ryan Treyvant get the better of me without a fight.

"With respect, Mr. Treyvant, that was beyond my control."

"Ah, yes, you had to go to LA and be Steve's date to the Oscars. That was quite the surprise. And still you knew that you had to be here, today, at 9 a.m." He didn't like that I had suddenly grown a backbone, however small it was.

"Yes. I knew that I started today as Steve's assistant, which I did by making sure he got on the plane to get here, to New York, in time to meet the plane that would take both him and I to London."

"Where he will be starting rehearsals for Othello tomorrow morning. Here," he said, tossing two thick packets of paper onto my lap. "Rehearsal schedule and contact sheet for Othello, as well as for Northanger Abbey, which is due to start filming the week after he finishes in the West End. You will need to get into contact with the appropriate people to find out further details. Riding lessons, stage combat exercises, vocal training. Costume fittings. Your job is to make sure he is running on time and not late for any of these things, or whatever else pops up.

"You will be in contact with myself, Irene, or Carlotta. We will keep you informed as to what, if any, promotional events he is to attend. Information will be sent to you as we receive it. What you do with it after that is up to you, but remember his obligations. I don't need to tell you about keeping his reputation intact.

"I'll be honest. I don't think you're going to do a good job, but I hope you prove me wrong. Steve seems to like you, perhaps more than he should, and keeping him happy is important. Just remember: You can be replaced."

"I am well aware of that, sir," I said. "Will that be all?"

"Unfortunately, no. We've set up an expense account for you. It is to be used only for business purchases, nothing of a personal nature. Also, a cell phone, again only for business use. There's one for Steve, too. You may want to program it for him, since he appears to be rather inept in that area." Two cardboard boxes were stacked on the corner of his desk. He indicated that I was to take them.

"I've noticed. Sometimes I'm amazed he can turn on the lights."

Ryan snorted and pressed the intercom. "Carlotta, please send Steve in."

"Right away, Mr. Treyvant."

Steve swept in, fresh as a daisy, his usual scruffy self. I hadn't noticed before, but he was still in the tuxedo shirt he had worn the day before and then slept in.

"Tell me you haven't been intimidating my assistant, Ryan," he said. "I don't need to be talking her down from a nervous fit on the flight later."

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm ready to go, if you're finished, Mr. Treyvant. I was hoping to at least call my brother before we leave for London."

"You are excused, Miss Santia. We'll be in touch."

"Yes, sir."

"Miss Santia?" I heard Steve ask as I left. "Her name is Marlowe."

"I'm trying to maintain a certain level of professional behaviour, Steve, which you seem to have no problem ignoring."

I didn't hear anything else, though I was insanely curious. It was only two-I could call James, and if he was in the area we could meet up before Steve and I had to be at the airport.

Under the watchful eye of Carlotta Carmela I dialled James' cell number and was answered.

"Fresh From The Boonies Music, this is James," he said.

"Hey, bud. Whatcha doing?"

"Kid! I'm at the office. Where are you? In London yet?"

"Not yet. We're at Baumhaus right now, and I think Steve is getting reamed. We should be outta here in a hour, tops, and we need to be back at the airport by 5. Think you can slip away and meet us for coffee or something?"

"For you, kid, anything."

"Oop, gotta go. Name a good coffee shop and we'll meet you."

"Right. The Daily Grind, three p.m. Turn left out of Baumhaus and go three blocks. It's a hole in the wall, but good. You'll have to look for it."

"Gotcha. Bye, big brudder."

"Bye, little sister."

Steve stormed out of the office, doors slamming and Ryan hot on his heels.

"That is preposterous!" Mr. Treyvant said.

"Is it? You're insinuating that my motives are less than honourable! Marlowe is a friend, and the sister of a friend. I've spent the last two weeks with her, and I know she's going to be wonderful. Bugger off!"

"I'm going to ignore that!"

"Good! Then ignore me going out the door with my assistant. Come on, Marlowe, let's go."

I looked to Carlotta, who rolled her eyes and shook her head, then smirked at me. "Happens all the time," she mouthed.

"What was that about?" I asked as I followed, barely able to keep up, as Steve barreled out to the elevator.

"Nothing," he said.

"Bull freaking poo!"

He turned and glared at me. Such a dark look I haven't seen in years. I actually stepped back. Now was a good time to stay quiet and for once I succeeded. I was almost scared of him, enough to stand further away than I would normally.

The elevator slowed to a stop. Before the doors slid open, however, Steve leaned on the "Close Door" button. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Ryan and I argued, about you. He still thinks you're wrong for the job and nearly emasculated me for taking you to the Oscars. He- He insinuated that I hired you for dishonest reasons, that I let my pants think too much for me. I lost my temper."

"I take it this happens often?"

He nodded.

"So why do you put up with him? He works for you."

"Because without him I'd still be waiting tables at a pub in London. Baumhaus is the best agency around and Ryan is one of the best in the business. And I don't deal with him all that much, anyway. You'll be talking to him in the future." What had started out deadly serious ended with Steve's trademark grin, eyes twinkling. "Now. We've got three hours before we leave for London. Let's go shopping!"

"Are you sure you're straight?" I asked.

"Wanna find out?" he replied, the trademark grin morphing into a playful smirk that I would have loved to kiss. Of course, that was before I started working for him. Now I had to remind myself that things got ugly when business and pleasure mixed.

Steven Knight

I honestly don't know how I managed to pack two people's worth of clothing and toiletries at 3 in the morning, limping and half asleep. She really kicked me hard! But getting back into bed was nice. It felt so good having someone to put my arms around. I suppose I should have taken her bed or even the sofa, but as I said, it was 3 a.m. and I wasn't thinking clearly enough to make that decision.

And I hadn't taken into account her reaction. But I couldn't have done that because I didn't know what I was doing- Thinking about that makes my brain hurt. I'd have to get her to relax a bit more, and keep in mind myself that she didn't always appreciate, ah, flirtatious overtures. Now, I'm a naturally flirtatious person, and she is too, so this was going to be interesting.

When I was called into Ryan's office I knew it wasn't for any kind of condolences on having lost the Academy Award.

"Miss Santia?" I asked as she left the office. "Her name is Marlowe."

"I'm trying to maintain a certain level of professional behaviour, Steve, which you seem to have no problem ignoring. What is the meaning of this?" he asked once Marlowe was safely out of earshot. He tossed a handful of photographs onto his desk. Me and Marlowe, smiling, chatting, posing for more pictures. Making faces at the camera.

"It means we had a good time," I replied as I sat and made myself comfortable. I was in for another long lecture on propriety and what I wasn't doing to maintain my reputation.

"She's your assistant."

"And your point is? They don't know that."

"They'll find out. Where was Bella?"

"With Alfred Koeniger. She ditched me a week before and Marlowe agreed to go with me. Why does this matter? She looked wonderful and she didn't embarrass herself or me."

"She could've. There were a dozen young lovelies you could've taken, all waiting for you to ask, any of which would have been a better date than her."

"Her name is Marlowe," I repeated. "And there was no one else I'd rather have taken. We had a great time. Would it have been different if I'd taken my mother?"

"Yes! That would have been acceptable. Gossip wouldn't be flying at the rate it is."

"You're off your block! Marlowe's my friend, nothing more, and you're a filthy pig for thinking otherwise." I'd heard enough, stood and started for the door.

"You'd best be careful, Steven! I know how you get. This infatuation will burn away and you'll be stuck with an assistant that doesn't know what she's doing. Stop thinking with your pants and use your brain!"

I turned on my heel and glared at him. "You really wish that's how it was, don't you?" I asked. "Do you get some sort of sick thrill thinking like that?"

"That's preposterous!" he spluttered.

I was in a right nasty mood and I took it out on Marlowe. I think I frightened her with the look I gave her, and I apologised. Another moment and I was back to normal, flirting with her and liking that she flirted back.

"Are you sure you're straight?" she asked with that sweet smile.

"Wanna find out?"

"Maybe later."

"Who was on the phone?"

"James. He'll meet us at three for coffee," she said. We walked outside and the sun decided to show itself, however weakly.

"You know me so well!"

"Are you kidding? I now own stock in Starbucks."

"See, and this is why I know you'll be a good assistant," I said, draping one arm around her shoulders in a purely friendly manner. "Keep me in coffee and I'm happy."

"Is it really that simple?" she grinned.

"For now. Are you up for the challenge?"

"I've made it this far. And hey, now I've got an expense account, complete with a credit card in my name."

"Awesome! Does that mean you're treating?" I asked.

"Not on your life. I don't drink coffee, remember?"

"I'll break you of that habit eventually. Working on a movie set is insanity in of itself... The hours are crazy and sometimes all that keeps me awake is coffee."

"I don't like the taste."

"That's what they make creamer for, girlie. You had a latte this morning."

"Yeah, and I'll be awake until tomorrow night, too. The last time I had a latte was five, no, six years ago when my French class went to Paris. I swear I was up for nearly 48 hours straight, shaking, and had a splitting headache. I can feel one starting now."

"Yeah, Ryan has that effect on people. We'll get you some medicine before it gets too bad. Now, where to first?"

"Well, Lexi gave me the names of a few shops where I can find some nice dress shoes, a few places he comes to New York especially to buy from. I have a feeling I'll be needing them."

I had to drag her out of the shop half an hour later, and it wasn't the shoes that had captivated her interest. No, it was the makeup selection and books on application technique.

"Before you buy any more eye makeup, girlie, you need to brush up on proper grooming-you're supposed to have two eyebrows, not one."

Without looking, one hand went to her forehead and she traced her eyebrows. Then she slapped my arm. "Dweeb. I like my eyebrows." Said with extra emphasis on the s.

"I do too, but there should still be two of them."

"Why the attack on my eyebrows?" she asked, breaking away from the makeup counter and starting for the door, though she took her time about it.

"We've got to get going. We'll be late."

"Aren't I the one supposed to keep you on time?"

"When coffee's involved I'm incredibly punctual."

"This addiction is bordering on the absurd. Okay, let's go."

The coffee house was what every coffee house should be, dark and smoky, with a currently abandoned stage for jazz acts and poetry readings. James had found a booth way back in the corner and was on his third or fourth cigarette, if the ashtray was to be believed. A heavy mug of pitch black coffee sat in front of him, steaming gently.

He stubbed out his cigarette when Marlowe wound her way around the tables and chairs and threw herself at him.

"Hey! Long time, no see. Glad to see you too, Kid. Hey, Steve."

"Hey. Marlowe, let go. You're suffocating him."

"Hey, now, I'm about to move 3,000 miles away. This is the last time I'm going to see my brother for a while. I'm allowed a bit of sentimentality."

"Fine. But, now I'm exerting my new status as employer. Go get me a latte," I said. She looked at me, not pleased.

"Right," she said after a beat and walked away.

"You're a jerk," James said as he lit a fresh cigarette. He passed the pack to me and I took two. It was going to be a long time before I could have another.

"She's my assistant. I get to do that. Light?"

"She'll make you pay. Trust me on that."

I shrugged. There was a moment without conversation as we both lit our cigarettes and took that first drag.

"So, what's on your plate?" James asked. "Going anywhere fun?"

"Just London for a few months, finally get to stay in my flat for more than a night at a time. Then just hopping around the UK for another few months, get a break mid-summer then we'll be in Canada for half a year starting end of August."

"Then what?"

"I don't know yet. I've apparently signed on for a science-fiction monster movie, but it isn't even in pre-production yet. Probably filming in Prague or something." I exhaled, sending a stream of smoke up toward the ceiling.

"Sounds cool."

"You know, there's faster ways of committing suicide," Marlowe said, roughly setting down my latte and sliding in beside her brother. "Just so you know."

"Duly noted," I said sourly. That could become a problem. I may have been trying to quit anyway, but for her to keep nagging would not be a good thing.

"Moving to London, then?" James asked.

"Yup. Am I insane?"

"Yeah, but you're harmless," he said. "Steve may have to kill you if you keep nagging him, though, and I give him permission. I know the thought has crossed my mind once or twice."

"You know you love me," she replied, an idiotic simper and glimmer of truth shining on her face.

"Yeah. It's the only thing that's saved you so far."

A general laugh was shared there, more teasing than anything else going on at the time.

"Aw, nuts. Gotta use the bathroom. Like I said, coffee and me don't mix well." Marlowe slid out of the booth and sauntered out into the haze.

"Sorry to be such a downer, man," James said once she was out of earshot, "But it's been a long week, and it's only Monday. Something you gotta know about Marlowe, and I don't know if you've picked up on this or not, but she's not as tough as she looks. I mean, yeah, she acts tough and talks tough, and if push comes to shove she can kick her way out of anything, but it's an act. You won't get her to admit it, of course, but if you look for it, you'll see. Be careful and don't leave her alone too much, at least not at first."

"I won't," I said. "Thanks for the warning."

Oh, hell. This was heavy stuff, heavier than I had expected. Before I went to Michigan James had hinted at this, that she was more than what she appeared. In fact, that was why I had gone in the first place, to learn more about her, but as I thought I realised that in the two weeks I'd been there, all I found out was that she made killer cheesecake and loved movies. I'd have to change that.

"I mean, she's cool and all, she's a great girl, she's just a little out there. Her imagination runs wild most of the time-she's been known to be scared of her own reflection."

"Think you're a vampire, then?" I asked, glad that the mood was lightening. The girl in question returned and sat back down.

"Aw! It was one time, okay? It was dark and I thought someone else was coming in the door as I was going out. I do not think I'm a vampire."

"I might just revoke that offer to stay with me, knowing this," I said, ignoring her denial.

"Too late. You already invited me in. And if I was a vampire, you'd be gone all ready. I'd never be able to resist such a sexy neck as yours."

"And that's enough of that," James said.

"What, getting uncomfortable with your little sister flirting with a big, bad celebrity?" she asked.

"No, just that she's flirting with my friend. This is new."

"All your friends I've met combined aren't as hot as Steve."

"That's true," I chimed in.

"Don't you start getting a big head now, buddy," she said, "I'm just in a good mood. Compliments need to be earned."

I pouted and she shook her head.

"See?" she asked James, "All ready impervious."

"What are you on?" he replied, "And why aren't you sharing?"

"Hey, I'm high on life."

"And low on brains," came James' automatic response. I'd heard it before, whenever anyone gave him that bullcrap line.

"Har dee har har. I'm finally getting to go to London and someone else is paying. And Paris is only a few hours away from there, so I can finally get back and to the top of Notre Dame."

"Hey, it'll be a while before that can happen, girlie. I'm a very busy man and I don't know what'll be happening between now and next year," I said.

"At least it's there," she said, that sweet smile back on her face. And I decided right there that I'd make sure she got to Paris within a month.

We sat in that coffee shop for another hour, just talking and joking, drinking our coffee (in Marlowe's case, tea) and for James and me, smoking. In Marlowe's favour, that one line about committing suicide was her only jab at our habit. With one last hug Marlowe said goodbye to her brother and we were gone, back to the airport to await our flight.

"You never told me which part you have," she said after a long few moments in the VIP lounge.

It took me a moment to figure out what she meant, but I looked and saw she was going through the Othello rehearsal schedule, entering times and dates into a little electronic gadget.

"Oh? Uh, Iago."

"Really? I expected to hear Cassio, actually. But Iago! He's a right jerk." She didn't even look up, just carefully packed her things away as they announced first class seating.

"He is, isn't he? That'll be fun. I haven't played a villain in a while."

"You haven't. I wonder how many of your fans will fly out to see you?"

"I don't expect many of them will."

"I would," she said, "If I had the money. Othello's my favourite play, and I've never seen it live before. It's the first Shakespeare I ever read."

"That's original. Usually it's Romeo and Juliet or Hamlet, or A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"I read Othello for fun."

Two carry-ons were allowed. I stashed the larger of mine and Marlowe's above our seats and sat down. She was busy investigating all the perks she would receive for flying first class.

"You really are insane."

"But not certifiable," she said, again without looking up. "I also read Roots and Gone with the Wind in one marking period in ninth grade. The one time I was popular in my class, we won the school's Read-A-Thon. Started on David Copperfield but the contest ended."

"So you didn't finish?"

"Couldn't get into it. Started Gone with the Wind twice and finally had to rent the movie before I could get more than twenty pages in."

And that seemed to me the perfect opening for a new line of questioning.

"You amaze me," I said. "I mean, you know so much about me and I know next to nothing about you."

"What is there to know? Better yet, what do you want to know?"

"As much as you're willing to tell me. I'll find out the rest anyway, I'm very observant, and I've seen you are too. And I've got my own spies. I'll know everything anyway, so you might as well just spill your guts now."

"You expect me to launch into a monologue on my life?" she asked, looking up at me finally with half a grin. "I'm not. Besides, I don't want to repeat myself. So, you tell me what you know about me and I'll fill in the pertinent details."

Stalemate. We stared at each other for a few minutes, all through the flight attendant's routine about flight safety and the captain's greeting. I wracked my brain for information all while looking into her eyes, and somewhere it registered with me that they were just a shade lighter than her hair, a rich, multi-faceted brown.

"I know you're the youngest of four and only girl. You're 23 years old, and your parents split when you were- James was 18 or 19, so you were... 11? You lived in Northern Michigan most of your life, where you met Lexi. You chose to go to Smith Union because it was as far out of Michigan as you could get and still be in the state; you've lived with your Gran ever since. You and your da don't talk much, like him and James. You don't go out much, you're a bit reclusive, and you like to write."

"Is that all?" she asked, grinning. "I'm pretty boring, aren't I?"

"Not necessarily. You've got a killer sense of humour, you know movies like nobody else I know, got an excellent memory for little stuff. Smart as a whip and-"

"You say damn pretty and I'll slug you," she said.

"Fine. But you are."

She elbowed me in the ribs. "There really isn't much else. As I'm sure you've realised, I'm a bit obsessive. I've always got a notebook and pen somewhere on my person. When I like something, I like it until I don't, usually a few months. In that time I practically eat, breathe and sleep whatever it is, or whoever. If it's an actor or actress, I get my hands on everything I can: articles, interviews, movies, plays, reviews, pics. Then the obsession burns away and I'm onto something new."

"Does this count for me, too?" I asked, only slightly worried. I've met fans who were more bizarre.

"Yeah, but I suspect you'll be out of my system sooner or later. It's been three months all ready, and I'm sure working with you will help it along. Remember, I'm harmless. James has seen me go through worse. Scared now?"

I was relieved. James would've said something if it were serious. "Not really. We've all got our quirks. It's what makes us interesting."

"Yeah. You sing in the shower."

"You heard me?" I asked, knowing I was going red.

"Half the city heard you."

"Well, crap."

"That's okay. I still sleep with a stuffed animal. Quiggly the Piggly, inherited from Maggie a few years ago. He needed a good home."

"And why did she give him up?"

"She didn't need him any more. She had Brian. I have no one, so I have Quiggly."

"I have a stuffed animal too."

"You're kidding me!"

"No, 'pon my honour, I do." I opened my pack and pulled him out. "Mr. Bunny, meet Marlowe. My niece Ranae gave him to me a year or so ago and he's been travelling with me ever since."

"And why did she give him up?" she shot back.

"Touché. She overheard me say that I was lonely, went into her room and came back with Mr. Bunny. With as much solemnity as she could muster-which is a fair bit, let me tell you-she handed him to me and said 'Here you are, Uncle Steve, now you won't be lonely any more.' He was her favourite, and ever since then I've taken pictures of him and me everywhere I go and send them to her. In my last letter I told her all about you and your Gran and how Mr. Bunny really liked staying at your house. He didn't like Murphy or Keller, but I rather think that's an inherent trait with rabbits."

"I'm not surprised," she said. That sweet smile was back, and I wished it would stay. I liked how I felt when I saw it. "You're too much. Lonely? You?"

"Yes, it happens. More often than you'd think. At least now I've got you to keep me company."

"But- You're always working with people and you make friends everywhere. How do you get lonely?"

"Easily enough. After the day's work is done I go back to my hotel and sit there, maybe sleep. If I don't do that I-"

"Go exploring."

"Go exploring," I agreed. "And it's not as much fun going alone. Don't you get lonely?"

"Not really. I've always been something of a homebody. A gregarious homebody, but a homebody nonetheless. I've always been able to entertain myself."

"Me too, but-"

She stared at me, one eyebrow raised. I had just said something potentially damaging.

"That's not what I meant!" I yelped, even as a wry grin spread across her face.

"You think that, if it gives you comfort," she said.

"Let's drop this conversation. Weren't you going to tell me about how Maggie and Brian got together?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah. I'm always up for a good story, and from meeting them I know this one is."

"It's sweet, really," she said, packing her things away again. "It started my first year at Smith Union. Well, before I started there, actually. First- Let me start over."

She was right, the story was long and terribly romantic. Listening to her tell it was like listening to a fairy story, since she kept her voice low to avoid disturbing the other passengers. I relaxed and focused on her voice. By the end of it I was ready to fall asleep.

"That boring, huh?" she asked quietly, as my eyelids lowered for the fourth time.

"No, not at all," I said, trying to keep my eyes open. "It's just- I'm tired is all. Like I said this morning, I only got two and a half hours of good sleep last night."

"So go to sleep. You don't need to stay awake with me. Like I said, one latte's enough to keep me up for days. You can even put your head on my shoulder, if you like."

"Your elbow got very intimate with my ribcage the last time I tried that."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have a 10 a.m. rehearsal to get to. Besides, that's what shoulders are made for. Start snoring, though, and all bets are off."

I grinned and did my best to make myself comfortable. If my head landed on her shoulder I don't remember. Before I knew it, Marlowe was shaking me awake. It was a new day and we had a lot to do.

Chapter 6: A Sonny Dispossession

Posted on Tuesday, 3 May 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

In the last twenty four hours I had spent at least twelve of them on a plane. So it would be no surprise to anyone that I was glad to get off the plane and into the airport. I love flying as a rule, but spending half the day on a plane was not my idea of fun.

"Isn't someone supposed to meet us?" I asked.

Steve was starting in on his first coffee of the day, with cream and sugar, and still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Nope," he said. "We get to cab it home."

"Do we have time to make it there before you need to be at rehearsal?"

He stopped walking and stared into space for a moment, thinking. I could easily imagine the hamster limping and stumbling on his wheel, trying to get brain activity started. Steve is not a morning person.

"That's a no," I said. "Okay. Let's go get our stuff and get out of here."

While Steve watched for our luggage I went in search of an information booth and phone number for a taxi company.

"Okay, the cab'll be here in a few minutes." I shoved a bagel with cream cheese into his hands. "You need food in your stomach, not more coffee. If you're really good I'll let you have a cigarette."

I had lifted the pack from his bag while he slept. It was amusing watching him rifle through his things looking for it.

"That was a cruel trick," he said once we were outside, various bits of luggage strewn around. As a favour he was standing downwind from me, bagel in one hand, cigarette and coffee in the other.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't." He shoved the pack into his front jeans pocket, almost daring me to go for it. Wasn't going to happen.

"That's very childish."

"So's hiding a man's cigarettes."

"I said I was sorry! It was a moment of weakness, okay? I just don't like seeing you kill yourself, however slowly. Your voice is one of the things your fans love about you and all this smoking's going to ruin it."

"Don't you think I know that?" he asked. "Look, I'm trying to quit. Your nagging's not going to help. Let me deal with this. When I want help I'll ask for it."

"No problem," I said. "But you have to get your own cigarettes. I'm not buying them for you."

"Fine by me."

Like I'd seen in the past few days, Steve was back to his normal jovial self in a few minutes, once his nicotine and caffeine needs had been met. The cab arrived and we piled in. Steve gave the address of the theatre to the cabbie and I held on for dear life as we sped out of the airport and into the streets of London.

"Man, you look like crap," Adrian Mahoney said. Adrian was going to be the titular Othello and was pulling his jacket off as we walked into the rehearsal space. "Who's the girl?"

"Baumhaus decided I needed an assistant. This's Marlowe. She's James' sister."

"Hey, cool! How's the old man doing?" Adrian asked, shaking my hand with a good, firm grip.

"He's doing good, keeping busy." How many people did James know?

"Good, good. Ready to work, Knight? It's been a while since you've been 'round here."

They started talking and like that I was forgotten. I took a seat back out of sight and watched as the rest of the cast drifted in. I recognised a few of them, but not most. I learned names soon enough, just from listening, and did my best to remember them for later.

The day was long, with one break for lunch and a couple others just to get blood flowing. Steve sent me out for coffee, and luckily there was a Starbucks just around the corner so I didn't have to run the risk of getting lost. If I looked hard enough, there was one just down the street, too. They're everywhere.

I called my Gramma to let her know we got in okay. I didn't give her many details about the trip, especially about what had happened Monday morning, simply because there weren't many to give, and those that existed weren't worth repeating. I called Mom and gave her the same story, two flights and the briefing at Baumhaus, plus a little about rehearsals. Nothing fancy, nothing incendiary. She complimented me on actually wearing a dress to the Oscars, especially such a lovely red one. They both asked me to tell Steve 'Hello,' and I promised that I would. Can't disappoint the family.

"God I'm tired," Steve said once rehearsals were over. "Let's go home. Want to stop for takeaway?"

"Sure. You know the best places." But not if he hasn't been to his flat in who knows how long... or even if he's been in London.

"Bloody hell. Let's get home first and ask Sonny. He'll know better."

"Sonny?"

"Yeah, my brother."

"Is that his real name?" I asked. It seemed a bit strange to name a person Sonny... I wondered if his sister's name was Cher.

"Of course not. It's-" He thought for a moment, then said "I honestly don't remember his real name. Huh. Been calling him Sonny for as long as I can remember."

Meeting Sonny was something I'll never forget. Hell, walking into Steve's flat that first time, weighed down with all my luggage, is something I'll never forget, no matter how hard I try. Carry-out boxes were stacked everywhere, dishes piled in the sink, clothes draped over anything that didn't move. The place was a mess, worse than any dorm room I'd ever seen and I'd seen some doozies. The TV was on and the stereo, but there was no Sonny to be seen.

"Sonny?" Steve called, dropping his bags on the floor for me to trip over. "Sonny, where are you?"

There was no immediate answer. I was tired, having climbed three flights of stairs with fifty pounds of clothes and shoes and personal effects. Steve had his own stuff to carry, and he too was out of breath.

"I don't have time for games, Sonny!" he shouted. "Where the heck are you?"

"Can't a bloke shower in peace?" someone said. A door opened, presumably the bathroom, since someone came out dripping wet.

And that someone was buck naked.

"You're looking, aren't you?" Steve asked, grinning, as I turned my head.

"No!" But I did get an eyeful.

"Who're you?" Sonny asked, finally realising I was there.

"It's okay, he's decent. Covered, anyway. Sonny, this is Marlowe, my new assistant. Marlowe, Sonny, Sonny Marlowe. She's getting your room. What've you been doing here, man? The place is a sty!"

Sonny now had a towel wrapped around his waist and was pulling on scrubs. He was a slightly younger, slightly pudgier, slightly scruffier version of Steve. By slightly scruffier I mean Sonny actually had a beard while Steve just had stubble.

"Can't talk now, need to get to the hospital," Sonny said. Then he realised what Steve had told him. "What do you mean, she gets my room?"

"I mean I'm kicking you out. It's high time you got your own place."

"Now that's not right!"

"Hey, you're a doctor, Sonny. You can afford a place much better than she can. And I'm going to be around now, I don't need you here looking after the place, not that you've done much with it."

"You couldn't give me any more warning than that? I'm due at the hospital in ten minutes!"

"It's not like I expected you to pack up now. I'm giving you a week."

"So where will I stay, then?" I asked.

Steve thought for a moment, the hamster back on his wheel and going a mile a minute. "You can take my room. I'll sleep on the sofa and Sonny'll shovel out his room."

"Your room?" I repeated.

"It is clean, right?" he asked Sonny.

"Just like you left it."

"We'll see." Steve lead the way, past the filthy living room to his bedroom. It was clean, void of clothing and mess.

"Food!" I ordered. He straightened and looked at me like I had a crew cut and could break him in half.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, giving a smart salute.

I dropped my bags on the floor and looked around the room. Double bed, two side tables, and lamps. The room was done in chocolate brown, dark red-orange and cream, with clean lines and minimal ornamentation. It didn't look lived in.

"So," I said, walking out into the main room. Sonny was gone. "This isn't awkward at all, is it?"

"Whoa, the sarcasm is fresh today!" Steve said, looking at the kitchen sink.

"Go sit down, I'll clean up."

"You don't have to do that. I'll make Sonny do it tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll appreciate that. It's okay. I can't concentrate with the mess."

He shrugged and left me alone. I didn't do everything, but I at least made the place presentable. Sonny's clothes were gathered and dumped in front of his bedroom door, the carry out boxes shoved into a garbage bag and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher. It didn't take long and soon I was seated at the other end of the sofa from Steve, waiting for dinner to arrive.

"So. What now?"

"No bleedin' clue," he said.

"Right." It was my turn for the hamster to get on her wheel and start going.

I couldn't function without knowing what was expected of me, and I know me well enough to know that if I don't know what's going on, I don't do anything. That wouldn't be acceptable.

But. I knew couldn't let Steve run roughshod over me all the time, like he had the day before with James. There had to be a bit of give and take in this relationship, working and personal. And I hit upon an idea.

"Okay. Hear me out on this. While you are working, on stage or set or whatever, promoting, rehearsing or performing, I will be your assistant and do what you ask-key word being ask. I don't take orders well. Direction yes, but not orders. 'Could you get coffee' is much nicer than 'Get me coffee,' right?"

"Requests, not orders. Understood. What else?"

"Outside of work we're friends, roommates, whatever. I'm not your assistant then. I'll keep my room clean, or at least keep it contained. I expect my privacy will be just that and I won't invade yours. I think the general rule could be that if the door's closed, knock, if it's open it's fair game. This worked with my brothers and me, so it should work now. How do you want to handle rent, food, etcetera?"

"I don't know. The point of having you stay with me was so that you didn't have to pay rent, so that's a done deal as far as I'm concerned. I own the flat, so it's not like I'm even paying rent. You shouldn't have to pay for anything. If it'll make you feel better, though, you can pitch in for groceries and utilities. Eh, we'll work something out. Too much to think about right now."

"Overloaded?" I asked.

"Just a bit."

"I can sleep on the sofa, Steve. It's not a problem."

"No, it's okay. You can have my room until Sonny gets his stuff together." He laid his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He was tired and getting worn out.

"You probably should've called and told him about this," I said.

"Yeah, probably. Too late now."

The food arrived, Chinese, delivered by a disaffected young man with more metal on his face than most cars have in their entire bodies. I paid for it and the kid left without so much as a thank you or any other nicety. I somehow found a couple of clean plates and dished up two helpings of rice and chicken and pork, liberally sprinkling soy sauce on mine and propping a packet of the stuff on his plate. A fortune cookie for each of us and two pairs of chopsticks completed the scenario and I set one plate on his lap.

"Oh, thanks. Didn't have to do that," he said.

"Eh," I shrugged. "Wasn't too bad. Do it for Gramma all the time. She and Mom say 'Hi,' by the way. And everyone else."

"Tell them Hi for me too, next time you talk to them."

"Will do."

There was a long moment, more like five or six, where I tried to work the chopsticks and failed miserably. I didn't know Steve had even been watching until he was standing right there, holding a fork out to me, as I speared a chunk of sweet and sour chicken with one chopstick.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem. Never could work the blasted things anyway. I figure it might be a good way to lose weight, though. Can only pick up one grain of rice at a time. One little pea pod."

"More like you fill up faster because you're not shovelling food into your face. You can actually realise when you're full. Dangit, I can type 80 words a minute (if I try), I can fix little bitty things, I can fix big things, I can program cell phones, and yet I can't work chopsticks. These are the great humblers of our age."

He laughed, probably for the first time that day outside of rehearsal. "I hate to tell you, girlie, they're thousands of years old. They've been making fools of us for generations."

"This from the man using a spoon, too."

"Hey, it's been a long day." He laid a sliver of pork over a spoonful of rice and shoved it in his mouth. Two grains of rice escaped and dribbled down his chin.

"Yeah. You're a pig."

"It's been a long day. I'm entitled."

"So long as you pick up after yourself, I'm fine."

"You don't have room to speak. I've seen your room." Another spoonful of rice and meat was gleefully-and neatly-devoured.

"Yeah. Katie had a fit when I told her I had you in my room. I used that exact phrase and she went ballistic. I left out the part that said 'helping me clean.'"

We ate in silence for a few minutes, too busy enjoying real food for once. But there was one nagging question that had developed in the last few hours.

"Is this normal?" I asked. "I mean the flying back and forth all the time. Six o'clock yesterday I was in LA, by noon I was in New York and today London. Does this happen all the time?"

"When I'm promoting something, yeah. Or going to different festivals. For the next few months I'll be staying around here for the most part, what with Othello in the works, but I know I'm heading out to Cannes in May."

"Cannes? Can I come with you?" I asked, wide-eyed and in awe. He grinned.

"Yeah," he said. "Means you'll have to get another dress, but you'll have plenty of time for that. More than a week, at least."

"At least. That is so cool. I'm going to like this."

"Heh. What does your fortune cookie say?" he asked with an abrupt change in subject.

I stared for a moment, then picked it up and broke it open. "New horizons rise before you."

"That's a good one. Here's mine: 'Money and luck are coming to you.' Gee, you think?"

There was a smart reply just sitting on the tip of my brain, but instead of saying it I yawned. The past two days were catching up with me with a vengeance. I had to fight to keep my eyes open.

"Bed time, girlie," Steve said. "Come on, I'll take care of the leftovers. You need to sleep."

"No, I'll never get over the jet lag..."

Resistance was futile. Before I knew it, Steve was pulling me to my feet and half-leading, half-dragging me to the bedroom. Without letting me protest or even take my contacts out he flipped back the covers and almost dumped me into the bed. He checked the alarm.

"You're too bossy," I murmured even as I snuggled down into the covers.

"Goodnight, girlie," he said as he turned off the lights.

Steven Knight

What had I gotten into? There was a woman sleeping in my bed, my bed, that I had known for all of three weeks. A beautiful woman. She was my assistant. I was her employer. She was living, or would be living, in my flat with me. She had packed up her entire life and moved from the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan to the middle of London, England on the faith she had in me.

I liked pushing her buttons. She was so easy to annoy and so easy to embarrass, and she reacted so well! I wasn't trying to make her uncomfortable. She wanted me to treat her like a little sister, and this was how I treated Paula, though Paula got much more flustered and couldn't make a coherent response half the time. No, Marlowe was a lot of fun. Even when she was being a witch.

I didn't sleep that night. Instead I stared at an indeterminate spot on the carpet for time out of mind, just thinking about what was going on. There was a beautiful woman in my bed and I wasn't with her. Waking up Monday morning and realising that I had spent two innocent hours and half with her in the same bed was... novel. For a moment, one tiny second, I allowed myself to think things were different, and then let reality come crashing back. Things weren't different, and it was better to see them as they were.

Sonny returned around six, done in and looking worse than I probably felt.

"What are you still doing up?" he asked, crashing into the recliner with abominable ease.

"Couldn't sleep. Listen, mate, I'm sorry for dumping that on you last night. I should've called, said something sooner."

"Don't worry about it. You're right, anyway. I need my own flat. Can't expect you to put up with me and Karen and the kid now you're back."

"Have you set a date, then?" I asked. He and Karen had been engaged for the last five years with no sign of actually getting married.

"Not yet," he replied, making himself comfortable. "Soon. I'm almost done with my residency. She's looking for a job down here and a school for Ranae."

With considerable effort he pried himself from the chair and went to rummage through the refrigerator.

"How they doing?"

"Fine. Ask them yourself this weekend."

"What?" Oh, no. Please, Dear God, no.

"Mum called the hospital last night. She told me to tell you that your presence is required at home Saturday night. I have to work, but, ah, you don't. She would have scheduled it for Sunday, but I told her you had to work Monday."

"One of Mum's Famous Family Fiascos?"

"Oh, you bet. Told her about the girl, too, and now she's gotta come too. Where is she?"

"Still sleeping. Her name's Marlowe."

He grunted to signal that he heard but didn't care. But then he had been at work and on his feet for nearly twelve hours straight, so he was easily forgiven.

"And she's your assistant, and she's sleeping in your bed, and you stayed awake all night because of why?"

"I don't know."

"Better figure it out soon. I don't know how long it'll take me to find a place. And I gotta talk to Karen about it. Might as well find a place for all of us."

"Good idea. Don't take too long about it, though. I'd like to sleep in my bed sometime before I have to leave again."

"So why don't you?"

I stared at him while he dug into leftover chicken and rice.

"Because Marlowe's in there. I'm not so much of a dog as you think I am."

He shrugged and disappeared into his room.

The week went by quicker than I'd hoped. Rehearsals progressed as they were wont, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Marlowe didn't make a fool of herself, sometimes even being useful as an extra during blocking. Me, I was quickly getting on the director's bad side. I hadn't learned half my lines in the month I'd had the script and we opened in three weeks.

"So what did you do in all that time?" Marlowe asked Friday night as we left the rehearsal space. "You had two whole weeks at least!"

"I... Helped your gran clean out the basement. I babysat some of your younger cousins. I sat in on a couple of Brian's classes. I built shelves, I walked dogs, I-"

"Spent time being part of my family. Why? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"We're going to dinner at my mother's on Saturday. You'll find out why."

She looked at me for a few moments. "You're a strange man, Mr. Knight."

Marlowe drilled me all weekend, running lines nearly every waking moment until she didn't need the script any more. For all that work, however, I wasn't much farther along. I couldn't get the words to stick, nor could I fix them to actions and blocking.

"Geez, Steve! Iago is the ultimate villain! He lies, he manipulates, he kills, he gets caught and he gets away! What's going on?"

"I don't know," I said. We were on our way north Saturday morning, up to Edinburgh. It was snowing. "I just don't get it."

"God! He explains it in his first monologue. He's serving Othello to line his own pockets. Then, when the time is right, he'll give Othello the finger and strike off on his own. Iago's angry that Othello gave the plush lieutenant job to greenhorn Cassio and is all ready planning how to screw the Moor over. Is that what I think it is?"

She stopped and stared at my car, long in storage and now back in the parking garage where it belonged. I'd had it for a year and didn't have the chance to drive it.

"You've never seen a Mini Cooper up close before?"

For all the ranting I've done about Marlowe's car being low to the ground and small on head space, the year before I had bought a little car, which showed just how much a hypocrite I can be.

"Not really. Never been in one, at any rate. It's a little car."

"Hence the name 'Mini.' I don't want to hear it, girlie. This here's my pride and joy, my baby." To show just how much I loved my little car, my little electric blue-and-white Cooper, I hugged it as best I could.

"You're such a dork." But there was laughter in her voice, which only prompted me further.

"This from the girl who named her first car 'Buttercup.'"

"Yeah, and he thought he was a truck, too. I can admit my dorkiness." A pause while we stared at each other. "What'd you name it?"

I sighed. "Beatrice. Bea for short."

"And it's cute and it works. Can you admit you're a dork?"

"Never, girlie."

She surrendered her point for the moment.

"Fine. You never told me why we're driving to Edinburgh."

"Yes, I did. We're going to my mother's house for dinner."

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"Would you be happy driving to your father's for dinner?" I countered.

"I'd cancel. Why didn't you?"

"I can't. Sonny's getting out of it only because he's a doctor. You don't cancel on my mother."

"But why are we driving, anyway, and not flying?"

"Because I want to drive! Look, new car! She's still got new car smell and everything! I haven't had a chance yet to see what she can do." I couldn't hide my enthusiasm, not that I wanted to. If she could spout off on her dream car, she could deal with me owning mine.

"A boy and his toy," she muttered. "It's gotta be 500 miles at least! It'll take all day."

"It won't. It's about 350 miles, give or take, which, if I remember correctly, is about the same distance from your Gran's house to your mum's. If you can make that in four hours, we can make it to Edinburgh in the same. Besides, I'm driving. We might make it in three." A look of pure terror splashed across her face for a second. "Come on, get in. Time's a wasting."

"All right, Bea, let's go," she said, swinging her bag into the back seat and slipping easily into the front passenger.

It was quiet in the car for a little while. Marlowe was digesting what information I had given her about my mother, interpreting and construing it however she liked. Her imagination was probably making her out to be some kind of troll or the witch from any fairy story. Sometimes that wasn't far from the truth.

Taking her imagination into account, I had an idea that would probably get me hit. It was worth it.

"You know, the house is haunted," I said as casually as I could.

As predicted her ears virtually pricked up. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. It's over 200 years old."

"Mom's house is only a 100. Used to be the station master's place when there was still a railroad running through town. When they gutted the place they found little baby booties and bottles. They made a time capsule and put in some stuff from now, and planted it in a wall for the next group of renovators to find."

"Just being old doesn't mean your house is haunted."

"Oh, I know. I didn't say it was. For a while I thought it was. The door to the attic sometimes shakes in the jamb, and when I was younger, really late at night I could swear there was a ghost going in and out of the attic. Those were the nights I'd stay up and watch TV."

"Scare yourself silly, then?" I spared a glance her way. She looked at her hands, a sheepish grin in place of her normal one.

"On more than one occasion," she admitted. "I stopped reading ghost stories when I was little just because of that. But. Haunted? Really?"

"Oh, yeah. It'll just take a moment to recall all the details." More like to compose myself and keep from laughing outright-this would be too easy! "Now, the main bathroom has the worst of it. A girl was murdered there and her hands were cut off. It was brutal. Now, before the murderer left he put the hands in one of the drawers and locked it. The girl was cremated and they didn't find the hands until later. No one knows who murdered her, but legend has it the murderer was a woman, probably a jealous friend or classmate or something."

"Why is that important?" Marlowe asked. I was having a hard time keeping a straight face, but I had to finish the story.

"Well, because it's only when a girl goes into the bathroom that anything happens. Paula, my sister, she's seen it. Now, the story goes that the spirit of the girl can't get into heaven because she doesn't have her hands, and she must have known where the murderer put them. The ghost must get scared whenever a girl goes into the bathroom, 'cause the drawer shakes, like she's trying to get her hands out and get away. If you look, there's still bloodstains in the drawer."

Marlowe's face was white and her hands were clenched in her lap. She was filling in blanks and writing out her own story for it. It hit me that it would make a good screenplay, even a sweet little romance, and if anyone could do it, Marlowe could. It was going to be fun scaring her silly.

Continued In Next Section